"This is hell."
Within a cramped prison cell, light shone in from a lone window onto a boy, no older than sixteen, with gaunt features, a short stature and pale skin who grumbled mindlessly, his lusterless black hair ruffled as his head rested against the crumbling yellow wall. His rusted chains rattled, a painful, sonorous reminder of the binding around his hands connecting them to his neck.
Had he known that killing his parents would end up getting him killed regardless, he'd have never done it.
The horror of it all, who would've ever guessed that commiting a crime would get you punished! This was plain injustice, through and through!
He isn't crazy! Or, well, certainly wasn't.
Others would think otherwise, judging by the stains of blood at his feet, or the manic glare his white eyes had shot at the guards patrolling outside his fence, or the way he worried his lip between his teeth at every given minor inconvenience, which may or may not have been as inconsequential as a mere ant crawling up the wall.
But no, by the Orbs, he is the sanest person he knew, the sanest! Imprisonment for two counts of murder and potential insanity? Madness. He was simply an unrecognised genius!
For he had been immune!
Immune, he says!
Immune to the illusion of power and prosperity those above have used as veils to one's eyes, and as noise to drown out the cries of those who screamed for their help, and as a way of ensuring people speak only of the peace, and never of what hid in the shadows!
Immune, immune!
Oh, he hated it so!
So much so that he had killed his parents, who were too far gone and too deep into using the 'faux-prosperity' as their own tool to those outside of their inner familial circle to hide how they truly acted.
But could they blame him!? No, could even the judges blame himself?
If they knew he had a little sister, no younger than twelve, at risk of his parents' constant substance abuse?
Oh, that doesn't warrant murder?
Well, how about them trying to kill him first?
Does that somehow not warrant murder!?
What if his parents called him everything but handsome, as handsome as he is? Or believes he is... That surely is punishable by murder!
Yet, in truth, that never happened, not that they called him any names, but he would prefer the thought of killing them over not calling him by how he looks but instead how others insisted he looked - Skeleton, thin, wiry, bastard, inbred, pre-evolution, etcetera etcetera.
Not that it mattered anyway. He had already accepted his fate. There wasn't any point in lying to power, so once all was said and done, he snuck his sister out, dropped her off at her friends house while still covered in blood at the middle of the night, tried to run away, got caught, and handed himself submissively and meekly - Anything to lessen the chances of abuse.
Which it had! Massively, in fact. He had only been kicked a grand total of four times on this visit. The last time he visited the prisons, it was a good couple times more. About twenty-two. He had counted nineteen while still conscious, and when he went unconscious, he added an extra three just to be safe. He swore to pay it back twofold one day... or was it threefold? It didn't matter, he atleast wanted to kick someone higher up twenty-two times at the minimum.
Loud, heavy footsteps thundered across the hall, as a tall, lean dark man with gruff features, and a square jaw stopped outside of the arched entrance of the cell. He glared angrily at the boy, as if pinning the murder onto the boy himself.
But was that fair? It was simply defending his only family that did care, wasn't it?
Not that the gruff man knew.
Not that the world would ever know.
"Boy. The judges have called upon you. Come with me."
The voice was rough, gritty. Masculine... large... things the boy lacked at his current age. His eye twitched. 'How could a pig of the law bear to be better than me!?'
So, in his own style, he retorted.
"You got a permit to take me?"
While it was worth the chuckle, he learned very quickly that yes, 'The Permit' was the officers' boots, and rather than reading anything and consenting to it, he was forced to taste it. Very quickly. So quickly that his head more than once had hit the wall from the flavour of the impact. Rubbery and slightly metallic... though, it must've been the taste of his blood on the shoe.
'...Bastard... I counted twelve... I'll kick you thirty-four times in particular if I ever get to!'
He swore inwardly, not daring to voice any further complaints in fear of his lips being any more busted than they were before. They were rather chapped, so the blood served as a... messed-up brand of moisturiser.
His chains rattled wildly with each step the gruff man took, two connected to the boy's hands and one to his neck. He was dragged on his back across marbled, golden floors, each panel reflecting his sorry state of himself... in an uncomfortably polished hue of yellow.
'Damn, I look awful. Could he not have held back even the slightest bit?' He thought as he glanced over his shoulder at the floors.
He only liked to think of himself as handsome and to see himself in that unsightly colour? It caused him disturbance. Well, as well as his bloodied face. His lip had been split and one of his eyes were already swelling. He could already see the vision dimming in his left eye, cursing under his breath.
Not just that, but the fact that these halls probably had many people, just like him, dragged or hauled across the marble path, complaintly accepting or resisting their fates, awaiting a judgement from old men already two feet into the grave who sent the young to die. Halls of shimmering radiance beautified with the name and cause of justice by people who pursued nothing as grand other than their own wallets.
Perhaps the gold of a rich man's coffers shone just as bright the hallway.
That thought was unsettling. Just how many more people had to be treated like this? What could cause a change in this messed up world? What could cause there to be any sort of change?
Had it not been for the Orbs, the world would have probably been a better place. One without such... ire and cruelty.
The fact that the government were the people supplying the substances his parents were addicted to was sickening enough. The fact that people didn't pause for a moment and consider anything for a moment, like 'Why are literal third class drugs being handed out in small bags by the government' - outside of the absolutely ludicrous revenue they probably made - made zero sense to him in the short-run. Afterall, They charged just above a black market pricing, undercut the quantity a bit, and suddenly, they're raking in money weekly because people love safe highs without the chance of getting arrested, and the government loves free money while keeping people compliant and obedient.
All they had to do was take a few black marketers off of the streets, take their goods, kill them, then sell the goods as if they were government procured while giving way less of the substance for way more of the money. Nobody would miss the black marketers, for sure, so this was a sustainable practice.
His absent-minded thoughts, however, led to his gaze drifting around - Pillars of solid, concrete gold greeted him, each one reaching into the skies as if being the very construct which held up the vast blue skies... oh, no, never mind, they stopped at a roof that was partially invisible and highly reflective. He'd have been fooled had it not been his fourth time here. Strange that it took three times for him to clearly tell... though this was one of the rare occasions he was facing the roof.
On the path ahead, however, he glimpsed the open doors of the courtroom, so massive and large that he was convinced nobody couldn't have fit through, impressed as tall stands filled with rows and rows of chairs were so...
Empty.
Only a few people were there - not a grandiose sight. Just a few reporters. There were also the 5 guardian valkyries - Wielders of an Orb who had mastered it enough to act as guards for the common folk. They were all beautiful men and women alike - all wearing that same helmet, with the only difference between them being their skins and their robes. Their robes difference was as simple as their curves.
He wasn't trying to look, but his eyes just happened to naturally drift over one of the more... curvy ones. With pale blonde hair poking out her helmet, and the fabric stretching taut over her rather shapely... personalities.
"You are not helping your case, child." One of the particularly pretty valkyries spoke, and he lowered his gaze, coughing.
"Ahem, it seems that I really am not..."
The judges sat upon their podiums, shook their heads, and voiced their disappointment through a unison of grunts and murmurs. Five of them as well.
All of them were quite elderly - Sixty years of age, maybe, grey hair mixed with their natural hair colors, and dressed in blacks and browns and hues of gold to further push forth their false prosperity, he was sure. The one in the center cleared his throat, his slicked back hair and brown suit giving him the demeanour of a dignified gentleman. His beard was also quite luscious.
'Curse the rich...'
"I am Judge Belfort, who will be undertaking this trial today. State your case... Paper. That is how its said, correct?"
A rich, gravelly voice broke through the grunts, calling him by his name, before whispering under his breath to the other judges. One judge leaned over slightly in his own podium, catching a glimpse, and nodded.
The boy, named Paper, shrugged. He just had to be as casual as possible, just like the last three times. All it was was a slap on the wrist, usually, but here, he was aiming for a simple quick death.
It was far better than the alternatives. He was quite sure.
"I may or may not have killed my parents, you dogs- ahem, pardon me. So uh... I plead guilty. Any chance I can get out of this easy?"
He winked up at the cohort, grinning, as they all went slack jaw. The slip of the tongue was very intentional - riling them up slightly ant making them see him in a bad light, and trying to make him seem cold and without remorse! Though he didn't feel anything towards the murder of his parents.
An awkward silence had descended between them before discussions instantly broke out. Their eyes gleamed strangely, almost as if envious, or... coveting something.
But no, there was no use in keeping just a mere sixteen year old human boy alive, right? He'd be dead here and in the next life promptly. Or hell. Or heaven, maybe. He was a pretty good guy, really.
In his eyes, at least.
Maybe they'd let him stay in prison? That'd be nicer. Few poorly done prison breaks, and for a few years, he'd be able to pay back every kick ten-fold! All while being able to use other prisoners as cover-ups to prevent the counter from going up. In fact, he far preferred that than death!
Not only that, being young was possibly good enough to play into his favour!
Think about it, right? He's a young boy, almost a man, with a relatively healthy body and 'good looks' (so he insists), which surely gave him enough value to be your common slave. Or more... if he were in their position, he would send himself off to the Deep Layers.
But God forbid that happens! They wouldn't, anyway! They aren't crazy. Right? A boy of his age?
...Okay, maybe.
But, a boy his age looking like he does, skin and bones? Why, he wasn't handsome at all! In fact, it was a mere exaggeration of his thoughts. Infact, the name's he got called were rather fitting.
They're in power for a reason. Powerful people tend to use everything to their profit... and there wasn't anything to profit from using him!
So, after a tense wait... Judge belfort turned to him, sighing almost in disappointment before schooling his features into one of pure sternness.
"Prepare to drug the boy. He is to be sent to the first of the Deep Layers. Send him to there, just like the rest of the convicts and hunters. He is only to gain freedom from the Deep Layer by supplying us with an Orb of Eurydice."
A hammer hit the table as he paled, now his jaws turn to go slack as he stared at their ravenous smirks.
Oh. God.
The old bastards were planning to milk him dry first! Of course!