Chapter 12: Unborn the Prince of Lies

Empire of Brazil — Port to Rio da Sangria, Rio da Sangria — 1662

The setting sun stained the horizon a sickly blood-red as Tetanus, Zara, Gume, and Lâmina finally reached the port leading to Rio da Sangria, the last stop before the city. The salty sea air mingled with the stench of fish and damp ropes, while seagulls screeched above the crowded docks. After a day and a half of relentless riding, the four were exhausted, their faces caked with dust and sweat, their clothes torn from the forest battles. Their horses, however, had suffered more: the animals collapsed on the beach sand, legs trembling, foam dripping from their mouths. There was no forcing them further.

Tetanus dismounted, the weight of his two-handed sword on his back heavier than ever. He scanned the port, where ships swayed gently in the waves, but his heart sank as he realized the ship described by the scout—a galleon with dark sails—was gone. Only an empty horizon where it should have been. “Shit…” he muttered, voice hoarse, fists clenched.

Zara, still mounted, adjusted her monocle to a zoom frequency, scanning the sea. “It’s sailed,” she confirmed, her tone sharp as a blade. “We’re too late. The ship’s already on its way to Rio da Sangria.”

Gume, leaning on his halberd like a crutch, groaned. “Now what? The horses are done, and we’ve got no boat. The roads are crawling with the prince’s guards. What, we gonna swim there?”

Lâmina, cleaning her scimitar on her cloak, glanced at the group. “On foot, we won’t make it in time. And if we try stealing a boat, the guards will nab us before we leave the port.” She pointed to the torches glowing along the coast, where royal patrols marched in tight formation.

Tetanus felt the mark on his chest pulse, hot and insistent, as if responding to his frustration. He looked to the sky, searching for an answer, any sign.

That’s when he saw it.

A colossal shadow crossed the clouds, blocking the fading sunlight. Black wings, wide as a ship’s sails, sliced through the air with a deep hum, and a figure descended toward the beach, kicking up a gust of wind that sprayed sand into the mercenaries’ faces.

“What the hell is that?!” Gume shouted, raising his halberd, while Lâmina took a defensive stance, scimitar ready.

Zara, however, just watched, eyes narrowed through her monocle. “Hold,” she said, voice firm but tinged with awe.

The creature landed a few meters away, its claws sinking into the sand with a muffled thud.

It was a giant crow, larger than any horse, its black feathers gleaming with an almost metallic sheen. Its eyes, big as fists, glowed with supernatural intelligence, and its head tilted slowly, fixing on Tetanus. The mark on his chest pulsed harder, almost painfully, as if recognizing the creature.

Tetanus stepped forward, ignoring the alarmed looks from the others. Something pulled him, a connection he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore. He extended a hesitant hand and touched the crow’s beak, cold and smooth as polished stone. The creature didn’t flinch; instead, it lowered its head further, letting Tetanus stroke the soft feathers of its neck. A deep, almost purring sound came from the crow, and the mercenaries exchanged stunned glances.

“You’re… petting a giant bird?” Gume asked, voice a mix of disbelief and fear. “You gone mad, brother?”

“He won’t hurt us,” Tetanus said, eyes locked on the crow. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but the certainty was absolute. “He’s here because of me.”

Zara dismounted, approaching cautiously. “What do you mean, because of you?” She glanced from the crow to Tetanus, eyes narrowing. “This has to do with your secret, doesn’t it?”

Tetanus didn’t answer directly. Instead, he leaned toward the crow, voice low. “You know where Tiradentes is, don’t you? Can you take us to him?”

The crow let out a low croak, almost a response, and turned its head toward the sea, in the direction of Rio da Sangria. Its wings spread partially, a silent invitation. Tetanus looked at the others, resolve hardening his face. “It’s our only shot. The roads are blocked, and we’ve got no boat. He can take us.”

Lâmina sheathed her scimitar, but her expression was wary. “Ride that thing? What if it decides we’re dinner?”

Gume laughed nervously. “If it wanted to eat us, it would’ve done it already. Look at the size of that beak!”

Zara hesitated, but time was against them. “Fine,” she said at last. “I trust you. This time.” She climbed onto the crow’s back, gripping its thick feathers. Gume and Lâmina followed, still reluctant, while Tetanus mounted near the creature’s head.

“Better hold on tight!” Tetanus shouted.

With a powerful beat of its wings, the crow took off, the wind roaring around them as they soared above the port. Below, the guards’ torches gleamed like fallen stars, none daring to look up.

The crow flew fast, cutting through the night sky toward Rio da Sangria, the sea glinting below like a dangerous promise. Tetanus clung to the crow’s neck, Zara right behind him, holding on tight.

His mark pulsed in sync with the wingbeats, and he knew, whatever this creature was, it was tied to the curse he carried. If it was truly a curse.

Empire of Brazil — Rio da Sangria, 1662

The giant crow sliced through the night sky, the salty sea wind whipping their faces as Rio da Sangria emerged on the horizon, a sprawl of flickering lights like embers in the dark. The crow descended smoothly, landing on a grassy hill outside the city, far from the guards’ torches. Its red eyes gleamed at Tetanus one last time, as if conveying a silent message, before it took flight again, vanishing into the clouds with a deep croak.

“That was… weird,” Gume muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, his halberd shaking in his trembling hands.

Lâmina, already descending the hill, checked her scimitar. “Less talk, more action. Sun’s almost up, and the execution’s at dawn.” She glanced at Tetanus, who still felt the mark pulsing in his chest. “You okay, friend?”

Tetanus nodded, his two-handed sword steady on his back. “Let’s go. No time.”

Zara led the group as they ran through Rio da Sangria’s dark alleys. The city was a maze of narrow streets, the air thick with the smell of fish, gunpowder, and sweat. The voices of merchants and sailors echoed, mixed with the distant sound of drums—a harbinger of the public execution. Zara kept a brisk pace, guiding them through backstreets to avoid patrols. “The ship’s docked at the main port,” she whispered. “But if Tiradentes is already in the square, we’ve got to get there before the rope.”

The streets opened to reveal the central square, where a crowd was already forming under the pale dawn light. In the center, a crude wooden gallows stood, surrounded by a cordon of elite royal guards—towering, armored men armed with spears and arquebuses, keeping the crowd at bay. Tetanus’s stomach churned as he saw a figure being dragged by a hooded executioner, hands bound.

It was Tiradentes, his scarred face visible even from a distance, his gaze unwavering despite the restraints. The crowd pelted him with rotten fruit, feces, and dead pets as he was dragged forward.

“There!” Zara pointed, voice tense. “We go in from the west side, fewer guards. Gume, Lâmina, you start the chaos. Tetanus, with me to grab him.”

But before Tetanus could respond, something caught his eye. In the corner of his vision, a familiar figure slipped through a side alley, his face marked by old scars and a cruel smile.

Rastro. Rage exploded in Tetanus’s chest, his mark pulsing like fire. Without thinking, he broke from the group, ignoring Zara’s muffled shout. “Tetanus, get back here!”

He ran through the alley, boots pounding the cobblestones, sword swaying on his back. Rastro, sensing the pursuit, sped up, turning corners and toppling crates to slow him. But Tetanus was faster, fueled by a hatred that burned hotter than exhaustion. He caught Rastro in a narrow street, where the mercenary tripped on a mooring rope. Tetanus grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against a wooden wall.

“You filthy rat!” Tetanus snarled, fist raised. “You sold out Tiradentes!”

Rastro laughed, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. “So what, kid? The prince pays well. Better than dying for a lost cause.” He spat, trying to draw a dagger, but Tetanus was quicker.

With a yell, Tetanus punched Rastro’s face, the impact echoing in the alley. The mercenary fought back, his dirty nails scratching Tetanus’s arm, but Tetanus’s rage was a living force, fueled by the mark.

He yanked the dagger from Rastro’s hand and tossed it away, landing another punch that broke the traitor’s nose. Rastro staggered but still fought, kicking Tetanus’s leg. It wasn’t enough. Tetanus drew his two-handed sword, its weight familiar in his hands, and with a single strike, cleaved Rastro’s chest, the steel tearing through flesh and heart.

Rastro collapsed, his cruel smile gone, blood pooling on the cobblestones. Tetanus stood panting, hatred still pulsing in his veins. The mark burned, as if approving the act. He had no time for guilt or relief—the sound of drums in the square snapped him back to reality.

He ran back, the streets now buzzing with movement as the crowd grew restless. The central square came into view, and what he saw froze his heart. An army of royal guards, at least fifty strong, formed a corridor of spears and arquebuses, guarding the path where Tiradentes was dragged. The executioner, a burly man in a stitched leather mask, pulled the rope around the commander’s neck, while the crowd shouted, some in support, others in protest.

Zara, Gume, and Lâmina were hiding behind a fish barrel, watching the scene. Zara shot Tetanus a furious look when he rejoined them. “Where the hell were you?” she hissed.

“Rastro,” Tetanus said, voice cold. “He’s not a problem anymore.”

Zara narrowed her eyes but didn’t press. “Focus now. Look at this.” She pointed to the square. “The gunpowder ship’s over there, on the left dock. But with this army, we can’t get through without a fight.”

Gume, gripping his halberd, gave a humorless laugh. “Fight? Against that? We’ll be minced meat.”

Lâmina, scimitar in hand, seemed to weigh their odds. “If we blow the gunpowder now, the chaos might give us a shot. But we need a way past the guards.”

Tetanus looked at Tiradentes, now steps from the gallows.

“Let’s do Zara’s plan,” he said, voice steady despite exhaustion. “I might be able to distract the guards.”

Zara grabbed his arm, her green eyes flashing. “No stupid heroics, Tetanus. You stay with us. We need you alive to get Tiradentes off that rope.”

He nodded, but deep down, he knew something else had plans for him.

A black crow cut through the sky like a living shadow, its wide wings reflecting the first glint of the dead sun on the horizon. Tetanus followed its flight, watching as it circled a pavilion adorned with royal banners—there was the prince, seated on an improvised throne, surrounded by elite guards.

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The prince was young, but his face was marked by arrogance and power. He wore a gold-embroidered silk doublet, his hands adorned with gleaming rings. He watched the scene with a smug smile, as if Tiradentes’s execution was just another spectacle for his amusement.

Tetanus felt the mark on his chest pulse, as if reacting to the prince’s presence.

“If we grab him…” Tetanus muttered to himself, fingers curling into fists.

Zara, still hidden behind the barrels, looked at him. “What?”

“The prince.” Tetanus pointed to the pavilion. “If we grab him, the guards won’t touch the gallows. He’s our only bargaining chip.”

Lâmina gripped her scimitar tighter. “You’re insane. Look how many guards are around him!”

“We’ve got no choice,” Tetanus replied, voice hoarse. “The gunpowder ship’s too far. If we try for it, Tiradentes will be dead.”

Zara studied the scene, her monocle adjusted for a better view. “He’s right. But how the hell do we get to the prince?”

Gume laughed nervously. “Oh, just march up and ask politely, right?”

Tetanus didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at the crow, now perched on a tavern roof near the pavilion, its red eyes fixed on him.

“I’m going alone,” he said, decided.

“No!” Zara grabbed his arm. “It’s suicide.”

“Not if I’m quick.” Tetanus met her gaze, determination burning in his eyes. “Distract the guards. Make noise, draw attention. I’ll go by the rooftops.”

Before Zara could protest, he turned and melted into the crowd, blending with the spectators gathered for the execution. The crow, as if understanding, took flight again, guiding him through the shadows.

Tetanus ran behind vendors’ stalls, leaping over crates and barrels to reach a wooden ladder leading to the tavern’s roof. His muscles ached, but adrenaline kept him moving. When he reached the top, the crow was there, as if waiting.

“Thanks,” he muttered, unsure if the creature understood.

The rooftop gave a direct view of the prince’s pavilion. At least ten guards stood between him and the target, but none looked up—all eyes were on the gallows, where Tiradentes was climbing the steps, the executioner adjusting the rope around his neck.

Tetanus took a deep breath.

“Now.”

He leapt from the tavern roof, landing with a dull thud on the royal pavilion, the impact jarring his knees. The canvas roof gave way under his weight, tearing as he fell into the chamber where the prince watched the execution.

The elite guards, caught off guard, raised their spears, but Tetanus was already moving, his two-handed sword slicing the air with a deadly thud. The blade met the first guard, cleaving through armor and chest in one strike. The second tried to fire an arquebus, but Tetanus spun, decapitating him before he could pull the trigger. The third and fourth charged together, spears forward, but he dodged, using the sword’s weight to crush one’s skull and bisect the other. The pavilion floor ran red, the guards’ bodies collapsing like cut puppets.

In the center of the room, the prince was on his feet, his gold-embroidered doublet gleaming under torchlight. His young, arrogant face twisted in shock and rage. “You worm!” he shouted, drawing a thin, ornate sword, more ceremonial than practical. “How dare you?”

Tetanus didn’t answer, teeth grinding in fury, charging with his sword swinging in an arc the prince barely blocked. The noble’s thin blade groaned under the impact, and Tetanus capitalized, kicking the man’s chest to send him crashing into a wooden table, which splintered on impact. The prince tried to rise, swinging his sword desperately, but Tetanus, with a roar, drove his blade through the man’s chest, steel piercing silk, flesh, and bone.

The prince gurgled, eyes wide, before collapsing, lifeless.

Tetanus breathed heavily, blood dripping from his sword.

…

A sudden impact hit his neck, a sharp pain making him stagger. He spun, vision blurred, only to see a shadow moving too fast. Another blow to the back of his head and a quick cut behind his legs dropped him to his knees, his sword clanging to the floor.

A cold laugh echoed in the room, and a new figure emerged from the pavilion’s shadows.

Clad in a black cloak embroidered with silver threads, he was taller, handsome, and imposing, his pale face marked by a cruel smile. His blue eyes gleamed with dangerous intelligence, and he held a golden rapier, stained with Tetanus’s blood.

“You really thought I’d be here, exposed like a fool?” he said, voice smooth but dripping with contempt. “That was just a lackey, a decoy to lure rats like you. I know far more than you and your little band of goat shit could ever imagine.”

Tetanus tried to rise, but the prince kicked his sword away, stomping on his chest. He snarled, grabbing at the prince’s leg, but the man was quick, striking him inches below his other eye. The world spun, and Tetanus tasted blood again.

“Your friends?” the prince continued, laughing as he crouched to face Tetanus. “Already caught. Zara, Gume, Lâmina… all caged like the dogs they are.” He grabbed Tetanus by the collar, dragging him with surprising strength to the pavilion’s window, which overlooked the central square. “Look, bearer of the mark. See what happens to traitors.”

Tetanus, face pressed against the fogged window, saw the scene he dreaded.

In the square, the crowd roared, a chorus of support and revolt. Tiradentes stood on the gallows, the rope around his neck, the executioner adjusting the noose with cold precision. The commander’s eyes, however, showed no fear—only fierce determination.

Tetanus tried to scream, but the prince gripped his neck, forcing him to watch.

“You thought you could change this?” the prince whispered, his hot breath against Tetanus’s ear. “The mark you bear is a beacon, boy. It draws chaos, and I knew you’d come.” He laughed, low and cruel. “Now, watch your leader die.”

The drum sounded, a single deep beat. The executioner pulled the lever, and the trapdoor beneath Tiradentes opened. The rope snapped taut, the commander’s body convulsed briefly, then hung still, swaying in the dawn breeze. The crowd erupted, some cheering, others wailing. Tetanus felt something inside him break, the mark pulsing with a pain beyond the physical. He screamed, a hoarse, rage-filled sound, but the prince only laughed, throwing him to the floor.

“You’re next, bearer,” the prince said, pointing his rapier at Tetanus’s chest. “But first, I think you’ll be useful in the castle dungeons.”

He gestured, and two guards entered the pavilion, their armor clinking as they approached to seize Tetanus.

As they hauled him up, he vowed to himself that the prince would pay. For Tiradentes, for his friends, and for every drop of blood spilled in that square.

???? — Unknown Dungeon — 1662

Tetanus awoke with a throbbing headache, his thoughts still clouded from the blow he’d taken. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a dark, cold cell, lit only by a small barred window on the opposite wall. He tried to move but realized his arms were bound above his head to a wooden pillory, leaving his muscular, naked body exposed and vulnerable.

He tried to kick at something, anything, but the cell was empty save for the cold, damp stone floor. Tetanus hung there, wondering where he’d been taken and what awaited him.

Then he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the iron door. It creaked open, and a figure entered. She was a short woman, perhaps five feet tall, with spiky hair in a short fringe and an enigmatic expression. She carried a long, narrow tool resembling forceps in one hand and a black leather whip in the other.

Tetanus tensed at the sight of her tools but couldn’t help noticing her peculiar attire.

It was a tight outfit, reaching just above her knees, made of dark material with black straps crisscrossing her body, leaving vulnerable areas like her breasts, vagina, and buttocks exposed.

She smiled wickedly, noticing his gaze on her voluptuous silhouette.

“You must be Tetanus, then,” she purred, stepping closer. “I’m Himiko, your jailer here. I’ve heard a lot about your skills and experiences. I bet a hero like you has plenty to show me…”

Himiko stopped right in front of him, raising the forceps, its sharp tip grazing Tetanus’s semi-erect glans. She smiled, feeling the quickened pulse beneath the cold metal.

“Mmm, I can already feel how eager you are to be my experiment,” she teased, wrapping her free fingers around the base of his member and squeezing lightly. “Let’s see how much you can take before you crumble and beg for more, shall we?”

With that, she began tracing the forceps’ tip along his rigid length, moving slowly up and down, teasing without ever fully touching.

Tetanus tensed as the forceps grazed his glans. His member pulsed, growing harder under the torturer’s touch. He tried to focus to keep control, but the situation was intensely provocative.

“I’ve got no interest in your sick plans,” Tetanus shot back firmly. “I won’t give in to your perverse whims. I’d rather suffer any torture than help someone like you and that prissy rat.”

Himiko laughed, a shrill, provocative sound, clearly enjoying his resistance. “Oh, you’ll give in, darling. They all do in the end. We just need to find the right pressure point.”

She set the forceps aside and took the whip, trailing its soft leather tips across the mercenary’s chest. She teased the sensitive skin around his nipples before landing a sudden, sharp lash across his chest.

Tetanus let out a grunt of pain and surprise, his body jerking against the pillory’s restraints. Pain radiated through his ribcage, but he didn’t let a sound escape. Instead, he clenched his teeth and glared at the torturer with pure determination.

Himiko smiled cruelly at his reaction to the whip. “The prince wants some information about that mark you carry,” she explained, trailing the leather tips across Tetanus’s defined abs. “And for some reason, he prefers you alive to give it. So, I’ll have to find other ways to… persuade you to cooperate.”

She raised the whip and landed another sharp blow, striking Tetanus’s thighs. He growled in pain, his body writhing against the restraints, but kept his mouth shut, determined not to give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Himiko continued whipping him methodically, leaving red welts and streaks of blood on his bronzed skin. She alternated between body parts, never lingering too long in one spot. The sound of the whip cracking against flesh echoed in the cell, mingling with Tetanus’s muffled groans.

“Come on, big boy,” she taunted, raising the whip again. “Don’t be so stubborn. Tell me what the prince wants to know about your mark, and we can end this. It’ll be much worse if you keep resisting…” She purred.

Tetanus clenched his teeth, the pain burning his skin, but he remained unshaken. “You masochistic bitch…” he growled, staring her down defiantly. “I won’t give you or the prince the satisfaction of seeing me break. Do your worst, but you’ll never make me betray my principles.”

Himiko’s wicked smile widened. “So brave,” she mocked, raising the whip again. “But everyone has a limit, don’t they?”

She whipped him harder, the blows growing faster and more intense. The mercenary’s body became increasingly covered in red welts and streaks of blood.

He stayed silent.

After a while, Himiko lowered the whip, panting, and wiped sweat from her brow. “You’re tougher than I thought,” she admitted reluctantly. “But we’re not done. We’ve got plenty of time, and soon enough, you’ll be begging to tell me what the prince wants.”

She continued, “Maybe we’ll have to resort to more… persuasive methods to make you cooperate, darling.” She tossed the whip aside and stepped closer, trailing a finger across Tetanus’s sweaty, aching stomach, feeling the hot welts left by the lashes.

Then her hand reached his rigid, pulsing member, wrapping her fingers around it and squeezing lightly. He let out a low, involuntary groan at the sudden touch, his body reacting despite the pain.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Himiko teased with a sly smile, feeling the throbbing erection. “Looks like someone’s enjoying the pain. Delicious…”

She began stroking Tetanus with slow, calculated movements, sliding up and down his rigid length. Her thumb circled his sensitive glans, spreading the precum already leaking.

Tetanus clenched his teeth, trying to resist the pleasure. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing her touch aroused him. But the more she stroked, the harder it became.

Himiko smiled at his internal struggle, feeling his member pulse and harden further in her hand. “Don’t fight it, darling,” she purred, speeding up her hand. “Your body wants this, even if your mind won’t admit it. You’ll give in to the pleasure soon enough.”

She continued stimulating him skillfully, pushing him closer to the edge. Then, abruptly, she stopped and withdrew her hand, leaving Tetanus panting and needing more.

“But maybe it’s better to use this hard cock for my own pleasure,” she declared with a wicked smile. “Let’s see how long you last before you break and give me what I want.”

With that, Himiko pinned Tetanus to the floor, straddling him and spreading her legs before kneeling over his rigid, pulsing member.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, enveloping him with her vagina. She moaned as she felt every inch of his thick, hard member fill her, her body adjusting around him.

“Oh, this feels so good,” she sighed, beginning to move up and down. “Let’s see how long you last…”

Himiko rode him with increasing vigor, her breasts bouncing with each movement. The wet sound of her filled the room, echoing through the cell.

At the same time, she grabbed the whip and began lashing his thighs and abdomen, leaving painful red welts on his already battered skin. But she didn’t stop there—she whipped herself too, moaning with pleasure at the mix of pain and ecstasy.

With her other hand, she took the forceps and clamped them around Tetanus’s neck, squeezing tightly. The pressure was intense but not enough to stop his breathing. She wanted him conscious to savor every second of the torture.

“That’s it, darling,” she moaned, riding harder and faster. “Feel my pussy around that trunk of yours. You don’t want me to stop, do you?”

Tetanus grunted, a mix of pain and pleasure, his body stimulated from all sides. Pain and pleasure burned his skin, overwhelming him.

The torturer continued her assault, whipping herself and Tetanus simultaneously. She rode with frenzied fury, determined to reach her climax. Her body trembled and writhed with pleasure.

“Come on, darling,” she moaned, her face flushed and sweaty. “Give me what I want. I want to feel you cum inside me. I want to see you break and give me what I need!”

Despite her manipulation and attempts to extract information, Tetanus held firm.

With a high-pitched moan, she reached her climax, her body trembling and convulsing in ecstasy, lost in the moment. She kept riding and writhing, savoring every second of her intense orgasm, her body drenched in sweat.

Finally, after hours, Himiko stopped moving and sat still atop him. She was panting, a satisfied smile on her face.

“That was… incredible,” she declared, still catching her breath. “But you still haven’t given me what I want.”

She climbed off him, beginning to kick him with her pointed slippers.

As the night wore on, Tetanus had endured the peak of pain his body could withstand. He struggled to breathe, growing dizzier by the moment.

Yet he kept resisting.

Finally, tiring of the torture, Himiko, with a satisfied smile, headed for the door, pausing to look back.

“Until tomorrow, darling,” she said in a sweet, provocative tone. “I hope you’re ready for more. This doesn’t end here. Not until you decide to talk, of course.”

With that, she left, locking the door behind her, leaving Tetanus alone.

He remained there, his entire body aching, closing his eyes as exhaustion overtook him. His body was sore and tired, but his mind stayed alert. He didn’t want to sleep, fearing what might happen if he did.

But despite his efforts, sleep consumed him entirely.