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Taken in chains. Dragging heavy leg irons through the city. The streets lined with Maciste’s adoring people. Who should have been hailing their prince.
Kheir was determined they’d see him broken .. their revered muscular warrior-prince. Ordered lashed and beaten at every step .. each tread of his bare bleeding feet one step closer to an agonising death. Naked .. signs of unspeakable torture visible on his flesh.
Soldiers had followed him into battle. Now reluctant his people would follow him to his death. Maciste tortured on the traitor’s cross.
Sharp clanking echoes of metal hammering on nails. Thick rough nails smashing up bones. Dozens of hard-hammered blows thwacked through his tortured wrists. Blunted nails struggling to penetrate the hardwood cross.
Blow-after-blow. Breaking bones. Breaking his will. Breaking that conceit. Smashing up his standing as the fearless warrior-prince as he screamed. Smashing Maciste’s lie that Kheir could do nothing to hurt him.
He’d scream, all right. Raised upright, naked and soiled. Shamed before his people. Fear pissing down his legs. Pain clawed out of every fibre as he hung. Talons of agony ripping through that hated muscular torso.
He’d strutted. He’d rubbed his conceit into Kheir’s nose. Showing-off .. always bare to the waist. Popular. Beloved. Revered by his troops. Resented by his brother.
Whose stinking arse was not on the throne, brother-dear? Kheir longed to hear Maciste scream back his response. As more evil nails smashed up his ankles and nailed a loathed stepbrother inescapably to that cross.