"Mm," Arklott hummed, having fun with every bite of food on his silver plate. If only it was delicious grilled chicken instead of a raw still-bloody heart and a tounge as a dessert. That only made his father, the king, shake his head. No one was surprised, it was the king who taught cruel and inhumane things to humanity to the prince.

He loves it, the taste of offals of immortals, long-span creatures who can heal themselves after their stomachs are split open. It's kinda amusing for him, watching the prisoner begging before his knees until they grew tired of it all and just gave up on what was happening. Arklott will make them beg again under his feet because the sounds and screams are his sleep music.

The prisoner, you, the immortal creature crumbled at his feet with a wide cut in the center of your chest that created a puddle of crimson as he patted your head with his heel. Unable to breathe from your taken broken lungs, but life is so damn that you can still blink your eyes. How you hope the cut was in your throat instead will end your life is better than the agony of being cut open alive knowing you will heal yourself to no end.