> Chapter 29: Eternal Punishment

  Morning light filtered through paper windows of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, casting pale rectangles across the blood-stained marble floor where officials now knelt in rigid formation. Their once-immacute court robes—symbols of rank and privilege—now hung in tatters, revealing glimpses of self-inflicted wounds beneath. Some wore crude bandages stained brown with dried blood, while others dispyed raw injuries as proof of self-punishment carried out through the night.

  Minister Chen, formerly proud in his crimson ministerial robes, now knelt with trembling legs barely supporting his frame. Where his right hand had once been now existed only freshly-cauterized stump wrapped in yellow silk. Beside him, the elderly Minister Wong had shaved his head completely—including eyebrows and beard—and carved characters of confession across his scalp in ragged, bleeding lines.

  The hall reeked of blood and fear. Sweat dampened ceremonial robes despite the early hour, anxiety producing physical reactions no court training could suppress. None spoke above whispers, and even these hushed exchanges died immediately when attendants announced the Empress's approach.

  Heavy ceremonial doors swung open to reveal Empress Zhu Youzhen, her slender form clothed in imperial yellow silk embroidered with golden dragons and silver clouds. The formal attire concealed any evidence of her recent pregnancy, its structured yers creating perfect imperial silhouette despite physiological changes of the past months. Her face, carefully composed beneath ceremonial makeup, revealed nothing of recent trauma beyond slight tightening around dark eyes that surveyed the assembled court with newfound hardness.

  Behind her walked Sam, his casual posture contrasting sharply with the rigid formality of imperial guards fnking the procession. He wore simple bck robes with silver thread forming patterns resembling circuitry rather than traditional designs, the unusual fabric catching morning light with subtle iridescence. His silver eyes scanned the assembly with calcuted indifference, like a farmer assessing livestock without particur emotional investment.

  Every official immediately prostrated themselves in perfect kowtow, foreheads pressed against marble floors with such force that many wounds from yesterday reopened, fresh blood joining dried stains from previous day's terror. Even the imperial family members—princes, princesses, cousins, and distant retions assembled at the chamber's front—pressed themselves ft against cold stone, their eborate court attire crumpling beneath desperate dispy of submission.

  The Empress ascended the dais with measured steps, the ceremonial procession maintaining perfect formation despite obvious tension among imperial guards. When she reached the Dragon Throne, she turned and seated herself with practiced grace that revealed nothing of recent weakness. Sam took position standing slightly behind and beside the throne, his casual stance somehow more threatening than formal military rigidity would have been.

  "Rise," commanded the Empress, her voice stronger than many had heard in months. The court collectively flinched at the sound before cautiously returning to kneeling positions, none daring to raise eyes fully to imperial level.

  The Chief Eunuch, his face bearing fresh scars deliberately self-inflicted across once-proud features, moved forward with appropriate court shuffle, body bent nearly double in exaggerated deference as he announced in trembling voice: "The Dragon Throne commences morning audience. May Heaven bless the Empress and ten thousand years of glorious rule."

  Youzhen surveyed the assembled officials with imperial detachment that had hardened into something colder during her absence. At eighteen—nearly nineteen—she projected authority beyond her years, recent trauma having burned away remaining youthful hesitation like impurities removed from precious metal during refinement.

  "Officials of the Dragon Throne," she began, her voice carrying easily throughout the vast chamber despite moderate volume. "You have carried out self-judgment as instructed. Each man here cims to have punished himself according to his level of involvement in recent treasonous activities."

  She paused, allowing nervous tension to build before continuing with deliberate precision. "Minister Chen, approach and expin your chosen punishment."

  The minister crawled forward, abandoning dignity through terror beyond court protocol considerations. When he reached appropriate distance, he prostrated himself again, voice muffled against marble floor as he expined: "Your Imperial Majesty, this worthless servant removed the hand that accepted bribes from Minister Liu during establishment of parallel authority structure. This criminal hand signed documents transferring loyal officials without proper imperial authorization, facilitating treasonous activities threatening imperial security."

  He raised the cauterized stump as evidence, charred flesh still visible beneath crude bandaging. "This humble servant begs imperial forgiveness through incomplete payment for unforgivable transgression."

  The Empress studied the injury with clinical detachment, her expression revealing nothing of internal assessment. "You administered this punishment yourself?"

  "Yes, Imperial Majesty," Chen confirmed, trembling visibly despite efforts at stoic presentation. "With ceremonial sword heated in household forge, following ancient texts describing appropriate atonement for betrayal of sovereign trust."

  Youzhen nodded slightly, something almost resembling approval flickering across her features before imperial mask reasserted. "Your honesty in self-assessment demonstrates redeeming courage absent during treasonous activities," she acknowledged, her tone suggesting administrative assessment rather than emotional response. "The punishment is accepted as sufficient, though ministerial duties will necessarily be reassigned given physical limitations."

  Relief visibly flooded through Chen's body, trembling temporarily intensifying before control reasserted. He prostrated himself again, forehead pressing against marble with renewed fervor. "Your Imperial Majesty's mercy outshines Heaven's compassion," he decred with genuine gratitude beneath formal phrasing.

  Beside the throne, Sam's lip curled slightly in what might have been amusement or disgust at this dispy. He remained silent, however, allowing the Empress to continue methodical assessment without supernatural intervention.

  "Minister Wong," Youzhen called next, directing attention to the elderly official whose self-inflicted scalp wounds continued seeping blood through crude bandaging wrapped around his head.

  Wong approached as Chen had, crawling rather than walking despite his advanced age and the obvious pain this movement caused his arthritic joints. Upon reaching appropriate distance, he too prostrated himself, the bandaged scalp pressing against marble floor with visible blood seepage expanding dark stain beneath his head.

  "Your Imperial Majesty," he began, voice cracking with age and terror despite obvious effort at dignified presentation. "This worthless servant carved confessions across worthless flesh that housed treasonous thoughts. Each character represents specific failure to report suspicious activities observed within imperial household during Your Majesty's illness."

  "Show the court," Youzhen commanded, her tone hardening slightly as she gestured for the minister to reveal his punishment.

  With trembling hands, Wong unwrapped the crude bandaging, revealing skull covered in self-carved characters. The jagged wounds—clearly inflicted with non-medical instrument—formed sentences describing specific observations and corresponding failures to report suspicious activities. Blood continued seeping from deeper cuts where ministerial enthusiasm had carried bde to skull beneath thin scalp tissue.

  Youzhen studied these confessions with the same clinical detachment she had shown toward Chen's amputation. "You observed poison being administered with morning tea yet said nothing," she noted, reading one particurly deep character sequence near the elderly minister's temple.

  "Yes, Imperial Majesty," Wong confessed, head bowed in genuine shame beyond terror-induced submission. "This worthless servant feared Imperial Prince Cing's retribution against family members should concerns be voiced through proper channels."

  "And now my sister lies dead because officials with spines like wet paper chose family safety over imperial security," Youzhen observed, the first crack in imperial composure revealing genuine anger beneath ceremonial detachment. "Pregnant women poisoned while court officials watched in silence."

  Wong prostrated himself completely, unable to form coherent response beyond physical submission. Nearby officials trembled more violently, recognizing justified imperial anger that traditionally preceded execution orders regardless of self-punishment severity.

  Before the situation escated further, Sam cleared his throat slightly—the small sound somehow more attention-commanding than shouted order would have been. The Empress gnced briefly toward him, some unspoken communication passing between them before imperial composure reasserted completely.

  "The punishment is sufficient given your limited direct involvement," Youzhen decred, returning to administrative assessment tone that revealed nothing of momentary emotional dispy. "Though ministerial duties will be reassigned to peripheral provinces where cowardice presents less immediate threat to imperial security."

  Wong's prostration deepened if possible, gratitude mixing with continued terror as he received imperial judgment far more merciful than traditional precedent would suggest for acknowledged treason regardless of mitigating circumstances.

  This pattern continued for nearly two hours—official after official approaching to dispy self-inflicted punishments ranging from finger amputations to ritual scarring to property destruction that left ancient family lineages financially ruined despite continued physical survival.

  The Empress assessed each with remarkable consistency, accepting most self-punishments as sufficient while occasionally noting inadequacy requiring supplemental court-administered correction.

  Throughout this extraordinary procedure, Sam remained silent beside the Dragon Throne, his silver eyes watching with detached interest occasionally shifting toward genuine amusement when particurly creative self-punishments were dispyed. His casual posture—one hand resting on throne's carved armrest in manner no ordinary advisor would dare attempt—reinforced his unique position beyond normal court hierarchy.

  Finally, the imperial retives awaited judgment—brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles kneeling in family groups before the throne. Unlike officials who had approached individually, these blood retions remained clustered according to lineage proximity, their eborate court attire incongruously intact compared to officials' deliberately damaged robes.

  The imperial family's pristine appearance didn't go unnoticed, with Sam's sardonic voice breaking his extended silence: "Interesting how imperial retives found no need for physical demonstrations of remorse, isn't it?"

  His simple observation created immediate terror wave through assembled family members, several younger princesses beginning to weep openly while male retives prostrated themselves more desperately, foreheads pressing against marble with renewed urgency.

  "Perhaps they believed family connection provided special dispensation regarding self-punishment requirements," Youzhen suggested, her tone carrying dangerous edge beneath diplomatic formution. "An unfortunate miscalcution given recent demonstration that family betrayal represents more severe transgression than outsider treachery."

  The imperial retives' terror visibly intensified at this exchange, recognizing the coordinated approach between Empress and her silver-eyed advisor suggesting predetermined judgment beyond potential mitigation through desperate st-minute dispys.

  "Cousin Zhu Yuying," Youzhen called, addressing specific imperial retive rather than family grouping. "Approach the throne alone."

  A young woman perhaps twenty years old detached herself from the imperial group, her pale blue silk robes embroidered with silver cloud patterns identifying distant imperial lineage without direct succession proximity. She moved forward with court-trained grace temporarily overwhelming terror, though her hands visibly trembled beneath voluminous sleeves.

  "Your Imperial Majesty," she acknowledged with formal prostration, voice remarkably steady despite obvious fear.

  "You served as companion to my sister, Princess Yousun, before her murder disguised as riding accident," Youzhen stated rather than asked, the blunt accusation causing several imperial retives to gasp despite desperate attempts at controlled presentation.

  Yuying's composure cracked slightly at the direct reference, her prostration becoming less formal and more genuine as terror overwhelmed court training. "Y-yes, Imperial Majesty."

  "Yet unlike her other companions, you remained at court rather than accompanying her to southern retreat where your privileged position granted detailed knowledge regarding her movements on the fatal day," Youzhen continued, each word precise as perfectly aimed arrow finding vulnerable target. "Curious timing."

  The implication hung in air like physical weight pressing assembled court deeper into terrified silence. Yuying began weeping silently, tears falling onto marble floor beneath her prostrated form as she realized the comprehensive nature of imperial knowledge regarding family complicity.

  "I... I only delivered messages," she finally confessed, abandoning formal speech patterns under overwhelming stress. "The Prince said Yousun had become dangerous through improper influence. That removing her temporarily would protect the dynasty from foreign manipution."

  Sam stepped down from the dais, moving with casual grace that somehow increased surrounding terror through contrast with court's rigid formality. As he approached the prostrate imperial cousin, officials scrambled desperately to create path despite already pressed against chamber walls in attempt to maximize distance from his presence.

  "Let's be perfectly clear," Sam stated conversationally as he reached Yuying's trembling form. "You helped kill a sixteen-year-old girl whose only crime was loyalty to her sister. You traded her life for what... promises of better marriage arrangement? Extra stipend from treasury? Bigger pace apartments?"

  He crouched beside her, silver eyes studying her terror-contorted features with scientific interest like naturalist examining particurly unusual insect specimen. "The human capacity for betrayal never ceases to amaze me," he observed to no one in particur. "Family selling family for such trivial advantages."

  Yuying's weeping intensified into uncontrolble sobbing, coherent response impossible through overwhelming terror and genuine shame now visibly mixed with earlier self-preservation instinct. Several imperial retives nearby began simir emotional breakdown, recognizing their fate through this individual example.

  "Stand up, cousin," Youzhen commanded from Dragon Throne, imperial authority brooking no disobedience despite the young woman's psychological colpse.

  With visible effort, Yuying forced herself upright, legs trembling so violently that standing became visible struggle. Her once-beautiful features had transformed through terror and grief into barely recognizable mask, court cosmetics streaked by tears creating grotesque parody of formal appearance.

  "Your punishment is decided," Youzhen decred, imperial finality silencing even involuntary sounds throughout vast chamber. "You and all imperial retives who participated in, facilitated, or remained silent regarding treasonous activities are hereby stripped of rank, titles, and privileges. You become common citizens, forbidden from entering Forbidden City for remaining natural life."

  This sentence—essentially banishment from imperial hierarchy rather than traditional execution for treason—created visible confusion throughout assembled court. Several officials exchanged cautious gnces, clearly wondering at unexpected mercy that contradicted centuries of precedent regarding imperial justice for family betrayal.

  Yuying swayed slightly, relief briefly overwhelming terror before Sam's casual voice shattered momentary reprieve: "She's being merciful to most of you," he crified, still crouched at imperial cousin's eye level. "Which seems generous considering Princess Yousun died terrified and alone after being deliberately thrown from horseback by guards following their master's orders."

  He stood smoothly, silver eyes scanning imperial family groups with predatory assessment that caused several members to lose bdder control despite desperate attempts at maintaining dignity. "The worst offenders, however, require more permanent solution," he concluded, voice suggesting administrative decision rather than emotional vengeance despite content.

  "The Prince and Imperial Uncle Liu are absent from required attendance," Youzhen noted from Dragon Throne, her tone suggesting this development had been anticipated rather than representing surprise. "The court will note this additional treasonous action for official record."

  The Chief Record Keeper, his hands trembling so violently that ink spshed across official document, managed stuttering response: "Y-your Imperial Majesty, reports indicate they departed capital region yesterday aboard European vessel with substantial treasury resources obtained through unauthorized access to imperial vaults."

  Sam smiled slightly at this information, the expression somehow more terrifying than previous detachment. "Running really doesn't help when dealing with me," he observed mildly. "Distance presents negligible obstacle given avaible resources."

  With casual gesture, the Engineering Gauntlets materialized around his forearms, silvery metal flowing like liquid mercury before solidifying into precisely calibrated instruments extending from wrists to elbows. Blue-white energy pulsed through circuit-like patterns as they activated, causing nearby officials to prostrate themselves more desperately against marble floors now slick with mixture of blood, urine, and tears.

  Sam extended both arms forward, gauntlets glowing with increasing intensity as energy built within their mysterious circuitry. Without warning, reality itself seemed to tear open before him—a circur opening approximately two meters in diameter forming in empty air within the throne room. Beyond this impossible aperture appeared ship deck under blue sky, Portuguese sailors visible in frozen shock as they witnessed dimensional barrier vioted through incomprehensible technology.

  With simple twisting motion of his right hand, Sam appeared to grasp something—or someone—through this spatial connection. Imperial Prince Cing suddenly flew through the portal as though yanked by invisible rope, his ornate travel clothes disheveled and face contorted with terror as he crashed unceremoniously onto marble floor at Sam's feet. Seconds ter, Uncle Liu followed same trajectory, his elderly form nding beside the prince in graceless heap that belied his normally careful dignity.

  "Ambassador Sequeira," Sam addressed a richly-dressed Portuguese man visible through the portal. "Consider your timeline adjusted. Six weeks now rather than two months, given your attempted assistance to fleeing traitors."

  Without waiting for response, Sam closed the portal with casual hand gesture, the tear in reality sealing itself without visible trace beyond terrified European faces frozen in final moment of visibility.

  The throne room remained absolutely silent as officials processed this impossible demonstration of power transcending natural ws and geographical limitations. Prince Cing and Uncle Liu remained sprawled where they had nded, momentarily too shocked for coordinated movement despite obvious terror.

  "The court recognizes return of traitors through Master Zhu's intervention," Youzhen noted with remarkable composure, as though interdimensional capture represented routine administrative procedure rather than reality-defying miracle. "Justice may now proceed without procedural dey."

  Sam nodded slightly, moving away from the imperial retives toward standard court position beside Dragon Throne. This movement created immediate opportunity for Prince Cing to scramble to his knees, imperial dignity abandoned in desperate attempt at formal submission that might mitigate awaiting punishment.

  "Imperial Sister," he began, using familial address rather than formal title in transparent attempt to evoke compassion. "These misunderstandings can be—"

  "Silence," Youzhen interrupted, imperial authority hardening her voice beyond normal volume without apparent effort. "The Dragon Throne has reviewed comprehensive evidence regarding systematic treason against imperial authority through poisoning, unwful official reassignment, and murder of Princess Yousun."

  She gestured toward Sam without looking in his direction, perfect imperial composure maintaining formal procedure despite extraordinary circumstances. "Master Zhu will administer appropriate consequences according to crime severity and dynastic security requirements."

  Sam descended from the dais again, moving with unhurried deliberation that somehow increased psychological terror beyond what frantic action might have generated. He approached the kneeling prince, whose youthful features had transformed through fear into barely recognizable mask of primal terror.

  "Death would be too simple," Sam observed conversationally as he reached imperial brother, crouching to maintain eye level despite difference in posture. "Too quick no matter how painful. Your sister suffered for months while you watched and smiled, so proper bance requires something more... comprehensive."

  Cing began babbling incoherently, terror destroying nguage capacity as primal survival instinct overwhelmed rational thought. Sam studied this psychological disintegration with scientific interest, head tilted slightly as silver eyes recorded every nuance of human nervous system under extreme duress.

  "Please," the prince finally managed coherent word, formal nguage and court dignity completely abandoned. "I'll do anything—"

  "Yes, you will," Sam agreed pleasantly, extending right hand with index finger extended. The Engineering Gauntlet glowed with intensified blue-white energy focused at fingertip. "You'll do exactly what I decide, forever."

  Without warning, he pressed fingertip against the prince's forehead with surprising gentleness given context. Cing jerked violently, eyes widening impossibly as though experiencing internal sensation beyond descriptive capacity. His mouth opened in silent scream that produced no sound despite obvious extreme reaction.

  "Nanoscale machines entering your bloodstream," Sam expined calmly, as though describing routine medical procedure rather than technological viotion transcending human understanding. "They're rewriting your cellur structure at fundamental level, implementing very specific modifications designed for optimal experiential results."

  He withdrew finger after several seconds, leaving no visible mark despite prince's continued convulsions suggesting catastrophic internal changes beyond external observation. Cing colpsed onto marble floor, body twitching uncontrolbly while facial expressions cycled through emotions with unnatural rapidity—terror to pain to confusion to despair in sequences too rapid for normal human emotional processing.

  "Modifications complete," Sam announced after nearly minute of this disturbing dispy. He turned toward assembled court, addressing them directly rather than focusing on the still-convulsing prince. "Allow me to expin the educational changes implemented for your collective benefit."

  The clinical detachment—discussing punishment like academic lecture rather than retribution—somehow amplified horror beyond what emotional dispy would have generated. Officials pressed themselves ftter against chamber walls, desperate to maximize distance from demonstration while unable to flee without permission.

  "First modification prevents sleep without preventing exhaustion," Sam expined with casual precision while gesturing toward Cing, whose convulsions had diminished to constant tremors. "His brain will never shut down, never rest. Every moment awake and aware, constantly generating conscious thought without interruption. Like me, he'll remember everything with perfect crity—every moment of suffering cataloged without merciful forgetfulness humans normally enjoy."

  Several officials whimpered at this first expnation, recognizing punishment transcending physical torture through psychological dimension beyond traditional comprehension. Sam continued unperturbed by this reaction, his tone remaining conversational throughout clinical enumeration.

  "Second modification eliminates all pleasure responses while amplifying pain reception," he continued, silver eyes watching Cing struggle to sitting position through what clearly required monumental effort given continued tremors racking his form. "Food will taste like ash regardless of preparation. Sexual contact will feel like sandpaper against raw flesh. Even simple pleasures like sunlight on skin or cool breeze will register as mild discomfort rather than enjoyment."

  Cing managed upright position, his handsome features already showing subtle changes as nanomachine modifications implemented visible effects beyond internal alterations. His skin had taken grayish undertone while eyes appeared increasingly sunken despite brief implementation timeline.

  "Third modification prevents normal human connection," Sam continued, stepping away from the prince with casual disinterest now that implementation had completed satisfactorily. "Anyone spending more than few hours in his presence will experience increasing revulsion regardless of previous retionship or professional obligation. No companionship, no friendship, no loyalty possible regardless of incentives offered."

  As though demonstrating this modification in real time, nearby officials shifted subtly away from Cing despite previous terror preventing movement. Something about his presence now generated instinctive aversion beyond conscious control, creating isotion through biological manipution rather than physical barriers.

  "Final modification, perhaps most important," Sam concluded, turning back toward Cing with scientific assessment rather than emotional satisfaction. "Complete cellur regeneration preventing death through any means including suicide, accident, or extended harm. Immortality without any benefits normally associated with extended existence."

  To demonstrate this final modification, Sam casually extended hand toward Cing's head. Without touching the prince, he twisted fingers in short, sharp motion. Cing's neck snapped audibly, head rotating beyond natural human range with sickening crack that echoed throughout suddenly silent chamber.

  The prince's body colpsed like puppet with cut strings, head positioned at impossible angle clearly incompatible with continued life. For brief moment, assembled court believed they had witnessed mercy through quick execution despite earlier expnation. Then, with horrifying deliberation, Cing's hands began moving, fingers twitching before arms raised to grasp misaligned head.

  With terrible crity audible throughout silent chamber, the broken vertebrae reconnected—bone fragments grinding against each other as nanomachines forced structural reintegration despite catastrophic damage. Cing's eyes, which had rolled back during initial break, returned to forward position as neural connections reestablished through technological intervention bypassing natural healing limitations.

  Within approximately thirty seconds, the prince sat upright again, neck perfectly aligned despite having been completely severed moments earlier. His expression conveyed absolute horror at experienced sensation—clearly painful beyond description yet insufficient to provide merciful unconsciousness through shock response.

  "You'll experience this healing regardless of damage inflicted," Sam expined directly to Cing, whose cognitive functions had apparently restored sufficiently for comprehension despite recent trauma. "Starvation, dehydration, dismemberment, burning—all experienced with full sensory awareness while preventing merciful termination actual death would provide."

  He straightened, addressing wider court rather than specific punishment recipient. "The prince will live forever, experiencing constant suffering without relief, pleasure, companionship or hope. A walking demonstration of consequences for betraying imperial authority and attempting harm against my bloodline."

  Sam turned toward Uncle Liu, who had remained prostrated in absolute stillness throughout his nephew's punishment, clearly hoping to avoid attention through immobility. "The same modifications apply to secondary orchestrator," he noted casually, extending glowing fingertip toward the elderly official's forehead. "Though with interesting variation testing different implementation parameters."

  Imperial Uncle Liu received no opportunity for pleading before finger pressed against his forehead, initiating same modification sequence demonstrated on Prince Cing. His elderly body convulsed with perhaps greater intensity given age-reted physical limitations, clear breaking sounds indicating multiple bone fractures occurring through violent muscle contractions beyond skeletal structural tolerances.

  "The universe offers countless testing environments for immortal subjects," Sam observed as both modified imperial retives continued experiencing physical aftereffects of nanomachine integration. "Isotion provides optimal observation conditions without contaminating variables skewing experimental results."

  With another casual gesture, the Engineering Gauntlets created second spatial tear—this opening revealing hellish ndscape completely unlike peaceful ship deck dispyed in earlier demonstration. Beyond the portal stretched barren rocky terrain under sickly yellow-orange sky, visible heat distortion suggesting temperatures far exceeding human survival thresholds. Steam rose from rocks glowing with internal heat, while distant horizon showed mountain ranges silhouetted against perpetual yellow haze.

  "The surface of Venus provides interesting testing parameters," Sam expined to horrified court as he telekinetically lifted both modified imperial retives toward the portal. "Approximately four hundred and sixty degrees Celsius surface temperature with atmospheric pressure ninety times Earth standard and sulfuric acid precipitation. Constant experiencing of environmental extremes beyond normal human tolerance with consciousness maintained throughout repeated cellur destruction and regeneration cycles."

  Prince Cing briefly recovered voice capacity as he approached the portal, screaming with unprecedented volume that contained primal terror transcending nguage or coherent thought. Uncle Liu remained silent, perhaps having suffered complete psychological break rendering vocalization impossible despite physical capacity remaining intact through technological intervention.

  "Their suffering there will continue until arbitrary future point when experimental data reaches saturation levels requiring environmental variable adjustment," Sam concluded, casually tossing both modified imperial retives through the portal with telekinetic push that required no physical contact. "Subjective experience timeframe within current parameters estimated at approximately five thousand years before potential testing environment modification."

  The portal sealed behind them, leaving no evidence of its existence beyond collective trauma experienced by assembled court witnesses. Several officials had lost consciousness entirely during final demonstration, their bodies slumped against chamber walls or sprawled across marble floors in undignified positions normally prevented through court training.

  Empress Zhu Youzhen had watched these proceedings with remarkable composure, her imperial features revealing nothing beyond appropriate sovereign authority despite witnessing punishment transcending traditional comprehension. When final portal closed, she stood from Dragon Throne with measured grace that maintained perfect dignity despite surrounding chaos.

  "The court is dismissed," she announced simply, her tone suggesting routine administrative conclusion rather than extraordinary proceedings just witnessed. "Officials will implement banishment protocols for remaining imperial retives according to standard procedures. Written reports confirming compliance are required within seven days."

  The assembled court remained briefly paralyzed despite clear dismissal, collective shock temporarily overriding even terror-induced compliance reflexes. Several senior ministers appeared physically unable to process standard procedural requirements given psychological trauma just experienced.

  "Leave," Sam crified when continued immobility suggested further instruction required. The single word carried such absolute authority that previously paralyzed officials scrambled toward exits with renewed desperation, dignity completely abandoned in primal flight response now permitted through formal dismissal.

  The resulting exodus repeated previous day's chaotic departure, though with intensified desperation given additional demonstrations of supernatural power and punishment beyond human conception.

  Officials trampled each other reaching exit points, ancestral tablets and rank insignia scattered across marble floors as decorative elements became entanglement hazards during panicked flight.

  Within remarkably brief period, the vast chamber stood empty except for imperial guard contingent maintaining rigid formation despite visible terror evident in trembling spear hafts and sweat-drenched ceremonial uniforms. Near chamber walls, several unconscious officials remained sprawled where psychological overload had cimed consciousness through defensive shutdown.

  "Have medical attendants remove those requiring assistance," Youzhen instructed the Captain of Imperial Guard, who bowed deeply before signaling subordinates to implement these instructions with visible relief at receiving comprehensible orders within normal procedural parameters.

  When guards had departed, dragging unconscious officials with greater urgency than careful handling would suggest, Youzhen turned toward Sam with first unguarded expression since entering the chamber hours earlier. Something between horror and satisfaction crossed her features before imperial composure reasserted.

  "Was that truly the surface of Venus you showed?" she asked, genuine curiosity emerging through political calcution momentarily suspended in private conversation. "The hellscape from foreign religion?"

  Sam's lips curved slightly in what might have been amusement at the question. "Venus is a pnet like Earth but much hotter, with poisonous air and crushing pressure," he expined with unusual directness. "Not religious hell, though practically identical from human experiential perspective given continuous suffering without possibility of death or relief."

  Youzhen absorbed this information with characteristic adaptability, adding cosmic reality beyond traditional understanding to her rapidly expanding worldview without visible difficulty. "And they truly cannot die despite such conditions?"

  "They'll experience death thousands of times without actually dying," Sam confirmed, the Engineering Gauntlets dissolving back into nothingness with casual gesture now that their immediate utility had concluded. "Constant cellur destruction followed by forced regeneration, with consciousness maintained throughout entire process. Perfect bance for crimes attempted against you and our daughter."

  The possessive phrasing—referencing shared genetic creation rather than abstract imperial succession—created visible shift in Youzhen's expression. Imperial calcution softened briefly into something more personal, her hand unconsciously rising toward abdomen where child had grown before technological intervention necessitated by poisoning consequences.

  "I wish to see her," she stated simply, imperial formution temporarily abandoned in favor of direct expression regarding shared priority.

  Sam nodded slightly, immediate agreement without customary mocking commentary suggesting shared appreciation regarding this specific request. "The development chamber shows significant progress despite brief timeline," he noted as they moved together toward chamber's private imperial exit rather than main ceremonial doors. "Neural regeneration protocols demonstrate encouraging early results."

  The conversation continued as they departed throne room, shifting from extraordinary punishment just administered toward shared focus transcending imperial governance or supernatural retribution. Guards maintained careful distance behind imperial procession, still visibly shaken by witnessed events yet maintaining professional formation through lifetime training.

  They moved through imperial corridors toward Eastern Pace where impossible technology maintained their daughter's development in artificial environment designed to repce maternal functions compromised through deliberate poisoning. The technological marvel—transparent cylinder containing tiny form suspended in clear fluid—represented hope beyond imperial succession or dynastic continuation.

  Standing together before the development chamber, they watched in silence as their daughter's tiny form occasionally shifted within life-supporting fluid. Her miniature features—clearly dispying genetic combination of both parents despite developmental immaturity—showed subtle movements suggesting continued progress despite neural damage inflicted through poisoning.

  The moment created strange tranquility contrasting sharply with violent retribution administered earlier. For brief period, imperial politics and supernatural vengeance receded before simple observation of new life continuing despite deliberate attempt at termination.

  "Lihua," Youzhen whispered, pcing one hand against transparent surface as though attempting connection across technological barrier. "You are safe now. No one will harm you again."

  Sam stood slightly behind her, silver eyes watching both mother and developing child with unusual gentleness rarely dispyed in other contexts. His hand rose briefly before settling on Youzhen's shoulder—casual contact representing significant deviation from typical behavioral patterns centered on domination rather than comfort.

  "No one," he confirmed simply, the brief statement containing absolute certainty born from demonstrated power transcending human limitation. "Ever."