Prologue: Golden Maso Empress – Dawn of the Karmic Torment Rite

One week before Gloria's arrest and her public declaration ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of defeat as a bitch in the empire's central plaza.

"Your Majesty. You have one week left."

"Indeed."

Gloria, having quelled the rebellion of the imperial citizens, reviews her future plans. Those plans concern the method of utterly destroying her life—from the sequence of her arrest to every subsequent "play," as she calls the execution ritual.

For such a discussion, the atmosphere between Samiel and Gloria remains remarkably relaxed. Samiel frowns as she reads the memo encoded in magic cipher.

"Your Majesty, regarding the first day... it lists torture. Nail-pulling, finger amputation. And then imperial sexual torture targeting the pussy, anus, and erogenous zones..."

"Yes. We have endured much humiliation thus far, but never true torture, have we?"

Gloria crosses one leg arrogantly, smirking with haughty amusement. Since ascending as empress, she has maintained this imperious tone and demeanor. Only by fashioning herself as such an exalted, arrogant empress will her fall hurt all the more.

"But it won't be easy. Sexual torment is entirely different. And this... you can't undo it."

Gloria lets out a small, derisive snort at Samiel's words.

"Ridiculous. Even if we avoid that, do you think the imperial citizens, now knowing all the truths, will let us off gently? Besides, compared to the finale of our plan, this is nothing."

"........."

Samiel purses her lips in silent affirmation. The downfall Gloria has designed for herself will be among the most ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brutal in the empire's history. Thinking mere torture is nothing by comparison is hardly unreasonable.

"Moreover, Samiel. Do you think we are unaware that you scheme something on our behalf? We can easily guess you've been acting beyond our sight of late."

"Of course. That was the contract from the start. Delivering Your Majesty the worst possible ruin. For an empress with such warped lusts and values, I believed there must be several unexpected methods."

Gloria sips from a goblet of finest wine. Her sleek throat undulates; her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lewd, massive breasts swell and contract with each breath. The muscles of her thick, bound thighs flex enticingly; her silken hair sways. Maintaining just that hair, that body, costs the price of a house per day. Thus, Gloria—barely into her early thirties—shows no trace of aging. While abundant mana grants longevity, hers is exceptional. She embodies both ripe maturity and vulgar youth.

The first empress, tyrant supreme, Gloria smiles arrogantly, her face faintly flushed with excitement.

"Torture, is it... How truly thrilling.....♡"

"Mmmph!!! Grrraaahhh!!!!!"

Snip. Snip. Snip!

Strapped to the torture chair, Gloria thrashes wildly, pounding her body against the restraints. Despite the iron bonds holding her firm, attendants press down on her shoulders.

"Stohop!! Stohop it!!"

Thanks to the hole-pierced ball gag, she barely manages intelligible sounds—that's all.

"Again! Regenerate her!"

"Gyaahhhh!!"

Gloria's fingertips are all severed, but magic regenerates them swiftly. The restraint's front is drenched in crimson blood and her severed fingers. The executioners hurl them toward the crowd, who trample, burn, and defile Gloria's discarded flesh.

Right after Gloria's bitch defeat declaration, the masses erupt in chaos for hours—cheers, frenzy, curses, rage, disappointment. Once somewhat calmed, the rebel leader declares to the throng: let her pay for her crimes in full. For Gloria, indirectly responsible for nearly a million deaths through war, famine, drugs, crime—the first punishment is imperial torture until nightfall or the citizens' satisfaction.

"Guhk!! Guuooohhh!!"

Phantom pain scorches her severed fingers. It hurts. Hurts. Unlike pleasure, itch, or postural pain—this is pure malice, torture for agony alone. No ecstasy, no arousal. Each dull clank of the iron shears severs a finger. Her long, elegant digits—her pride—fall, regenerate. Once fingers are gone, toenails are yanked one by one. Then salt water poured fresh.

"Kyaahhhh!!!"

Not even a pig's squeal. Gloria unleashes primal screams like a beast devoured alive. No regret—just desperate escape from this pain. Her mind knows it's thrilling; her body rebels. Cut more, you filthy whore. Slut. Kill her. Not enough yet— such jeers rain down.

Gloria gazes skyward. The sun hangs midday—meaning half a day more of this.

—Torture, is it... How truly thrilling.....♡ Her own words, not long ago. This torture surpasses her expectations. Simply ripping out every fingernail and toenail, salting, severing, regenerating. Such basic acts, yet devastatingly effective.

Shudder♡ Shuuuudder♡

In excruciating agony, Gloria sprays yellow piss across the chair. Hundreds of thousands mock, jeer, scorn. Anyone tortured thus would break. In that instant, pain yields to profound shame and submission. A flicker of rage at the sneering citizens—but

"Gyak?! N-nooo!! Guuuuhhh!!! Aaaahhh!!!!"

She can't vent it. Torturers mechanically shear her remaining toes. At the blade's touch, her body tenses reflexively; merciless shears clank clank, slicing flesh, snapping bone.

"Pissing pig needs punishment!"

"Yeah!"

"Rip her cunt!"

"H-ha... what?!"

Gloria stares in despair at the piss-streaming citizens' cries. The fervor spreads; instantly, a massive dildo appears—thorn-studded monstrosity, forearm-thick, spiked at the tip.

"......!!!"

Terror shakes her. A woman's vagina is delicate—soft mucosa, muscle, fat for pleasurable coupling. Shoving that mercilessly into such a vital, sensitive core—

She thrashes futilely. Knows it's pointless, can't stop. Now she truly understands the countless women she's tortured, and even Alisa's plight. Not mere pleasure or fear—irresistible violation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠demands flight.

Even she, veteran of endless pleasure torments and succubi dildos, is no exception.

"Thrust! Thrust! Thrust it in!"

"Kill the filthy whore!!"

Amid the gazes, roars, demands for her pain, Gloria feels inexplicable ecstasy through the horror. Men, in deep fury, revel in shattering the empire's loftiest woman—near madness. No one has faced life's end like Gloria.

"Hic......♡ Huh, huh...! Heuk! Oof?!"

The torturer grips the dildo, rams it into her pussy. Splaaaat! Thorns shred her insides, battering her cervix.

"Kuuuuhhh!!!! Wooaaahhhh!!!!!"

Crack. Her teeth shatter against the ball gag. Like knives gutting her pussy—hooks rending her depths. Eyes roll back. No remnant of empress dignity, woman's pride. Heart pounds fiercer than ever.

With deafening cheers, the dildo withdraws—gore-soaked anew, flung skyward. All roar at the sight.

"Ohk......!! Ohk..........! Kr, oooh! Oooohf!!"

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Beyond immense agony lies only more unfamiliar torment. Gloria squirts piss and clear squirt. Amid jeers of whore, hopeless maso bitch, she touches rapture.

Warm healing floods her, mending the stretched, ruined pussy, regenerating severed digits. But more awaits.

Long, beautiful iron needles—dozens.

"Uwoooohh!!? Guhk! Guuuuhhh!!"

Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab♡ Stab♡ Stab♡

Needles pierce her huge nipples, thread her bursting tits. Yellow milk ducts and fat dangle from their tips—dozens more to come.

"Huuuuhhh!!! Ohk!! Oooohk?!"

Bound hand and foot, Gloria watches needles stud her nipples and breasts. Her massive tits fill half her view—now pincushions, tips bloodied yellow.

Breasts done, next: pussy and clit. For precision, restraints splay her legs wider—like a gymnast's split. Pussy and asshole exposed to all; swollen, erect clit bared. Vulgar steam wafts her bitch scent. Her pretty abs convulse—obscene, beautiful.

"Ha.... haaa............♡"

First day. Just the first. Atonement's start. For a week, she'll endure every method she devised—treated not as bitch, but sub-toilet tool—her life ending.

Painful, agonizing—yet enjoyable still. This pain, shame, cold scorn, disappointment, rage, hatred. Regret. All as she craved.

Will Gloria regret nothing till the last day? For one wish—to feel alive—she shreds her thriving life, plunges into hell's abyss. Can she truly never regret this choice?

With trembling pupils, she eyes the needle spearing her clit.