"Resisting will worsen your situation, I ask for your cooperation," the official said.
Marshall shook his head, trying to dodge the officials hands reaching for him. Cooperation? It was hopeless. He had to get away before they locked him up.
Just before he could be cornered, the disciple made a run for it. He yanked the door open with such force that it was a miracle the hinges didn't break.
Frenzied steps filled the hall, reverberating through the staircase. His bare feet slipped on the marbled stairs a few times.
Marshall managed to make it down to the main entrance. Yet, the sealed tall doors met him like a slap in the face. He threw himself at the doors, fingers scrabbling at the smooth wood, but they refused to budge.
"No, no, no," Marshall muttered, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please, let me out..."
He begged the doors to open as if they had thoughts and a heart.
Behind him, the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, echoing off the smooth floors. The officials were just a floor away, about to catch up.
Marshall's breaths quickened, chest tightening. He spun around, wild eyes darting for another escape route, but the hallway stretched out empty and unforgiving.
The disciple stepped back and hurled his body against the doors again, ignoring the pain that shot through his shoulder.
Without warning, a searing pain exploded across his back as the golden whip lashed out, the crack sharp and merciless.
The force of the blow threw him away from the entrance, his body hitting the cold floor hard. He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, the pain radiating through him in waves.
Gritting his teeth, Marshall pushed himself back up, his body trembling. "I didn't do anything!" he exclaimed, voice hoarse and desperate. "The witness is lying!"
"The truth will come out during the trial," stated the official holding the whip, his tone firm and final.
Countless hands reached out to restrain him, yet he had nowhere to run.
➳ ➳ ➳
Marshall sat in a dimly lit basement prison. Spiritual bars flickered in front of his cell, separating him from the freedom.
His body ached from the whip, and the bars crackled in the same dangerous way. He scoffed, feeling the spiritual energy being drained out of him. Great defense system—drain the prisoners spiritual flow until they were as harmless as flies.
The more he thought about the situation, the more unfair it felt. Frustration built in his chest, quickening his breath, but the disciple shook his head, trying to stay calm.
"Don't despair. You won't die," he told himself, although he wasn't fully sure of it.
Why had nobody been on his side in the conference room? Why did nobody question it?
Marshall might have broken rules here and there, but it was never that serious. Master Gi Shan couldn't have truly believed that he was capable of murder.
The disciple reached down to pluck at the ripped part of his outer robe. He even went to sleep without taking it off, so when could someone have ripped a piece from it?
"Ah... damn it," Marshall threw the hem of his robe down, staring at the moldy ceiling.
It was unbelievable. He wanted to cry, so he started laughing. He had never wronged anyone! Why was this happening? None of it made sense!
The prison guard, a burly man with a stern face and gray streaks in his hair, scrutinized him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. He folded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm.
"Don't know what you're laughing about, boy," the guard said, his tone brusque but not unkind. "This ain't a funny situation. It's serious. The Arbiter doesn't take accusations lightly."
Marshall stared at the guard through the shimmering bars, the grin stuck on his face. "They framed me."
"Who did? The heavens?"
The disciple opened his mouth, but couldn't find a reply.
The guard sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Everyone who comes here thinks they've been wronged. They either blame the powerholders or their circumstances."
Marshall slumped against the wall, his energy draining with each passing second. "And you think all of them were guilty?"
The guard scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It ain't my place to judge or intervene. My job's to keep you locked up until they sort things out."
Marshall chuckled. "I doubt they would have dragged me in here like a criminal if there was anything left to sort out."
The guard shrugged, shaking his newspaper open again. "Tough luck, kid."