Ethane pushed open the heavy, oak door to the anteroom, opposite of the holding cells. His footpaws squelched in the mud as he stepped outside, his black cloak held close to him. The cowl that hid his face billowed in the wind, and the ax strapped to his back felt heavier today.

The dark, charcoal clouds hung low and menacing, and there was a light drizzle misting the drab streets of Bennegaris, the ashen stoned castle of Gadrisett. A great wall encircled the fortress, and there were countless settlements on the outskirts. The gates were open to the public during the day, and traders and merchants fought madly with each other for business. The shops outside Bennegaris (well, and everything else) were considered ‘less desirable’ or ‘found wanting.’

Ethane’s silent misery was more palpable on this ugly day. Behind him, Captain Lucian, a tall and powerful mouse, emerged from the gloom, followed by two High Guards, both of them otters. They all wore traditional armor, but Lucian’s was much more dashing.

Creatures of all manner and creed were watching them, having stopped in their daily bustle. Vermin were seen regularly in and beyond the castle walls, but they were treated with secret disdain. There was always a quiet tension, never a moment of true acceptance.

Except when there was an execution...

Whether it be a squirrel or a fox, weasel or a mole, everybeast would gather around the town square, where an ancient, decrepit platform was erected, made entirely of rotting wood. A chopping block was the only thing that stood on what Ethane personally called ‘The Stage.’

Per verbatim, a priest followed the decorated military unit, an old hedgehog named Job.

Goodbeasts were usually the ones in power or in public standing. A fox or a stoat may be enrolled in the High Guard, but most beasts wanted to see their leaders or head-figures as their own. Even Vermin didn’t complain about this openly. The majority of them really didn’t care, and were just as ready to leave it to others.

Lastly, the prisoner was escorted by three mice in unkempt garb, the colors red and blue adorned their smocks. He was shackled, bound at the wrist and foot paws with heavy chains.

The surrounding crowd exploded when they saw the condemned squirrel, and they threw whatever rotten, stinking vegetables they could lay paws on.

"Typical cowards." Ethane grunted under his mask.

The party walked through the crowd, making their way down the west street to an intersection. From there, they turned right, and soon they reached the chopping block.

The squirrel had been riddled with insults and taunts, kicks and punches. He remained silent all the while, head hung, a broken soul.

Ethane walked up the small flight of stairs and looked over the masses.

‘This is what it takes,’ the young mouse thought sadly as he watched Lucian and his lackeys stroll boldly onto the platform, ‘This is what it takes to bring goodbeasts and vermin together.’

Job came to stand in front of the block, and the prisoner was forced to his knees. The sickly squirrel’s head was pushed down on the molding wood, and then bound with a thin twine to prevent him from straining.

Ethane stood to the left, and Lucian stood to the right.

"To all those that see their malefactor," Job intoned, "And to the skies above, in The Eye of God, we find our brother lost."

The old priest stepped back, and Lucian came to look down on the squirrel. Ethane watched with apathetic control, having done this countless times. He didn’t want to look into the victims eyes, didn’t want to think that possibly this creature was innocent.

‘It’s most likely that he is faultless.’ the executioner thought, ashamed and disgusted with Bennegaris’ corrupted judicial systems. Ethane tried to avoid learning the prisoner’s names, in hopes of further dulling his compunctious reflections.

"How do you plead?" Lucian demanded.

The squirrel tried to raise his head.

"I... I can’t..." he choked against the block.

The captain struck the prisoner an ugly blow across the face with his gauntlet, smearing blood everywhere. Ethane wanted to strike the stupid mouse, wanted to knock some sense into Lucian’s dull, insipid features. What point was there in further torturing a beast that was about to die? It was cruel, obtuse.

The executioner tried to hold on to his anger, tried to fancy himself jabbing Lucian between the whiskers, but he soon found that he was staring at the condemned goodbeast. The poor thing was now beyond words, having the last bit of strength knocked out of him.

If the prisoner would not speak, or could not, in this case, then it was preordained that he or she had admitted their guilt, and that Job could give his final blessing.

"May Eden take you in her loving arms, and Her Daughters keep you safe." the hedgehog said.

"Go, and let God be with you."

Ethane finally moved, producing his ax from it’s straps across his back. Always at this point, there was a moment of total silence.

Everybeast was watching him now...

Ethane raised the weapon high, taking careful aim. His ax was always as sharp as winter’s bite, and the death blow was never off by a hair. He did everything he could to deliver a swift, merciful death. He imagined that his victims never felt any pain at all, but were released from this hard world and delivered to a better place.

He fabricated all of this, but in the end, there was always that sick, powerful drag that plagued his heart and clouded his mind. Every time he took a life, he knew he was getting closer to something...

Something he desperately didn’t want to become.

The young mouse glanced around him once. Everybeast near ‘The Stage’ was so... Eager.

Primitive.

‘Am I really any better?’ Ethane wondered distantly as he brought the ax down, decapitating his ethics.