Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 402

Chapter 402: ’Torture Like No Other.’ Pt. 2

Trigger Warning: This Chapter contains intense psychological trauma, physical violence, and emotionally disturbing content. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

"N-No more... please... no more..."

Florian’s voice was barely audible now—dry, hoarse, and broken. It was more breath than sound, a pitiful whimper from a body and mind pushed far beyond the limits of pain and sanity.

He didn’t know how long he’d been here. Time had ceased to exist. There was only agony.

He had seen too many visions—memories that didn’t belong to him, but now lived inside him like splinters under skin. The original Florian’s suffering—his abuse, his isolation, his unspoken cries for love. Each vision twisted something inside Florian until he couldn’t tell if he was seeing someone else’s past or his own.

And with every vision, came pain.

The same place. The same blade.

His thighs—both—were covered in puncture wounds. Torn flesh, hot blood, then a cold glow as the healer restored enough of him to keep going. Over and over again. Hurt. Heal. Hurt again.

’Death... would be mercy.’ The thought drifted through Florian’s mind, hazy and dull. He wasn’t even afraid of dying anymore. Only afraid of not dying fast enough.

"One more?" the leader asked casually, like they were discussing a dessert. He tilted his head, grinning at Florian’s motionless body. "Before we get to the finale?"

There was no answer.

Florian couldn’t speak. He couldn’t lift his head. He couldn’t even cry anymore.

His body was trembling, but not from struggle—his limbs had long since gone limp. He was cold. So, so cold.

He didn’t respond. But it didn’t matter. It never mattered.

A hand reached down again—familiar now in the worst way—and cupped his face, covering his eyes. The palm began to glow.

Florian didn’t resist. He couldn’t.

’Heinz...’ he thought, the name echoing in the hollow space where his will used to be.

’Heinz, please... please come for me... please...’

Like a child begging a parent to come into the room when the nightmares came. Like a boy clinging to the idea of a protector, a savior, someone who saw him. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

’Heinz... help me...’

He kept repeating it in his head, over and over, a mantra. A prayer.

Because what else was left?

’Heinz... help me... please...’

He had begged before. The original Florian had begged too. Begged to be noticed. Begged to be wanted. Begged to be saved.

What was the difference between them now?

Nothing.

He was Florian now—in every way that mattered.

As the light consumed his vision and the memory began to pull him down once more, he felt himself fall inward, deeper and deeper into despair.

And then it came.

Another vision.

Another nightmare.

"I have nothing more to say to him. Proceed with the execution," Heinz said coldly, his voice cutting through the air like the blade about to fall.

No emotion. No tremor. No hesitation.

Just the order.

Florian’s chest constricted—not from fear, but something far crueler. He didn’t even flinch. Not even now. The man Florian had once worshipped like a god... wouldn’t even look at him.

But instead of tears or pleas, a sound broke the silence.

Laughter.

Sharp, echoing, unhinged.

Florian threw his head back, laughing so loudly it rang through the courtyard like a bell of madness. His bound frame shook with each soundless sob masked as glee.

The crowd recoiled in shock. Some gasped, others covered their mouths. Even the executioner hesitated.

The princesses exchanged glances, their carefully curated masks beginning to crack. Whispers swept through the gathered nobles like wildfire.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the herald snapped, visibly unsettled. "Is something funny, traitor?!"

Florian didn’t answer him. His chuckles slowly faded into breathless exhales, his shoulders trembling from the weight of everything he had held in for far too long.

His gaze found Heinz—always, always Heinz.

Even now, Heinz wouldn’t meet his eyes.

’You won’t even give me that, will you?’

The final betrayal wasn’t the execution. It wasn’t the false charges. It wasn’t even the isolation. It was this silence. This refusal to see him.

To remember who he was to him.

"Executioner," Heinz said again, firmer this time. "Do not delay. End this madness."

The executioner adjusted the blade. Florian felt the cold, cruel metal kiss the back of his neck.

A breath.

A heartbeat.

And still, his eyes never left Heinz.

He closed his own only briefly, letting the weight of what was to come settle into his chest.

And then, softly, he began to speak.

"My dearest Heinz..." his voice trembled with something old and raw, "I loved you. From the moment I first saw you, I gave you my heart... even when you didn’t want it."

Gasps echoed again. Whispers grew louder.

"I endured your cold stares, your harsh words, the endless silence... all so I could stay by your side. Even if it meant bleeding for you. Even if it meant breaking for you."

His voice cracked.

"I would’ve suffered with you forever... if it meant I didn’t have to live a single day without you."

He opened his eyes again. And this time—

Heinz was looking at him.

Their gazes finally met.

The world stilled.

For a heartbeat, it was only them. Just like it had always been, in the quiet moments between war and duty, in the fragile pauses of their shared history.

And in that sacred breath, Florian mouthed something.

Something only Heinz would see. Something meant only for him.

"I am pregna—"

’Beheaded...?’

’He was pregnant...?’

That wasn’t anything Florian had ever read, seen, or remembered.But he felt it.

He felt the weight of a life lost twice over.

’Who...? Who was the father? Was it—’

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