Flagellation

His skin misshaped itself to the power of the whip. The glass on the end of the frays pulled into his skin like hooks, and didn't let go as they left his back. Each crack in the air shattered his morale, breaking both his skin and his spirit. He didn't let them hear him scream. Every ounce of pain was an ounce he forced back, until his eyes felt like they would burn away from it.

The crack of the whip sounded in the air again, tearing straight down his back and effectively removing more skin via the glass. The whipping only stopped for a short moment, but the pain didn't. Hands bound to a stone block, no movement from the area was plausible.

The stationary torture device was lowered unto his head. His very own crown sat on him, but certainly not a crown of glory. A crown of sharp thorns which would deface him with his own fluid. This is where the only scream he gave came out. The scream was not in pain, but a simple phrase.

I love you all!

The crown fitted, they ignored his remarks. They did as they were sent to do, and continued the whipping. Glass assault after glass assault, the muscle of his back began to show its face to the rest of the word. This was the same very moment his own blood reached down his face from his crown, and the closing ends of his life due to blood loss and pain.

As he faded away into unconsciousness, he could swear he saw a God. Not theirs. He was but one of the many this deity would greet. The Crusades would live on to kill countless more.