The whip slapped into the slave’s back, ripping skin from his hip to his shoulder blade. There was no scream, no groan of protest or even a hiss of pain. The harsh Egyptian sun showed a slave given in to the end. He slumped against the stone, his blood joining the mosaic painting of hundreds that came before him.
One more time, the whip snapped into his back, releasing more blood and skin to fall to the red blotched sands. He still moved though, feebly trying to do something, anything as his body screamed against the torment his mind and mouth had long before succombed to. It was an autonomous response, nothing more.
The overseer holding the cruel whip was apparently frustrated his victim was no longer viable enough for his pleasure. With a curt gesture, he instructed the other slaves to remove the body and dispose of it, alive or dead. He didn’t care, he had other victims to apply his skill set to.
The slave’s barely moving body was unceremoniously hauled upward once the shackles were released. His near-corpse then was carried to the edge of the Nile river and just as unceremoniously as before, tossed into the water. His hands twitched slightly as his over-taxed brain realized there was a new threat. It was already far too late for him though. The twitching limbs lasted less than a minute before the slave was a true corpse, a state slightly above what he had been if anyone asked the Overseer.