There is no beginning. There is no initial point where the hurt began and the reality faded into the shadows. I remember nothing but a vast space of emptiness since the last time my tired eyes were blessed with any real light. I try to recall memories of the past but am greeted with blank images instead. There is no beginning. There is only the present.

…

…

…

Now. Do you hear that?

…

There it is again.

…

Again! Do you not hear that cry so terrible it could silence the screech of a harpy and raise decaying corpses out of their graves…woe! Do not give me that confused expression…surely, if you haven't heard these wretched cries then those useless ears attached to the sides of your head are deaf…or perhaps I alone can hear it? To me, this cry sounds familiar. Its eerie vibration pulsates through my mind like a ringing bell…oh, yes.

It's the cry of vengeance.

"Eat up."

I slide a ceramic bowl filled to the brim with a white, soupy mixture towards you. In the dim rays of the candles, you can distinguish large chips and scratches in the porcelain but it's not what makes your stomach churn. Instead, it's the small creatures coated in a shade of sickly yellow wriggling around in the gruel as they will soon do in you insides—maggots. You probably feel the need to throw up just by looking at it. You eye the maggot-infested rice with disgust yet your stomach rumbles desperately.

"What's wrong?" I jeer, flinging my foot out sharply and kicking the bowl closer towards you. "Is this meal not appetizing enough for your tastes? Shall I retrieve some salt and pepper for his royal highness?"

Don't be surprised that I provided you with food not even sufficient enough for barnyard animals. If anything, this is mercy on my part for you deserve so much less than this meal. I'm waiting for you to get angry, to lose control and rush towards me with nothing on your mind but pure rage so that I can howl in laughter when the shackles around your wrists confine your movement and prevent you from marring my face. However, it's as if you can read my mind because you do nothing of the sort and merely keep your cool.

"Forgive me if I am not rushing to devour your cuisine," you reply in a false voice that suggests I'd just offered you sugar for your tea. "I was merely waiting for you to choke on the parasites of your own delicious meal and die."

My, my…such pride, such arrogance. How can you still maintain such confidence even in such a morose situation such as the one you're caught in now?

Intrigued, I kneel down and cup your cheek with a hand; you flinch immediately, obviously not prepared by my intimate action. Mm… Your face—you have such pale, soft skin—my dirty, calloused hand that cups your cheek sizzles with burning pain because it is such a fiery sin to destroy this type of exquisiteness—I doubt the most delicate petal of a rosebud could match the silkiness of your skin—your face is so beautiful, so perfect—

—I hate it.

Without warning, I whip the back of my hand across your face. A smirk curls on my lips when you utter a soft groan of pain…it was unintentional, I presume? Yes. The great and powerful Edo Phoenix would never degrade himself into showing a flicker of weakness unless placed under the right circumstances. The circumstances I made. And to prove that I am the one in control, that I am the one calling the shots, my hand strikes your face once more just to show that I have the power this time. Not you, me.

Another groan emits from your lips…lords, you're driving me crazy. Make that sound again, that feeble little whimper laced with hurt and not a droplet of pride. That's exactly what I want to erase—your pride. Arrogant brats like you need to be put in their place. A few minutes tick by and slowly, ever so slowly, greenish-purple bruises appear on both sides of your once flawless face.

Hah.

There. I ruined it.

I ruined your perfection.

What do you have to say about that, Edo Phoenix?

"Fuck you, Hell Kaiser."

Hah. Curse at me all you want—your petty belittling comments don't mean a thing. Who are you to speak so high and mighty when you're the one with chains around their wrists? You have no authority in this realm. You have no right to speak against your master, child. I see a shimmer of fear in those lovely gray-silver eyes of yours. Good. Once you run out of will to fight back and that conceited mask slips off, I'll kindle this speck of fear and coax it out of the cocoon of stubbornness you hid it in until your entire existence depends on fear—the fear for me. In due time, your romantic notion of justice will be discarded among broken glass and you'll only exist to please me. Soon, I will be your everything and your nothing, your savior and your tormentor, your only reason for living.

Why, your eyes are asking, why have you isolated me from society, chained me, and now forcing me to live off parasite-infested meals?

The answer is simple, Phoenix: you hurt me. Most people will never experience in there lifetimes a fraction of the pain I have suffered through in the two month period since you've handed me my most humiliating defeat. I've gone to hell and back. Have you ever been there? Surely somebody as wicked as yourself has earned a one-way trip to meet with the devil—oh, but what am I saying? Your crystal white perfection has allowed you to shed all your nasty sins, not matter how evil, no matter how dark, and live in eternal paradise. Hmph, so you haven't been to hell. Then you know nothing of it. You, being the naïve, ignorant brat you are, probably envision waves of fire when I mention the word. You think of demons in red with devil horns carrying three-pronged tridents, do you not? Answer me, do you not?

"…I-I don't know."

Hmph. Well, this is not the case at all. In contrary to popular religious beliefs, hell is not a scorching pit carved into the center of the earth where the unworthy dead scream and burn in blazing flames. In reality, it is a cold mountaintop where the sinned are exposed to vast emptiness and eternal reclusion far away from the comfort of interacting with other people. You sit on the mountaintop for all eternity, contemplating the sins that landed you there in the first place until your sanity disintegrates into snowflakes.

I know.

I've been there.

Now I want you to be there too. I want you to suffer through what I had to suffer through—have you ever felt the pain of defeat, I think not—you didn't have to suffer through what I had to—countless nights of insomnia, the squirming, twisting worms of guilt burrowing into my insides—I wonder if you ever felt a kind of anguish where you see one quick glimpse of the word duel and feel the urge to vomit directly on the spot.

But this does not mean I want to kill you. Honestly, I have no intention of terminating your life. It's not because I pity you or that I am a coward afraid to kill. This simply is not the case. The reason why I allow your heart to continue beating is because you don't deserve death which is so painless and quick and fleetingly. What made you so worthy of such a sanctified thing? Yet, perhaps I might have to. Because even if I break you into thousands of tiny fragments and all that remains is a soulless shell, that soulless shell will still haunt me and scar me and nibble away at my sanity until all the threads suspending my clear frame of brain are broken and my thoughts come crashing down into millions of pieces on the floor. So, yes, just perhaps there is a chance I will have to murder your pitiful life. I'll have to ruin that pristine face of yours and break your bones and slit your throat and quarter your corpse.

You cast your gaze up at me, detesting and loathing, but silly child—don't you know your glares no longer have an effect on me? The icy, petulant glare fixed on your stone-cold expression entertains your foolish notion that it perhaps might intimidate me? Oh, oh… You're such a child—so raw and innocent despite your 'brilliant' accomplishments as a teenage protégé. You still have a child's mind which makes you pure. Too pure.

How would you taste, I wonder? What does purity taste like anyhow?

I lean forward, seize your chin and lock our mouths together, crushing my lips onto yours. For a few golden seconds, you're too shocked to object. Then you begin to struggle. Thrash around violently. Squirm against your chains. Just what am I doing to you, your numbed mind tries to register—by letting me claim your lips with unrestrained dominance, succumbing to your greatest fears for not the first time in your life? Of all the methods of torture…of all the guns and nails and aluminum bats available to deranged sickos in search of revenge…I chose this one… Male rape? When has that ever appeared in the newspapers, anyway?

Oh. But please, Phoenix—do not think I'm doing this out of lust. Your face and body may be beautiful but I hate it—hate it with passion and this is just my form of inflicting my domination over you. It's working already, don't you see? So bite me, will you? Try to resist. Struggle for me.

After a few moments, I break the kiss and lick my lips, feeling the taste of you linger on my taste buds. You taste like cinnamon and myrrh. This is hardly a surprise—after all, wasn't it said that the phoenix would build itself a nest made of cinnamon sticks before igniting on fire and being reborn in an egg made of myrrh? You're truly what the legends say.

I rip open your suit. Buttons strike the floor you're bound to, clinking and rattling against the hard surface in a unique rhythm before their movement halts completely. Without that sheet of fabric covering your torso, your creamy white skin is visible under the dim candlelight of the room. So perfect. There's not a single discolored blemish or scratch despite all the seemingly dangerous sports you participate in. Normal humans would have at least one scar or a disfiguring wound from an accident, but not you, oh no, you're too pure for that.

Without warning, I sink my teeth into a tender spot just above your shoulder blades. A hoarse cry escapes your lips. Rivers of blood trickle from your wound, painting your once-pallid canvas red—so there. I lap the blood off your skin. So salty and metallic…yes, I believe I prefer this over than the prior spiciness I tasted.

"You—goddamn—faggot—"

...how dare you...

No. Stay calm. Deep breaths. A mind clouded with anger can never make appropriate decisions and eventually lead to failure. Ah hah. Now I understand what you want to do. You're purposely aggravating me so I can no longer see the clarity of the situation and succumb to frustration. Then in my moment of befuddled weakness, you will pounce and overthrow me like a serf would to the Kaiser. But I am much smarter than you give me credit for. Do not underestimate my ability for that will be the last mistake you will make before your life ends.

I suppose I'll have to teach you a lesson in humiliation.

I remove a small black bottle from my pocket and twist off the cap, noticing your look of trepidation. Smirking, I tip my head back to drain the entire formula in a few chugs, feeling it burn the back of my throat. As they say: the bitterer the medicine, the better. I wipe the liquid that trickled out the corner of my mouth with the back of my arm and toss the bottle to the side. Instantly, a tremor surges through me.

I close the gap between us until we are all but inches apart from touching. You shiver involuntarily at this closeness, though the defiance is still sharp in your eyes. My hand trails down to my waistline and open the buckle fastening the thin strip of leather around my lower abdomen. I watch with curious interest as your eyes grow wide when I unzip my pants and order you to suck. You never saw it coming, did you? You never thought even for a moment that you'd be humiliated by such a crude, yet effective method. From the shocked expression on your face, the wheels to your mind seem to have been momentarily jammed. Then your lips part and a single defiant word cuts through the air.

"No."

Little bitch. I try to squeeze your jaw open, but you have the nerve to bite my finger before my hand reaches your chin. I backhand you harshly. You little cunt…I'll make you pay…

You make a motion to jerk away in revulsion but I grab onto a fistful of your silver, silver hair and force you to deepthroat me. Little streams of saliva trickle out of the corner your mouth as I push my erection further into your mouth with each thrust. You're wild now. You thrash around in the resemblance to a dying fish, edging so desperately to get out of this sticky situation… whoops. Your face burns red with shame when a surge of sticky, hot cum fills your mouth, making you gag and sputter and gasp for breath. Rejection is automatically on your mind for you won't swallow something so vile—not in a million years. You end up coughing most of it out, though the residues run down your chin. I know if your hands weren't in bondage, you would have wiped away every last drop of my cum from your face and possibly even run your tongue over your sleeves for good measure.

I smirk. What a pretty sight.

"Bitter?"

"…u-up yours, you sonofabitch…"

Then with just a few sharp tugs, the rest of your clothing detaches from your body so now you're sitting in a nest of torn fabric and frayed threads. You look terrified; your will to resist has long since been torn into shreds. I dig my fingernails into your thighs and force your legs apart.

You scream when I penetrate you and I laugh.

Where's your arrogance, Phoenix?

Where's your pride now?

I pause during the first few seconds to savior the ecstatic feeling of domination before continuing thrusting into you, making my strides slow yet bitingly sharp. I want to prolong this torment as long as possible, so it'll stay imprinted in your mind for weeks to come. I find myself moaning as electrifying pleasure shoots through me. Though I said I didn't lust after you in the prior instances, I might have to reconsider. It's hard to deny that you're so tight, Phoenix.

Between the bouts of screaming are your pleas for me to stop which I savor each one in turn. You finally lost it, haven't you, Phoenix? Finally gave up on your stubborn, taciturn pride and succumbed to animal weakness. Cowardly begging. Your fingers tightly grip the chains to seek a source of solace, a way to channel the pain into something other than screams. Tears pitter-patter off your cheeks—on the ground, on my shoulder—and you bury your face into my chest to muffle your screaming, as if worried that the walls have ears and will recite every shameful scream to the outside world. I thrust into you until my seed coats your pale thighs, white-hot and dripping and wet; every muscle in my body quavers in ecstasy when we finally peak at climax; you voice is too hoarse to bear another scream so you writhe in mute agony while I utter a long, satisfied groan as my cum floods your insides. The surfeit spurts out in clumped gobs and dribbles down your thighs in thin, spidery lines.

I throw your imperfect body to the ground. There's a sickening thud when you hit the concrete like a battered rag doll.

…what a pitiable sight you are.

The once strong, effusive Edo Phoenix now reduced to nothing more than a whimpering puppy curled up in a fetal position. Sweat trickles down your forehead in crystal-sized beads and end its path at your mouth where it mingles with the streams of semen and saliva dribbling down your chin. The indigo irises of your eyes are glassy and enlarged. Your breathing is harsh and sporadic and comes out in uneven gasps. You're shaking, quivering, trembling—completely and utterly broken. How does it feel, Phoenix?

Wait a minute.

Something feels wrong…yes, something's wrong, but what is it…?

Your eyes…they're different now. They're not fearful any longer, not dead or glazed.

I clutch my chest. It feels hot. My chest feels like a match has been lit inside of it.

Ugh…

…stop…what is this…? What is this emotion? It's like a hundred poison-drenched silver-blade daggers piercing my heart all at once—why am I feeling this? Why does it hurt so much? What are you doing to me you piece of shit?

How the fuck do you still have so much pride?

Suddenly, you laugh.

"...of all things..."

Your laugh sounds so similar to mine to the point where they are almost mirror reflections. The fear in your voice disappears and is replaced with twisted amusement instead. But why? WHY? Where did the axe fall and your terror suddenly turn into mirth? Why? STOP LAUGHING. How dare you mock me—I'll kill you—

Kill…

Even bruised and bloodied with your suit hanging in shreds and teeth marks littering your skin and blood oozing down your legs, you're still beautiful. The taste, the touch, the smell of perfection still lingers on you and nothing on this planet will get rid of it. No matter how much I cut you up, no matter how deep my teeth sink into your shoulders or how painful my fingernails claw at your torso or how senseless I fuck you—none of that matters—you'll still be perfect, perfect in a sense I can never achieve—broken perfection.

"...of all things...you had to give up everything...your honor...your humanity...and degrade yourself into becoming a rapist to fulfill your sick desires. You've got nothing left, Hell Kaiser. Nothing to your name. Nothing to your pride. Zip. Zilch. But you know what?" You smirk a broken smirk. "I'm still not broken."

Fuck you.

Words shirk my mind and I'm so furious that I can't begin to express my resentment towards you. Your existence disgusts me. Everything you stand for, your innocence, your purity, your light, your BROKEN perfection disgusts me. I no longer have a reason to keep you alive. I can always find other toys to break and fuck. Yes, kill is indeed the right word for I have decided to kill you after all. My hands wrap around your pale neck, my fingers tightening one by one with a vice-like clamp. I have the full intention of breaking your neck and then throwing your carcass into the ocean so enjoy your last moments of life before your bones snap and you plunge into an ice-covered hell—

And then I scream. I rip my hands away from your skin and stare at them in horror. They're burnt black…the moldering smell of cooked flesh fills my nostrils…the skin is peeling off my fingers…

What…what…

…what have you done to me, Edo Phoenix? You little bastard—what the fuck did you do? I'll kill youI'llkillyoukill youI'l ki—

Pain surges through my veins.

You lil'—motherfuckin—

Feeling no longer remains in my hands.

—bitch—cunt—you shitpiece—

Flakes of black skin fall to the ground.

But why? Why can't I fucking touch you? WHY?

"On the brink of death, a phoenix bursts into flames."

…w-what?

"You should have thought about that before you planned your 'domination'."

A laugh.

"I win, sempai."