WARNING: The following story is for generally more matured audiences (hence the T rating.) Violence and gore ensure. This should be no surprise to you if you have watched the Hell Girl anime and know the nature of the show. If you know me personally, YOU would know that a story like this doesn't faze me whatsoever.
I will only post this disclaimer once, even though I am not likely to be sued. It IS a fanfiction site, after all.
Disclaimer: Hell Girl and respective characters belong to Aniplex, Studio Deen, Miyuki Etō, Takahiro Ōmori, and Hiroshi Watanabe.
Don't like, don't read. Please understand the choice is yours. ~R
How it all began is completely beyond me.
I'm still not completely sure exactly how I had gotten into such a situation. I was... walking. It was hazy. From where? To where? Home? School? Work? I know I was wearing a uniform at the time.
I hadn't even panicked, it happened so fast... the cloth over my mouth, the sharp, heavy, bitter scent before my eyes closed and I fell into unconsciousness.
And when I woke up, everything... was changed...
I prayed, every night of my captivity, that whatever god there was would come and save me. But no matter was microscopic shred of glimmering hope might have presented itself, it was soon extinguished by my captor. The faceless man who kept me for such a long time, in a dusty, airless, dark, and damp attic.
This... is the story of my survival.
And my revenge.
I woke up, naturally not expecting any light anymore. I learned to not even expect a candle to light the vast attic in which I had been trapped for an immeasurable amount of time. The massive black void in which my mind sank swallowed me a little more every day, and just acknowledging that I was going insane is what kept that last shred of my sanity that made me aware of myself and just barely valuable to my captor that he wouldn't kill me.
Where did God go?
Please, I pleaded, if you're there, spare some small piece of miracle for your lowly servant. Don't let him come up today. I would rather starve than be strung back up to the chains. Please, I'm begging you! Make him let me go!
But the prayer was not answered.
Through the small cracks between the wooden slats on the wall, I could just barely tell that sunset was impending. Just as this was noted, I heard it...
His hands yanking down the stairs to the attic, and next his heavy footsteps. Dust flew around, frenzied by abrupt movement. A gust of warm air blew up into the chilly air, and warm light filtered in from below. But as always, by the time he made it up into the attic, his face was enshrouded in shadow. The boards creaked beneath his feet, squealing with the effort of holding up such a large person. They seemed like my tortured cries of protest reflected back at me, and I shrank back into the dark corner of the attic, but his heavy, calloused hands grabbed me and chained me up to the square wooden frame. I was beyond screaming at this point, because that only made it much, much worse.
He unstrapped the leather bag from his shoulder, one he always brought with him. The buckle snapped back menacingly, and he pulled out something I couldn't quite make out in the dark at first. It started to look like- what? a bracelet, maybe? But it was soon uncoiled to be revealed as a long, leather whip.
"Prepare." He said, simply.
"No, please, god no. I swear to god I won't do anything, just please let me go. Don't hurt me, please!"
My protests were soon drowned out amid screams of pain as he walked around behind me and the corded whip licked my back, creating more cuts in my clothing. I could fell the blood dripping out of my back, and my vision started to fade...
When I woke, cracking open my eyes ever so wearily, the scent of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils like burning acid. I frantically searched, fearing a fire, but there was the man, sitting in front of me. From the small glow near his face, I could see a cigarette dangling from his lip. He pulled it out and blew out a puff of smoke, perfect rings in the air. I coughed- I despised smoking- and shook my head. He stood, looming in front of me, and I could make out crags in his learing, marred, aged face. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he grinned at my fury, for I could certainly feel the resistance in my face.
He cackled. "The pretty bird.. does not sing for me still? Why do you reject me?"
"Let me go." I said, mustering the courage to refuse him. I would not give him what he wanted most- my spirit.
He sighed. "Some are more difficult than others, aren't they... I can see refusal burning in your eyes."
The grin grew. He removed the cigarette from his mouth.
"Resistance." He brought it closer to my face.
"Must." Closer.
"Be." I shut my eyes, but he held one open with his free hand.
"Snuffed." I screamed.
"...Out."