Complete Summary: Behind these rotting wooden walls and corroded and warped ceilings lay individuals who are tortured and tormented down to their very souls. Inescapable fates went unabashed, unhealable scars and wounds that ran so deep marred once beautifully creamy skin. Blemishes of the earth, nay- lower than the dirt they walked on and scorned for their association, they await an ultimatum, for an absolution that they all knew would one day come. It was all a matter of when.

NOTES:
This is a DARK fic. It will more than likely have controversial topics and extensive dark scenes. This is a challenging fic for me and written for personal reasons.
Please, if you are underage or too immature to handle dark themes and adult situations, please leave.

WARNING: Child Rape, Child Death, Torture, Slight Touches On Gore.

Another village, another murder. Like clockwork, it seemed, as she watched another village burn in the distance. They traveled football fields at a time, sometimes going without rest as their hunt for more human and demon villages arose. And with each village, she would stare at them with puffy red eyes as one after another became yet another victim.

She wondered if she would ever stop seeing their deaths or smelling the smoke that always filled her lungs. After all, it was how her own home had been taken from her. How had they been able to infiltrate a demon lord's palace? The carriage hit a bump and knocked her from her thoughts. One of the children in the cages sniffled and wiped at his face. She made no move and gave no words of endearment. She knew what their fates were and she steeled herself for what she knew was to come.

She memorized them. Their clothes…. their hair… the color of their eyes, the shapes of their shoulders, right on down to the frailties of their hands. Eventually, each sacrifice blurred into the next and soon became indistinguishable from others. Was she, herself, a victim? She had to wonder. As it was, she had learned her lesson. She would no more put up a fight against them, but she would not help them either. She would stand there. She would watch. And she would not blink or turn her face from the carnage. She wanted to commit every single person to memory. To know the ones she could no more help than she could herself. She could not bring herself to turn face, so this would be her punishment. If she was not going to lift a finger for herself or for others, then she would watch.

And then there was Amaya.

This woman was special. She was a priestess, much like herself. Forced against her will to kill the innocent. She, like herself, could not stop the massacre from each neighboring village they visited. She followed orders to a 'T' and never really spoke a word to anyone. At least, not until Kagome showed up.

"The sooner you are compliant, the sooner you can feel that semblance of freedom you once held," Amaya had muttered to her one day. Kagome had been brought to a village due to a mix-up. Someone's instructions were misplaced so two of their caravans ended up in the same area. In the end, they banded together to take care of the job.

Later, she found that Amaya had slept with them all. She no longer held the purity of power that most priestesses would. She allowed the defilement to her person, allowed them to please themselves and throw her away like trash, only to use her again. However, Kagome found that Amaya had a semblance of authority over the others. She followed her orders, yes, but because she never back-lashed, she was trusted. It was like her word was law. Almost. She was able to go unsupervised, and Kagome found it intriguing.

Amaya had a purple streak of hair in a bed of black. It was wavy and fell so far past her knees, she had to braid it so it wouldn't touch the ground. Her priestess garb had been cut shorter, almost like shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Donned a priestess whore as well as one of their own armed men- but she was more or less free, so long as she did what she was told.

"It's not freedom if you are still in shackles," Kagome responded back to her finally, nearly a full day later. She had time to ponder about the woman's words. She didn't think Amaya even knew she intended on responding back to her. In fact, Kagome was unsure herself if she even wanted to respond back to her. But she had.

A week after meeting Amaya…. Kagome was taken to the whore house.

The whore house was not a place you wanted to be. It was dark and dank, made of stone and rotting wood. Moss and mold grew in most corners of the house… There was screaming, full of pain and sorrow. People were begging, for what, she wasn't sure.

They wanted to scare her- intimidate her. They wanted to wear her soul down to get her to comply.

And it worked.

As she was traipsed around with chains still holding her wrists and neck, they passed a room. And she stopped in place. The room was lined in stone, as was the usual for most structures of this period. The air was damp, which made it easy for the mold to grow on nearly every corner of the room. Various chains and torture devices hung on the ceilings and the walls. In the very center of the room was a large table. But it was what was in the back that gave her pause.

It had been such a long time since she had felt the horror that was once a constant feeling. Bile rose to the back of her throat, and she made no attempts to stop it. She threw up right there in the middle of the doorway as her chains were tugged in one direction. Her body convulsed, lurching her forward in the opposite direction, and forced her to her knees, and right into her own acidic waste.

When she was able to gather her wits, she allowed tears to fall. Her body was wracked with tortured sobs and trembling from their intensity. She upturned her face to look at the figure who was strung up by chains and hooked by the shoulders like meat in a meat locker. She got back to her feet and shuffled away from the handlers. They allowed her to go if only to see what she would do next.

She dragged her feet around the table and to the back of the room where the young boy hung. No older than eight. Bare to all those present, his skin was riddled with bruises. Blood dripped down the boy's body and pooled below him, dripping from his ankles. His entire body faced the wall. Every bit of his back was marred with new and old scars. Rips and tears made crisscrossing patterns from his neck down to the heels of his feet. When she got to the front of him, her heart sank even further. His open-eyed, soulless stare forever remained in place, gazing endlessly at the wall opposite the open doorway. His curly hair was matted to his head, blood dripped from his eyes, and deep, darkened skin was visible everywhere.

The boy had been raped and beaten.
Starved and alone.
Chained and hanged.

Tormented.

How long had he been there? Why did they do this? For what purpose? What could they possibly gain from hurting him- or anyone - in this way? Her mind swirled with thoughts, chanting over and over again the horrific tendencies of the people she had somehow gotten mixed up with.

She reached forward, her fingers trembling despite her trying to will them into stillness. She closed his eyelids as gently as she could. "May p-peace b-be with you, li-little one," she hiccupped, bowing her head and saying a short prayer for she knew that was all she was able.

She stepped away from the boy and staggered out of the room. She took deep, shuttering gulps of air to compose herself outside of the room while her handlers watched the exchange. She steeled herself for the rest of the visit- there was no telling what would come next.

A week later, Kagome learned Amaya was dead.

She was taken to the slave drive. There, you will find demons of nearly every breed. Some young, some old. Again steeling herself for anything she may happen upon, she walked with her back straightened. Strong, purposeful steps followed behind her handlers- she wasn't chained this time, but her collar remained.

They passed large, open rooms, many with demons inside, chained, and awaiting their turn for a lashing. The snapping of a whip could be heard as clear as day from the entrance of the facility. This place was no better kept than the whore house. There was a god-awful stench that permeated the entire compound, and she couldn't help but compare it to roadkill.

There were bargainers, people being escorted from room to room and being shown the quality of each demon. Money was exchanged as contracts were made, demons were torn apart from others knew or had relations with. Most demons were in chains and locked up behind bars. Some followed the handlers around, doing their bidding.

They passed a room. A demon screamed as a man took a knife to her back, and slowly stripped the skin from the demon. Blood flowed freely and pooled beneath the two of them. The demon whimpered as the man began anew with another strip. Demons had considerably high tolerances for pain- she couldn't imagine the suffering this female was enduring. Or anyone else for that matter. The sound of skin peeling… she would say it almost sounded like stripping a potato off its own skin.

As she was escorted further, she discovered the source of the stench. The facility had a massive slaughter room specifically for those who didn't seem fit to live. Or worse.

She could hear crying somewhere down the hall, and her demeanor faltered for half a moment. Another crack of a whip. Another sniffle. Coughing. Choking. Strangled gurgling.

And she thought of the boy from the whore house.
And she thought of her children… Rin and Shippou.

Perhaps Amaya had a point. If she were to become compliant, perhaps she would have more freedoms. Maybe, even, be able to roam around under the pretense of being "free". She would, at least, have a hand in death. She could… make it swifter. She could at least end some suffering. She could do it her way.

And she broke.

She lay in the comforts of her prison. It was a prison fashioned for the Shikkon Miko with bare minimum comforts that included a single pillow, a twin bed, and a small armoire. The room was off-white, almost yellow in color, and she had the world's most spectacular view of the entire facility. What joy it brings.

It was like she was right out of a fairy tale- locked up in a tower, awaiting her knight in shining armor.

Except… there would be no knight.

The words Amaya had said to her before her death spiraled in her mind. Had Amaya been truly free? No… she was just as shackled as the rest of them were. But she got to travel. Go where she wanted. So long as she followed orders, it was all they cared about. They had a grand master plan, but it was only so deep. They could honestly care less what their prisoners do so long as things are carried out fully.

Her temper flared a moment. Amaya didn't just die… she committed suicide. The realization struck her in the face when she remembered the amount of suffering the woman had endured. The freedom she had found… It was a lie, a false truth she had to tell herself just so she could run away from her troubles. Suicide was a means to her end. She couldn't find the will to go on with everything she had done.

Did her words have a play in it? She hoped not. She didn't want to be responsible for yet another death. But in truth, she would never truly know.

Footsteps alerted seconds before the unwelcome guest made himself known in her bedroom. She didn't give him any chance to speak. She stood and stared him in the face with a blank expression.

"What will you have of me?"

The man's crooked grin stretched from ear to ear. "Music to my ears, Miko."

See you guys in the next chapter!