Trigger warning, mentions of dark themes.

Dark.

Dark.

All there was is darkness.

Darkness to the left. Darkness to the right. It was in front, and it was behind. It was up, and it was down.

Everywhere the eye could see. More and more, it was dark.

Dark.

Dark…

And more dark.

Suddenly, there is light, bright and luminescent. It cuts through the dark like a knife through butter revealing a formation that had up until now been held in the inky abyss.

Boards. Lights. A stage that was bright and flashy, and covered in a multitude of colors and joy. Pink was the primary color, but there were many other flashy colors decorating the entire thing. It looked like something that people would love to be seen on. On one side, there was a stylized meter, decorated with tons of flowers of all kind speaking of hope, luck, and love. At its base, a microphone was attached to it, facing out towards the audience. Various curtains of silken red draped down tastefully, hiding the people and props that were upon it in a sea of crimson.

Before the stand, sat a crowd. An unusual crowd. An audience comprised of bears, each one half black, half white. They held upon them many items of memorabilia, shirts claiming their faith, flags with phrases of love and support, wigs resembling the artist's appearance, and other such items to proclaim how much they cared, each one a symbol of their adoration for the one they had come to see. Though no words could be heard, the crowd roared in delight as they watched the curtains pull aside, revealing the sight of the one they had all come to witness. The person they had taken time out of their lives to come see and cheer for.

When the curtains had finished leaving, the house lights turned on, each in attendance focused on the one on stage with high intensity rivaling the hype of the crowd. Their she stood, a girl, with tresses a deep blue and eyes too. Skin that was fair and light, every inch perfect, not a blemish in sight. Her outfit, a dress, was pink and frilly, it showed off her stomach, shoulders, and neck. On her feet, matching boots designed to be used for dancing. A beautiful picture, had her face not been marred by her pensive scowl.

Her expression was justified, for more than one reason. She had not come to this stage of her free will. She had no love to put into this performance. No desire to see these fans. No love for this stage that she would be preforming on.

It didn't help matters that she was standing inside of a massive open bear trap, one large enough that it could easily clamp over her neck should she mistakenly activate its mechanism.

The rules were plain as day. Dance, sing, preform to the best of your ability in this space, show off your best and wow the crowd. Or die. She was trapped, held here to dance a dance she didn't want to save her own life from the jam-packed stadium she did not want to be with.

Yet still, when the music began and she could hear the rising of the unseen orchestra, she sang. She sang beautifully. Her voice betrayed her desires to stay quiet. Though she did not know the words, they continued to poor out of her mouth, a song of loss, of pain, of suffering. She couldn't stop now if she wanted.

So, she didn't.

She continued to dance, to sing out her soul for these monsters, to show them that she was worth saving. Her passion, it showed as she put her all into every action, every pose. It did not matter that she didn't have her girls with her right now, the band that she loved so much. She was the star here, the one that they were clamoring for. She would survive this, she would win.

Then, there was a sound. A click sound like a switch being pressed. Then, there was pain.

A scream tore its way from her throat as her legs gave out from the sheer agony that ran up that limb. Her eyes, still wet from her tears, snapped to look at what had caused her to hurt so much.

A trap. A metal jaw for holding powerful wildlife had bitten deep into her ankle. It was coated, stained, in her life-giving fluids. Said liquid was flowing to the ground, free of her wishes for it to stop. She tried to reach for the metallic maw, both to remove the offending object and to stop it from biting deeper into her flesh.

There were jeers now, mixed in with the slowly dying cheers.

She did not sing. She could not dance. She did not perform.

She did not want this. She didn't want to use her talents for these beasts. She did not care want they wanted of her. She would not be their toy to play with.

She underestimated their desires.

From above the stage, a figure stood. It was tall, taller than anything she had known. Its appearance? Human. Lanky. That was what could be seen. The rest, covered in shadows.

Its eyes, unseen, were covered in a pair of glasses that shown like spotlights that blinded those that tried to see past them.

It its right hand, a controller. A wooden cross for puppetry. A symbol of the toy's lack of true will or control over its own existence. It was held in a tight grip, unwilling to let go.

In its left hand, a matching pair, held just as tightly.

Attached to the wood, wires. Razor thin, they each reached down, down, down, attached to bands. These bands, they were attached to her. On her arms, her legs, her hips, her neck.

Its intentions were clear. If she would not perform willingly, she would do so without her consent.

The figure's hands, they flicked, they moved, making the controller dance. In turn, the wires made her follow along, helpless. The crowd cheered at her moves, sung when she twirled, praised when she pirouettes, raved when she sways. They loved the recital. They love her.

Tears, they poured from her eyes as she was bent against her desires. Forced to dance and sing for a power she could not comprehend. For people, none she could love.

A voice, it came to her, but it made no sense to her mind. "˙sᴉɥʇ oʇ pɐǝl suoᴉʇɔɐ ɹno sᴉɥʇ doʇs ʇ,uɐɔ nouoᴉʇdɯǝpǝɹ ɟo ǝlqɐdɐɔ ǝɹɐ noʎ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ ¿sᴉɥʇ doʇs uɐɔ noʎ ʞuᴉɥʇ ʎllɐǝɹ noʎ pᴉp"

She couldn't understand the words said to her, nor could she understand where they came from. It was like they came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Yet, she still felt afraid.

The wires went tight, forcing her to stand. The crowd, how they cheered to see her rise again. They paid no mind to her injuries, they didn't care about them. They were here to see her dance, they came to see her sing.

They could care less about her.

The bar at the side of the stage, slowly it raised in response to the cheers. The lights, they danced with her, showing her moves off in more tasteful ways and hiding the wires holding her up.

With the object clamped to her leg, her moves were no longer as streamlined, not as smooth. Every time she was forced to step on the limb, every time she swung it just a little, she nearly collapsed from the complete agony shooting through it. This was torture, worst then anything she had ever thought she would ever experience. But she was held up by these wires that she could not break, held by the shadowy figure

Then there was another click. Her eyes widened before they clamped shut from another lance of pain that rocked her world. She was held up this time, the wires forcing her to continue, but she knew what had happened. Another trap, this time on her other leg, gnawed at her once uninjured limb mercilessly as she was forced to continue. It made her head woozy from the increasing loss of her vital liquids, and it was only getting worst as time went on.

The crowd merely continued to roar, their excitement driving out any worry they felt for her. The measure continued to rise in response, their cheers fueling its accent. It could not care what they sang their praises, all it cared for was the results, and those results were rising.

As it neared its peak, things started to slow. The cheers were starting to lessen, the girl was starting to falter more and more, even the shadow had started to slacken. She could barely move now, her legs felt like they were on fire. Her heart hurt from trying to pump so much blood to the mangled limbs. She was lightheaded from the reduced amount of oxygen reaching her brain. She felt nauseous, her stomach churning as it tried to go into overdrive to replace the missing fluids and proteins, but failed to do so since there was nothing to digest. She thought she couldn't feel any worst.

She was wrong.

The wires went taught again, forcing her to stand. Her legs cried out as they were forced to support her weight.

Then, it happened. The sound of a much larger click, the snapping of a trap slamming closed.

The feeling of her throat being crushed.

She gagged, fighting to breathe through her crushed windpipe. Her hands, they reached up between the teeth of the massive trap that was clamped tight into her neck. The metal fangs of the jaw were embedded in the delicate flesh, drawing even more of the plasma enriched fluid from her. Her fingers struggled to grip the moistened teeth, her strength failing her as she lost more of her energy. With every second, her body went weaker as it tried to stop this.

Then, she heard it. The cheers that had faded, they had come back, but now they were louder. The fans that had come to watch the show were cheering even more enthusiastically then before, the measure rose to their screams of joy. They were enthralled it this spectacle, in this deadly show. They loved her screams, her pain, her suffering. Then realization hit her hard.

They weren't here because they loved her. They weren't here to see her dance, to sing, to give her heart to them. They could care less about that.

They only wanted to see her die.

She had been too distracted; the realization had taken too much attention from her. The teeth of the jaw slipped through her moist fingers. They slammed shut.

The meter finished filling. The cheers died. The lights went down.

The only sound was a moist "Thunk".

The final performance of Sayaka Maizono had finished.

Then there was only darkness.

Dark.

Dark…

A light, single but bright, it lit up in a cone. In it, a pole, a single pipe stood vertically in the center. Attached to it, a man, a boy, a teen with hair spiked and red. A tuft of it stuck out of his chin, just under his quivering lip.

Fear, it coated his pale blue eyes. His hands, they quivered as they gripped the metal band wrapped around his throat, a matching set held his hips and ankles suspended in the air and attached to the rod. There was no escape for him from whatever lay before him.

More lights turned on. A stadium, no, a batting cage deigned to look like a baseball stadium. There were large arrays of lights all around hanging well above the ground that lit up the whole place, leaving very little room for any darkness to settle. Behind the red-headed teen was an electronic score board that would measure how the baseball teams were doing; though there would never be a game for this terrible arena. Even if the sheer amount of lights prevented the shade from reaching the center of the batting diamond, the twenty-foot cage circled around oppressively, each part reaching inward like claws ready to grasp at their prey.

The boy was pale, ashen as the snow was white. With the harsh lighting on his form, his every pore and imperfection in his skin were illuminated. Every drop of sweat practically glowed as they poured down his face and clammy hands. His eyes, though use to these kinds of lights, were clenched tightly as he strained to remove the clamp gripping tightly against his throat; not enough to cut off his air or circulation, but enough that he couldn't hope to get away.

But the thing that stood out the most was the item standing before him emitting a massive amount of smoke. A large ball launcher, a pitching machine that had been heavily modified with a much larger then strictly necessary container for balls, and a massive nozzle to funnel to balls out. Had he a bat, he could have maybe used this to practice his batting for a long time.

But he had no bat, and he was not going to get one. For, unlike a proper batting cage, this pitcher was not for fun and training. No, this one was aimed very carefully.

Right at his struggling body.

His heart nearly stopped when two figures walked up to the dangerously designed device, one smaller than the other by a significant amount. The smaller one, a plush looking bear that was split down the center into a black and white form. Upon its head, a cap, like those that he would see in a ball game sat prominently between his little ears. In its right hand and resting on its shoulder, a silver bat gleamed in the beams of light filling the stage.

The other figure, unknown. Despite the abundance of bright light on their form, their features could not be seen through the shadows that seemed to cling unnaturally to their body like ink or tar. Only one thing could be noticed, a pair of glasses, standard looking and cheap, the lenses glowing even brighter than the hundreds of bulbs around them. Yet, even though they could not be seen, the teen could feel a sense of malice in this shade's eyes, a feeling of malevolence that looked deeply into his soul and saw every sin that he had committed.

Sins that it wanted him to suffer for.

Most ominously of this creature of shadows that was untouched by the light was what it carried in its right hand. It was a ball. A simple little baseball with red stitching holding the faux leather together. But the thing that made the ball such a thing to worry about was the thing scrawled onto the white surface.

A name. His name.

Leon Kuwata.

Tossing the ball into the air almost casually, the shadowy creature spoke. "˙noʎ ɹoɟ uoᴉʇdɯǝpǝɹ ou sᴉ ǝɹǝɥʇ 'oN ¿oɹǝɥ ɟo puᴉʞ ǝɯos ǝɹ'noʎ ǝʞᴉl ɯǝɥʇ ƃuᴉdlǝɥ ʎq ǝuop pɐɥ noʎ ʇɐɥʍ xᴉɟ oʇ ǝlqɐ ǝq plnoʍ noʎ ʇɐɥʇ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ pᴉp ˙ǝɟᴉl ɹǝƃɐǝɯ ɐ ǝʌɐs ƃuᴉdlǝɥ ʎq suᴉs ɹnoʎ ǝʇɐuᴉɯᴉlǝ plnoɔ noʎ ʇɐɥʇ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ pᴉp"

There was no sense in the words, but the actions it made were worst then any word could be said. The creature tossed the ball into the air. Without looking away from the ball player, he flipped open the lid of the pitching device containing the baseballs. With a solid "Thunk", the airborne ball fell into the bin. The balls that had previously been lodged in rolled down the metal rack to the distributor.

The bear turned and pointed the bat at the ball player dramatically. They said something, but it was unheard over the machine next to him roaring to life. There was a loud plunking sound as the first of the balls shot out at blinding speed. With a sickening smack, it collided with the poor boy's unprotected abdomen. The teen screamed as the air in his stomach was forcefully ejected from his body, but it was ignored by his oppressors.

His lungs desperately tried to compensate for the sudden loss of air, but the effort was in vain as another ball collided with his already bruised body. Spittle flew from his mouth as the impact robbed him of his breath and left him coughing and choking. The machine did not care for his suffering in the slightest, unable to do so due to its lack of any sentiment. It merely fired another ball, this one impacting his chest with a horrifying crack. More than likely, that one had broken a rib or two if it hadn't outright shattered them and left a bruise behind.

The boy was in so much pain, the first few shots already doing a significant amount of damage to him. His lungs burned as they fought to reclaim the breath that had been stolen from him. He was petrified, frozen with fear of this tool that he knew so well as was expected of him. He stared at it with terror filled eyes as his mind told him the information of what he was being shot with. The force behind each ball, the speed that they were heading, the density of the sphere. He knew them all perfectly.

And it only made it more terrifying.

There was an ominous click that came from the pitcher, a sign that something had changed dramatically. The next ball came, slamming into his arm, but he didn't have time to register it before another on hit him in the opposite shoulder. And then another to his left bicep. Then one to his side.

Within a second, these had all hit him, the speed of the tool having jumped up drastically. It was for a specific reason. As interesting as it would be to see him suffer through each ball, there simply wasn't enough time for that. He would have either passed out from the pain before it could finish, or die before it was done emptying its load all over him. So, it upped the pace.

As if it was a gun built for assault instead of a tool for honing skill, it started to fire even faster. Ball after ball slammed into his body rapidly, each one hitting like a miniature truck each time. Harder and harder they crash into him until he could barely tell which one was hitting what part. His body screamed for freedom from this hell, his lungs begged and fought for air, but they went unheard over the roars of the device of his demise, and the orbs being pitched at him.

For a solid minute, he was pelted. At some point the wheels on the stands holding the pitching device had started to bring it around him, allowing it to strike him from other angles. It orbited his body, repeatedly pounding away at his body with the dozens upon dozens of the round objects. Every part of his body that could be hit by the horrifying contraption was nailed indiscriminately of its location and was left with a disgusting looking bruise.

Yet he was still alive. All over his body hurt, every part that wouldn't lead to instant death had been mercilessly bombarded. His bones, though cracked or shattered caused every nerve to be alight with pain throughout his body. Even when it took shots at his head, the device avoided the weakest parts of his skull.

But that would soon change.

The pitcher pulled to a stop. Its cannon steaming from the friction of so many balls passing through so rapidly and the heat it caused. It sputtered once, as if choking on one of the many balls that had fired from it. For a second the blooded boy hoped that it was done, that there would be no more fired on his broken body.

It was not to be.

With a final sputter, the pitching machine coughed up one final ball aimed directly at his head. As if it were moving in slow motion, the battered boy watched in horror as it flew. On it, he noticed the name that had been written on this one, identifying it as one the shade had been holding before. For a mere millisecond, he hoped it was just like the others that had been launched at him so far.

Then, the ball made a click sound. Taking even less time than it took to blink, a series of sharpened spikes jutted out of the white ball. Each one was about an inch long and looked like they were coated in some kind of dark liquid. Each one was spaced in a way to maximize the damage done when it collided with something, where ever it hit.

That was the last thing the boy saw before the lights went out.

It was the only time he would play the game of one thousand and one blows.

Dark.

Darker.

The darkened room grew ever darker than before.

The inky darkness encompassed everything; a murky gloom that held everything in its shadowy grasp.

Another light, it cut through the gloom. Inside it, a man, grungy and dressed like a hobo with locks of hair styled reminiscent of a sea-urchin. His body, trembling where it stood as he looked across the room.

The cause of his terror. Three doors. Each was separated in a pattern reminiscent of a triangle that he stood in the epicenter of. Their color, a blood soaked red with an ominous black number scratched into each one designating them as 1, 2, and 3. On the top of the frames, a depiction of a bear, half white half black, the dark side holding a jagged red eye.

The rules were clear. Pick a door and pray you were correct. The right door let you walk free, the others led to a gruesome demise. Luck of the draw.

His gaze wandered up seeing past the doors and into the gloom. He shivered at the sight that he could only deem as, "supernatural". A figure with glasses aglow despite the shadows that coated him. Their gaze, while unseen, reeked of murderous intent should the man attempt anything to displease them. It certainly didn't help that the figure was holding a rifle in its hand that gleamed ever so slightly in the reflected light.

It motioned to the man. It wanted him to get a move on. And if he did, any attempt to move for anything other than opening the doors, they would shoot.

There was something the figure said, but the man could not understand. "˙ǝlzznd sᴉɥʇ oʇ sǝɔǝᴉd ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎuɐ ǝʌɐɥ ʎlǝɹɐq noʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ sɐ llǝʍ sɐ ǝldoǝd ʍouʞ ʇ'uop no˙ǝɹnʇnɟ ǝɥʇ ǝǝs oʇ ʎʇᴉlᴉqɐ ou ǝʌɐɥ noʎ ˙ƃuoɹʍ ǝɹ'nodn puǝ llᴉʍ sʇuǝʌǝ ǝɹǝɥʍ ʍouʞ noʎ ʇɐɥʇ 'uǝddɐɥ llᴉʍ ʇɐɥʍ ǝǝsǝɹoɟ uɐɔ noʎ ʇɐɥʇ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ"

Swallowing a lump in this throat, the unshaven man looked back to the doors worriedly. Which one was the right door that would save him from this hell? He only wished he knew.

Nervously, he reached into the pocket of his large coat, moving slow, so, as to not anger the dark spirit watching him. It watched as he held up the contents of the pocket and raised it up to show what it was.

A ball. A ball made of crystal, said to have been held by the greatest powers the world had ever known. With this, he hoped to predict the outcome of each choice. The figure nodded slightly, allowing him the opportunity to try and predict the outcome of his choices.

Raising his hand, the man waved it over the clear ball as he turned to look through it in front of each door. For each door, he gave a good hard look, constantly considering the sphere with each pass. He spent his time with it, knowing that any mistake would lead to disaster should he get it wrong.

After a while, he nodded. He looked nervous still, but as he stared at door 1, he felt confident. Stepping forth, he grasped the door knob firmly. He hesitated though.

That hesitation saved him.

A sudden burst of fire leapt forth, knocking the hinges off as the door was blown away. The man screamed and ducked under the roaring heat, the flames licking at his flesh and burning a chunk of his hair away. He scrambled back in fear, patting away the fires that had developed on his clothes as he did so.

Had he opened the door sooner, he would have taken the entire thing to his face. His flesh and bone would have been eaten alive and left him nothing more than a charred cadaver.

He shivered in terror. This was no joke. This was a real attempt on his life that was made just now. And if he wanted to survive, he would have to try the other doors as well.

He looked around the ground, looking for the ball that would help him predict the outcome of this trial, only to recoil at the sight of its state. It had shattered, a solid chunk of it broken into tiny little shards on the ground. The ball he had been promised was indestructible was now destroyed.

His heart sank. His best resource was gone, shattered into a million pieces. He gulped as he felt the stare of the shade on his back, its gaze like icy daggers against his soul. He only had one more trick and two more doors to choose from.

He was slow to stand, his knees knocking as he tried to stand again. It took some time, his fear hindering his movements, but he managed to stand up again and reach into his other pocket to pull out a deck of cards.

Tarot cards to be precise.

Though not his preferred method, these cards were also one of his methods to predict the future as well. Taking these cards, he began shuffling, praying for this method to work. He pulled three, and placed them down. They were, the Devil, the Hanged man, and Death. The first was reversed, the rest were not.

Swallowing in a bit of fear, the man made his decision. He moved towards the number three door, cautiously in case he was wrong again, and slowly opened it. It creaked ominously as it opened, but it seemed to be the right choice and he was about to sigh in relief…

Then, there was a revving sound.

The seer almost didn't get the door closed in time as several miniguns began firing at the door from inside the room. Hundreds of rounds of bullet fire slammed into the wood and when one broke through to clip his ear, the man dropped in response, instinctively curling into a fetal positon to minimize the amount of space he occupied. With luck, he managed to avoid the fire even when shards of wood went flying as the metal projectiles plowed into, and occasionally through, the thick wood. After a time, the bullets stopped and the only sounds heard were the dropping of used casings clattering to the ground, and the miserable sobs of the horrified man.

He cried in despair, too afraid to stand again in the presence of such terror. Twice now his methods had failed him and he had no desire to tempt fate again; despite there only being one door left. Every part of his being, from his brain running on adrenaline to his stressed-out heart, all the way down to his toes, they told him to stay away from that last door. They begged him to run, flee from this place and damn the consequences, but that ghostly figure terrified him just as much, if not more. They were just as lethal as anything that could be behind that door, and would be far more accurate to boot.

So, his only option that he could see was to remain where he was.

It was his undoing.

The final door, unheard over the tears of the man, started to creek and groan as it began to part in the center. Despite the wooden nature of the gateway, the thing began to shift and move, becoming even more horrifying as jagged knife like teeth began to force their way through the splintered center. No longer resembling a door, it now looked more reminiscent of a nightmarish maw made in the pits of Hades for the sole purpose of consuming all hope.

And it was hungry.

From the dark pit of its core, a long, disgusting coil burst forth between those gruesome fangs and snaked its way across the room to the weeping man. It wrapped around the man's ankle, so tight it was that the man choked on his next sob before the long appendage pulled tight and lifted his body high in the air. Just when the man began to fear that it would simply drop him, letting his body hit the ground to become a macabre stain on the ground, it began to swiftly reel him in like a fish on a hook.

However, that was too tame for this monster disguised as a not-so-common door. Too quick. So just as his legs were breaching the threshold of its massive maw, it reeled up.

And clamped down hard.

A scream tore through the room as the man felt his knees shatter between the massive fangs, the bone flesh and joints being completely mangled in these merciless teeth of a monster mimicking a common item. The pain of the injury was heightened by the long slick tongue like object pulling on his heel. But then it pulled back up, the teeth removed themselves form his legs for moment, each one now stained in his life-giving fluids, changing them from the white color it had been.

However, this still wasn't enough. The slippery thing began to pull again, causing another shriek of agony from the man as he was dragged up and further in. then it clamped down again, this time on his pelvis, the bone shattering under the force. The process repeated, the screams continuing with each step taken. This time, they dug into his gut, the fangs puncturing several organs along with severing the joints in his spine. Then again on his chest, the ribs holding out for but a second before giving way, crushing his lungs and robbing him of his ability to breath.

He sputtered and coughed, his lungs trying to fill with life giving oxygen, but the new holes in the collapsed organs prevented it. It would have been merciful if his heart had suffered the same fate, but in the cruelest of irony, the fangs missed allowing him to live just long enough to watch the fangs line up over his neck.

And then he saw no more.

His prediction, had come true in the end.

The shade stood alone.

Alone in the dark it stood, the only light being what reflected off their glasses from an unknown light source.

There was silence as it turned away, tossing away the glass tool it had been holding and allowing it to shatter on the ground, uselessly. The tool had served its purpose; it was no longer needed. There would always be more things to use, at a later date.

It took a few steps, its pace casual and uncaring, as if it was going on an everyday stroll; as if it had not witnessed horrible tragedies. It reached up with its hand, grabbing something in its hand. It pulled, revealing another door, unseeing in this inky abyss, this hollow vacuum of emptiness. It stepped through the door, uncaring about its brightness, the white light that poured out into the black room.

Then it turned back.

"˙dn ǝʞɐʍ 'ʍoN ˙oʞunſ sǝɹɐɯʇɥƃᴉu ǝɥʇ ʎoɾuƎ" They closed the door.

Then I woke up screaming.