A/N: sooo sorry for the delay.

Warnings: violent chapter ahead. Disturbing themes/thoughts, as well as a good bit of gore. =D. Heed the warnings, oright?

Leave Out All The Rest

Chapter Twelve

Yami stood cornered in between the door of his walk-in closet and the more impenetrable barrier impersonating his father's larger, muscular and slender body. Samuel stood casually in front of him, one hand placed inside the pocket of his elegant dress pants, lifting the corner of the grey, matching dress shirt up a little. His hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, one strand running loose from the others to fall onto the handsome features that were so, so ominous at the moment, Yami had no choice but to shudder in fear and try his hardest not to break down begging for forgiveness…

Sometimes, Yami got those sudden feelings of hesitation that were unwelcome beyond what words can say. Sometimes, in mere, fleeting seconds, he thought, Oh shit, how did I ever think of doing what I did? Right now, that was the one thing going through his mind…what was he thinking? What the hell was he thinking…? He wished he could turn back time. He wished he did not ask Seto for help. He wished his life expectancy did not fall at that moment, to a few minutes –or hours, considering how much he would suffer before he was eventually killed—from the said moment.

He really felt like falling to his knees and begging. He did not want to die…not yet. He really did not want to die today. But he knew. Deep down, he was positive that even if he did get down to his knees. Even if he did the impossible and even if offered to sign a contract to become this man's slave for the rest of his life –just to make it official—he would still meet his end in a very small while from now.

He was going to go down. He was sure about that. But he preferred to go down fighting…rather than go down on his knees begging, when the outcome would be the same anyway.

He swallowed, nervously, and stared up at the reason his life was so fucking miserable right now and he smiled sweetly, asking, "Shouldn't it be my word against theirs? Do they have a picture…proof that they saw me? Why do you always put your friends and your social life before your son…? Or oh, wait…sorry, I forgot. I am not really your son."

Saying it out loud was…excruciating. He knew it. He was so sure of it. He knew it inside of him and he kept repeating it to himself every single day. But it still did not make it less painful to say. He struggled to make himself sound sarcastic. But he failed, ending up sounding bitterly, morbidly amused, the smile on his face turning pained.

But the pain in the grin turned to an agonized cringe when Samuel shifted slightly, snorting out a very pleased chortle that chilled him to the bone. He took a step towards him, shaking the strand of his smooth hair that slipped into his eyes when he shifted, the action natural, as smooth as ever, as he muttered in a low voice, "For once, Yami…you got that right. You finally realized that you are my property and nothing more than that…"

Yami blinked and resentfully looked away, not able to keep up the eye contact without starting to feel a prickle at the corners of his eyes. The words were just too painful and he really did not feel that he was able to handle staring at his father in the eye while hearing them.

"Tell your so-called friends to back up their claims with proof, otherwise they can go to hell," he said, turning away, trying to dodge his way around the older man so he could leave the room.

However, as he was passing by him, Samuel grabbed him by the upper arm and with ease that made his breath flee from his lungs, flung him back to where he had been standing, only this time slamming him up the closed doors of the closet with so much force and anger. Despite himself, Yami groaned softly in pain when the two knobs of the closet dug painfully into his lower back, sending dull spikes of pain up his back and around his waist.

He blinked and forced himself to look up, ignoring the pain for the moment. He couldn't look away from his father…not right now.

Angry, cold crimson eyes stared down into his own, close enough for him to see every single one of those long, definite eyelashes, as they joined for a moment in a slow, calm blink, before their owner spoke, hand rising to Yami's hair to tangle his fingers in the locks of multi-colored hair, "I do not like it when you walk away from me, Yami…"

Figuring that his father wanted to hurt him anyway, even if there was no reason for it, Yami's defiance seemed to come back powerful. He scowled heavily, boldly keeping eye contact this time while retaliating, "And I do not like the fact that you are a puppet in your friends' hands. What? You believe every single thing they say as though you cannot think on your o…"

He never got to continue…

The fingers tangling in his hair tightened impossibly, pulling so hard on his hair he thought Samuel needed to scalp him with how powerful his grip became. The other hand had risen up so quickly and before he could even cringe in reflex, he was slapped so hard on the right side of his face, that his head snapped to the side, in spite of the firm way in which it was held.

He was vaguely aware that yet again, the fucking ring made a prominent cut on his cheek, running from his cheekbone down to the corner of his lip. Another vague part of his mind also noted how humiliating this was… his father truly had no problem hitting him on the face. It was the cruelest and most degrading way to land blows on anyone. Because a mark on the face was there for everyone to see and examine. It was there for them to see that this person is so worthless, they deserve being marked on such a prominent area…

Those thoughts were pushed away to the furthest corner of his mind, as survival instincts made every single thought on his mind scream for him to escape, to run and never come back. His head was jerked once again, forcing his eyes to meet his father's brutally cold ones once again.

Despite his determination, his vision was already swimming hazily behind the thin film of tears. However, he did not let that stop him from raising an eyebrow, whispering in low tones, "You're just doing this for fun, aren't you…? It's not about what your stupid friends told you…"

He didn't know what took over him…where that suicidal streak of defiance came from. Perhaps it came from the continued period of tender care he had seen when he stayed with Seto and Mokuba. Perhaps it came from the power he felt surging through him after he stood victorious at the end of a vicious battle against one of the most lethal drugs known. Perhaps it was because he was mad at himself for not thinking that going out in Domino could mean that anyone can recognize him. Or perhaps…it came from the anger he felt at himself for knowing that this was going to happen, and doing nothing at all about it…

He didn't get too much time to think of that, because everything suddenly burst into a lot of bright white lights, stunning him to a heap on the floor for a few seconds, after which he realized that the side of his head was bashed right into the hard, wooden door of the closet. He whimpered in pain, a late reaction to what happened, a result of shock more than it was a result of the pain, especially as he felt something hot, with a familiar, overpowering, coppery smell, sluggishly moving down his the side of his face, burning a trail down it.

He swallowed back the sudden feeling of nausea that overwhelmed him. Wasn't the time to breakdown yet, or he would have absolutely no hope of coming out of this one alive. Not that his chances now were very high, considering how he was once again grabbed, this time by the arm, and dragged quite easily to the center of the room, deposited like some trash bag at the foot of the bed on the ground.

He tried to catch his breath. To at least prepare himself for what came next. But he didn't have time, especially when he barely had time to react to the heavy foot that collided with his side, making unbearable, unthinkable pain explode in fiery, agonizing throbs, as the ribs which only just started healing from their past trauma, were most probably once again made to collapse from their ordinary shape to which they had been brought back to after many weeks of agonizingly slow recovery…

He couldn't breathe. He gasped, but the action caused so much excruciating pain…and as a reflex, he gasped once more…and with that even more pain arrived. He didn't think he could be in a worse situation than this. He didn't think he could be in more pain than this, as he suddenly started coughing, adding to the extreme, unbelievable torment searing through his torso, as his father did not relent, continuing to land one vicious, merciless kick after the other to his body that curled up into fetal position as the only defense it had against the onslaught.

Was this what dying felt like? Because certainly, nothing could feel worse than this. He couldn't breathe, and he wasn't allowed a moment to try and catch his breath. He was surely going to die within a few moments now, wasn't he?

It was hopeless. He was now dizzy beyond reason, the reason for the dizziness unknown to him. It may have been the shortage of air. Perhaps it was the pain. Or maybe the cut on his head wasn't as shallow as he originally thought? He didn't know, so he assumed it was all three combined.

He hated that he was going to die like this. At this bastard's feet, giving him the impression that he won. He hated that he couldn't live his life to repay Yugi for sacrificing his own for him. He hated that he was about to die without telling so many people how grateful he was for their concern for a little, insignificant piece of shit like him… and most importantly, he hated that he never got the chance to whisper into Seto's ear how much he loved him…

So, tears flowing down his face in torrents and mouth hanging open to gasp for air that refused to fill his lungs, he felt his vision dimming around the edges, turning black with every passing millisecond. The whole place seemed to have gotten its sounds muted; nothing else to be heard except his gasps for air that refused to get inside his body. And before everything darkened to pitch blackness, he heard himself whispering a few words of prayer, hoping they would be enough to make sure that wherever he was going hereafter wouldn't be as hellish as this place…

Seto, naturally, did not get a second's sleep the night Yami left the Mansion. He had returned home after dropping Yami off at the airport late afternoon, giving him a kiss on the cheek and begging him to be careful. Yami told him that it was going to be okay. Seto knew for sure that it was not going to be okay and no matter how many reassurances he got from Yami, he couldn't help it when sleep evaded his eyes that night.

He called Yami at seven-thirty. Yami did not pick up. He had this funny feeling in his chest and he couldn't explain it. It was so strange, as though he was witnessing something horrible taking place, but was unable to do anything to stop it. He had to use every bit of willpower not to rush to his cell phone to call Yami every fifteen minutes to check on him. But the feeling was maddening and somehow, he knew that Yami was in trouble at that moment.

The moment Téa saw him in the morning in school, she remarked, "You look like crap."

"Thank you," he sarcastically retorted.

She paused long enough for him to stop when a teacher addressed him, asking where he had been for the past few weeks, to which he replied that he had urgent business affairs to be dealt with. When he turned to her again, she gave him a nervous little grin, asking, "So…did you call Yami yesterday…?"

"Once," he answered. She hopefully looked at him and he had a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach at her expressions, as he added, "He did not answer…"

Seeing the horrified look on her face, he realized that she too had no luck contacting Yami.

"Do you think…" she started, heading towards the school's entrance so she could wait for Yami there, resuming after a while, "that he is okay?"

He waited for a few seconds, thinking over her question several times, before shaking his head, "No…I think that he is in a lot of trouble right now. I don't know how…but…" how else could they explain Yami not answering their calls, even when he knew how worried the two would be?

She didn't say anything and made no move to make him discuss this issue further. And for that, he was grateful, as both of them stood together, anticipating Yami's arrival with hope they knew was actually futile. And in fact, their worries were proven to be correct, as the clock ticked past eight in the morning, the second bell ringing, shrilly announcing the start of the classes and the fact that Yami did not appear yet.

The first half of the day was spent in complete and pure worry, their thoughts undivided, as they thought only of Yami and the reason why he did not show up although he had assured Seto he would do so. When lunch hour started, both Seto and Téa taking up their places at the main entrance of the cafeteria so they could make sure no trouble happens, their eyes were darting back and forth between all the doorways that led into the place. They hoped…perhaps Yami would walk in through one; after all, he had done it one before, hadn't he?

Seto couldn't possibly describe how worried he was. He had heard Yami begging in his nightmares when he was trying to sleep off the withdrawal symptoms. He got a tiny glimpse of the real thing. He knew that right now, Yami must be going through hell. And he was so fucking pissed off that there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to call Yami again. But this time, instead of the phone ringing until it gave the busy tone, along with the message "no answer", Seto heard the smooth voice of the automated message, informing him that the phone is not in use and that it may be switched off.

Frustrated, he hung up, telling Téa what he heard. She was near tears, as she shifted her eyes frantically towards the entrances, her prayers almost vocal as she waited for Yami to walk into the cafeteria, no matter what his condition.

But lunch hour passed and as they made their way towards the Chemistry lab for their class. Seto saw Téa trying to evade Michael, who had walked up to her, concerned, asking if she was okay. She started crying, making her boyfriend's face get flooded with concern. Seto watched them with a grim expression, wondering if starting to cry like Téa would tarnish his reputation as the ever-stoic Seto Kaiba who could watch a village of innocents being slaughtered without shedding a tear. He suddenly realized that he didn't care right now what people thought. The only thing he cared about, was making sure that Yami was safe…

Unfortunately, he had no way of finding out at all, except walking out of the school to get inside his car and drive to Yami's house. And by doing that, he didn't know if he was making matters any worse or not…

So, when his cell phone suddenly started ringing in the middle of the Chemistry class, and when he took it out to see Yami's name written on the screen, he nearly sighed in relief, rushing to stand up and hurry out of the classroom, answering his phone with desperation, "Yami, are you okay…? Where've you be…"

He was interrupted by Yami's low voice, which held so much pain in it, it chilled him to the bone…

"Seto, I'm at Domino Memorial Hospital and…err…I need you to…I need you to come over, because I think…I think it's over now…"

Seto didn't even ask what Yami meant; he had a pretty good idea. He asked Yami where he was and after finding out, he told him that he was getting inside his car and was going to be there in less than ten minutes…

He wasn't so sure he was going to wake up. And so, it came as a surprise to him, as awareness started to slowly seep in, like water mingling into the cracks of a dried earth that hadn't come in contact with moisture for decades.

He resisted, of course, wanting to stay in the dark, painless abyss he had been confined to for the past while, but the pain and agony in every region of his body forced him to ruthlessly wake up. His crimson eyes slid open a very tiny crack, before he shut them quickly, moaning in pain when the bright light made him feel as though someone stabbed him behind his eyelids.

The sound he made forced him to also realize that he was in so much pain… he wondered vaguely how the hell he was still alive, never mind awake when he felt this much pain. He tried to assess his situation calmly as possible. He could feel a dull, maddeningly agonizing throb in his entire upper body. He had the nastiest headache ever and the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him right now made him realize that he had a very severe concussion, made worse by the fact that he had fallen asleep.

He tried to move, wanting to see if there were any other injuries and wanting to find out where he was before he had to open his eyes to make sure, but he immediately decided against the moving part. The moment he tried to shift, stinging pain erupted along his shoulders and arms and tiny pinpricks of pain spread on his hands. He realized that he was half-seated, his weight supported entirely by his hands which were bound somewhere above him with tight coils of rough rope. And when he moved, shifting to sit up, he also realized that sitting up wasn't in his best interest right now either…

Figuring it was time he pulled himself together and opened his eyes, Yami took a deep breath and tried once again. The pain this time was not any more bearable than last time, but he had to do this…

And so, after a few seconds –or maybe a few hours—of trying, he finally had his eyes open and he looked around him blearily.

He was in his room. Or what remained of his room. Everything was messed up. The furniture was almost completely broken, or tumbled over. The wallpaper was torn beyond repair. The bed was unkempt, the sheets rumpled and the coverlets thrown off it, and Yami suddenly felt the nausea he was feeling amplify when he saw the many different blotches of blood marring the golden color of the sheets. He whimpered and closed his eyes once again when he saw the disgusting, crusty, powdery traces of semen all over the place and felt them all over his body which, only now, he realized was naked.

He was cold. He needed to get out of here. He needed to wash up. He needed to kill his father. He needed to do a lot of things…

Yami stared around him. His hands were bound above him to the left lower corner of his bed. He amusedly wondered how come his father never bound him like that before, since really, the high, golden pillars of the Victorian-style bed's frame could have helped him do so. He forced himself to focus and he looked down at his body, shivering heavily when he saw the huge pool of blood that had formed underneath him, indicating with the way it was still damp that he had been bleeding until a very short while ago, if he wasn't still bleeding even now.

He swallowed, hoping and praying with every part of his being that the injury didn't stop him from fleeing once he got the chance. He experimentally pulled on his bonds, trying to see if he could untie them without having to cut off his hands in the process. The action only brought him the satisfaction of knowing that he was not going to get out of this with both his hands intact. However, he found that he didn't really care.

And so, he started twisting his hands around, trying to free his wrists. After some time, undefined to him, he could feel the warm, burning trickle of blood travelling down his arms. He didn't care, especially as he realized that his efforts were paying off, the ropes' knot becoming looser with every struggle and with every drop of blood. He was not about to stop now, not when he was about to free himself and definitely not because he was nauseated by the sight of the trickles of blood travelling down his arms.

However, just was he was about to get his right and free, he froze when he heard footsteps outside his room. He stared in horror at the doorway, knowing with the way the sound stopped that his father was about to pay him a small…'visit'.

He knew his father too well. He was right; a second or two after he heard the sound of the familiar footfalls stop, the door opened and Samuel walked in, looking vibrant and as though he didn't have a care in the whole world. Perhaps he didn't have a care…

No…actually, Yami was sure that his father had no care in the world. After all…after what was done to him yesterday, Samuel truly thought he was utterly, irreparably broken. Only he wasn't. But of course, Samuel didn't know that. He thought Yami was no threat now whatsoever. It was a wrong thing to assume of course.

And Yami had no intention at all to let him know just how wrong he was to think like that. He remained still, not even allowing himself to shudder fearfully in tandem with the sound of the soft footsteps falling against the carpet of his room, approaching him with the slowness of a predator approaching its prey. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, relaxing his arms and downright refusing to give the approaching monster the barest of hints that he had been about to free himself.

He could feel his father getting down on his knees beside him, crouching before him as though he was observing a small wild animal recently tamed. "You awake, Yami…?" he asked, voice gentle, mocking the word and every meaning behind it that made Yami crave it. He thought of ignoring the older man, simply not answering him and turning his head away a bit more to bury it in his upper arm which was pulled above his head the way it was. But Samuel was adamant. He reached out to touch his cheek, muttering, "C'mon now…you know I can see your eyelids twitching…you're awake."

Figuring that there was no way out except to open his eyes and face these few minutes –or hours, as he mentally prayed was not the case—, Yami did just that. He stared blankly into the crimson eyes so near his own, mumbling, "Untie me."

Of course, he already knew what the answer would be. "Nope, not yet," it was.

Yami kept staring into the crimson eyes he was now so familiar with, searching for any trace of humanity or compassion left, since he knew that the word 'father' meant nothing to this man. He vaguely reprimanded himself, when he found nothing that remotely resembled the warmth of good emotions in the crimson orbs, wondering why he thought the person before him was even human to begin with.

He listened with detached silence, as his father added, "I am going to leave you here for a while, so you can think over a few things and reach a decision as to whether you want to tell me where you have been for the past few weeks…and…well, we'll see what we can about those ropes when I get back home."

Yami simply continued to stare at him for while longer, before whispering out incredulously, "Did you…ever…ever since I was born…did you ever look at me as your own flesh and blood… and not just some toy in your hands…?"

The answer to that question, although once again he already knew it, seemed so important to him. He was desperate to hear it. Either way, he needed to hear it vocalized.

His father feigned thoughtfulness for a few seconds, a slender finger resting on his lips a bit, before he grinned and shook his head, "No, Yami…never."

"You truly…" Yami started, before his voice broke over the words for a second, making it fall a few decibels as he resumed, "disgrace everything that defines humanity…"

"I love you too, son," Samuel smiled at him with an indifferent, unruffled expression, leaning in to place his lips against Yami's.

Yami closed his eyes tightly, trying not to whimper in disgust and horror at the nasty, unwanted feel of those familiar lips against his, which made him form an idea in his mind that this action was only done by force, against his will. No one would ask him before this was done, no one would do it gently and certainly, no one would care if he wanted it or not.

Trying so desperately to hold onto the only thing that kept him from this pattern of thinking, of mistrust, he tried to recall the feel of Seto's warm embrace and tried to imagine Seto in this situation instead. But soon, he felt even more nauseated because he couldn't ever compare Seto's gentleness to this brutality he was currently going through. It was just so wrong on so many levels, he couldn't even begin to recall how good the sensations Seto aroused in him were. Because this was not the same. Not at all…

He never knew when his father left him alone. He was too busy trying to stay sane. When he reopened his eyes, he realized he had been crying, but he didn't let that stop him from raising his gaze up to the ropes from which he was almost free and renewing his efforts to get them completely loose.

His wrists were burning so badly and he felt that he was on the brink of passing out once more, but he couldn't allow himself. Not when he was almost done. It amused him a bit –and gladdened him ten times more— that the one time he decided to rebel, was the one time his father used rope instead of the handcuffs. Because if the handcuffs were what bound him to the bed right now, he would have had to really cut off his hands to get free, otherwise, he would have remained like that until his father decided his fate…

Finally, after what seemed like centuries, his right hand came out of the knot. He whimpered, half in pain and half in happiness, rewarding himself with a moment to catch his breath, before he raised his free hand to try and release the other one.

When he managed to do it, he lowered his arms, gasping loudly in pain when sharp pains shot throughout the length of his limbs, after they were moved from being placed in one position for such a long time. It took a while until normal sensation came back into them. He took a moment to gather his strength, before clutching at the mattress on the bed and the bed's frame, getting up with utmost difficulty.

Moving was an abject impossibility, which he was determined to test –and prove—the saying that stated that nothing was impossible. He moved to his closet and took out a pair of his baggy jeans, as well as some random, dark hoodie. He made sure not to even attempt staring into the mirror at his reflection. He didn't dare try dealing with that right now. He got dressed with painful slowness and by the time he was done, he was panting heavily with exertion, head spinning, threatening to make him lose contact with any coherence or consciousness.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm down. He needed to get this done and he needed to gather his strength, just this time.

A few minutes later, he felt that the pain and instability subsided for a little bit. He got up from where he had sunk to his knees tiredly and grabbed a jacket from the closet, tying it around his waist so that if he bled and it appeared on the fabric of his jeans, he wouldn't have to answer unwanted questions on the streets. He grabbed his wallet and placed some money inside it, before taking his sunglasses and slipping them on, cell phone and keys, pulling up the hood to cover half his face and the blood on it and then he turned to walk out of his room.

He made his way downstairs quietly, just in case someone was in the house still. He listened carefully, affirming with relief that he was alone when he didn't hear anything except the sound of his pained, ragged breaths.

It took him a while to get out of the house and out on the street. But it all passed by as a blur, as he focused all of his attention on not passing out yet. He stopped a cab, asking him in a low, calm tone to take him to the nearest hospital's ER.

Once there, he paid the man with the first bill his hand touched. He got out, not caring that the old man was calling him back telling him that this way over the fare. He walked into the building, the loud sounds and the noise making him feel like passing out more than ever now.

He stubbornly refused to give in to the temptation and he walked to the receptionist, a pretty middle-aged nurse with a fair complexion, green eyes and red hair pulled into a ponytail. An amused part of him noted that she looked redheaded enough to pass as a Weasley, but then he reprimanded himself to take this seriously because really, this wasn't the time to crack jokes in his head.

"How may I help you young man?" she asked with a small, hurried grin.

"I want…to admit myself… into the hospital here," he stuttered, wanting to sound calm without passing out in the process.

She nodded, "Where is your guardian?"

"Not here," he mumbled.

She gave another brief nod, before fumbling around on her desk for a little while, rambling off as though she was saying this for the millionth time today, "Well…I will need you then to start filling out these papers so that…"

He interrupted her, feeling that his restraint was about to break right now, "Look, ma'am…I cannot possibly describe to you how much pain I am in right now. My guardian beat the shit out of me last night until I passed out and I am pretty sure I was sexually assaulted by him once again and I am praying that any trace or evidence of it did not go away yet…so please don't ask me to fill any stupid paperwork!"

At any other time, he would have been amused by the way her jaw dropped open in shock for a second, before she jumped up from her seat, calling one of the other nurses and asking her to bring closer one of the gurneys. However, he couldn't think of anything right now, except that every part of him was aching so badly, he couldn't stay standing anymore and so, he gave into the urge and sank down to his knees in front of the receptionist's desk.

A second later, he found her kneeling in front of him, pulling down his hood to reveal the nasty injury to the side of his head. He knew it was nasty because of the way she gasped and yelled for some help.

Once again, everything went by in a blur, which worried him a little because one moment he was on the ground in the ER's reception and the next, he was in a completely different place, lying on his back while many people swarmed the place around him.

"Don't you have anyone to call…?" a nurse asked him gently, raising his cell phone so he could see it.

He swallowed nervously, wondering if this was the right thing to do. Eventually, he decided that to hell with the right or wrong thing, and settled onto obeying the desperate, aching need with which his heart was beating and he nodded.

She gave him the phone and he searched for Seto's number, pressing the dial button when he found it.

There was only one ring, before Seto's desperate voice was heard on the other end, frantically asking, "Yami, are you okay…? Where've you be…"

Yami interrupted him, weakly, his voice wavering as he tried to get this done before passing out, "Seto, I'm at Domino Memorial Hospital and…err…I need you to…I need you to come over, because I think…I think it's over now…"

Yes, it must be over, right…? That was it. He was sure that the rape-kit, as well as the variety of bruises on his skin, was going to come up with enough evidence to get him away from all of this. He hoped it was enough and he wouldn't have to go through any more pain…

Seto was silent for a little while on the other end, before mumbling, "I'll be there in less than ten minutes…"

Yami lowered the phone, hanging up and handing it over to the nurse, muttering in his waning voice to her as his vision started to dim alarmingly, "When he gets here…please let him see me…okay?"

"What's his name, so I would know?" she asked, only her voice the one making sense in the huge jumble of words and urgent commands and sympathetic questions which he couldn't answer.

He swallowed, closing his eyes in pain as he was shifted onto one of the hospital beds in the room. He could feel himself losing awareness, so he muttered out Seto's name, hoping she heard him because after that, everything sank into blissful, pain-free darkness and he knew no more…

A/N: three more chapters to go ^_^

Thanks for reading.

Hathor…