WARNINGS: rape (if you dont want to read its separated between long lines of ***'s), noncon, torture, dark themes, cliffhanger.
Unedited.
Chapter 16: The Key To Salvation Part 1
I stare at the man standing before me, eyes taking in every detail of his relaxed form. There is nothing particularly interesting about him from what I can see. Every bit of the word average, aside from the odd plum tint of his hair.
What really catches my attention is the pull. An invisible string tethering us together. It drew me to him. Has me waiting eagerly for his lips to part and hear him speak God's Word.
Like magic the pattering, aching rhythm of my heart falls to a lethargic and steady beat; barely noticeable.
I knew not why chains bound me to a chair, nor how I got there. It creeps like a monster under a child's bed. There but not important if one doesn't actively look for them.
The air is heavy with an intensity that flows off my shoulders like water. Coats my tongue thickly like oil as He watches my every movement–a starved hawk circling its wounded prey.
Finally, He speaks. "Do you know who you are?"
My head tilts to the side, brows drawing together as I struggle to recall.
'Who am I?' I pondered his words, mentally stuttering. An answer dances on the tip of my tongue before escaping down past my throat. Eyes falling shut I think harder. 'Who… am I?'
There is something there; a well-worn tome sitting atop an abandoned, collapsing podium. Beside it lies a chained chest that reeks of day-old blood.
I walk toward it, hesitantly observing how the base of the crumbling marble column resembles arms; its face that holds the tome, hands.
Extinguished and haphazardly placed candles line behind the book. Cooled wax drips everywhere creating a mess of the stone.
A breeze stirs around the vacant space of my chest, delicately flipping through aged pages. The words scattered across parchment are penned in hasty, violent slashes.
The air whispers as I scan its recurring print.
I am unsure if it's the correct answer to his inquiry, but he seems impatient for me to speak so I blurt it out without thought. It comes out matter-of-fact and without infliction.
"I am nothing."
The smile that curls on His thin lips is so wide it splits his face from ear to ear. Along with it comes an odd stench of rotten flowers but my mind blanks when his mouth opens and he laughs.
Warmth fills my chest. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard—ever would. I sit there, bewitched as it caresses my ears; setting aflame an alien longing in my breast.
(Something isn't right.)
I join him, stomach aching as I strive to make his delight my own. To bask in its glory and tuck myself safely within it. All the while silent, salty tears overflow from my eyes and trail down straining cheeks.
I hold close to that feeling every day that passes after—the rapture that sends every one of my nerves alight with joy. It sits with me when He—Master, he likes to be called—begins his teachings.
They leave me exhausted and bloody. He paints bruises across my skin like I am a piece of art he can't bear to leave untouched. Layering acrylic over and over, never forgoing artistic passion long enough for me to fully heal.
I learn through raw experience to evade the hits thrown my way. Pain stands as a great motivator—and my efforts show as my blotted skin begins to slowly heal.
I also learn the ways of Master quickly, too. He is persistent and quick to anger. The first time he takes me to a small, dark room rank with the scents of copper and suffering I come to the conclusion pain is a necessity.
He wished me to feel as every nail is slowly pulled from my fingers and toes. No matter how they were taken, they always grow back within a few days, only for it to start again.
The tortures are varied but never enough to leave a lasting mark on my already scarred body. Imperfection bothers Master the most. He calls me perfect all the while staring at the scarring on my skin with displeasure.
The worst are the genjutsu. They last for days on end, leaving me a shaking, blubbering mess for just as long after.
Even still, I could feel as rats ate away at my insides. Feasting on my liver, burrowing into my lungs and making nests in my skull. Can hear the screams of hundreds of people as the world burns and turns to ash.
In the beginning I begged, oh how I begged—it only spurs him on. Pushing me further.
"Pain is our greatest teacher." He'd say, "It shows us just how far we can go to survive."
Master would coo sweet nothings in my ringing ears as he methodically breaks every bone in my hands, forcing me to memorize their names as he went.
"It's for your own good," he would whisper lovingly, "you aren't ready to join the others with how weak you are."
On bad days the only other person I see would walk in and hover over my broken body. A dull-haired boy around my age.
He takes in the gruesome room splattered in my blood and bile with a kind smile permanently seared onto his thin lips. As if the sight is nothing new.
Circular glasses reflect my pitiful state as he stands above me. Green chakra sinks through my skin like slime, piecing me back together just enough to continue.
One particularly challenging day he leans in close to bestow gospel: "Don't react and this will end."
He was right. Whenever I fail to acknowledge the torment, the sessions space out to a weekly occurrence. I never learn his name but I remember his words long after he stops coming by.
…
When he names me Dove and passes me an avian-esque porcelain mask, I hold onto it like it's the world's greatest treasure. It's simple: red tear-shaped eyebrows are the only decoration coloring the smooth material.
Compared to most other blank masks it's downright incredible.
"Never take it off unless told." His instructions crawl into my ears and down my spine.
I place the mask over my face, wearing it like a badge of honor. "As you command, Master."
…
"You are mine," master pants heavily, voice echoing against the walls of the empty dojo.
I couldn't see his expression from my position on the ground: face pressed against the wooden floor as he held my arms taunt behind me. His knee presses against the base of my skull as I struggle to breathe through the confusion.
What began as a normal spar transformed in intensity. A discomfort that leaves me perplexed and nervous for what was to come.
A few hours ago, we left Danzo-dono's office—who'd been unmistakably annoyed that I had no skill with sealing. It was rare to meet with the elder but for a reason that evades my grasp, it—without fail—sends Master into fitful rage.
"Say it." He demands, knee digging in harder.
I can't fathom why he would request such a thing—he long ago asserted his position in my life. Still, I answer in wheezed gasps. "I'm...yours."
I give nothing away, but when an earthy headiness becomes present in the air, I react on instinct and struggle in vain against his grasp. The impulse is impossible to ignore as my torso writhes, the pain that once held me meaning nothing.
He gives a tug of warning against my already sore arms and I whine pathetically.
"That's right. You are whatever I say you are." His words are rushed. Agitated yet sparking with what I realize is desire and yearning. My skin crawls and itches against that earthy scent that belongs to him alone.
A resounding crack echoes in the room as my left shoulder inevitably pops out of socket. Spittle leaves my mouth as I exhale sharply. I swallow the scream building up in my throat—refusing to let anything out.
He releases my arms and flips me onto my back.
"I think it's time for your next lesson~" he sing-songs, hand reaching out to wrap around my throat.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
Our noses touch, and I'm assaulted by the rancid stench of his breath. Like greens left out too long in the burning heat. "It will help you on your upcoming mission."
My heart picks up its pace slightly. Mission?
That could only mean one thing—I'm almost ready.
Cut off from the world and kept in darkness I wasn't sure how much time passed since I first opened my eyes to the world. Spans of time are irrelevant to my curriculum, but I am sure it has been months, possibly a year.
This is good, right? Right? It means I'm no longer abhorrently weak. That I can be trusted.
Finally, I could be put to use. And gods, I want to be useful—yearned for it like an old friend.
(I need to get out)
His hand sluggishly falls from its place around my neck to the collar of my shirt. A deep panic swells in my chest as he rips through the fabric like paper. Cold air is another shock to my system as I grit my teeth through the discomfort.
My brows knit together as a new, aching feeling inches its way into my stomach like invasive fire ants. It burns like bile in my gut as Masters gray-blue eyes rove over my exposed skin; zoned in on its rise and fall as my breath rattled.
I watch with wide eyes as Masters mouth moved, yet nothing could be heard over the ringing sounds of warning bells blaring in my mind. The way his fingertips roam over my flesh would have been tolerable if not for the decay penetrating my sinuses.
A lightbulb lights over my head as I tacked a name to nauseating feelings stirring in my gut. Revulsion. What he's doing is…wrong.
No, no, no—that couldn't be right—this was Master. He was taking the time to instruct me for an upcoming mission. He would never steer me wrong.
Or would he? My fingers sting in phantom pain, remembering all of the times they've been broken just shy of becoming useless. Master is capable of many, many terrible things. What's one more?
His hand shifts lower and I couldn't stop myself from grabbing onto his wrist to halt its descent, nails digging bloody crescents into his own skin. I stare at it, transfixed at the sight of his blood.
…I made master bleed…
The world freezes. His anger simmers dangerously in the air with an edge of warning.
"What do you think you're doing?" his voice breaks through the white noise, flat, but I knew better.
I hurry to answer, "I don't- "
My cheek smarts, head falling to the side as he strikes me. Fresh blood gathers in my mouth and mixes foully with waterlogged, rot and bile.
Not for the first time the thought that he hates me crossed my mind. Why else would he disguise the horrors inflicted on me as training?
He hates me, and, if I dig deep enough—tore through the innermost workings of my being through muscle, flesh and bone—I did too.
I long ago surpassed him in ability. Yet every day I am forced to submit. To present myself on a platter for him to devour. Why is that, I wonder? Loyalty?
"I ASKED WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?" he screams in my ear.
Fear?
I flinch as my eyes burn with shame. Not even I am privy as to why this time is different. How repulsion replaces my once unwavering devotion.
But I don't say that aloud, too fearful of the repercussions. Instead, I mumble weakly: "It feels weird." And leave it at that. Abandon it to fester in uncertainty.
A dark chuckle sends ice water sloshing through my veins. When he speaks again, it's in a low and teasing lilt. It is the same as when we are alone in the dark, dank room full of horrors.
"What is this~? Don't tell me you're shy my Dove~"
He misinterprets my words and the hidden intentions behind them. A blessing in disguise. If he knew there would be hell to pay.
Master went through seasons of highs and lows. One moment he is red-faced and spitting venom like brutal summer; the next he speaks with loving notes that blossom like spring.
He saves his cruel winters for sessions in the Room where he leaves me to thaw on my own. Fall comes in times like this: where I am expected to relinquish the many pieces of myself he broke and lay them at his feet.
A knee settles between my legs and I allow it. Because that is what's expected of me.
Dropping my wide gaze, I fix it instead to the nearest cream-colored wall, swallowing past a lump in my throat that felt like liquid fire. Rather than pay attention to his dialog I count the numerous defaults scattered across the wall from past spars.
My mind escapes from my body and circles overhead like a bird—a Dove. Ha.
One. Two. Three. Four-
Hands like a brand knead and stroke at my flesh but I endure.
-twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight-
It hurts. It hurts so bad tears gather in my lashes.
-one hundred fifty-six-
Those, too, I refuse to let fall. It is a part of myself that I would not give him. It wouldn't have helped either way.
-two hundred thirty-nine-
His head rests heavily against my disjointed shoulder but I am blissfully numb. I feel not the stinging of my limbs nor the lips that press against my own.
This too I must survive.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
For some reason my skin doesn't fit right. The world continues to move on and yet I stay suspended in those two-hundred and thirty-nine seconds, mind still looping in a dizzying infinity from above.
My skeleton begs to burst from its cage and catch aflame but I hold it back, all too aware of the back of my neck blistering.
"Don't react and this will end."
Words once revered lack any meaning after that day. Because as stated numerously: this is different than the usual torture—one I never could have prepared myself for and never wish to repeat.
Of course, Master has other plans.
It continues for so long I fall into a routine. For the next eternity I give, but only in name. All the way until the point I am sent to the Room for not listening. Not reacting. My teeth grind at the thought.
I guess one could only attempt to escape their own mind for so long without being forced back. Because, as Master says, I do not belong to myself.
I am his.
The words scrawled on an abandoned tome cross my mind when water is poured over my bound face. I put up no struggle. When I breathed out, I empty myself. I feel...nothing.
No, I become nothing—a forgotten oracle triggering an unheeded prophecy and setting it back into motion.
Eventually, I listened. Tackle his 'lessons' with the same unrelenting vigor I do when I repeatedly perform kata.
Lost in those studies, I reclaim a piece once lost. I fumble across the discovery that when I engage with exuberance, the faster it is over.
It eventually becomes a switch. One I'm able to turn off and on at will—from hollowed out to willing and receptive.
I take to it like a fish in water with a bashful smile that never reaches my eyes. Teasing hands and wandering mouths seeking an end.
I later conclude that, yes; this was an important lesson indeed. One that giftwraps my freedom from solitude. My first walk through the base that holds the other members was surreal. They watch me mostly with blank disinterest.
Even when I am made to test what I learned on others in the base, it empowers me. That ability to be in control filling my aching, empty chest. With each gasp and moan, I stole their pieces to make myself whole.
And I get away with it. Became an actress on a set eager to complete an act.
When the stage dims and the curtains pull as a scene concludes, I watch them with detached coldness until the next would walk in and lock the door. They sweat like pigs and reek just as bad.
Once the last leaves I'm alone until Master demands my next performance.
(I spent that time locked in my own head. Mind wandering and darkly imaginative. Secretly, I craft another life. One that is my own. In which I hold the strings and Master chokes—because something within me evolved.
A once carefully cultivated bud now blooms wildly out of control and it had a name:
Vengeance.
Master would remain willfully ignorant to this change. Dancing along unsuspectingly to my tune all because he forgets to ask—too spent for words.)
More time passes until the day I've been looking forward to comes.
"You're ready."
I hold back on smiling gleefully. Finally, I can be of some use.
Master holds a scroll out and I take it without question. The back of my neck stings as he gives his next orders; "Complete your mission exactly as written and promptly return. If you're found out inside the village you know what to do."
"As you command."
No witnesses. And on the off chance they escape, turn my blade on myself and die.
His words settle in and I move to follow robotically.
An abundance of rich and affluent noblemen and women in Fire with an appetite for the red-light district are brutalized in a string of assassinations. There is one lone survivor. She tells the tale of a yokai in human form who nearly took her life to any who would listen. If not for her bodyguards she would be dead.
All the while a man with silver hair sat, listening.
….
The crew of the Rusty Cannon are exterminated. The only living member is a young girl who was forced to stay home for that voyage and is unknowingly orphaned as the ship sinks mere miles from the docks.
…
A small village in Lightning is mysteriously slaughtered in their beds overnight. There are no leads.
..
In Kumo an academy for aspiring ninja explodes one cold, dewy morning. With all the exits blockaded there is no way for the teachers and children to escape. Kumo's ranks are devastated; their economy crippled.
A lone figure watches at a safe distance away, hidden in the shadows. Screams fill the streets as the building burns to the ground in an ember haze. Only when the fire is finally extinguished does the figure fade into the night.
.
It all went wrong on one dark, uneventful night.
I was with a temporary team. We had just finished scaling the wall surrounding Konoha after a particularly gruesome mission including the extermination of a noble family.
Mission objective: complete. No loose strings and no unnecessary complications.
That was, until we set foot on the lightly guarded area that once belonged to the Uchiha Clan.
It began with a kick that sent me airborne, crashing into the side of an abandoned residential building. The hit came so fast I barely had time to brace myself with chakra.
When the last of the rubble fell I couldn't help staring at the hole my body had punched through the concrete.
Had it been anyone else they would have likely died from the blunt force trauma alone. Still, my ribs ached and blood seeped from my mouth. No doubt a bruise would remain for weeks to come.
Stars danced in my vision as I carefully pulled myself from the mess and back onto the street. My arms dangled limply at my sides as I recollect to establish the threat.
Whoever it was somehow bypassed my senses, leaving me reeling. Complicity like that were met with strict and severe discipline. I would know: this would be my second offence.
Irritation and fear churned in my stomach—or was that internal damage?
… No matter.
The melody of an ongoing fight reached my ears as my head cleared enough to focus. I stared, transfixed at the battle unfolding, lead by a single man.
I begrudgingly admit, the way my foe danced among my struggling teammates was beautiful. Not a single movement he made was without purpose or intent to kill. Deliberate was he with every perfect strike and block.
Reo and Yui were fighting a losing battle.
It was when I caught a light scent of bergamot that my heart beat faster in my chest in anticipation. 'Finally,' I thought, 'an opponent worth of a real fight.'
"Dove!" beckoned my superior, Boar, pulling me out of my trance.
Why we were losing the battle became clear the moment I joined into the fight and met the enemies gaze. Our kunai clashed in brilliant sparks as I redirected his stab aimed at Reo's neck.
Sharingan.
Though I had never fought someone with that particular doujutsu before, my gaze dropped and I fell back to focus on his body language instead.
The eye must've been stolen considering the Uchiha's downfall a year and a half back.
An idea struck me: with the sharingan in hand I could lessen my punishment for being caught within the village. My mistake could be forgotten. The thought alone lit a fire under my feet as I fought just a little harder.
As if reading my mind Boar yells out from the sidelines, clutching at a wound on his stomach. "Don't aim to kill! Incapacitate so he can't follow."
Well, there went that ide.
My reply was dull, body readjusting automatically to the new orders; "As you command."
For reasons unknown to me the man's eyebrows drew together in my peripheral—was that confusion? A strange preparation for a jutsu?
He takes a deep breath, gaze piercing me as if looking for something. By his scent alone he seemed to be in some sort of turmoil. Even his chakra was erratic; sparking in tight, white arcs.
"Your voice…" he trailed off under his breath, just loud enough I could hear.
My head tilt to the side at his odd words and behavior. I was sure I never met him before-
Just then a hazy image of a younger version of the man overlapped with reality. No. I shook off the invasive image and oncoming headache.
His scent increased and I caught the faint stench of canines. It filled my head with an echo of something breaking. Something that was important to me—but it disappears as soon as I try to grasp just what it was.
"You even smell familiar." He spoke.
Though I began feeling the same the moment was cut short when Boar impatiently called out for me to get it over with.
I physically shook my head in frustration and darted forward. Unfortunately, my slight hesitation gave my opponent an advantage.
His strength suddenly doubled as he easily overwhelmed me with his larger frame. I twisted just out of his kunai's reach, ducking under his outstretched arm in pursuit of his achilles heel. Which turned out to be a deadly mistake.
He anticipated my movement and retaliated with another kick aimed at my face. Back-bent as far as possible I only just got out of the way fast enough. The bottom of my mask wqasnt as lucky as it broke horizontally.
Bad, bad, bad, bad—master would be furious.
The man stumbled back as if hit in the same moment as the reinforced porcelain clattered across the pavement. Though half his expression was blocked with a mask I could read the horror written on his face plain as day.
His eyes widened, pupils nothing but tiny pin-pricks. My only issue was I didn't remember who this was or what I could've possibly done to put that familiar look of panic on him.
None of that mattered as another set orders given long ago by master took hold—one of us would have to die tonight. Him or me.
No witnesses.
Pulling from my chakra reserves I moved with the aide of lightning. More sparks like fireworks ignited with every parry as he did the same, our movements a blur.
"Stop!" ordered Boar, but I couldn't. The back of my neck was burning and I had no choice. "Stop her!"
I could sense my other two teammates rejoin, circling.
Blind with panic and unable to land a hit I abandon my kunai and tackle him. We went down hard, the mas head bounced off the pavement. My legs straddle his chest, knees pinning his arms to his sides.
Victory. The battle was won. I'd live through another night-
"Akira?" uttered the man under me, dazed.
My raised fist froze for but a second as my stomach dropped and twisted painfully.
(Unknown to anyone but the man beneath you, your eyes flicker burgundy and fill with tears. The man flashes his chakra—hoping someone would be this far out near the inner wall.)
Why did it hurt to hear that name? I punched him with all of the pent-up confusion left in my aching body.
"A-Akira please,"
Another hit. Another plea.
Dammit, this was taking too long.
My hands wrapped around his neck in a tight grip, barely able to fully encompass it. Nails bite into his skin, crimson seeping from the wounds. This will be easier, I thought.
Brute force worked well against nobles and civilians unable to use chakra to reinforce bone as shinobi were trained. So if caving his face in and bloodying my hands with his brain matter wasn't enough, oxygen deprivation would do just fine.
He was a sight to behold: silver hair lay plastered against his forehead in bloodied clumps. I watched as his mouth gaped open behind cloth, desperate to speak out his last words.
Before I could flex my fingers to break his windpipe, he uttered a single word that ticked the once frozen arms of a clock.
It came out on a choked gasp, barely managing to come to life. "Wildfire."
My grip went slack. A strangeness snaked up my back and spread like branches of a tree as the world doubled; half darkened and lagging as the other bled vivid colors through shades of monochrome.
Boar's distant voice came from behind. Nervousness tainted his usually sterile scent. "Dove, status report!"
There was an irate roar resounding so loud I covered my ears to no use. It continued from within, drowning out the rest of the world.
I watched in dread as throbbing dark veins traveled up my arms along with the pounding beat of my heart. Fire ignited in my bloodstream as my body seized.
Each spasm brought on excruciating waves of pain to fire through the neurons of my brain. Something wrong in my gut crawled up my throat. I choked as viscus black bile gushed past my lips.
My eyes rolled back, vision darkening. I was drowning in that lingering wrongness. High on agony I fought against gravity and endured. 'I've suffered worse.'
The feeling amplified and expanded until-
Everything came back in a familiar whiplash of sensation.
End
A/n: Ngl this chapter kinda fucked me up when writing it which is why it's taken so long to produce. Had a mental breakdown a few months ago, and ER visit and new medications fucking with my will to write but I'm glad this finally is out so I can move on to the next arc.