A/N: Hi everyone! This is my 3rd story, and I'm really excited to write this one, so I hope you all like it too. Now I was gonna write this after I'd finished one of the stories I'm writing right now, but I thought I'd do this one early as a way to commemorate my getting 100 followers. I really do appreciate the support you've all given me from day 1, I've come a lot further than I thought I would, and that's all because of you guys.
Nothing else from me, but I will say that this chapter does contain violence, blood, and swearing, so just a heads up.
P.S: Thanks to L0vely_Princ3ss for the artwork of the OC, please go and check them out!
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Krish. That was his name. Who he was. His identity. It was an unorthodox name, not one originating in Japan, but a name derived from the Hindu religion. Specifically, Lord Krishna, a Hindu deity who is said to have been the reason for the Indian festival of lights, Diwali, to have been created, and is thus referred to by some as the God of Light. But to the man who held this moniker, this legend was a slap in the face.
As he opened his eyes, eyelids creaking open allowing the curtain of darkness to rise, he saw the ground. Grey, dappled slabs were peppered across the floor of the abandoned apartment complex, but the lack of light in the room made it darker than it was. Blinking, he looked back down to see a drop of red on the previously dark floor. And then another. And more and more rained down in front of him. As it splashed on the floor, tiny drops of the liquid flying out in all kinds of directions, he caught a faint stench of it.
The smell of rust invaded his nostrils, as it travelled through his body, irritating his olfactory senses. Funny thing is, he knew that meant he was at home. Even if he loathed the pungent aroma, he was so used to it that he elicited no physical response, just annoyance on the inside.
His entire body was still. He didn't dare move. Any flinch, any reflex would be punished. He couldn't even breathe properly. If his chest rose any more he would be in excruciating pain. He was made to stay there, not moving, feeling, or existing. He could simply move his eyes, and even then it was risky.
He looked up as much as he could, seeing the cracked window directly in front of him, the moonlight illuminating the cuts on his bare chest and arms. Lines of red adorned his body, some thin, shallow slices, and some thick, deep gashes. It was like a gruesome abstract art piece. The blood from the larger cuts dripped down his body, staining his tracksuit bottoms. The older cuts that were only beginning to heal now reopened again, some forming a perfect cross on his body. New scars were shredded open, as the blood gushed out of the formerly damaged skin, and old scars that weren't allowed to heal were on the verge of splitting, as the gruesome way his skin reformed was put on full display underneath the spotlight that was the moon.
A knife was hanging above his head, and one right on his sternum, pressing the skin in ever so slightly, his anxiety levels rising exponentially every time he breathed and his chest moved a millimetre. He couldn't stop staring at the blade, his mind unable to get over the imminent threat to him, but he also knew the knife well. It was the reason he was in this situation.
He wiggled his fingers, feeling how cold they were from the lack of proper blood circulation. He could feel the custom handcuffs as they held his arms up by the wrists, as blood trickled the length of his arm, the rough surface of his unmoisturized and scarred skin making the liquid leave a trail on it, as it settled on his shoulder.
He hated those handcuffs. Filed down on the inside so they'd dig into his wrists every time he ended up like this. His veins were so close to being damaged, that his own body weight is the only thing that prevented him from being seriously injured. He never thought malnourishment would save his life.
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Krish: The Tortured Hero- MHA Fanfic (OC X Nejire)
FanfictionHe spent his entire life abused, broken, alone. Tortured for all his days, he was lost. With nowhere to go to, and no one to call his own he had resigned from life. Living only to serve his psychotic partner. He never wanted any of this. He never wa...
