[HxH Fanfiction] Our Secret - Feitan x Phinks (English Ver)

𝐗 - 𝐇𝐞𝐲𝐭𝐮𝐧 𝐱 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐫

NDA : Hello (when I'm there at the beginning in general you know it doesn't look good lmao) ! This time I come to warn you not for a lemon but to tell you that this chapter is particularly violent or even disturbing to read if you're sensitive. I don't want to spoil you but if your life isn't going well, wait until you feel better to read it, ok? :-)

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I didn't have an easy start in life. To be honest, I actually went through hell. It's not for nothing that my hatsu is based on pain. It's only the reflection of all that I have been able to endure since my birth. Perhaps it's because of this unforgettable pain that I have become so psychotic even with those who are dear to me. From an early age I was taught and shown how rotten the world was.

I was an only child. My parents, or rather my spawners, were both Asian. I only have vague memories of my mother, she died shortly after I was born. As for my father, he was the leader of a Chinese triad and heir to a secret society which no longer exists today. His specialty was drug trafficking and assassination. He killed two birds with one stone, when things went wrong he never hesitated to get his hands dirty. Therefore, he was feared by all. I was destined to take over the clan and carry on the business, except that I had decided otherwise. At least... He had pushed me to commit the irreparable for the first time.

"Heytun."

When he called me by my real name (which I no longer use today), I knew what awaited me. I had to stay still, let his henchmen tie me up against my will, and take it upon myself to not show anything. There was then a multitude of blows on my body still too frail for a child who, according to him, needed to toughen up if I wanted to become a worthy heir to the Portor family.

"A scream is equal to an extra blow. A tear is equal to an extra session. A request to stop is equal... To death."

Whips, daggers, instruments of torture, everything was good for him to use. I couldn't see the end of it. They were all professional, they tried to not leave me the slightest scar. Even though I was resisting the pain better and better, my trauma never stopped getting worse. Although my body recovered, mentally I was destroyed. Deep inside, I was seething with rage. I hated it, and I had the right to. From time to time, my tormentors revealed bitter smiles, as if they really took pleasure in beating on an immobilized child. Even if my father had given me all the reasons in the world to accept my fate, I couldn't understand it. What he and his men did to me... Was unacceptable.

So this is life ? Getting beaten, recovering with the aim of suffering better afterwards, and so on... How can you like that ? How much longer is all of this going to last ?