Taken

Puppet To Fate

The cell reeked with the nauseating stench of death. Two whole days had passed since Twice's lifeless body had been left to rot, and the putrid odor had permeated every inch of the tiny, suffocating space. Izuku could barely stand it, each breath filled with the repulsive smell that seemed to cling to him like a relentless specter.

The sight of Twice's lifeless eyes haunted Izuku's every waking moment and infiltrated his nightmares. They stared blankly into nothingness, a stark reminder of the horrors he had witnessed. The image of his friend's final moments replayed in his mind like a broken record, tormenting him with the knowledge that he had been powerless to save him.

The psychological toll of those days spent with a corpse had shattered Izuku's once resilient spirit. He felt like a husk of his former self, his hope crushed, and his soul weary. Every moment seemed like an eternity, and he longed for the solace of death, seeing it as the only escape from the unending nightmare.

In the depths of despair, Izuku began to withdraw into himself, haunted by guilt, grief, and the chilling reality of his situation. The sense of isolation and hopelessness weighed heavily on him, and he struggled to find a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.

The reader could feel the weight of Izuku's despair and the crushing burden of his trauma. His psychological state had deteriorated to a breaking point, and the horrifying ordeal he endured had left him contemplating the unthinkable. As the days dragged on, Izuku's spirit teetered on the edge, and the reader could only hope that he would somehow find the strength to endure and hold on to the faintest spark of hope that lay buried within him.

As the days passed and Izuku was left alone with Twice's lifeless body, his physical and emotional state deteriorated rapidly. The absence of food and care left him weak and vulnerable, struggling to cope with the burden of his own injuries and the traumatic loss of his friend.

With no one left to tend to his wounds, they festered and worsened, causing immense pain and discomfort. The lack of proper treatment made it increasingly difficult for him to move or find any relief from the constant agony he endured.

Each breath became a struggle as the pungent smell of death and decay permeated the small cell, further heightening Izuku's sense of isolation and hopelessness. The confinement felt like a tomb, and the weight of it all pressed down on him, making every moment feel like an eternity.

Without proper sustenance, his body weakened, leaving him with little energy to even lift his head. The sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears, a constant reminder of his frailty and vulnerability. His body shook with tremors, partly due to fear and partly due to his deteriorating physical state.

Izuku's mind was clouded with pain, exhaustion, and grief. The nightmares that plagued him every time he managed to close his eyes only further added to his suffering, blurring the lines between reality and his darkest fears.

His hope had all but vanished, replaced by a deep sense of despair and resignation. He no longer clung to the faintest spark of hope; it had been extinguished by the overwhelming darkness that enveloped him.

In his weakened state, thoughts of escape or rescue seemed like distant fantasies, far beyond his grasp. He felt like a mere puppet in the hands of cruel fate, trapped in a never-ending nightmare.