絆 | bond | gojo satoru

さんじゅうきゅう | thirty nine

絆 | kizuna | bond

39

Content Warning: This chapter contains scenes depicting sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised, and please prioritize your well-being. If you find such content distressing, it's recommended to approach with caution or skip this material.

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Yuri

THE WORLD SWAM INTO FOCUS as I stirred from the clutches of unconsciousness. My eyes opened to a grim reality - a body that felt detached, scars etching stories of battles that seemed to belong to another lifetime. Numbness enveloped me, a sensation that transcended the physical and seeped into the very core of my being.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I raised myself. Every motion felt like a monumental effort, my weakened state turning even the simplest actions into arduous tasks. Leaning against the cold wall of the dungeon, I allowed my head to rest, its unforgiving surface a harsh reminder of the confines I found myself in. I was back here, the haunting familiarity of this wretched place offering no solace, only chains binding my ankles as a cruel embellishment to my captivity.

My gaze shifted upward, fixating on the small, cracked window that revealed a sliver of the outside world. Night had descended, casting the dungeon into an even deeper abyss. The distant stars, mere pinpricks of light, offered little respite from the pervasive darkness.

A sigh escaped my lips, a weary sound that resonated with the profound fatigue that had settled within me. I could mend my wounds, but the energy required eluded my grasp. Cursed energy, once a source of power, had been mercilessly stripped away, leaving me defenseless.

The chains creaked as I shifted on the cold ground, its unyielding surface offering no comfort. I spoke, my voice carrying the weight of resignation. "Nothing changes in this wretched place."

The confines of this wretched cell blurred into a timeless abyss. Days and nights merged into an indistinguishable haze, a perpetual twilight that clung to the shadows. Eternity lingered, an oppressive weight on my shoulders, each moment a laborious trek toward an inevitable conclusion. The decree had been passed – my execution. A cruel proclamation by the one who was supposed to be my father.

A bitter smile etched itself onto my lips as I pondered the unchanging nature of the man who claimed that title. Of course, my father hadn't changed; he remained a despicable specter of a man, a cruel puppeteer orchestrating my demise. The realization tasted of disappointment, a flavor that mingled with the metallic tang of despair.

My gaze descended to my pitiful state, my once proud warrior's spirit now shackled in this forsaken cell. Dirty and ripped clothes clung to my body, stained with the remnants of the deeds that led me here. Rotten blood, a gruesome testament to the price of my actions, adorned the fabric like morbid artwork. Another bitter smile surfaced – humanity, a distant memory. The stains mirrored the darkness that had consumed my soul.

The screams of those I had silenced echoed in the recesses of my mind. The memory of my sword swinging, cutting through the air with a deadly precision, slashing throats without mercy. The grotesque symphony played vividly, the macabre notes etching themselves into the very fabric of my being. The satisfaction derived from extinguishing lives had become a haunting melody, a soundtrack to the sins that painted my existence.