SPLASH
The harsh splash of cold water yanked Diablo from his sleep, his eyes snapping open to see none other than the second-in-command—Lucas. Diablo jerked back instinctively, brows furrowing in confusion and irritation. His sleep had been abruptly interrupted, and now this?
"Get up," Lucas ordered coldly. "Time for your punishment."
Diablo blinked, his brows knitting tighter as his head lifted. Punishment? Again? He thought they were done with that—wasn't denying him food enough?
But Lucas continued, his tone devoid of sympathy. "Your punishment for last night's rash behavior."
The annoyance within Diablo stirred with disbelief. Hadn't they already dealt with that? After everything he'd endured to save that food that almost burnt his hand, they'd still had the audacity to let him go hungry yesterday. And now… this? Another punishment?
Then came the final blow.
"You have two punishments," Lucas added, almost smugly.
This wasn't about justice anymore—this was Lucas enjoying his misery. A twisted form of satisfaction. Deep down, Diablo knew: this was just another way to make his life a living hell after that field incident.
Lucas spoke sharply, not giving Diablo a moment to breathe. "You've got five minutes to get yourself ready."
With that, he turned and left the tent.
Diablo stared after him, the tension knotting tighter in his chest. The situation only got worse when he glanced down—his bed was soaked. Great. Not only did he have to face whatever punishment Lucas had in store, but now he had to deal with a drenched mattress too.
As he turned to assess the damage, he noticed something else—Void was gone.
"F*cking idiot," he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening as he bent to drag the soaked bed outside. 'At least if Void was here, they wouldn't have poured water on me.'
Now after that punishment, he would have to clean up this room. Lucas could have simply woken him up, yet he decided to do it in the most childish way—acting like some stupid, dumbass bully pouring out his insecurities on another.
"Tch… pride," Diablo muttered.
*
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"Fhhm—" Diablo's face scrunched in disgust as he instinctively covered his nose. The stench from the abandoned toilet hit him like a slap. It was unbearable.
He'd been assigned to clean this bathroom. Of all the punishments… this?
What made it worse—what truly stung—was that this toilet hadn't been used in months. Everyone avoided it because of how vile it smelled. You could catch a whiff of it even from the next toilet down the hall. And yet, they still chose this one for him.
"Not even a nose mask, huh?" he muttered bitterly, glaring at the filth before him. He was at least grateful he hadn't eaten. One glance at the layered waste in that bowl could make a full stomach twist in rebellion.
'This could undigest a digested food,' he thought dryly
The flies, buzzing hungrily around the filth, now began to land on him like second . His skin crawled as a shiver ran down his spine. Holding back the urge to gag, he turned on the tap, letting the water fill the bucket.
A grim determination settled over his face as he nodded slowly.
"I get it now," he muttered darkly. "The commander really does want to make my life a living hell."
A smile curled on his lips.
"And I'll do well to return the favor."
After hours of scrubbing the foul-smelling toilet, a smile landed on his lips as he took the keys and locked the door.
"Fine. I washed it, so I'll be the only one to use it," he muttered, slipping the key into his trouser pocket.
As he walked toward his tent, he figured the other soldiers were probably already assembled for today's training—while he had stayed behind, scrubbing some disgusting shit. He sighed and prayed silently that he wouldn't be served porridge beans again; just the thought reminded him of the mess he'd just cleaned.
The tent area was calm, at least, and that alone gave him a sense of relief. No annoying, teasing soldiers to deal with. And since he already stank, he could use the chance to bathe properly and take his time. After all, he now had his own personal bathroom.
"Where are the keys?" a voice said from behind.
"Wow, spoke too soon," he muttered under his breath as Lucas walked up to him. Lucas immediately took a step back, likely catching a whiff of the stench.
Why are you shifting back? Oh, so you couldn't even do the punishment yourself, yet you assigned it to me. Bravo, he thought sarcastically, fishing for the key in his pocket.
So this meant Lucas wasn't even planning to let him use the toilet?
"Shit," he breathed as he realized the pocket he'd put the key in was the one with a hole.
"What a great day, huh." He spoke sarcastically as Lucas stood he stared at Diablo boredly.
"Don't waste my time, dude. Where's the f*cking key?" he muttered coldly.
Diablo's gaze dropped to the floor. Now he needed to retrace his steps to find the damn key. Oh, goodness.
A frown creased Lucas's face. No one needed to say anything—just seeing that expression told him everything. The key was missing. Diablo was cooked.
"If you want to eat today's and tomorrow's meals, get that key. And I hope that toilet is sparkling," Lucas snapped.
Diablo's face twitched slightly. What kind of nonsense was this? What kind of useless, annoying temptation was this?
"Yes, Soldier Lucas," he muttered, holding back the annoyed tone. He knew what would happen if he acted disrespectfully. But what could he do? You couldn't quite blame him—after all, a hungry man is an angry man.
Lucas nodded before leaving, and Diablo began to move quietly, retracing his steps slowly.
"Damn it. Damn f*cking useless, stupid rubbish legion. What nonsense is this? Can't a day pass without me having bad luck?" he muttered. His annoyance was mostly because he hadn't eaten yet—he was hungry. He needed food.
He continued searching. After what felt like an eternity, he stood in front of the toilet, only to see a figure standing at the door. Diablo's eyes widened slightly as he rushed toward it, only to realize it was one of the soldiers trying to open the door.
"Wow, what a nice way to do it. Now that I've washed the toilet, this fool decides to use it," he grumbled.
"Don't open it," Diablo muttered calmly, moving toward the soldier. The man turned to him with a raised brow before laughing mockingly. No one needed to tell Diablo—it was one of those soldiers who usually mocked him. He could tell by their voices, even if he didn't know all of them.
"Who are you?" the soldier asked sarcastically as the door clicked, unlocking.
"I said don't open the door…" Diablo's voice was firm as the soldier's hand moved toward the handle. Diablo pushed his hand away. The man's eyebrows furrowed in anger.
"Are you insane?" he snarled through gritted teeth, his grip on the door tight. Sweat dripped down his face—it was obvious the man was holding his poop.
"Go use another toilet," Diablo replied calmly. He couldn't afford to let anyone ruin the cleanliness of that toilet—and besides, he was starving.
"You stinking failure, touch me one more time and I'll show you what a real soldier looks like," the soldier sneered.
"Oh really? Do real soldiers poop? I thought they could hold it in during emergencies, huh?"
Diablo smiled nonchalantly as the man moved to grab the handle again, but Diablo shoved his hand away. The soldier's patience snapped, and his fist shot up, landing a punch on Diablo's face. Another followed. Just as the man pulled back for another hit, Diablo shot his hand up, grabbing the soldier's wrist.
Blood dripped down Diablo's bruised lips as they curled into a smile. The soldier's eyes widened in shock at the iron grip holding his wrist. He tried pulling back, but it felt numb—as if his hand had gone dead.
W…What the… how is this possible? His eyes widened in horror as he turned to Diablo.
"Hit me one more time, and I promise you a permanent visit to your ancestors," Diablo warned, his tone deadly calm.