Darkness.
Moisture. Cold.
A dull pain spreads throughout the entire body.
Cold metal cuts into his wrists and ankles.
Jigoku wakes up, and on his body are small puncture marks from the spikes.
His arms and legs stretched out in the shape of an X, shackled by heavy, rusted chains attached to a steel frame.
The skin at the bindings already wounded.
In front of him — Yuko. Smiling.
*Yuko: Hey, darling!
*You survived!
*No way… really!
*How awesome! – she claps her hands like she's just seen a birthday cake.
She steps closer, runs her finger across his chest.
*Yuko: But you're missing a bit here…
*You know, when you sleep too long, the body gets all... shamelessly calm.
She stops.
Pulls a spiked whip from behind her back.
*Yuko: We need to wake up all the muscles.
*Or better yet… the whole soul.
She snaps the lock at the handle of the whip.
*Yuko: Alright then… time for game number one, my sleepyhead.
Yuko drags her fingernail across the handle of the whip.
*Yuko: You know… most people scream the first time.
*Some even beg. But you...
She tilts her head, squinting.
*Yuko: You like to suffer, don't you?
Jigoku says nothing. Breathes steadily. Doesn't take his eyes off her.
WHOOSH.
The first strike cuts through the air and tears the skin on his chest.
He doesn't scream. Just closes his eyes.
The chains groan as his muscles tense.
Blood slowly begins to trickle down in thin streams.
*Yuko: Ooo… just one and you're already tensing up.
*Thirty more to go, how about that?
WHOOSH. SLAP.
The second strike hits the shoulder — the spikes catch and leave a ripped welt.
Jigoku trembles, but endures. Teeth clenched. Forehead beaded with sweat.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
Each of Yuko's moves is faster and faster, as if she's finding her rhythm.
The marks on his body resemble bursting veins, red, open, pulsing.
*Yuko: Oh, you're so stubborn. So… manly.
*Come on, say something. Say: "please stop, Yuko." Say it nicely.
*Or at least: "it hurts."
Jigoku lifts his head slightly, spits blood onto the ground.
*Jigoku: Are you done yet?
For a moment, silence falls.
Yuko stands motionless. Her smile fades. Her eyes shine differently now. Not with amusement, but… with something sharp, hard.
She throws the whip to the ground.
She approaches.
*Jigoku: What now, want a kiss?
Yuko strikes.
A right straight.
Short, fast, powerful.
Crack.
Jigoku's head jerks to the side, blood gushes from his mouth. Loud clanking of chains, which suddenly tense as his body tries to slump, but there's nowhere to go.
Hanging slightly, limp, he groans through his nose. Blood drips onto the stone floor.
Yuko brushes off her hand. She sighs.
*Yuko: You're so boring when you play the hero.
*Good thing we have time. Lots of time.
Darkness.
There are no sounds. No light. Only the weight and cold of metal stuck to the skin.
Jigoku opens one eye, the other's gone anyway. The air is stuffy, the metallic stench of blood and rust fills his nostrils. He leans unconsciously against something hard and crooked.
Jigoku: Oh fuck… I'm here again. – he sighs.
He shifts a bit, metal grates.
Something digs into his back. One of the spikes, bent.
Silence. Too deep, too intense.
He breathes louder… and hears it.
Echo.
Long. Stretched.
His own sigh echoes back, as if returning from the other end of the fucking cave.
Long. Too long.
Jigoku: What is this room... this isn't a cell.
Where the fuck am I… catacombs? An old bunker?
The echo drags on, as if the walls were a kilometer away…
He starts feeling around the interior, his fingers sliding along the cold metal. He finds one spot where he can move his hand relatively freely.
Jigoku: Not much space, but enough.
He's silent for a moment, focuses.
He taps.
Once. Pause.
Three short.
Three long.
Three short.
SOS.
Sent in the oldest way possible.
After a moment, he repeats.
He waits.
No answer. Only echo.
As if even that was returning with a delay.
Jigoku: If anyone can hear this…
Jigoku: I'm locked up with a fucked-up little girl, a demon, an arm from hell, and my incredible luck.
He keeps tapping. Repeats.
Fights not so much for contact, but for meaning, for rhythm.
If only to not go insane in the darkness.
Jigoku: Come on, listen to this fucking code.
I have nothing. I have a wall and hope.
He closes his eye. Waits.
And again, only echo.
He taps, taps, and taps without stopping until he finally falls asleep.
Silence. And then... something familiar.
Jigoku slowly opens his eye, the only one he has left. The eyelid is heavy, and the world around at first has no shape. Only grayness. As if the world was unfinished.
A moment later he feels pressure, his wrists immobilized. Metal digs into his skin. A chair. The same as before… but not quite. The wood seems more dried out, rough. Something smells behind his back, maybe blood, maybe pus. Maybe his own.
From a distance comes a faint tapping of footsteps, rhythmic, light. Someone is approaching. Shadows move too smoothly to be called natural.
And then Yuko appears, as if she grew out of the darkness, with her unsettling smile and a gleam in her eyes. She's holding something in her hands, maybe a cloak, maybe a rag, or maybe another "toy."
She stops right in front of him. She leans forward with her hands clasped behind her back, tilting her head like a cat observing a wounded prey.
*Yuko: I hope you'll be cuter today than you were yesterday. – she says brightly, with enthusiasm.
Jigoku tries to move his hand, but the chains only clink dully. His head is pounding, the taste of metal in his mouth.
Yuko straightens up gracefully, then claps twice, quickly, rhythmically.
And suddenly… sound.
Violins.
An aggressive, tearing melody pierces the air like claws. It sounds as if someone is dragging the bow with hatred, with an emotion that can't be named. The sound spreads through the dungeon, bouncing off the stone walls, as if the instrument were playing right next to them, just a few steps behind the curtain of darkness.
Jigoku freezes. The violins sound too human, but at the same time as if something in them is broken, unnatural. As if they were played by someone who has long forgotten what it means to feel.
Yuko dances lightly to the rhythm, on her toes, with her arms spread like in ballet.
Then suddenly she stops and looks him straight in the face.
*Yuko: Music soothes the savage beast. But I don't have such problems.
Yuko raises her hand, delicate and pale, as if it was made only for touching porcelain. She slowly opens it, her fingers spreading with soft, girlish grace, and above her open palm suddenly bursts a blue flame. A quiet hiss accompanies the birth of the fire, which pulses like a living creature. The blue glow spreads a few meters around.
Two meters from Jigoku stands a rusting table, scratched, dented, and marked with dried blood. On its surface lie tools…
An iron rod ending with a symbol, like a little cat paw. Next to it, something much more terrifying, small rakes, barely larger than her hand, with curved spikes at the ends, as if created only to tear off something delicate, layer by layer.
Yuko approaches the table with a light, almost dance-like step. She reaches out and grabs the iron rod, the branding tool.
She turns to Jigoku.
*Yuko: You wanted to be one of us…
*But you didn't deserve it.
*You will be mine. Forever.
She slowly raises the rod over her palm. The flame, like an obedient creature, rises up and wraps around the metal, which immediately begins to hiss and heat up to red, then to glowing white. In the air hangs the metallic smell of burnt rust. The iron trembles in her hand, as if it itself was afraid of what's about to happen.
Jigoku feels sweat starting to run down his neck, despite the cool temperature of the cave. He hears the hiss, feels it in his bones before he feels it on his skin.
Yuko comes closer, smiling not like a child, but like something that only pretends to be a child.
Yuko slowly brings the glowing rod closer to his hand. The metal is already glowing almost white, and in its heated shape, the outline is clearly visible… a cat paw. Four little toes and a soft, rounded center, cute, grotesquely out of place in the dark surroundings.
Her face stretches into a demonic smile, her teeth gleaming in the light of the blue flame.
*Yuko: Almost there, darling. Just don't move… it's for your own good.
Jigoku stares at the approaching heat. He doesn't look away, doesn't flinch, doesn't beg, doesn't scream. His breathing becomes shorter, heavier, but his gaze remains firm, unyielding. Sweat pearls on his forehead, but his eyes stay empty like steel, cold, even though everything inside him is burning.
The contact happens suddenly.
The hissing sound burns through the silence, as if the world around collapsed. The skin on his hand cracks with a crunch, and the smell of burned flesh hits like a hammer. His muscles tighten like strings, his whole body tries to break free, but the chains hold him mercilessly.
Jigoku draws in air through clenched teeth. He doesn't scream. Only his eyelid twitches. His shoulders jerk slightly, bend, unable to withstand the pressure of the heat.
*Yuko: You're a tough one… that's good.
*I like when they don't break right away.
She removes the rod and examines the burned mark on his skin, a cat paw. The small pads are perfectly burned in, as if created with delightful precision. The skin around it is already starting to swell and darken.
*Yuko: Mrrrau. – she purrs like a cat.
*Now you'll always be mine, kitty.
Yuko's eyes shine in the blue light of the flame, which still dances above her open palm. She smiles broadly.
*Yuko: Good, now that you're mine… time for the next game.
She slowly turns and walks to the table, taking quiet steps that sound in the darkness like the tiniest ticks of a clock. The flame illuminates the edges of the table, on which lie the small rakes with spikes. They look almost absurdly innocent, like a toy for a child, but their teeth gleam sharply, coldly, and dangerously.
Yuko picks up the rakes with ostentatious delicacy, almost with tenderness. She returns to Jigoku, who sits motionless, still immobilized, bound by iron. The firelight falls on his sweaty face, the shadow trembling on his cheek.
She stops right in front of him. Maybe half a meter separates their faces. She leans in slightly, tilts her head to the side, and then pierces him with a gaze not predatory, but sincere, almost joyful. It's deadly childlike curiosity mixed with sick fascination.
*Yuko: Look me in the eyes, okay? I like it when you look at me. – she says, aroused, her face turning red.
Jigoku breathes calmly, deeply. For a moment he remains silent. His eyes do not tremble. He looks into her pupils, deeply, firmly.
Yuko giggles with delight, almost claps.
And then she squats by his hand.
In her small, almost childlike hand, the rakes with spikes shine, small but sharp as guilt. Their teeth shimmer in the light of the flame that still flickers above her other open palm.
Jigoku just watches. His hand trembles, but the rest of his body remains still, anchored by heavy chains. Sweat pours down his temple as if his body already knows what's coming, faster than his mind does.
Slowly, methodically, she drives the first tooth of the rakes exactly under the fingernail of the index finger, right by the cuticle, in the spot where the nail begins to grow from the matrix. The metal pierces the skin, tears through nerves, rips small blood vessels. There is no rush. She pushes it deeper, until there's a quiet "crunch" under the nail.
Jigoku tenses all his muscles. His teeth clench, blood starts to ooze from under the nail plate.
Yuko slowly begins to drag the rake along the nail, tearing it from under the skin. She moves from the base towards the tip, as if scraping the nail off alive, millimeter by millimeter, drop by drop. The pain is piercing, pure, inhuman. The nerves under the nail are on fire, it's one of the most innervated places in the body.
Jigoku can't take it. A muffled growl tears from deep in his throat, his body trembles, his eye fills with tears that immediately run down his cheek. The pain is so intense that for a moment he stops breathing, his heart pounding.
Finally, the nail gives way. With a wet yank, full of blood and pulp from beneath the plate, it tears off completely and stays on Yuko's rakes, glistening in the flame's light like a trophy.
*Jigoku: I'll fucking kill you… you bitch… you fucking whore… – spitting through clenched teeth, with hatred.
Yuko raises her eyebrows as if she's listening to the most beautiful melody.
*Yuko: Mmm… wonderful.
Jigoku howls in pain, his head drops, his eyes flooded with tearful sweat. His breath is ragged, trembling, he chokes on his own saliva.
*Yuko: Nine more, darling… You can't give up now, not after all this.
There is no mercy in her eyes, only childlike joy from the entertainment. She reaches for his hand, moves the rakes to the next nail. Jigoku tries to pull his hand back, but he can't, as if a sentence is holding him. The next nail. The same motion. The slow yank. A sound that's hard to name, like tearing parchment from living flesh.
The third. The fourth. The fifth.
Time stretches into infinity. At some point, he no longer knows whether it's pain or hallucination. Each stripped strip of keratin becomes a separate hell, pulsing like a living wound.
Jigoku lifts his head with difficulty. His face twisted, his eye red, his teeth clenched to the point of cracking.
*Jigoku: I'll fucking kill you, I swear... You fucking bitch… I swear I'll fucking kill you. – he spits through the blood.
*Yuko: You're so sweet when you make promises. – she answers softly, almost tenderly.
The sixth nail. The seventh. The eighth.
Jigoku no longer screams. His voice has failed him, his throat torn. His eyes empty. But inside, something still burns, the will to survive, or hatred that refuses to die.
The ninth.
Yuko cheerfully bounces as she carefully drives the spiked tool under the last nail. Jigoku no longer screams, he just trembles. Sweat drips down his temples, his teeth grind. When the nail peels off with a brutal sound, his chest heaves desperately, gasping for breath.
Suddenly Yuko grabs a thin needle. She comes closer, drives it straight into the fleshy part of his index finger. It's the final stimulus.
Jigoku jerks violently, his eyes roll back, his body convulses and suddenly drops. A soundless moan escapes his throat. He passes out.
Somewhere in the distance, Yuko's childish, joyful laughter echoes.
Silence.
Jigoku slowly regains consciousness. He doesn't open his eyes, first he feels.
A sharp, burning pain pierces his hands. Each breath feels like it's tearing his lungs from the inside. The metallic cold surrounds his body, and from deep within his chest, fear oozes, sickeningly.
He's here again.
The inside of the Iron Maiden overwhelms him with darkness thicker than anything he's known.
He clenches his eyelids shut.
Jigoku: Fuck… fuck… – tears stream from his eyes.
He tries to move his fingers. His hand, open, sore, flayed, refuses to obey. He wants to clench a fist, but the muscles tremble, won't cooperate. The pain tears through him suddenly, like embers poured under the skin.
Instead, he starts to rhythmically tap his finger. Not the fingertip, the knuckle, where the finger bends.
The metal gives a dull, miserable sound. Echo.
Jigoku: No one's gonna fucking hear this anyway… Where the fuck am I… – He clenches his teeth, tries to be tough, but something breaks.
His breath becomes ragged, his chest rises and falls irregularly.
Jigoku breaks down.
He doesn't scream. He just cries.
Quietly, dully.
Some time later, when he no longer has the strength to cry, he falls asleep.