⚠ Trigger Warning: Sin Record Accessed ⚠
This record contains graphic depictions of a war prisoner subjected to torture, branding, psychological trauma, and themes of hopelessness, self-loathing, and death.
[Content includes: graphic torture (burns, cuts), imprisonment, blood, psychological trauma, suicidal ideation, and violent summoning ritual.]
Read at your own risk. Mercy not guaranteed.
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"Just… Kill me."
The words left my lips, hopeless; mocking. They meant nothing anymore.
Metal met my flesh as his rusted blade sliced my abdomen. No scream, no cry, only a wince.
"Scream, prisoner! I'll never kill you," the guard spat, sweat stinging his glaring eyes.
Another approached. A familiar scruffy voice, grizzled older guard, placed his hand on his exhausted apprentice's shoulder,
"Let's call it a day. You won't break this one, no one has. Seems to enjoy pain, thinks of himself as some hero. The demon…"
The blade gleamed, another strike, just above the heart. Blood dripped across my chains, seeping into my fingers.
"Understood… Sir." the apprentice mumbled, eyes on the floor; retreating in silence.
I smiled. Bleeding through my teeth.
A hero, huh?
One moment, I was alone in a dungeon cell, a criminal facing a life sentence.
The next, foreign symbols, rune-like, engulfed the stone tiles beneath me, curling into a circular pattern.
Everything glowed red, humming a faint, shimmering rhythm. Turning more crimson with every pulse.
More alive.
I knew I looked pathetic, wishing for death. But, I stopped caring about everyone's expectations long ago.
After all, Nothing good comes from relying on someone like me. My past proved it,
I destroy everything I love.
The circle pulsed. The air trembled with it.
I tried to move. Cold stone dug into my back, iron bit into my skin. Heavy shackles covered my wrists, up to my forearms.
Chains… Too tight to move.
I tugged, peeling the flesh from my wrists. The stench of iron, sweat, and something worse, something far too familiar, hit my nose.
Blood…
Old and fresh.
I felt weak, my body far beyond exhaustion. My arms wouldn't move, my chest heaved as if every ounce of energy was devoured by the circle.
Figures. I haven't eaten in days. Or moved either.
I pushed myself up, only to be dragged down, shackles tightening. Metal scraped the stone with a screech like fingernails on a chalkboard. The screech tore into my skull, my vision blurring.
Then the pain struck.
Fast. Excruciating.
Not the kind that makes you scream, that no longer fazes me. This pain invades your mind, forcing you to remember. Forcing you to feel.
Visions of my past resurfaced: people, places, death. Each memory brought me closer to my knees. The unwelcoming thought settled beneath my bones, burning my skin as I screamed.
"I deserve this."
And I welcomed it.
Who was I to ask for another chance?
To fix the chaos I caused?
Or beg for mercy?
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the cell. Instead, shackled at an altar, my feet chained to the floor. Hands bound together.
A massive stone dome lined with gold runes loomed over me, each one glowing. Just like the dungeon. The altar sat beneath the dome's center, raised on a stone platform. In front of me, red carpet stretched towards two golden thrones, brick columns lining the chamber's edges.
Just like Mel's stories. I could hear her voice; warm, insistently joyful.
"Saikuro… magic finds the broken, the ones who aren't looking,"
It exists, Mel...
Magic brought me to a new kingdom…
Or just another cage with prettier walls.
Unlike her stories, I'm no one's hero…
Just a criminal.
Figures quickly gathered. Their whispers, too soft to make out. Some wore robes, others armor. Most held smug expressions; nobles, no doubt. I've seen their scorns before. Punished many.
Soldiers lined the edge of the chamber, halberds raised at every pillar. Waiting for me to pounce and break free at any moment.
I was shirtless, shackled, kneeling for everyone to see.
Wait… am I being sold?
Maybe thirty people, not counting the pair of eyes watching from the shadows.
One stepped forward, a priestess in white and gold robes. A crest marked her tunic as she scowled. Her demeanor serious as she spoke with a belittling tone; confident and demanding,
"State your name."
I didn't.
The chains groaned as I flexed uncomfortably. Not out of resistance. But, habit.
Her glare intensified, raising her voice; offended,
"Prisoner! You were summoned under royal command. By Virollian law, you must respond!"
She means kidnapped.
Virollian? There's no kingdom…
Doesn't matter.
"I'm already dead," I muttered, my eyes never leaving the floor.
The silence was damning.
The priestess stiffened, exchanging a quick glance with a man beside her, sternly nodding. The man was overly skinny with a light skin complexion. He wore dark blue robes, its sleeves rolled up to his shoulders.
The sound of skin meeting skin echoed. Tattoos of fiery vines laced both arms, twisting, glowing as he began to chant.
His markings came to life; slithering as he spoke.
Then…fire.
My nerves screamed, skin blistering as flames exploded across my body.
The stench of burning flesh attacked my lungs until smoke rose from the burns.
Ink-like vines coiled my arms, black and glowing, spreading everywhere the flames had touched.
I was…
branded.
"Your name…" demanded the priestess, her tone colder.
But, the vines ignited before I could answer, their fire twice as strong.
With torture, my body always knew what to do.
Back in the war, when intel was scarce; it learned to resist.
Whips, cuts, bruises, even burns…
My body would brace, lock up on instinct. Limbs hardened, my mind steeled. Anything to survive.
But this?
Wasn't something endurable.
At least, not while wanting to live.
Luckily, I await death with open arms.
My legs buckled against the chains, their steel slicing into my ankles.
My hands clenched the shackles so tight my fingers went white.
As my chest seized, my throat clenched shut.
And still, it refused to stop.
Prying into my thoughts, forcing my obedience.
Flames sprawled around my arms, engulfing my shoulders.
A grunt ripped through my throat. Then, another.
Screams tried to claw their way out. But, my body locked up, refusing to respond.
I stared out… Glaring as nobles covered their mouths; squirming with horrified eyes. Some guards refused to meet my gaze, others turning away completely.
This wasn't something you can stomach.
Not something to resist.
Nor endure.
It wasn't justice or even punishment.
It was a war… for control.
But, control was all I had…
"Scream!" cried the man in blue robes, straining as his tattoos flared, his vines slowing down.
"That's enough, Kayd," the priestess warned. "Don't overdo it."
Her icy eyes locked with mine, "Sinner, state your name! Swear your obedience!"
I didn't speak, just stared him down. Grinning.
Suddenly, his hood fell. Revealing a man in his thirties or forties, his dark brown hair wrapped in a manbun.
But what stared back… wasn't anger.
It was fear.
"I… I can't," Kayd pleaded, his brown eyes widening.
"I need him to obey. Or…"
"Or what?" the priestess snapped.
"If I fail… My flames turn on me. I bear the weight of his sins, as he's beared mine. Equal consequence. That's my Sin Art."
"He's from a grade A stone," she scoffed. "It's probably only one or two murders."
"Is he smiling?" whispered a noble.
"Yeah…Scarred, head to toe; smiling. This guy's dangerous," replied another.
Without realizing, I was smirking. The flames slowly dimmed.
"It isn't one or two murders… I wouldn't bear my sins." I warned, voice scorched.
Smoke hissed from my arms as the branded vines vanished. Kayd collapsed to his knees, choking. That's when I saw it. Crimson red. Glowing.
A word burned above his head.
"Arsonist."
"See? Nothing happened. You're fine," the priestess hissed.
He shook his head, panicking.
"It should trigger immediately. Unless…
His sins are condensing. Into something flames can't reciprocate."
He stared at me, eyes wide, pleading, "Exactly, what did you do?"
My head hung as I remembered the touch of Mel's cold body in my arms,
"I tried being everyone's hero."
Kayd jumped to his feet, crawling towards the altar.
"Please! You can still save me, answer the questions. Mentally comply…"
I shook my head, smirking. "You forced me into this game… Deal with the consequences."
"Sinner! Get over here, nothing's going to happen." the priestess barked.
As he got up, defeated, the tattoos began to glow.
"It's happening!" He yelled, staring at me; horrified.
Then…
He fell.
I didn't blink, just watched the light fade from his eyes. His body slamming into the marble floor with a dull thud.
No sound. No magical manifestation. Just…
Death.
More silence followed as the room's gaze turned to me.
They didn't gasp. Didn't move. Just stared. Waiting. Like I had the answers; that my eyes would darken next.
Magic crackled in the air, the branded circle violently glowing beneath me. The summoning spell wasn't finished.
I felt it press against my spine, my chest, slowly moving throughout my body. Then, it stopped.
My body betrayed me as every sense rebelled. Blood dripped from my eyes, hot and metallic, as if the runes were embedded behind my sockets.
Burnt runes crumbled to the ground, a scroll appearing at my feet. Fresh runes took their place as the priestess approached picking up the scroll.
"It's heavy…" she gulped, her gaze turning to the nobles.
Then…
A voice boomed. Not from anyone before me. Just out nothingness, from thin air,
"Sins identified. Configuring title."
The runes rose, flaring with power. A bright red glow illuminated over my head. And everyone's expressions changed…
Smug became afraid. The priestess stammered stumbling backwards as she screeched,
"The Butcher of Mercy?"