Captive Knight

warning: implied rape/abuse, extreme dubious consent, body horror, violence, massacre, mental instability, BDSM, master/slave dynamic, power imbalance

The night is unnaturally dark, as it always been ever since. The ever-present moon hangs high in the heavens seemingly looking down onto the ones inhabiting its parent planet. The people down there had long since lost track of time, lost count of days since the inevitable fall of civilizations. Day by day, their numbers taper down drastically; too powerless to fight back, too weak to run away.

And those who were once hunters, now became the hunted.

 

 

The air inside the castle remains stagnant, not flowing, unchanging. Pressure non-existent in the void of space with only a vague sense of gravity anchoring the solid matter scattered on the ground to the visible surface. However, the rules of the universe hardly apply to the castle; being a construct of a different world.

It is strange; they are set on the moon and the sun still rises, yet the world beneath them are shrouded in perpetual darkness. Both in the literal and figurative sense.

Silently, his eyes flicks towards the altar set at the centre of the throne room, towards the figure lying on it.

Well, what else would be left of a world robbed of its light.

At the corner of his eye he can see the sun slipping over to the other side of the globe. Taking note, he moves away from the tall windows and made his way to the altar.

 

The figure, the man lying in it is one wholly familiar to him. Another strange thing; he had remembered the man first before his own name. Such a deep impression was left in him - not even getting thrown into Makai can remove it. The man had always been lively, like a burning flame. Even now, though maybe of a different colour than he originally did.

The man, now asleep, if sleeping can be used to describe his current state. A death-like sleep, a comatose state. The only proof that he is still somewhat alive is the steady rise and fall of his chest underneath the black harness that anchors him to the castle. Not sure whether it is real or simply a habit ingrained into his body (he, for one, is quite sure breathing is no longer necessary).

Half living; not quite dead, but neither is he alive.

Like a puppet. The chains connected to his wrist cuffs simply made it more obvious.

Tracing closed lips in a gentle caress.

Everything remains under his control.

Bending down, capturing those lips in a searing kiss.

The long trails of chains lightly rattle, filling the space with metallic ringing.

 

"..-Wake up." A command, whispered directly into the man's ear. On cue, he opens his eyes, golden irises glazing for a moment before gaining clarity. Shortly after, he rises from his slumber. Shifting into sitting position, silently facing his master, awaiting the next command.

The exhilarating feeling of having complete control over immense power.

"It's time for work."

 

 

*

 

 

Sometimes, he hears a small voice; floating, whispering. In his head? Outside? He doesn't know. It feels real but he has a feeling it's not. Or maybe he desperately wants it to be real. He's too used to having a second voice replying, arguing, agreeing to him. Now there is only an empty space.

What's going on?

The voice asks every now and then. He doesn't always reply, and the voice doesn't always sound so clear. Sometimes it sounds muffled as if it's coming from far away against the loud wind. He tried blocking his ears sometime. It never works. Over time he just came to accept its existence, no matter how vague it is.

I don't know. I don't know anymore.

His mind; fractured pieces of what it used to be, part of it inhabited by something foreign, something vile and sinister. That doesn't belong to him. He doesn't belong to him. Nothing is.

He can struggle, he can lash out. But he can't fight back, can't refuse. He's not allowed to.

 

How long has it been?

 

How long?

How long?

Reflexively, he shakes his head. I don't know. It's always like that. Even when he feels like he does, he doesn’t.

 

Standing atop this strange stage; only void surrounds him. There are neither windows nor there are any walls around him. However, a momentary flicker in the field is enough to tell that there is a barrier in place. He can break them if he tries hard enough, he thinks. But he still couldn't escape, not with the chains holding him down.

Golden chains.

Naturally the implications didn't escape him.

 

Whatever happened that day. Even now he still couldn't comprehend it. The motive, the reason. Perhaps there weren't any to begin with.

Zaruba had taken the brunt of it, in his stead. Even so, he was left with only half of his soul intact. The remaining half filled up by something else. And he's essentially stuck in a pseudo-undead state.

He can't die, not until Jinga allows him to, if ever.

He can't fight back even if he wants to, needs to. He lost part of his soul, he lost control over his own self. Bound, chained.

Sometimes, he is fully aware. Other times, completely lost. Somehow the other didn't take complete control over his mind (didn't or couldn't? Surely the former sounds more like what he'd do).

Among other in a long stretch of things in the list.

He doesn't know much of anything, but he does know of some.

 

He knows he's not normal anymore.

 

He knows he (probably) can't summon his armour anymore, if the strange seal that formed in his eyes are any indication. And when the flame of his lighter burns him like how it’s not supposed to.

 

He knows he's not as alive as he looks; not when Jinga forcefully kisses him and he can feel something else trickling in, replacing parts of him, filling in the gaps.

 

Raising his hand, placing it onto the invisible surface in front of him. What's happening outside? He'd shout into the void hoping that a reply would come.

Even when he knows there would be none.

Then the ground shook and the space warps.

And suddenly he's somewhere else. The familiar weight of his sword in his right hand being the first thing to register in his mind.

 

Cool, still air. A mixture of scent.

Broken structures. Aftermath of a battle.

Destruction.

 

Blood.

 

Blood. Everywhere.

 

On the walls, a river on the floor, down his blade, soaking his hands.

Countless mangled, dead bodies scattered in every direction.

 

Oh God.

 

What has-

 

There's a loud buzzing in his ears, pain constricting his chest. Breathing in halted gasps; strangled by the agony. He took a step back in panic, sending ripples across the surface of the blood pooling around his feet.

 

"-That's enough for today." A voice from somewhere close by, followed by a vague sensation of a person standing behind him, and a hand going over his eyes.

 

 

*

 

 

When he opens his eyes again, the scenery had changed. A wide hall; high ceiling, tall pillars, pristine.

 

The throne room.

 

His eyes immediately snapped down onto himself only to see nothing is out of order. He frowned at what he's seeing. He can swear there was blood..-

 

The sudden wave of panic and anguish shook him hard enough to send him down on his knees. Hunching, staring at the droplets of clear fluid falling onto the floor. Tears..?

"--..Why?.."

How many had he killed?

How many-

 

"-Is it painful?"

 

He wanted to snap, let the raging fire out, to burn everything down. But his rebuttal died at the tip of his tongue when cold fingers curled under his chin, tilting his head upward to meet the gaze of his master.

His lips curved into an almost empathetic smile, had it actually reached those unfeeling eyes.

 

"Then surrender yourself to me, and I'll take the pain away."

 

It wasn't even a command; merely a suggestion, however rhetorical it was. He's aware of it, and Ryuga himself do too. His mind had been twisted too much, already too far gone.

 

The fingers traced the angle of his jaw to the nape of his neck. His own hands shot up to grab the man's sleeve and the front of his jacket in sheer desperation. Against his better judgment.

Does he still have any?

The smile only grows when the man's hand shifts to grab him by the leather strap of his harness, pulling him to his feet. A sharp tug leads him away from his previous spot.

 

Sometimes, he wonders - how did it ended up like this? Didn't he fight hard enough?

What he remembered of then was muddled at best, that is if his mind is not playing tricks on himself.

It was just a careless mistake; a momentary lapse in judgment. It's been a few years since he had last gone against the man. It shouldn't have been an issue, but the man was always so strong.

He was shocked, panicked. Age old fear and anxiety burst out to the surface, overtaking him. Still, he held on. He tried like he always did.

A slip and-

 

His back against the raised block, his front flush against the other man's hard body. One hand gripping his right wrist and the other curled around the back of his neck, keeping him in place as the man devour him. He couldn't comprehend the turn in event, neither can he break away.

Then a wave of vicious heat coursed through him, before being replaced by a yawning void. The onslaught of sensation left him gasping like a drowning man. Following that he had gained enough control of himself to kick the man away.

"..What have you done-?"

The other hunched slightly, clutching his abdomen. Nevertheless, his question was simply replied with a smirk. Uncanny yellow eyes flick upward to meet his own.

"Oh, nothing much..-" Slowly the man straighten up. Then he put out his right hand towards Ryuga with the palm facing upward.

"-Just a little gift." He flicks his wrist in a beckoning gesture.

Right at that moment, a jolt of unknown force shot through him. And slowly, against his will and control, his body moved forward.

He dropped onto his knees following the motion of the hand, as if there are now invisible strings connecting his body to that hand.

And then he became acutely aware of his grave situation.

"Shocked, are you?" The apparent closeness of the voice snapped Ryuga back to reality, looking upward to see the man hovering above him, eyeing him. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it in time."

"..What-?" The word feels like it was forced out of him against the pressure constricting his entire being.

The man hums, turning to the side. "No need to sweat over it, we have all the time in the world now."

What is he-

A strong impact sent rumbling throughout the structure. Within a split second, the walls around him cracks and reform - where there were solid brick walls now stood tall windows in its place. The windows were uncovered, allowing unobstructed view of the outer side.

The outer side which is now somewhere noticeably barren and dark, safe for the lightly glowing Terran surface in the background, and the bright sun a distance away behind it.

He remembered the crushing weight of despair. And he remembered the feeling of something else settling inside him, flowing in his veins.

Everything that comes after are in broken pieces. Frayed ends barely connecting with each other. Memories of intense pain and pleasure mixing together into a single murky shade. Gaps of dark void in between irregular periods of wakening.

When he realises it, it has become his new normal.

 

 

He draws in a shuddering breath against the assault on his senses, hard enough to cloud his perception. How long has it been since then?

When will it stop?

When?

 

The rush of pleasure through his hazy mind distorting the connection. Another voice joined in, overlapping his own.

 

<Do you want it to? He did take away the pain.>

-- ..No.

<No?>

I have to-

 

He struggled against the cuffs binding his wrist behind him, against the chains anchoring him to the castle.

A wave of indescribable something left him gasping for air. There's a smaller voice at the far corner of his mind, separated from the others - run! Get out of there! - screaming, incessantly. He can hear it, though muffled, floating in and out. He can't even if he wants to. A twitch of his muscles and the grip on his thigh tightens.

"This long and you're still trying to fight it-" A soft chuckle from close by. Too close. Seated in the man's lap, chests flushed. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Two voices echoed in his head –

《 no // yes 》

He shook his head not trusting his own voice to speak for him.

"Just give in. It'll be easier on you later on."

Never.

A jolt of electricity shot down his spine.

"-Gh-!"

"Is it painful?" Long, cold fingers card through his hair, curling around the nape of his neck in an impossibly gentle caress. The collar around his neck is almost tight enough to strangle him.

The question echoes an earlier one, spoken in a lower note, like he's trying to calm a distressed child.

Another hand trails down his right flank to rest around his waist.

He can feel those hands everywhere - around his neck, down the curve of his back, gripping his thigh, blunt nails trailing the inner side of it.

He vaguely knows that most of those aren't real.

But he was quite sure he had been hacking up blood out of nowhere that one time. He couldn't remember what he did or what actually happened. It felt as if his insides were ripped to shreds. He had fallen down his knees in a pool of deep scarlet darker than the red of his shirt. There wasn't even any visible cuts or injuries at all.

Maybe nothing is real.

Letting his head to fall back, baring his neck to the persistent attacks. Lips trailing kisses down the length of his neck, sucking on his fluttering pulse, down to his exposed collar bone. The hand around his waist drops to his hip, fingers digging in, grinding his hip down against the other's. He reflexively spreads his thighs wider, unconsciously chasing the sensation.

"..Hn-" Back arching, pressing down harder, heat coiling deep in his gut.

Low chuckles against his skin, sending ripples through his senses.

"You're burning."

His nerve endings are on fire. Feels like he's bursting out from the inside.

"Just the sensations aren't enough, I suppose?"

"-Shut up." That end up sound breathier than he meant it to be. He'd already used up too much energy, fatigue starting to seep in.

His minor outburst only amused the man further. "It had been quite long since the last time." Another hand trails down his front. "I guess I can indulge you for a while. It's not nice to leave you deprived like this."

The hand went up to trace the angle of his jaw, thumb pushing past his parted lips in a light thrust before withdrawing away.

 

"Say, do you want it?" Still the same smile, the same faux soothing tone. He already knows the answer and he's past asking for consent. Such trivialities never apply to him. Not when everything falls under his power.

And Ryuga knows too - within the chaos of his broken mind and his wanting body, the answer had always been clear, regardless. The exchange is now merely a ritual; an imitation of what it supposed to represent.

 

He draws in a shuddering breath, the one word hanging at the tip of his tongue.

 

 

 

"Yes."