"Why…? Why… me?"
Kurayami trembled, feeling his fingernails being torn off one by one. The pain cut through him like liquid fire, and amidst faint, broken sobs, he could only curse himself under his breath.
"It hurts… it hurts… it hurts…"
He jerked his bound hands and legs, shaking the chair in brief, useless spasms.
"Stop it already, please! That's enough!" he begged through tears, his voice cracked to the edge of collapse.
In front of him, the woman smiled—unmoved.
"Calm down… just a little more. Stay still."
Without changing her expression, she tightened the pliers and tore off one of his fingers with chilling precision. Then she placed it in a wooden box, alongside other bloody fragments of Kurayami. Teeth, nails, knuckles—all lined up like grotesque trophies.
"Please… mom… mother… help me…"
Lost in his thoughts, Kurayami tried to flee from the present, but he was dragged back to reality by the woman's voice.
"We're done for today, Kurayami. See you tomorrow."
At her words, he lifted his gaze and saw his ruined body. No fingers. No nails. No peace. But within minutes, the wounds closed, and the torn parts returned to their place as if nothing had happened.
And so the days passed. Torture after torture. Regeneration after regeneration. His body healed… but his mind began to fracture.
Until one night, the woman descended the dungeon stairs with a wide, almost motherly smile.
"Ku-ra-ya-mi… are you hungry? Thirsty, perhaps? It's been five days without food."
Kurayami, nervous, avoided her gaze. Cold sweat ran down his skin; he trembled.
"Y-yes… I'm hungry… and very thirsty…"
"Ehhh… wonderful."
With fake sweetness, the woman revealed what she'd been hiding behind her back: a small knife, bright and sharp. Kurayami's smile vanished.
She began to toy with the blade between her fingers as she slowly approached.
"Don't worry," she whispered, "it'll only take a moment."
She placed a glass beneath his arm and began to cut with surgical precision. Blood poured out, hot, filling the cup. When she finished, she set it aside in a corner, satisfied.
"You know? I'm getting better at this," she said cheerfully, as if talking about a homemade recipe.
Kurayami could barely breathe.
The woman took the knife again and came even closer. She looked at him with fake tenderness, and he gave her a hollow, mechanical, broken smile in return.
With a sudden motion, she plunged the blade into his eye and extracted it with macabre precision. Then she placed it on a plate, along with one of his fingers she pulled from the wooden box.
Finally, with the cup of blood in one hand and the plate of flesh in the other, she offered them to Kurayami.
"Time to eat."
"Stop! I don't want to! I don't want to!"
"Come on… eat, eat, eat…"
She forced his mouth open and shoved the piece of his own body inside, making him swallow it. Then she tilted the glass and made him drink his blood.
Tears streamed endlessly down Kurayami's face. It wasn't pain. It was horror. Pure despair.
And somewhere deep within his mind, a final barrier began to crack.
Silent. Irreversible.