Amelie Noire pov:

How could I be so stupid , you ask?

Well , in my defence , the guy seemed like a gentleman, had a good sense of humor and seemed interested about my work . We hit it off quite well.

A date wouldn't hurt , would It?

Right…

We went to a nice club and started dancing. He wasn't a cheapskate and even bought me drinks.

When I started feeling more and more dizzy, I realized something was amiss.

I was never such a lightweight , not even at 14 when I had my first glass of wine with my sister.

But alas…It was too late . I remember passing out and when I woke up , I had my mouth gagged and was strapped to a hotel room bed.

I won't talk about what happened next…but suffice to say , the guy killed me and now I'm in hell…

Which is so stupid, by the way . I didn't commit any crimes worth mentioning and was quite the faithful believer.

If anyone should be in hell , it would be that shitstain.

My only solace is that he will die a messy death once my sister finds him.

Oh Laclaire….I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being dumb . I'm sorry for abandoning you….

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.

Or at least….I used to be sorry.

These days I can't feel much.

It's all so distant , so ephemeral.

Even the pain from being whipped has long since faded.

Maybe because my soul is so damaged?

The numbness that sets in when one's soul is drained of energy is like a heavy fog that descends, shrouding every emotion and thought in a dense, impenetrable veil.

It's as If a vacuum has formed within, sucking away the vitality and vibrancy that once defined their being.

Emotions become distant echoes, their intensity muted to a mere whisper.

Happiness, sadness, anger — all are flattened into a grayscale spectrum, each feeling diluted and distant.

The weight of the world settles on their shoulders, and yet, it's a weight that is carried with a detached indifference.

The things that once held meaning lose their luster, their significance fading into insignificance. Passions and interests that used to ignite the soul now elicit no more than a passing glance.

The world outside seems to move in slow motion, a procession of moments that hold no sway over the numbness that envelops them.

Even the act of making decisions becomes a laborious process, as the once"sharp mind struggles to pierce through the fog of apathy that clouds its clarity.

Days blur together, a monotonous cycle that seems to stretch on without end, each moment a mere repetition of the last.

In this state of numbness, the world becomes a distant landscape observed from behind a frosted glass — visible, yet untouchable.

The soul's energy has been drained, leaving behind a hollow shell that moves through life's motions with a vacant gaze, no longer caring or feeling anything at all.

.

Whatever, I'm too numb to care.

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I can barely even feel my fellow prisoner holding me in his embrace.

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After I died , I didn't come directly to the first layer , at least I don't think so .

As I was floating through the darkness, wandering if this is what death feels like I vaguely heard two voices .

One was so happy…laughing , cackling, and wheezing. Like it just heard the best joke in its life.

The other one was solemn , like it just lost something important to it…

"*Sigh*…. For all it's worth….I'm sorry , little one…"

Why would he be sorry? Am I in a coma? It could have been worse , I guess. If I still have my hearing , It's definitely not a deep one…

At least that's what I thought at the time

"Hyehyehyehyee…Why so serious, Judge?

Here , have some popcorn….Hihihihihi…"

This voice , though happy , seemed…wrong , for a lack of a better term .

I can't remember exactly what was said after that but when I opened my eyes , I was strapped to a metal table inside a white room with padded walls.

"Am I in an insane asylum?

Did I go crazy after what that piece of shit did to me?"

I muttered to myself. It wouldn't be that far fetched. All the voices I heard could be explained by me having a mental disease….maybe. I wasn't a doctor.

While I was thinking how to prove I'm suddenly ,,not insane,, anymore , I saw five THINGS appear out of thin air. Hmmm , maybe I'm more insane than I thought…

"Unholy shit , brothers! We have a newbie!"

One of the things said with delight. How does it even SPEAK . It looks like someone took a house fly and decided to turn it into a human by giving it arms and legs.

…Is this how schizophrenia feels like?

What if these are actually doctors and I only see and hear different things?

What a scary thought…

Maybe they came to give me my daily dose of drugs.

"Oh my Demon God , Stratton! Shut the fuck up!

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

We have like 10 newbies every fucking day and you say this every single fucking time!" Said a burly dog"like thing that stayed upright on its hind legs.

The others just looked in…amusement , I guess?

Their faces were so weird that their smiles could be frowns just as well as smiles.

"Umm , excuse me , sirs?" I spoke with a shaky voice. – Are you here to give me my medicine? I am currently experiencing hallucinations and would surely apreciate it."

At this , they went quiet. Before they started cackling. And then the cackling turned into full blown laughter…or buzzing and howling for the first two.

"*Bzzt Bzzt* Oh yes , how could we forget your ,,medicine" – The fly guy said . Well that's not omnious at all…

"C'mon boys , you heard the lady. Let's give her the medicine" Said one of the three resembling humanoids , only with protruding teeth and spider appendages.

At that they all pulled out syringes from… seemingly nowhere and started nearing me .

Well , I guess I asked for it . Maybe things will make a bit of sense after these shots.

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They did not… unfortunately.

After they injected me with something…things went hazy. And crazy. All kinds of crazy.

The room started twisting .

The light grew dimmer .

The MONSTERS grew larger , and as I started screaming (because everything was wrong!) , They pulled out blades , seemingly from nowhere once again and they started cutting me all over .

I screamed even harder as one of them summoned FIRE INSIDE HIS HAND and threw it on my face .

Luckily, it only burned my hair…

That went on for a while , me screaming as hard as my vocal chords allowed , and them continuing to brutalize my body….

Did I go insane AND got kidnapped by a gang?

All this , AFTER being kidnapped by serial killer?

How shitty can one's luck get?

As my consciousness started fading away , I found myself praying not for myself, but for my sister .

God only knows how devastated she would be by my death. I only hope she doesn't do anything rash…Besides killing my tormentors. I don't think I could rest in peace knowing these bastards are still happily living their lives.

As I found myself drifting further and further away from coherent thoughts, I heard a voice.

The happy voice.

The unsettling one.

"HehehehihihǪ̴̓ô̸̭Ọ̶̀o̷̮͑O̴̮͒ŏ̵͙Ó̴̯ỏ̷͉" The last part felt grating for my brain , as if it couldn't comprehend what it just heard. Even though, I was sure it was a simple laugh….

"To think the day would come when some low demons would dare to lay hands on what is mine…..Hihihihihi…..H̴͖̬͑O̷̞̖̹͐̐W̶̪̒́̑͜ ̵̦̯̝̅̃̕A̸̺͐́M̴͇̗̃͜Ű̴͙S̶̛͎͋Î̸̖̤̩͗͝N̸̢͚̩͒G̵̝̔"

Again the happy voice(which was now laced with anger) spoke something incomprehensible , and I felt I knew that I was only a few such words away from losing myself completely.

All around me , my tormentors have frozen in place . Not moving a muscle . Their faces were now white , as if covered in makeup , red lines drawing a caricature of a smile on their now vacant faces.

They were all dead , I realized. I don't know how I knew , but I could simply…feel it.

"Now , now , little one , you have a show to attend! We wouldn't want to keep the audience waiting , now would we? H̵̛̩̣̯͗̓͒̎̎̅Y̴͍̩̪̜͓̲͇͎̞̠̺̝̣̺̰̬͎̅̍̈́͒͌͒͆̿̆̀̎̎̆̔͐̇͗͑͆̌̎̇́̽̀̂̃́͑̐̃͑̐̑̾̾̃̊̈͘͝͠Ę̴̨̢̧̢̺͙̫̯̩̰͍̬̟̜̖̼̪͕̮͓̟̱̜̤̳̥̫͍̻͙̝̝͎͎͙͖̺̳̫̞̣̰̯̬͎̱̩͑͌̌̃̇̾̃̔͛͋̂̑̏̈́̈́͑̿̽̌̀̂̀̀̔̔̾̀̐̋̓̈̊͘̕̕͘͜͝͝Ḩ̸̙̜̙͙̝̥̽̓͋͂͗́͐̾̿̿̔͛͒̓̓̃̄̕͝͠Ý̷̧̡͈̩͈̖̥̬͍͍͍̹̰̟̦̗̝̩̟͚͇̠̰͖̳̞̿̓͛̔̈̐͛͊͗́́͊͂̃̽̈́̽́̎͒́́̓̃͂̀̒̋̎̊̚̚͝͝͝͝ͅͅE̸̡̧̢̨̞̱̤̜̳̭̣̫̦̻͔̫͍͈̬̺̝̖͖̺̣͓̪̘̩̰̲̞͓͕̫͖̙̝͈̬̣̋̋̈̾̎͋̉̓͑̋̒͌̽̍̿͂͑̒̐́͛̎͐́́͊͂̊̌́̈́͊̽̊̄̕͝Ḧ̴̜̻͉͔͍̖̺͉̰̥͚̯̻̰́̀̌̉̀̿̓͊̏̇̃̉́̿̐Y̷̨̢̛̭̮͈͙̦̙͎̬̠̘̹̬͈͙̲̺͈͎̿̔̄̒̏̓̓̀͂̂̃̿̿͑̔̿̎́͐̐̊͑̚͜͝͝͝͠Ë̴̛̞͍̼̭̟̲̝̙̝̙̰̠̟̟̪́̄͛͗͂́̑͗̈́͐̈́̍̇͌̀̄̋͋̔͛͑́͋͆̋͒́̔̑͆́̄́̆̓́̈̂̈́̒̉̅̀̌̚͝͝͝͠

Everything was spinning and twisting . The room started crumbling and darkness started encroaching me.

All I saw before losing conscious was a wisp of orange hair…

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When I opened my eyes ONCE AGAIN (this is getting annoying) I found myself face to face with a young man with horrifying wounds.

His palms, slick and crimson, bore the weight of his relentless struggle.

Each drop of blood seemed to pulse with the fervor of his determination, a testament to his unwavering willpower even in the face of overwhelming odds.

The bloodied imprints on his hands told a story of desperate battles fought, of fists clenched in defiance against an unyielding adversary.

His arms, bearing a tapestry of gashes and wounds, told a tale of resilience and defiance.

These were the battle scars, the marks of trials faced head"on with a tenacity that bordered on the supernatural.

The gashes seemed to map out the arduous journey of a warrior, a path fraught with danger and yet embraced without hesitation.

How he remained conscious was a marvel in itself — a testament to a spirit that refused to yield even when the very essence of his life seemed to seep away with each crimson droplet.

The blood loss should have been incapacitating, a siren call to surrender, and yet he stood, an embodiment of sheer grit that defied logic and reason.

Ragged trousers clung to his form, a reminder of the harshness of his journey.

Tattered and frayed, they were a reflection of the challenges he had endured, each tear a marker of the battles fought and won.

His torso displayed muscles that glistened with exertion, a testament to his physical prowess.

But amidst the definition and strength, there were also signs of frequent abuse — bruises that painted a mosaic of pain and suffering.

In his presence, there was a magnetic energy that transcended the battered appearance. It was the aura of a survivor, the echo of a spirit that refused to be extinguished.

His battered form spoke of a journey through fire and ice, a relentless quest that had tested him in body and soul.

And yet, there was an undeniable beauty in his endurance, a raw and unpolished elegance that shone through the very scars that marked his existence.

"Hey there miss , are you all right?"

.

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After that , I was forced to confront my current situation .

I was in a literal , physical Hell. Somehow .

Because science.

And I was also a sinner because logic…

And so , my adventure in hell started . Me and my fellow prisoner defeated the bad demon warden and escaped , after which we killed Satan and exited hell.

Hehehe.

What a dumb joke .

I blame my friend for this.

His dumb humour rubbed of me.

As I was saying, we were in hell , and forced move rocks.

Soul sucking rocks ,according to my partner.

How dumb…

All of this while being whipped by a demon with a thing that causes soul energy to be drained away in the form of blood , if the target is feeling fear and despair.

Suffice to say , it was harsh.

We only had ten minutes of break per day , and that only because one of the demons was too lazy to show up on time.

But we persevered

My friend found that eating the peebles ( he later named soul stones ) that resulted from a demon destroying the stone towers we built, restored our soul bodies , allowing us to survive more.

Also , drinking blood helped . Somehow.

Because demon science.

My friend kept saying it wasn't actually blood but that's neither here nor there.

Unfortunately, only my blood had those healing qualities.

My partner speculated it was because he didn't feel any fear or despair , so the whip had no effect on him .

I call hacks .

I call bullshit.

Anyway , It is what it is. At least I can drink my own blood , if rarely. I need all my hands to move rocks unfortunately, leaving a lot of my life juice on the ground every single day.

Speaking of time , my partner says it's been five years . I don't know how he counted and honestly I don't care .

I'm too numb for that shit…

I stil remember being hopeful…

After my friend discovered that eating soul stones would help us , things became more bearable. With each stone , our mangled bodies recovered a bit , and as we carried the stones we felt our bodies become stronger , more resilient.

Things weren't good , not by a long shot, but we were surviving and growing.

Until the demons grew restless.

I later understood that the stones were designed in such a way that carrying them for ten years was possible, if extremely hard.

As such , the hope of salvation was there .

The demons wouldn't stop telling us to come and visit sometime after going to heaven when we finished our sentence , all while laughing and jeering.

The stones weren't the problem , no.

The whip was .

It was probably meant to be used to makes the damned souls behave , and work , to keep them in line , if you will.

But the demons used it with impunity.

Maybe because they liked causing suffering.

Maybe just to keep the souls from escaping after 10 years.

Maybe just so they could eat said soul after it became too damaged to work.

I don't know and I don't care anymore.

Because after a year , seeing us still going strong , they got more aggressive.

Especially the demon named Fuckface by my friend. Heh , serves him right.

He took it upon himself to teach us a lesson , as if our continued existence was a slight to his pride.

What a bastard.

He started striking us harder and harder , making the lashes we got when we just appeared seem like love taps , and the small amount of soul stones we could gather without being seen could not compensate for the wounds we suffered.

Or at least those I suffered.

As my friend was immune to the pain whip , he started getting more and more bold , going as far as taunting Mr Fuckface on a few occasions.

That lead to him being beaten black and blue by the demon , with his bare hands.

I won't ever forget his defiant gaze as he stood up to the monster that is Mr Fuckface…

That dummy…he says he does it because he can't stand the bastard anymore but I know he wants to keep the attention on himself so that I'm not getting whipped anymore….

After a few months of this , I put my foot down and forced him to at least accept a portion of my soul stones in exchange.

He didn't want to accept at first , but after threatening him that I would also start taunting the demons, he begrudgingly agreed.

And things went on like that. With my partner taking most of the demons attention, I was barely whipped anymore.

And so we worked .

And so trudged on.

Until one day , I started losing memories.

It started small with the faces of people I used to know.

But then , piece by piece , I started forgetting important stuff. Like my parents names , like my birthday and my favourite food…like my sister's face.

I was quiet , and didn't tell my friend . Busy as he was , protecting me , I doubt he even noticed .

Day by day , I started forgetting more and more.

And with each memory , I started losing the will to fight.

Small black cracks started spreading on my body , alerting my friend that something was wrong.

The demons laughed that they would finally have something nice to eat.

But I didn't care.

I was too tired.

I could barely remember my sister's name .

I have already forgotten mine…

My friend , in his panic , fed me all the soul stones he could get his hands on , but for some reason , they were ineffective. It was as if they were already drained of soul power , or so it felt when I ate them.

And that brings us to the present time…

Mr Fuckface just finished his shift and we are waiting for the….what was his name again?

Whatever, we are waiting for the next demon.

I don't think I can do this for much longer…

I'm sorry Laclaire…

I'm sorry…..Negary

I still remember how we promised to get out of this hell together…

I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise…

.

As I contemplated just closing my eyes and just…. Letting go, I heard a raspy voice whisper something in my ear…

.

.

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"Omae Wa Mou Shindeiru…."

"Nani?"

Why did I answer that way ? I don't know….I must have heard it somewhere before…but I forgot where.

As I tried to open my mouth to ask what did that mean , I felt teeth sinking in what remained of my neck after all these years of torture.

As the edges of my vision blurred and a numbing chill crept through my veins, I sensed the insidious pull of my soul's energy being drained away.

It was as if invisible threads were unraveling the very fabric of my being, each strand slipping away with a sinister purpose.

In the midst of this surreal torment, a solitary thought emerged like a beacon in the darkness — a question that echoed with a haunting intensity: Why?

The syllable hung in the air, suspended between anguish and disbelief.

It was a question that encapsulated the sheer injustice of the situation, a plea for understanding in a realm governed by inexplicable cruelty.

The very word reverberated with layers of emotion, a symphony of confusion, anger, and desperation.

Why was this happening?

Why was my essence being drained away, a slow and excruciating theft of my very vitality?

The question was a desperate plea for answers, a grappling with the incomprehensible forces that had turned my world upside down.

As the tendrils of darkness tightened their grip, the question lingered, its resonance growing more poignant with every passing heartbeat.

It was a cry into the abyss, a plea for the universe to reveal its secrets, to shed light on the unfathomable depths of my suffering.

And yet, as the void enveloped me, the answer remained elusive, leaving only the echo of that haunting question as a testament to the torment that had befallen me.

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And then there was only darkness…

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-----------------------

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Negary pov :

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As I finished absorbing Amy's soul , I could help but marvel at how much energy was coursing through my veins.

The wounds that plagued me for so long were finally gone…and I felt stronger than ever .

I couldn't help but think I passed some kind of threshold in my soul cultivation.

Amidst my contemplations, a voice, almost manic in its tone, shattered my reverie.

It resonated from every corner of my consciousness, both jubilant and unhinged, a stark contrast to the serene energy that now coursed through me.

This voice, a discordant symphony of emotions, served as a stark reminder that even as I reveled in newfound strength, there were forces at play that I had yet to fully comprehend.

H̶̳̕ÿ̴͖̮́ę̴̹̠̲̈̽̀h̶̙́͘ÿ̷͈͚̻̀̎͜ͅê̶̪̲̜̒̎̃̽́h̷̛͔͍̜̙͂͌̿ͅẹ̷̛̱͙́̀̓ḧ̷̦͈̖́͊͋̏̐y̸̢̱̍͛̄͌̓͛ȩ̴̮͔̼́̍̐̑͠͝.̶̪̱̯̎̏̊̒̍͝ ̵͈͚͔̞͐̀Ÿ̶̫̺̳͖̿̀̎̾̉e̶̟̹͆͌̋̌͒̃s̶͓͓͉̼̝̑̇̈́̅́̈́ ̷̧̛̭̹̦̏͆̋͐,̸̤̞̾̑̊̽̌ ̵̡̘̟͉̐̑̈́̾̾̊ͅẙ̵̍̕ͅe̴͉͖̩̼̪̙͐̍̂͂͛̈́ṣ̶̘̘̯̝̒̈̐̐̕͝ͅ ̶̨̗͈̠͋y̴͖̽͐̅͘͠e̴̺̜̣̲̽ͅş̵̹̮̼͌̋̕̚ ̸̥̥͓̀̌̈́̂͝

,̷̡͉̫̻̫͇̑̇̈̑́͋ ̷̨̳͙̖̹̯̊́

Ÿ̸̢́͘ͅő̵̞̦̋̒ų̶̛͔͈̀̋̎̕'̷̢̘̬̻̀̕͠ḷ̴̦͙̣̋͑̀́̈́l̸̥̥͓̲̠̾͋̑ͅ ̴̬͍̹̋̾f̵̞̗͝l̵̡̹͙̟̦̉̓͌͑͝ö̶̪͎̙͎̮̮́̀a̴͙̳̐ţ̵͈͙̞̟͗̾̇̾͂ ̵̤͉̭͚͉̑͂̍̽͜ń̷̢̳͚͐̅̂̉̈́i̴̗͛c̸̮̜̓́͛ȩ̵̱͙̌l̸̳̱͆͌y̷̧͍̯͓̣͍̆̑