Darkness holds dominion, its shadowed veil hardly translucent enough to see past. Shifty silhouettes stand in the midst, glaring down with blank, accusing stares. All except for the leader with noble’s robes, who has a look of disapproval and disgust.

Before them is a poor young boy with dark hair and sickly pale skin. He shakes and quivers, his breaths unsteady and shallow, manifesting in a white puff because of the cold and his lack of clothes to guard against it. He is so emaciated and weak that he can hardly stay sitting, especially while trying to support the heavy metal collar about his neck, and the chains binding his wrists.

Tears stream down the boy’s face, now.

The leader speaks darkly, “You have failed to comply yet again. How is that possible?”

The boy’s voice is weak. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Tsk tsk, mongrel,” the leader remarks. “First you disobeyed my simple orders, and now you disobey my rules?”

The boy gasps, looking desperately at him.

“And again you do it.”

The leader figure steps forward imposingly, kneeling before the boy. He grabs him by the hair, pulling so that he cannot look away. Even so, the boy keeps his eyes fixed downward.

“Three offences,” the leader remarks. “Two in a matter of minutes.”

The boy bites his tongue.

“It pains me to do this,” the figure continues, standing back up. As he says this, he unsheathes a long, hard, slightly curved stick. It is stained with faded crimson and covered in scratches. The boy starts shaking, fear clouding his eyes.

The leader sighs, “I don’t like it, and yet look what you make me do. I’ve no choice. You must know your place, boy, and know who you are. Whenever you try to be something you’re not, I have to put you back to that previous form. I don’t like it, but-”

“That’s rubbish!” The boy snaps, practically hissing the words.

The figure growls, “What did you just say to me?”

“You do like it!” The boy cries. “I see the look you have every damn time! But why? Why do you like it?!”

Using the tip of the beating stick, the leader raises the boy’s face so that his eyes meet his own. The boy closes his eyes, though, repeating the word under his breath. ‘Why? Why?’ The whole time, he’s still weeping.

“What are you?” Asks the figure.

The boy does not respond.

“You’re nothing,” the figure hisses. “Who are you?”

The boy cries harder.

“You’re nobody!” The figure snaps. “What is your name?!”

The boy finally breaks. “What did I do?! Why am I here?! P-Please, I just want to go home! I just want to go; l-let me go! Let me go, please-!”

‘CRACK!’

The boy cries out as the stick comes down with unrestrained force, pounding hard against his back. The skin immediately splits open upon contact, blood spewing from the new wound, which overlaps many old ones; some mere scars, and others still healing.

“You ungrateful brat,” the figure growls. “Watch your tongue! I give you a home and life, and this is how you dare speak to me?”

“You never did!” The boy snarls. “You took me from my only home!”

The leader chuckles, “This is your only home. And you will not speak to your master like that.”

Without warning, the figure raises the stick again. “Worthless rat!!”

-’CRACK!’ More blood runs from a fresh wound, deep enough to see vessels pumping blood. This evil noble holds no mercy, though, continuing to lash and beat the child.

It happens over and over again; blood stains the ground, screams fill the air, and the boy writhes in his restraints, trying to protect himself. However, the heavy chains do nothing but weigh him down. He can do nothing as he is once again shoved into the dirt, beaten to the point he is begging for either salvation or eternal rest.

Through his anguished cries, the boy finally screams, “No- No more, please! Someone, please help me!”

‘CRACK!’

“Please, anyone!”

‘CRACK!’

“Please…It hurts...It hurts…”

The leader suddenly gains a sinister grin. He drops the stick, retreating to the back of the room, near where his motionless colleagues watch on with empty stares. From a hole in the wall, the leader pulls a sparking wire, and from his coat, he pulls a flask.

The boy trembles as he watches this sadistic creativity, knowing that the stick would only be a pinprick compared to what was to come.

“Somebody help me…Please…” The boy cries, “Help! H-Help me!”

The boy hears footsteps draw closer.

“No, no! HELP ME!”

It stops right in front of him, and the leader opens the flask.

“PLEASE HELP ME!” The boy writhes in his restraints. “HINATA!”