The damp, musty air of the dungeon wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, heavy with the smell of stone and decay. My eyes adjust slowly to the dim light, the only source of illumination a flickering torch on the far wall. The cold seeping through the stone floors cuts into my bones, but it's the weight in my chest that makes it unbearable. It's him. He's here.
I try to move, but my limbs are shackled—my arms held high above my head, my feet barely touching the ground. Every movement sends a jolt of pain through my wrists. I wince, biting back a hiss. I can't show weakness. Not here. Not now.
And then, the familiar sound of footsteps echoes in the narrow corridor. Soft, deliberate. It's a sound I know all too well. His footsteps.
The God of Death.
He steps into the flickering light, his cold eyes locking onto mine immediately. His face is unreadable, as always, a mask of icy indifference. But I know him. I know the power he holds, the dark hunger that lurks just beneath the surface. And I hate him for it.
He stops just a few paces away, towering over me. The silence stretches out, thick with the tension between us. His gaze doesn't waver, his lips curling ever so slightly in a cruel smile.
"You're a fool, you know that?" His voice is like ice, smooth and cutting.
I don't answer him. I can't. My tongue feels like lead in my mouth, the bitterness of defeat choking me. It's not fear that holds me silent, but the weight of betrayal that suffocates every word I want to say. I won't give him the satisfaction.
"You thought you could run," he continues, his words soft but laced with venom. "You thought you could escape me, the one thing you can never outrun." He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, making the already unbearable atmosphere even heavier. "You always come back to me, no matter how hard you try."
I finally meet his gaze, defiant, even in this hellhole. "I'll never belong to you," I spit, the words sharp and bitter. "Not in this life. Not in any life."
The God of Death tilts his head slightly, his expression one of mild amusement. "You think you have a choice? You've never had a choice, sweetheart. Not truly." He reaches out, his fingers grazing my cheek with the gentlest touch, a stark contrast to the cruelty of his words. "You belong to me. Every life. Every death. It's already been written."
I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my fear. "Then why bother?" I hiss. "If it's all destined, why are you even here? Why not just leave me to die? Or better yet, end it now. If you really think you own me, then just take me."
His laugh is low, a sound filled with dark amusement. "You think I'd make it that easy for you? You think you could simply walk into death's embrace like it's some kind of escape?" He steps closer, until we're almost touching, his cold breath mingling with mine. "No. I want you to suffer. I want you to feel every ounce of your hopelessness. You were foolish enough to think you could escape me. Now you'll learn what it means to defy fate."
I flinch as his fingers tighten around my chin, forcing me to look at him. His touch is cold, like the grip of death itself, sending a shiver down my spine.
"You thought the God of Life could save you," he continues, his voice a low whisper. "He couldn't. Because I already own you. I always have."
"Stop," I rasp, struggling against my chains, desperate to break free, to escape the suffocating darkness of his presence.
But his grip doesn't loosen. Instead, he steps back, admiring the way I'm trapped, the way my spirit is so stubborn, so rebellious, even in the face of defeat. He watches me, the flickering light dancing across his pale face, casting shadows that make him look even more terrifying.
"Don't waste your strength," he says quietly. "You can fight it all you want, but you will always belong to me. And I will never let you go. Not now, not ever."
I look up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. The God of Death may think he's won, but deep down, I know one thing: No matter how many times he breaks me, I will rise again. There is always hope. Even in the darkest of dungeons.
The silence hangs between us again, thick with the weight of our shared history. I can feel the pull of his power, but this time, something is different. A flicker of defiance stirs inside me, small but potent. He might own me now, but that doesn't mean I'll stop fighting.
He gives one last glance at me before turning toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate. "Enjoy your stay, sweetheart," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll need it. After all, you're mine now."
The door slams shut behind him, leaving me in the darkness once again. The cold, damp stone beneath me feels more real than anything else. But the fire inside me refuses to go out.