He was nineteen.  
A Ukrainian farmer who knew nothing of war except the distant thunder of shells and the way his cows grew nervous when the wind carried smoke.  
One wrong afternoon, two soldiers dragged him from his field, called him terrorist, and proved they didn’t care about the truth.

They took his fingers one joint at a time, cauterizing each stump so he wouldn’t die too soon.  
They carved smiles into his cheeks for amusement.  
They gouged out an eye just to hear the sound it made.  
They pulped his thighs with rifle butts, sawed the legs off below the knee, and laughed while the blood painted the floor.  
When boredom returned, they pumped liters of cold water beneath his skin with thick syringes until his body swelled purple and grotesque, veins bursting like overfilled rivers.  
Then they poured petrol down his throat and lit the match.

He died screaming fire.

And woke in the abyss.

No light. No sound. No up or down.  
Only perfect, endless black, and a body that refused to stay broken.

He tore himself apart for centuries (clawing out his own heart, biting through his tongue, smashing his skull against nothing) only to heal in the space between heartbeats.  
Time lost meaning.  
Eons passed while he begged for the death that had once been forced upon him and was now forever denied.

He was alone.  
Utterly, perfectly alone.

Until the abyss noticed the only creature that had ever made eternity flinch.

It watched him suffer.  
It grew curious.  
Curiosity became pity.  
Pity became something deeper (something frighteningly close to love).

One day the screaming stopped.  
The abyss wrapped the broken boy in silence gentle as snowfall, rocked him until the memories no longer bled, and whispered gifts no god had ever dared to give:

Beauty that hurts to look upon.  
Strength that needs no weapon.  
Charisma that bends hearts like reeds.  
And a mind so calm even remembered fire feels distant.

When the boy finally opened his golden eyes again, the abyss asked (softly, almost shyly) what he desired.

Three wishes.

He used them wisely.

Now, in a new world of shinobi and war and fragile peace, a child named Rei grows beneath a wooden mask, hiding a face too beautiful for mortal eyes and a soul older than stars.

He remembers every second of the torture.  
He remembers every eon of solitude.  
He remembers the moment the void itself fell in love with him.

And somewhere, in the deepest dark between worlds, the abyss still watches its beloved, humming with quiet pride.

***
What to expect from this Fanfiction?
Explicit, Brutal Goreiphic things.
If you have a small heart don't read this.

I use A.I to fix my grammar, since English is not my first language but everything is Original nothing is written by A.I, I am the sole Author.

100 power stones more I will upload a bonus chapter.


Chapter 4 - Vote