Content Warning 18+
This story contains explicit scenes of sexual violence, non-consensual acts, physical violence, abuse, and other disturbing themes that may be triggering to some readers. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
His gaze flickered between Sasha's smug expression and the tattoo that seemed to burn itself into his memory. His fingers clenched at the torn fabric, his knuckles white as fury bubbled beneath his fear.
"You... You've been lying to me this entire time," Beom muttered, his voice laced with venom despite the tremor in his tone. He could feel his vulnerability, the powerlessness of being caught in a trap he hadn't even known existed. "You were playing me from the start."
Sasha tilted his head slightly, as if considering Beom's words, his grin unwavering. "I wouldn't call it lying," he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "I'd call it... withholding the truth. There's a difference, Beom-ki."
Beom's jaw tightened, his mind racing through the countless interactions they'd had—the moments he thought were genuine, the camaraderie he believed they shared. It all felt tainted now, corrupted by this revelation.
Beom clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tightening as he stared up at Sasha—or Yaroslav, or whoever this devil truly was. His hands balled into trembling fists at his sides, the betrayal crashing over him in relentless waves. Every interaction, every smirk, every moment of camaraderie they had shared now felt like a cruel joke, a performance meant to lead him straight into this moment. He gritted his teeth, his chest heaving with the effort to hold back the rage threatening to consume him.
"Then why?" Beom demanded, his voice hoarse with anger and exhaustion. His sharp gaze bore into Sasha, searching for even the smallest glimmer of humanity. "Why did you keep me alive? Why not just kill me like all the others? Why go through this—this sick game?"
Sasha tilted his head, his expression shifting slightly. That infuriating smirk remained, but now there was something else in his eyes—a flicker of amusement, yes, but also something darker. Something that sent a chill down Beom's spine.
"Alive?" Sasha repeated, his voice smooth as silk, dripping with mockery. "Oh, darling, don't flatter yourself. Keeping you alive wasn't just some act of mercy." He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to Beom's, their gazes locked. "It's not about sparing you—it's about using you. Watching you squirm. Watching you run in circles trying to figure out a puzzle I already solved."
Beom's stomach twisted in disgust at Sasha's words, but he forced himself to hold his ground. He wouldn't give this monster the satisfaction of seeing him falter.
"Using me?" Beom repeated, his voice sharp, biting. "For what, exactly? To stroke your own ego? To feel powerful while you play god?" His breath hitched, but he pressed on, his voice rising. "Do you think you're special because you can manipulate people? News flash, Sasha—or whatever your real name is—you're just another coward hiding behind lies and cheap tricks."
Sasha let out a low chuckle, clearly unfazed by Beom's defiance. He leaned closer still, his breath warm against Beom's face. The scent of him—clean and sharp, with a hint of something metallic—felt suffocating, intrusive.
"Oh, Beom-ki," Sasha murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You're not just alive because I need you. You're alive because I want you to be. Every move you make, every word you say, it's all part of the story I'm writing. And the best part?" He grinned wider, his teeth flashing. "You don't even know your role yet."
Beom's expression twisted into a glare so sharp it could cut steel, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to fight, to lash out, to wipe that smug, self-satisfied smirk off Sasha's face. Without thinking twice, he raised his fist, his knuckles whitening as he aimed for Sasha's jaw with all the strength he could muster.
The air between them felt electric, charged with Beom's raw anger and Sasha's cold amusement. But just as Beom's punch was about to connect, Sasha's hand shot up like a viper, catching his fist mid-air with an iron grip. The impact didn't even faze Sasha; he held Beom's fist effortlessly, his smirk widening as if mocking Beom's attempt.
"You're predictable," Sasha said smoothly, his voice calm, almost bored, which only fueled Beom's rage further.
Before Beom could yank his hand away or react, Sasha's free hand lashed out, delivering a punishing blow to the side of Beom's face. The force of the punch sent a sharp jolt of pain radiating through his jaw, and his vision blurred momentarily.
Beom stumbled, but Sasha didn't let him recover. With precision and speed that hinted at extensive training, Sasha swung his other fist, this time landing another devastating punch on the opposite side of Beom's face. The impact was brutal, and a metallic taste flooded Beom's mouth as his head snapped to the side.
"Ugh…" Beom groaned, his knees buckling slightly under the combined force of the two hits. His balance wavered, the room spinning around him as dizziness settled in like a thick fog. He pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps.
"Is that all you've got, Beom?" Sasha taunted, his voice cutting through the haze like a blade. He stepped closer, towering over Beom like a predator toying with its prey. "I expected more from someone with so much fire. You're making this too easy."
Sasha's weight pressed down on Beom like an immovable mountain, pinning him to the bed. Beom twisted his body in desperation, using every ounce of strength to crawl away, but Sasha was faster. In one swift motion, he flipped Beom back onto his back, straddling him like a predator keeping its prey in place. Beom's heart raced as Sasha's hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing with merciless intent.
"Ugh… kuh…!" Beom choked, his hands clawing at Sasha's wrist, his nails digging into the flesh in a futile attempt to loosen the grip. His vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in as oxygen became a distant memory. Sasha's expression twisted into a grin, one that sent a chill racing down Beom's spine.
"You aren't going anywhere," Sasha said, his voice low and taunting, the words dripping with a sadistic edge.
Beom's thoughts spiraled into panic, his mind racing for a way out. This can't be it. No, no, no… I can't die like this. Not at the hands of this psycho. Not like this! His body bucked beneath Sasha's, but the man's grip was unyielding, his strength almost inhuman.
Just as Beom felt he was on the brink of losing consciousness, Sasha suddenly released his grip. Beom gasped and coughed violently, each breath like shards of glass scraping against his throat. His chest heaved as he panted, trying to steady himself, but Sasha gave him no time to recover.
Before Beom could even think of moving, Sasha reached to his side and pulled out a knife. The blade glinted menacingly under the dim light, and Beom's blood ran cold. His breath hitched as Sasha brought the knife closer, the tip dangerously close to his eye.
"W-what the hell are you doing?" Beom croaked, his voice hoarse and shaky. He turned his head, his pulse hammering in his ears, but Sasha grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at the blade.
Beom's thoughts raced, a mix of fear and anger bubbling to the surface. Is this it? Is this lunatic really going to stab me in the eye? Damn it, think, Beom! You can't let this happen!
But Sasha's grin only widened, his eyes gleaming with something dark and twisted. Instead of stabbing, Sasha slowly dragged the knife down Beom's body, the cold metal grazing his skin through the remnants of his clothing.
Beom shivered involuntarily, his disgust mounting as he realized Sasha was savoring every moment. "You sick bastard…" he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and helplessness.
Sasha ignored him, his gaze roving over Beom's body as he continued slicing. The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, each cut methodical and deliberate. Beom's shirt shredded into strips, leaving his chest exposed to the icy air.
"No… stop this…" Beom muttered, trying to push Sasha away, but his strength was no match.
Sasha leaned in close, his lips brushing against Beom's ear as he whispered, "I told you one day I'd rip your hole apart."
Beom froze, his stomach twisting at the words, the sinister promise laced within them. This can't be happening. This isn't real. Wake up, Beom. Do something. Fight back!
The knife continued its downward path, cutting through Beom's clothes until they hung in tatters. Sasha's grin never faltered, his white teeth gleaming as he reveled in Beom's discomfort.
Beom clenched his fists, his mind a whirlwind of anger and terror. You sick piece of trash. You think I'm just going to let you do this? Over my dead body.
But the situation felt dire, the weight of Sasha's dominance pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. Beom's body trembled as he desperately searched for an opening, some way to regain control.
"You think this makes you powerful?" Beom growled, his voice filled with defiance despite his vulnerable state. "You're nothing but a coward hiding behind a knife."
Sasha chuckled, clearly unfazed by Beom's words. "Call me what you want," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "It won't change how this ends."
Beom's glare hardened, his mind racing for a plan. I won't let him win. Not now. Not ever.
Sasha then opened his flap, his movements unhurried yet deliberate, a twisted sense of satisfaction flickering in his eyes as he tore Beom-Ki's underwear. The ripping sound cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving, like a signal of his loss of control.