Darkness shifts into red light behind his eyelids.
Jigoku slowly regains consciousness. His breath quickens before he even fully understands where he is. He feels cold. The hardness beneath his back. A weight…
The weight of iron.
He opens his eyes.
He is strapped to a cold, massive table. Iron clamps hold his wrists and ankles, driven deep into his skin. The table he lies on is covered in irregular streaks and stains of dried blood, like a map of long-forgotten suffering.
He tries to speak, but feels only the metallic taste and tension in his jaw.
His mouth is torn open by an iron pear, a cold device jammed between his teeth, preventing him from uttering even a single coherent word. The iron is slick with his saliva, which has nowhere to go, slowly dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
He turns his head to the side.
Right next to him stands Yuko.
Her face, calm, as if contemplating a work of art. Hands clasped behind her back, the torch in the background casting flickering light that dances on her cheeks.
She looks into his eyes. Without a word. With complete focus.
Her lips slowly curl into an innocent, almost childlike smile.
*Yuko: You love, therefore you are. – she says with a smile.
She claps twice.
From the darkness, a familiar, aggressive melody swells again, strings sounding as if detuned by madness. This time they play faster, sharper, more nervously. As if someone were playing them right above his head.
Yuko pulls a small knife from behind her back. Short, thin, slightly curved at the end, as if made for surgical precision. A thin layer of dried blood already glimmers on the blade.
In her left hand, a flame appears—the same one he knows so well. It no longer brings surprise, only a racing heartbeat.
She holds the blade over the fire, just above the palm of her hand, heating it for a few seconds. The iron first turns dark red, then almost orange at the tip.
*Yuko: I don't want to kill you, darling. I just need to... trim you a little, imagine I'm giving you a new haircut.
She approaches slowly.
Kneels beside his rib. One hand holds his side, the blade guided with care.
She starts at the inner side of his thigh, a soft area, rich in nerves but not lethal. Guides the knife as if drawing something on his skin. A small triangle, a piece of skin lifts like an orange peel, and pain spreads through his body in a wave.
Jigoku thrashes against the restraints, but they don't budge an inch. A muffled howl escapes his throat, broken by the sound of metal and saliva choked by the pear.
*Yuko: Shhh... easy now, I'll make you some nice patterns, you won't regret it. – she says, focused.
She moves on to his left shoulder, then the shoulder blade, leaving behind trails of red, as if branding him with her own marks. Thin scraps of skin fall softly to the ground, like withered petals.
With each sliver of skin, Jigoku feels a sudden, pulsing pain, as if fire spreads beneath his skin, scorching muscle and nerves. At first, he clenches his teeth, trying not to break, and in his eyes burns rage and defiance, and at the same time, helplessness.
With every new cut, the pain becomes more unbearable, muscles begin to tremble, and his breathing becomes fast and shallow. His body tries to break free, but it is powerless. Under the knife, a shadow of despair appears, and the thought of revenge grows in his mind.
By the end, when the scraps of skin fall to the ground and the pain spreads like a poisonous fog, a mixture of hatred, determination, and resignation appears in his eyes — he suffers, but he does not fully surrender.
Jigoku loses sight of Yuko. He only hears her steps, delicate, calm, as if she were walking around her own home. Something happens behind his head. A metallic scrape. A soft rustle. As if she were sifting sand or crushing something between her fingers. The clamps on his wrists and ankles dig into his flesh. The iron pear in his mouth presses down on his tongue, forces him to swallow saliva, chokes him with his own breath.
After a moment, she returns. She stands beside him smiling, cheerful, with a small leather pouch in her hand.
*Yuko: Time to salt you up, you're far too bitter. – she says with joy, as if she's about to season a dessert.
She dips her fingers into the pouch and pulls out a pinch of coarse, white salt. Jigoku tries to turn his head away, but he can't. His entire body is pinned to the table like butchered meat.
Without a trace of hesitation, Yuko sprinkles the salt directly onto the spot where his eye used to be, the wound still open, drying.
The pain doesn't come gradually.
It explodes.
Jigoku arches as much as his position allows. His throat tries to scream, but the pear muffles every sound. Only a hoarse rasp escapes his throat. His head pulses, as if someone had shoved red-hot iron inside it. As if something alive were gnawing its way into his skull from within.
Tears stream from his only eye. The other socket melts in the salt. Every heartbeat brings a new wave of fire, spreading across his face, his neck, his whole body.
He doesn't think. He doesn't speak. He doesn't fully breathe.
He clenches his muscles, even as his arm trembles like in a fever. A knot in his stomach, in his heart, in his throat.
Yuko smiles, as if looking at a masterpiece she's grown herself.
Yuko disappears from his field of vision once again. The sound of metal scraping across the stone floor is heard. Then a splash… as if something small plopped into liquid. Jigoku barely catches his breath, trying not to fall into another panic attack. His heart is already pounding like a hammer, and each pulse spreads the pain from the eye wound across his entire face.
She returns.
In her hands she carries a metal bucket, which sways slightly—something inside is moving. Jigoku sees out of the corner of his eye something small and dark shifting within.
*Yuko: Look, I brought you a new friend. He's very hungry. – she says with childlike excitement.
She places the bucket on his face, pressing it against the spot where his eye once was. The metal is cold, for a moment. The rim of the container digs into his skin, leaving a small gap on the side through which air seeps.
Inside, the rat sits silently. It feels fear.
But only for a moment.
Yuko raises her free hand above the bucket, and from her palm fire immediately bursts forth. Blue flames coil around her hand, beginning to heat the metal. The heat quickly transfers through the container. The bucket starts to hiss, to burn. The rat begins to panic.
At first, it only scratches. Then, squealing, it tries to climb. There's nowhere to go.
And then…
It bites.
It plunges in.
Desperate, blinded by heat, it bites into Jigoku's eye socket with all its strength.
It tears off chunks of flesh. Rips. Shreds. Teeth sliding across bone.
Jigoku screams, but the sound dies in his throat. His entire body jerks beneath the metal restraints. The table creaks under the strain of his muscles. His throat burns, he screams without a voice. Breath shallow, ragged. Tears mix with the blood seeping from his face.
Yuko, holding the bucket, tilts her head like a cat watching a toy. Her eyes wide open, lips curled in admiration.
*Yuko: Ohhh... look how hungry he is. Yum.
The rat rages for a moment longer, biting blindly, tearing through more layers of tissue. Every movement of its claws and teeth is a new explosion of pain in Jigoku's head, so intense it feels as if time has ceased to exist. He feels his body trembling from within, as if instinctively trying to flee from its own skin.
Suddenly… the rat finds a gap between the metal and the twitching face. With a squeak, it squeezes through the crack and escapes, leaving behind a writhing trail of blood.
Yuko watches everything in silence. When the rat vanishes into the darkness, she makes a puffed-up face and sighs theatrically.
*Yuko: Oh nooo... he ruined my fun.
Jigoku doesn't respond. He can't.
His breath is shallow and uneven. One eye, glassy with tears and pain, stares ahead. His lips tremble as if trying to form words, but only a hoarse murmur escapes his throat.
The world around him begins to spin. The warmth of blood trailing down his cheek clashes with the cold trembling overtaking the rest of his body.
His strength gives out. His body goes limp.
Darkness falls.
He comes to.
This time, it isn't sudden. His senses return slowly, as if from under thick ice.
There's cold beneath his back — again, that cursed chair. Not quite the same as before. Lower. The uneven backrest digs into his shoulder blade.
He tries to move his hand. Nothing. The metallic rattle tells him he's restrained again.
In front of him, as always, she stands.
Yuko.
In one hand, a long, thin needle. In the other, a hammer — heavy, with an elongated head.
Both glint not from the metal itself, but from the blue fire dancing across her skin, heating the tools to an unbearable white.
*Jigoku: Please... let me go... kill me... – his voice barely a whisper. Eyes bloodshot, lips cracked, his words tremble as they leave him.
*Yuko: Kill you? Oh come on… we're friends.
She tilts her head playfully and smiles like sunshine.
Without warning, she kneels by his leg.
Jigoku's muscles twitch, too weak to resist.
The hiss of heat grows louder as she brings the glowing needle close.
She presses it just beneath the kneecap. Slowly. Deliberately.
The pain blooms — raw and consuming.
It's not just physical. It's personal. As though something deep inside is being forced open and exposed.
Jigoku throws his head back, colliding with the wooden frame. His throat releases a scream, high and broken, instinctive and involuntary.
Fingers clench around the chair's edge, knuckles whitening despite the restraints.
Then — Yuko raises the hammer.
Not with force, but with precision.
The impact lands cleanly, right beside the embedded needle.
CRACK.
Jigoku trembles, his whole body convulsing. Another blow. The bone cracks like porcelain. Another. Tissues tear, cartilage splits. A splatter of blood.
Jigoku thrashes as if trying to rip out of his own skin. He feels something rising in his throat.
The gag reflex.
From his mouth, through the iron pear, the first streams of stomach contents begin to spill. His own vomit runs down his chin, seeps into his nose, floods the roof of his mouth. He starts to choke, his eyes cloud over, his body jerks into convulsions.
Yuko, a little surprised, reacts quickly.
In one swift motion, she pulls the pear from his mouth — the metal dripping with mucus and bile. Jigoku gasps for air in spasms, choking and coughing, spitting all over himself.
Blood, saliva, and everything else left in him pours out.
Yuko steps back a pace, staring at him with gleaming eyes, delighted like a child who just broke a brand new toy.
*Yuko: Oh... I guess I overdid it a little. But you like me, right?
Jigoku doesn't answer.
His eyes dart around, breath ragged. Darkness creeps back into his vision.
After a moment, Jigoku passes out from exhaustion.
No one knows how much time has passed.
Jigoku lies face down. The cold seeps through his body, biting into his skin like the stone floor is trying to swallow him whole. He breathes shallowly through cracked lips, each inhale burning his throat, as if he's hollow inside.
Silence.
For a moment, he doesn't even know if he's alive.
He wiggles his fingers. He can feel them. Barely. Then moves his head — a stab of pain shoots from his spine to his temples.
Jigoku: Fuck... what is this... – barely thinking.
Am I free? Did she leave me?
He lifts his head with effort. He sees nothing — just darkness, thick and lifeless. As if the whole room were built from shadow.
He tries to push himself up, but can't. His arms tremble, muscles unresponsive. He collapses back onto the floor with a dull thud.
He doesn't know if he's free, or if this is another illusion. He doesn't have the strength to find out.
He lies there for a long while — maybe minutes, maybe hours.
He turns onto his back.
And then he starts tapping.
Unconsciously. Reflexively. With the knuckles of his right hand against the tiled floor. Rhythmically.
Three short. Three long. Three short.
SOS.
Like always. Like in the iron maiden. Like in the cell. Like back when he still had hope someone would answer.
Now he expects nothing.
It's just him and the tapping.
Each tap gets quieter. His hand trembles. Skin peeled off, a sharp, stinging pain.
And he keeps tapping.
Jigoku: I don't even know why anymore... Reflex. Nothing more. Maybe just to die faster.
Am I dying?
Am I going to die here?
Did I already die?