I had intended to share a complete story, but that was an impossibility given the holidays. So here is a long introduction to a concept. It's unfinished and unpolished, but I thoroughly enjoyed the conception of this. I hope you do as well. I might pursue this storyline in the future, but for now, here is a preview.

RATED M for dark themes, , violence and gore. Proceed at your discretion.

They say that at the end of a person’s life that past flashes before your eyes. This is how Sandara knows the end isn’t coming for her, not yet. A struggled breath scrapes at her dry throat, vile soured iron coats the inside of , her heart pounding—dug, dug, dug—her sanity rattles in her head. There was no past, no future, just a present so horrifying that she could think of nothing else. The darkness wraps around her, around her ness, while the air caresses her intimately, unwelcomed. The stench of blood, and urine hangs in the air and her stomach heaves, constricts and she gags. felt raw, just like the inside of her thighs, like her bound wrists encircled with stinging burst blisters.

She keeps on breathing and breathing even when she no longer wants to. She has run out of prayers to say. Her faith in the benevolence of her creator has run dry as her last tear burns the underside of her eyes and trickles downward, carving a clear path down her sooty face.

A creak of the door sends her scrambling for the corner. She knows what will happen, what they’d do to her. Her scalp raises in goose pimples at the stirring of the air around her. She draws a high pitched breath, as fear begins to creep up her leg. A sliver of light extends to her ankles and she takes a hard swallow.

A man towers under the doorway, the light behind him shadows his face. All Sandara could see was his teeth as he assumes a sadistic grin that he greets her with, each and every time before he hurts her, before he s her, before he makes her bleed.

She grits her teeth until her jaws ache. He walks towards her, her heart begins to pound in panic. He takes a handful of her hair and her scalp burns. She grits her teeth harder. The least she could do was hold-off his satisfaction of hearing her cry. She takes a hard sniff; mucus begins to crowd and nose. Snot runs down her nostrils.
The man bends to one knee, gives her neck a long up to her ear. “Hello, beautiful.” He whispers. She grits her teeth even harder.

He wrenches at her hair and turns her on her belly. The rough concrete floor bites at her skin, scrapes at her s. A hard smack on her makes her gasp out. Her insides knot in disgust as a warmth develops between her loins. She thought she was disgusting. She wished it would just be over.  She wished she was dead. She feels his finger slip through her folds, slick and wet.

The man chuckles, “You little . Look at you,” he shoves her face on the floor as he positions himself in between her. She hears the jingle of his belt buckle, the ping of his pants. “so ready for my .”

He shoves his inside her and she cries out. There were no begging, no prayers, only unending hate and breaths that she no longer wanted to draw. This was hell. And for a fleeting moment, as his plunged deeper in her she wished there was a real hell, and imagined how she’d revel at the sight of hell fire at this man’s skin, boiling his blood, melting his bones. Sandara wished for hell. There were no more prayers, just spite. No more wishes. Sandara demands for hell.

Her blood begins to warm inside her. She curls and shrieks as fire grips her heart.

“What the ?” The man exclaims as she bucks him off her. Her bound hands claws at her chest. She begins to bleed thick, dark blood and the words begin to coil around her heart. Etched on the middle of her s, forming a spiral of letters:

H.O.M.O., F.U.G.E.!.

Homo, fuge!

Man, flee!

Man, run!

The scent of sulfur fills the air and a circle of flames surrounds her.

Sandara shields her eyes from the flames, feeling the heat’s embrace more than welcoming. Her eyes adjust to the blast of fire light and she sees him begin in a wisp of smoke, growing thicker, growing grayer. Then a man was bent down with her. This man has the night in his hair, and the darkest shadow in his eyes. Coal black, lack luster.
Sandara stares at him and he stares back. He raises his index and touch the middle of her chest where her blood leapt from her skin to his fingertips, leaving the letters in deep black ink that matched his eyes.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around her shoulder.

The air stills, the fire dies down, the man stands up and asks her, “Do you want to see?”

She stares at his back, as the shadows threatened to engulf her back. “Yes.” She says. She understood everything. Knew who he was, what he was, what she was about to see. Then there was light. She sees him flick his wrist and a glint of silver slid between his fingers.

The other man, her tormentor spittle, “W-who are you?”

All Sandara could see was her tormentors fear laden eyes. What was he seeing? A blur of black and the two men was on the other side of the wall. Her tormentor pinned by the throat, gurgling on his spit. Then her tormentor shrieks in agony as the other man plunges the knife on her tormentor’s wrist, blood begins to flop on the floor. The blade buries on her tormentor’s flesh, on the wall, nailing his hand down.

The other man looks back at her expectantly. “What do you want?”

Sandara stills for a moment, breath comes after breath. Her eyes narrow, her lips curl in disgust, her voice comes hoarse and gritty, “Cut off his .”

The other man smiles and chuckles. Her tormentor screams, “No!”

The other man faces him, a flick of wrist a fluid silver makes its way to his fingers. Her tormentor was still from the waist down and the other man’s blade found its way to the base of the tormentor’s . “Yes.” The other man affirms sadistically, and Sandara hears the dark velvet of his voice.

The shriek of pain began and Sandara’s soul revels in elation. The lump of flesh drops down in the puddle of blood.
Again, the other man looks back on Sandara. “Done.” He tells her. “Anything else?”

And the past flashes before her eyes, of her family’s death, of how this man had tortured his father, his mother, ripped her brother’s throat, and the endless breaths she took so he could her, so he could inside her, and piss on her. And Sandara knew this was the end. The eyes of the other man was coal black, and lack luster, and he was the end of her soul. Her nose wrinkle to a snarl.

“Make him pay.”

The other man smiles at her in approval. The steel blade makes its way to her tormentor’s belly, guts begin to slip out of his flesh.

Sandara watches as the other man guts her tormentor, then gauged his eyes, then slit his throat. The screaming never stops even until the man’s throat crowd in blood. Then it was over. The other man lets the lifeless body slump to the floor and slinks towards her. Sandara looked at her savior, her salvation, he had eyes of coal black and lack luster, the midnight