Kaizen did not know how much time had passed. The cell had no windows to mark the passage of days, only the relentless darkness that pressed against him. He could not hear the outside world—only the faint echoes of footsteps beyond the thick iron door. His body ached from the beatings he had endured, his wrists raw from the chains that bound him.
His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, caught between nightmares and the bitter reality of his imprisonment. There were no whispers from the demons, no voices to guide him. For the first time in years, he was truly alone.
The Unholy Cell,
The walls of the prison were not made of ordinary stone. This was an unholy cell, crafted for the sole purpose of making him suffer. The High Monk had designed it specifically for him—a place where his connection to the demons would be severed, where he would be left to rot without any hope of escape.
The chains that bound him were laced with sacred inscriptions, burning his skin every time he moved. The pain was unbearable, but the worst part was the silence. He could no longer hear them—the demons that had once whispered in his ears, tormenting and empowering him. For years, they had been a constant presence in his life, and now they were gone.
Was this what it felt like to be human again? If so, it was worse than he could have ever imagined.
Bhikkhu's Cruel Game,
It wasn't long before the High Monk came to see him. Bhikkhu stepped into the cell, his presence overwhelming. He did not look at Kaizen with hatred or anger—only with amusement, as if he were a child to be disciplined.
"How does it feel, Kaizen?" Bhikkhu asked, crouching down so their faces were level. "To be truly powerless?"
Kaizen did not answer. He refused to give Bhikkhu the satisfaction of seeing his pain.
The monk chuckled. "You must be wondering why you're still alive. Why haven't I killed you yet?" He leaned in closer, his voice a whisper. "Because death would be mercy. And you do not deserve mercy."
Kaizen clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
"You may have noticed something strange, haven't you?" Bhikkhu continued. "The demons have abandoned you. Your power is gone. Do you know why?"
Kaizen remained silent.
Bhikkhu smirked. "Because you rejected them. For two years, you lived like a simple man. You played house with that woman. You became attached to that child. You convinced yourself that you could have peace." His voice hardened. "But you were never meant for peace, Kaizen. And now, you will suffer for your foolishness."
Kaizen's breathing grew heavy, his body trembling with rage.
Bhikkhu stood, pacing the cell slowly. "I have something to tell you. Something that might interest you." He turned back to Kaizen, his expression unreadable.
"Aoi is alive."
Kaizen's head snapped up. His eyes, dull with exhaustion, now burned with desperate hope.
Bhikkhu smiled. "Yes. Aoi, Sakura, and even Itsuro. They are all alive."
Kaizen's heart pounded in his chest. "Where…?" His voice was weak, but the determination in his eyes was unmistakable.
Bhikkhu tilted his head. "I could tell you. But why should I?" He crouched down again, staring into Kaizen's eyes. "You have something I need, Kaizen. The Shards of Eternity. Tell me where they are, and I might consider letting you see them again."
Kaizen's mind raced. The Shards of Eternity—was that what Bhikkhu was after all along?
"I don't know where they are," Kaizen growled.
Bhikkhu sighed. "A shame. Then, I suppose I have no reason to keep my promise." He turned to leave, but before stepping out, he glanced back. "I will return soon. Perhaps by then, you'll be more cooperative."
With that, the door slammed shut, leaving Kaizen alone once more.
The Torture Begins,
Time lost all meaning. Bhikkhu's visits became routine. Each time, he would dangle hope in front of Kaizen, only to rip it away. Sometimes, he would bring food and leave it just out of Kaizen's reach, laughing as he struggled. Other times, he would whisper stories of what had happened to Aoi and Sakura, changing the details every time—sometimes they were suffering, sometimes they were thriving without him.
The mental torture was relentless.
And then came the physical torment.
The monks would come, dragging Kaizen from his cell, shackling him to the walls of a different chamber. There, they would carve sacred inscriptions into his skin, watching as the wounds burned him from the inside. They would beat him, break his bones, and then leave him to heal just enough before doing it again.
But the worst part was the hope.
Bhikkhu made sure that Kaizen never lost all hope. Just when he was on the verge of surrender, Bhikkhu would tell him something—something that would reignite the fire within him.
"Aoi is waiting for you, Kaizen. If you just tell me what I need to know, you can see her again."
Kaizen refused.
And so the suffering continued.
The Hallucinations
As the months dragged on, Kaizen's mind began to fracture. The isolation, the pain, and the lack of food took their toll. His thoughts became distorted, and soon, he began to see them.
Aoi.
Sakura.
Itsuro.
They would appear in the darkness, their voices soft and comforting. Aoi would sit beside him, her hands brushing against his wounds, whispering words of encouragement.
"Hold on, Kaizen," she would say. "Don't give up."
Sakura would laugh, running around the cell, playing as if nothing was wrong.
"Papa! Let's go home!" she would call out.
And Itsuro—his voice was the clearest of them all.
"Don't listen to them, Kaizen," he would warn. "They are lying to you."
Kaizen knew they weren't real. But he clung to them anyway.
Because if he let go, there would be nothing left.
Five Years of Suffering Begin
This was only the beginning.
The days blurred into weeks. The weeks into months. The months into years.
For five years, Kaizen suffered in the darkness.
For five years, he endured the torture.
For five years, he held on to the hope that one day, he would escape.
And when that day came…
There would be no mercy.