This is an older piece of work, but I still like it. Ironically, I was in a great mood when I wrote it in 2000.
Warning: This is very dark and brutal. It contains death and rape. If these subjects offend you, then please do not read further.
In this I wrote, what I felt, would be more true to life. If evil such as the dynasty and warlords did exist, they would be more like this, than the candy coated TV version. Innocent bystanders, never leave innocent.
Ronin Warriors / Yoroiden Samurai Troopers
Exhausted she dangled by her manacled wrists. The pain radiated through her body. The feeling was so overwhelming she had trouble identifying the causes. The strained muscles of her arms and back bearing her weight, her raw lacerated mouth and throat, the bites and cuts starting on her breasts traced down over her buttocks and thighs. Her mind bulked at the thought of the burning pain inside her crotch and anus. She vaguely remembered the moment her hip was popped out of joint making her legs useless. It could have been minutes or hours since they left her dangling like a broken doll, with the promise of their return.
Faintly the sound of metal footsteps reached her ears. Fear raced up and down her spine at the hiss of rock against rock. Her tortured throat muscles worked as she convulsively swallowed the blood, saliva, and cum in her mouth. A cool breeze wafted over her body as the door opened. Oh God, they’re back. Please, God, NO. She whimpered pitifully in denial of what was to come.
The scream ripped through the house as Mia jerked up in bed. Breathing heavily she clutched the blankets tight to her chest. Slowly, she began to rock back and forth. “It’s over. We won. The warlords are gone,” she whispered to herself, repeating it in a litany. It didn’t help. Nothing did.
They should have let her die, but they came for her just like she had known they would. She had woken in her own bed with Rowen and Sage watching over her. She could never look them in the eye again. They knew, knew what she had gone through. The others may have suspected, but nothing was ever said. Desperately she clung to sanity, waiting for the defeat of the Dynasty. Surely then everything would change. It did change. It got worse. Normal human contact would make her shake and become nauseated. Soon, even the sight of a male made her uncomfortable and jumpy.
One day Ryo walked up behind her while she was doing the dishes. He touched her gently on the arm as he said her name. She had whirled around as if under attack. He said something to her, but all she could hear were the Mashos’ voices. The feel of Dais’ breath on her ear as he spoke. “Do you fuck those little boys?” he asked mockingly. “Next time they touch you, think of me.”
If she had once wanted to be held by one of them, she couldn’t remember it.
She made very unsubtle hints that the guys should leave. Very soon she had the house to herself with the occasional visit from a large tiger. Just her and the nightmares.
Desperate to remove all reminders, she redecorated the house. All correspondence with the Ronins stopped. She even went so far as to donate all her grandfather’s research and books; the swords and armors were sold to museums and antique shops. No traces of the past remained, but still the dreams came.
Shakily, she climbed to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. Clutching the sink, she stared at the stranger there. The face was pale and gaunt from malnutrition and lack of sleep. Dark rings surrounded the dull, darting eyes. Shutting out the image, she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a prescription bottle. She shook a few into her hand and tried to place them on her tongue, but a memory ran hard and fast through her brain.
Cale stood behind her biting deeply into her neck. She could feel blood running down over her shoulder. His cold strong hands dug in where he gripped her hips. The ripping, tearing pain washed over her as he shoved himself into her. Her mouth had opened to scream only to have Dais…
With a shriek, she threw the bottle across the room. Little white pills rolled around the floor. She turned quickly heading back to the bedroom, only to trip on one of the many bottles littering the floor. Grabbing the doorframe, she held herself upright. Alcohol bottles lay scattered across the bedroom and bath. The drugs and booze had worked for a while. Dulling her senses, letting her float through the endless days. But once the haze lifted, the memories would come back worse than ever.
“No more, I can’t take anymore,” she whispered in a panicked voice.
Going to the bedside table, she yanked at the top drawer. It didn’t open – locked. With shaking hands, she grasped the key at her throat and broke the thin gold chain. It took five tries to get the key in the lock. With a light click, the drawer slid open easily. Almost reverently, she took out the object inside. Sinking onto the bed, she cradled the cold deadly weapon in her hands. The black piece of metal was her one protection in the house – a small revolver. “Can it truly protect me?” she wondered.
With sad eyes, she looked at the letter lying on the nightstand. Written in childish scrawl was an invitation to Yulli’s 10th birthday.
“I’m sorry Yulli. I’m not going to make it.”
Outside birds took to the sky and a tiger roared, as a gun shot rang out.