Consciousness in Agony
It hurts. It's painful. Cold water squeezes me tight. It's tormenting. I can't breathe because I exhaled all my air—pure agony. But even so, when I think about the suffering ahead, maybe none of it matters.
In the midst of it all, I pulled my flailing arms tight to my chest, clinging on. My heart pounded, desperate for just one breath, but I held back, gulping down more water instead. The moment it flooded my lungs, the pain was unbearable—I wanted to bolt right out. They say killing yourself is the hardest thing for a person to do. Something quick like falling to your death or slashing an artery seems irreversible, the easiest way out... but I couldn't manage it. All I could do was fight the urge to surface.
Please. Don't do this to me. Just let me sink like this. Just like this...
"You fucking...! What the hell are you doing?!"
I heard a commotion beyond the water, and soon the wooden tub shattered, the water enveloping me scattering away. At the same instant, my hair was yanked, dragging me out into the air. I spewed out the water-filled breath.
"Cough! Hack! Gah, ugh..."
They say drowning is the second worst after burning alive. As expected, with normal willpower, dying in this shallow water was no easy feat. My lungs felt full of water—pure torment. Worse, being hauled by my hair and thrown down made my bruise-covered body scream in pain, groans spilling from my lips.
"What the hell are you doing, I asked!"
He must've gotten suspicious since I wasn't splashing around in the bathroom and came in. Seeing me holding my breath underwater probably freaked him out. If I'd had just a bit more courage, could I have died? No, honestly, drowning yourself is impossible. I just tried it on a whim because I wanted to die.
It hurts. My insides feel wrecked now too—I kept vomiting water. Coughing up what felt like lungfuls, suddenly a thick arm wrapped around my throat.
"Guh."
"...Can't you hear me? I'm asking you."
My body must be pretty light, because he lifted me with one arm. I flailed, barely grabbing the arm choking my neck.
It hurts. Am I going to suffocate again? Just kill me like this. I don't want to suffer anymore.
Soaked to the skin, my waterlogged hair dripped, blurring my vision. Meanwhile, my tears hid among the droplets, slowly trickling down my burning cheeks.
If it was going to be like this, I should've died as Min Siyoon...
"...Kill me."
"What?"
My parched throat barely parted my lips. Seeing me try to speak twisted his face; the grip on my neck loosened slightly. Able to breathe at last, I wept bitterly, pleading through my tears.
"J-just... kill me...!"
He seemed startled by my expression for a moment, then ground his teeth and dragged me out of the room. I was losing my mind. The torment was so bad, dying right then wouldn't have been strange. How many times had it been? How many times had death felt imminent, yet here I was.
Still clinging to life tenaciously. When the hell does this frail body finally give out?
Harboring that resentment as I wheezed, my body tumbled onto the floorboards. Hngh, hngh. As I groaned, the hero who'd thrown me clicked his tongue in annoyance, shook out his hand, and spoke.
"You think I'd let the Demon King's closest aide die so easily?"
So that's why he won't kill me? Because I'm his closest aide—hurry up and find the Demon King? Enraged by that, I squeezed out a raspy voice.
"I... I'm the Demon King... so kill me...!"
"Get real. You, with zero mana? Hilarious. You're just bait to lure out the Demon King for me. That rat Kudbeka. Can't find him? Call him yourself. As his closest aide, you're perfect bait, right?"
Muttering that, he lightly stepped on my stomach as I lay struggling to rise. Even so, his weight bore down, making me groan in agony. Even as my face twisted and I moaned in pain, he spoke indifferently.
"Besides, fuck, creating an illusion or a clone that can actually influence things—how much mana would that take? Don't tell me this bitch poured all her mana into it..."
He furrowed his brow, something nagging at him, but I just whimpered under his foot on my gut until he finally released me, curling up. Not even giving me basic clothes, lounging naked like this was utterly humiliating. Slaves really aren't treated as people. I get why I wanted to die.
Hngh. As I groaned, he muttered something, left briefly, then returned and tossed a cloak at me.
"Wrap this around yourself."
"...What about clothes to wear underneath?"
"You think I have any?"
He wasn't seriously telling me to go out like this, was he? But apparently, the impossible happens. Still, anything to cover up was fine. I had no hobby of strutting naked down the street. Of course, just a cloak that'd reveal everything if he yanked it was embarrassing too. Isn't this like that pervert exposure play? Like those crazies who wander into convenience stores in nothing but a coat.
Grumbling in dissatisfaction but grateful nonetheless, I clutched the cloak and spaced out. That's when I noticed my collar and shackles were off. Had my heavy body distracted me? Those thick things were just to restrict movement—the collar made my neck stiff, the shackles squeezed my legs so walking was hard. With them gone, life felt a tad bearable.
While he was away briefly, I wondered about running, but honestly, he'd catch up fast, and with this body—huge chest, tiny everything else—I wouldn't get far. Not the time yet. Hngh. Groaning, I mulled over his earlier mutterings. Kudbeka. My most desperately sought loyal servant. Was he truly serving me, or just my clone? No way to know.
Hngh. As I racked my brain, a hand suddenly rested on my head. The hero's. Tilting my gaze up warily, he held a thinner collar than before—like one for outings. A small chain ended in a handle for easy leading. What, like walking a pet...!
I scowled but had no choice, clenching my teeth and staying still. Clink. Rattle. The collar encircled my neck, the chain gripped in his hand. The sound of my freedom vanishing rang clear. How long must I endure this life? Until I die? Until he calms his rage and kills me? Do I just follow him like livestock awaiting slaughter?
The thought depressed me deeply. I couldn't just wait for death. No matter the pain, I refused to die beaten or raped into oblivion. So, someday, if a chance to escape arose, I'd take it. Outside a cage, it seemed doable. I lowered my eyes quietly, biding my time.
*
Rattle, rattle. Each step, the collar on my neck and the chain linking to the hero leading ahead clinked. Walking dazed and obedient behind him, my soles ached. Too cheap to give a slave shoes? Barefoot under just a cloak, any resistance would leave me naked on the street—unsettling. Sigh, such is my fate. Why did this happen to me? Bitterly following him, he let out a heavy sigh.
Under the starry night sky, the man with hair like the night itself glanced back. Staring long, he scowled.
"Funny how being a slave means no one bats an eye at those disgusting horns on display."
My remaining left horn apparently repulsed him. The right one had snapped off hitting the floor, but whatever. If it's gross, it's gross. I felt nothing particular for these horns. Do demons take pride in them? No idea. I was originally human. Unfazed, I answered his apathy with silence.
"......Hey, you know I'm your master, right?"
"So what."
Deliberately curt, he yanked the chain hard, displeased. The sudden pull widened my eyes in surprise as he loomed close.
"......"
The silence irked me. I had zero desire to stare at that grotesque face up close. Closing my eyes and turning away, he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look.
"...What the hell is your problem."
Frowning at him, he stared, sighed deeply, and released the taut chain.
"Tch. If you become useless, guess I'll sell you at the slave market."
......This guy's insane. What if I get sold to someone worse than him? The thought chilled me, anxiety rising. Better play along, wait for a chance to slip away. Hngh. Suppressing my irritation, I mumbled through gritted teeth.
The Demon King's a bitch.
Sighing, I trailed behind him. Paved roads would've been nicer, but the rough-packed dirt hurt my feet anyway. Walking all night, this body tired quickly, leaving me panting.
Fuck, fuck. Slow down. His sturdy pace grated on me.
"Hah, haaah. W-wait, just a sec..."
"Tired already? Hurry up."
Panting from exhaustion, he mercilessly yanked the chain. My body lurched forward, balance crumbling under my chest's weight—still unfamiliar. I crashed down with a thud, the barely-covered skin throbbing.
"Ow..."
Too exhausting. This body couldn't even keep up with the hero's intense stride. Why was the Demon King's vessel so weak? Resentment swelled. Face-down, heaving, he chuckled mockingly.
"Take off the cloak, and maybe I'll carry you. Deal?"
Is he sane? Stripping naked here for a carry? Absurd. I missed Kudbeka—he'd have picked me up no strings attached. Comparing them only deepened my misery and longing. Clicking my tongue, I spat.
"Yeah? Fuck off."
"Such a mouth on you. Even if I stripped you by force, no one would care. You're a demon, after all."
He treated demons like ethics didn't apply. Each time, it burned me up inside. If his morals were this warped, what fate awaited in a slave market? Anything short of being vivisected would be lucky? Anxiety bloomed into worst-case dread.
Go easy on me. My horn's broken. Woke up caged, got raped, beaten, no proper rest on that hard cold floor.
I'm lonely. Hungry. Haven't eaten a thing.
My stomach growled, craving anything. I'm going mad. Mind fogging. Soon, consciousness faded.
Of course. Frail already, starved and abused—inevitable. It hurts. Tormenting. But conversely, now it was peaceful. Thud. Vision and awareness went black.