Three Days Before the Apocalypse
Ryo Takanashi had finally done it after many years and planning, She had kidnapped her tormentor of four long years.
At 200 centimeters tall, she had spent years reshaping herself, forging a new identity in an attempt to erase the wounds left by the past. Yet no matter how much she changed, the pain inflicted on her at fifteen still carved a hollow void in her heart.
Now, she sat at the table, eating breakfast in silence. The soft clinking of her utensils against the plate was the only sound in the room. Her gaze drifted toward the closet—the makeshift prison where her bully was trapped. She had reinforced the door with heavy chains, looping them over a steel bar drilled into the wall. She wasn't stupid. The bastard was desperate.
A muffled thudding broke the quiet.
"LET ME GO! I'M SORRY!" The voice was raw with desperation. A wretched sound that echoed in the room.
Ryo remained unfazed. She took another bite of her food, chewing slowly, letting the moment stretch. Finally, she turned toward the door. "Do you mean it?" she asked, her voice flat, devoid of any warmth.
In an instant, he replied, "Yes! I'll do anything! Please, just spare me!" The words tumbled out in frantic gasps, thick with fear.
Ryo exhaled, unimpressed. How easy it was for a person to grovel when faced with death. She reached for a cigarette, lighting it with slow, deliberate movements. The faint glow at the tip illuminated her face in the dim morning light. Then, retrieving a small vial from her hidden stash, she mixed the cigarette's ashes with sulfuric acid, swirling it as if preparing a fine drink. The liquid sizzled softly as the ashes dissolved, turning the mixture a murky gray.
A single, terrified eye peeked through the gap in the closet door.
"No! Wait—don't do that! I'm sorry! Please!" The pleas turned to frantic sobs. The chains rattled violently as he struggled, desperation fueling his thrashing.
She stepped forward, shadow stretching across the floor. Her movements were calm, methodical. Without hesitation, she forced the concoction into his mouth.
"I'M SOR—!"
The words choked off as his body convulsed violently. Pain overtook him instantly. His throat bulged unnaturally, skin burning from within. His screams twisted into a grotesque gurgling noise. Ryo remained unmoved, watching his agony like an indifferent spectator at a play.
Without a glance, she grabbed her coat and stepped outside.
The city was quiet this early in the morning. The air was heavy, thick with an uneasy stillness. As she walked, something unusual caught her attention—an orb embedded deep into a nearby wall. It pulsed with an ominous glow, exuding an aura so unnatural it seemed to distort the air around it. She paused, staring at it for a moment.
Something inside her warned her to run. But she didn't.
Then, the air shifted.
A monstrous figure erupted from the orb, lunging at her with clawed hands. A suffocating sense of dread filled the street. Ryo moved before she even had time to think. She ducked, evading the attack in a fraction of a second. The monster's claws slashed through the empty space where her head had been.
Without hesitation, she countered. Her fists struck its skull in rapid, brutal succession. Bone cracked beneath her knuckles. The creature let out a strangled screech before collapsing. Warm blood splattered across her hands.
She stared at the crimson coating her fingers.
And then a memory surfaced.
Six Years Ago
Every day after school, fifteen-year-old Ryo would sit at the same bench, staring blankly ahead, lost in the monotony of her existence. Her life was dull. Empty. A shadow stretching endlessly before her. That day was no different—until a group of boys approached, their presence thick with hostility.
"Hey! This is my seat! Get up!" one of them said in a feisty voice.
Ryo turned her gaze toward them. Their faces were unfamiliar. Were they classmates? Strangers? It didn't matter.
She said nothing.
Her silence only stoked their irritation. "Say something! You're like a damn statue!" one of them snapped. "Don't be so cold!" The frustration festered into something uglier. "Your expression pisses me off."
A sharp slap cut through the air, jolting her head to the side.
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't react. "If you won't move, we'll beat the shit out of you!" the boy sneered. Then they attacked. She never stood a chance. Fists and feet crashed into her, knocking her to the ground. Pain rippled through her body, each blow heavier than the last.
"This is why no one loves you!" one of them jeered. "That's why your parents never wanted you!"
Ryo lay there, staring at the sky. The words should have hurt, but they didn't. Because she had always known. Slowly—mechanically—she pushed herself up. Her body screamed in protest, but her mind was eerily quiet. She stepped toward the boy who had spoken, her lifeless eyes locking onto his.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice devoid of emotion.
The boy smirked, amused. "You should just die."
For the first time in fourteen years, something clicked into place. Maybe this was it. Maybe the only way to survive was to stop cowering. She took a step forward. And then she punched him. The first time she had ever fought back against another human being.
Five Years Later
Ryo's soul was a hollow chasm—silent, starless, and devouring. There was no light, no meaning, not even the hunger for one. She didn't ache for purpose. She didn't long for salvation. She simply existed, like a phantom trapped in the skin of a woman. She often wondered when the curtain would fall—when the final breath would whisper away without a sound.
But life, cruel and strange, never let her drift quietly.
Suddenly.
Footsteps broke the silence. A figure in a hood passed by, like a shadow stitched into the fabric of dusk. But Ryo recognized him. Even monsters remember the names carved into their wounds.
The figure paused. As if fate forced his steps to halt. He pulled back his hood, revealing hollow eyes and cracked breath. His stare locked with hers like a match pressed to a puddle of gasoline.
"I'll murder you," he said, each word trembling under the weight of his fear and hate.
Ryo stood still. Towering at 189 centimeters, her body a carved monument of strength—nearly 200 pounds of muscle and broken memory. Yet her eyes remained vacant, a reflection of nothingness. The world could burn around her, and her expression wouldn't change.
"Go ahead," she murmured, a whisper drained of will. Her voice was the sound of winter—cold, quiet, and unfeeling.
He lunged. A blade flickered in his hand, hungry for her skin. But Ryo moved—not with anger, but instinct. She dodged and answered with a single jab that cracked across his skull. He collapsed like a sack of old meat, his body folding against the concrete in pitiful silence.
She stepped forward.
Pressed her boot into his chest. Heard the air strain in his lungs. Her hand wrapped around his throat like a machine remembering how to strangle. His eyes screamed. He begged through them. But Ryo's mind was numb. Not with rage—but with the void. She didn't know what to do with him. Not truly. Her thoughts spiraled like slow poison.
Torture, maybe. Maybe she'd keep him alive just long enough to bleed apologies.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she wanted to feel something.
Because somewhere deep down in that black ocean where her soul used to be—something was missing. A connection. A flicker. Anything that resembled life. But every chance she ever had, she shattered with her own hands. She rejected warmth like a curse.
Maybe she was never meant to be whole.
Maybe her will was never hers to begin with.
Ryo stops daydreaming and looks at the bully.
"Suffer." She said in a cold and serious tone. Before proceeding to head out and get something.