A Better World (Record of Ragnarok x Reader)

Chapter 11 - In beauty we trust

Dark. There was only darkness surrounding the girl. Her face was not visible, even as moonlight partly illuminated the stone ground and the cave-like walls. She had been forced to her knees by what looked to be guards and strapped between two blood-splattered posts. They had ripped her shirt so that her back was exposed to them.

A whoosh could be heard tearing through the air. And then another. And another. Again. Again. And again. They had whipped her. Twenty times. Her screams echoed in what looked to be a dungeon or a mine, as yet another whip cracked against her skin.

The whip was lowered, and the girl let out a shaky breath of relief, believing that her suffering had come to an end. But with her gaze lowered to the blood on the ground, she did not see as one of the guards had grabbed a handful of white, fine crystals – looking very similar to salt. The girl attempted to take another breath, trying to ignore the sound of blood dripping from her ruined flesh onto the cold, rough ground beneath her that had scraped her knees. But she could not even do that as a violent cry cut her breathing short. Her back stung, so incredibly much. She felt calloused hands rub something into her torn flesh – rub salt into it.

Another guard untied the rope around her hands, and as soon as her support was gone, she collapsed. Taking one last glance at their proud work, the men left her, to either die from blood loss or an infection. All night, she had been alone, just lying on the cold, unforgiving ground, weeping.

The next day, a woman had helped her. The girl's face was more visible in the small cracks of stone that allowed sunlight to shine through. Her once long, luscious hair had been cut short, and her turquoise eyes ringed with gold somehow appeared darker, more lifeless, even with the newfound brightness of the mine. In spite of all this – she remained a beauty, even under all the dirt and blood on her body.

She and the woman wore the same clothes - a simple tunic, covering everything from their collarbones down to their midthighs. Gratitude flashed in the girl's eyes. She tried to open her mouth, probably to thank the woman, but not even a whisper left her mouth. A night of crying and screaming had made her throat sore.

Four months passed and there was no sight of her saviour. They had worked on different stations in the Salt mine, as slaves. They were slaves. Finally, she had heard from the other slaves about her. Her saviour was dead - raped and killed by three Aderlanian guards. Something broke in the girl that day.

The placid nature of the girl had vanished, only to be replaced by a burning thirst for vengeance. She took the life of every guard in her sight with a pickaxe in her hand, refusing to use a sword. Not when the assailants responsible for the woman's death had used that very same tool to end her life. And so, the carnage began as tens upon tens of bodies lay unmoving on the cold ground. But she didn't stop. She couldn't. One after one she cut through them, so they could, only for a second, experience Endovier. Again. Again, again. And again, until she was so close to touching the wall that separated her from the outside world.

But the other slaves did not cheer as their captors fell. Because they had understood that it was not a will to escape that had brought the girl to her current state, but anguish and pain. Every swing with the pickaxe was a broken cry. A tribute for the dead. The guards then finally succeeded in shooting her down with an arrow to her shoulder, just before her fingers grazed the wall.

She only laughed as they pinned her to the ground. She only laughed as she lunged at the wall again, killing four more guards in the process. She only laughed as they brought her back into the darkness with shaking hands. Because just for a moment, how ephemeral it may have been, she had felt free.