Jarchie Oneshots

||We are the shadow||

• Jughead running away from a cult
• There will be death, violence, torture, child abuse, neglect, trauma and all that
• Religion will not be seen good here
• Perhaps a little inspired by the anime Fire Force (s2e12)

165 doesn't remember much. All he knew was from the stories he got told.

He was put in front of the steps of the church, in a pot that had been burned to no return with only a diaper on. They put him in the same white clothes that everyone else had. The same white sweatpants, the same white sweatshirt, the same white slippers that squeaked on the floor in order to make yourself known when you're close by, to prevent you from being able to sneak away. They don't give you a name here. You get stamped with a number and no one will ever call you by anything else. He was nameless — 165.

Early on, they started the routine. Before breakfast, everyone was gathered in the chapel for the first prayer. The time until lunch, they spent in silence as they studied. The afternoons were used for private studies, more prayers and more silence. 165 did his best to use this time for studying his fighting skills. Daggers were his favorite, fighting with them was like working with longer arms. He felt weird without feeling the familiar weight in his hands.

"Wait, I give up!" An older child said, trying to pat the mat twice as 165 held him in a choke hold.

"That will do, thank you, 165"

"He's good, and that despite only being a kid"

He sighed, releasing him from his grip. Straightening up, he let his arms fall to his sides to look at the elders and see their content smile.

He pleased them, for once.

"He is nothing but a show off. 165, the next round is against me" The master said, stepping forward on the training mat. Heaving, 165 wiped over his face to get rid of the sweat before readying himself. A fifth match in one setting was unusual. Usually three in a row where the maximum.

"Sir, he's just a kid, he's not ready for this"

"If he wants to brag about his fighting skills, perhaps he should try them for real this time. Give me what you've got and don't hold back, 165" He took a deep breath, taking a tighter grip on his daggers before he charged at the master.

"You know, scum like you simply can't make any mistakes in situations like these" The master lectured, easily dodging his swings with the daggers. He was able to get a tiny scratch at the master's cheek, though shortly after was pushed to the ground. He groaned, standing up again. Spitting out some blood, he charged again.

"I told you to not use the same technique a second time, haven't I? Come on, this isn't your first training. Get your head into this and don't just fool around with me" The master said, shaking his head sadly after he had blocked his offense, again. With a punch in his abdomen, 165 landed on the ground, rolling around himself twice. The master climbed on top of him, one knee pressing against his abdomen until the boy cried out in pain.

"There is nothing special about you, 165. You're a child of the shadow. We all belong to God, for he has taken us in, and for that we have to protect his followers. That's our task. That's what we live for. That's your purpose. Whenever I see kids like you, who don't know a heck in the world, who think they're something special, I can't just let matters sit. I have to make you right again"

Every sentence, a punch in his face followed until he couldn't see clear anymore. 165's stomach hurt. He could smell blood, which at least flowed down his nose. His right eye pulsed. His left arm felt numb.

"I think that this is enough"

"I say when it's enough. I told you to not make mistakes, scum. Scum like you cannot press its luck. And you are scum, did you forget that?" He shook his head "And not only that: You are the lowest form of scum that ever walked this earth. You can't do anything, so you don't have the luxury to make mistakes. Do you understand that?"