leonardwarren Chapter 4: Basement
Chapter 4: Basement
Chapter 4: Basement"Hm." Eren hummed, his fingers tracing the jagged contours of his disfigured face as he stared at his reflection.
"You know," he muttered, a bitter smile curling his lips, "I might have been trash in every other aspect, but at least I had my looks."
Slowly, he turned away, his gaze falling upon a set of pins lying on the table. His fingers hovered over them for a moment before he exhaled, shifting his thoughts elsewhere.
That day, after overpowering Annabelle, Eren had surveyed the house. That was how he came to know it was a two bedroom flat—with one of the doors permanently locked. For some reason, reason that he couldn't make out till this moment, he could feel something beyond the locked door. Not people, exactly. It wasn't something he could explain, so he chose to ignore it.
The kitchen had been stocked with ingredients and spices of all sorts, an unusual contrast to the house's isolated, almost forgotten existence. Upon leaving, he realized the house itself was hidden deep within the bushes, in a place difficult for anyone to track.
Then, there was the blood. Faint traces of it, scattered here and there. When he crouched down and touched it, a familiar sensation washed over him. The same feeling he had sensed from behind that locked door. He didn't know what was inside, but if he had to guess...
Annabelle had killed the house's original owners and hidden their bodies there.
It was entirely possible. After all, he knew exactly what kind of person Annabelle was.
Once upon a time, the system had given him a mission—one that required him to aid a heroine while pretending to be Jason.
He had refused.
And that was because the heroine in question was his stepsister.
Ashley.
The one person he hated more than even the goddess who had used him.
He rejected the mission outright. But then, the system offered him something in return.
A random reward.
A mystery box marked with a question mark.
At the time, he had been desperate. Desperate for power, for anything that could help him survive. So he took the gamble, hoping—praying—that whatever lay inside that box would be the answer he had been
"You still have some will left," he mused, his gaze sweeping over her ruined face. Her entire body was disfigured beyond recognition, corroded by acid, twisted into something grotesque.
She was hideous now.
One of her hands was missing fingers, severed by his many cruel methods.
"But... I think this is enough," he said, tilting his head in consideration. "Any more, and the potion might not be able to keep you alive."
He pressed the pin into her flesh, carving intricate runes into her battered body.
"There are only two ways to form a slave contract," he murmured, lips curling into a grin. "One is through consent."
The pin dug deeper.
"The other... is by shattering the will, until refusal is no longer possible."
His grin widened as he traced another mark upon her skin.
"Don't worry, though... the journey has only just begun."