Prologue
Year - Unknown
It was a dark night. In the slave-trader city of Nelfalhem, a young boy walked around carrying a tray full of food. He was currently heading towards the hotel where his masters resided. As he walked, his dark, heavy shackles made it difficult for him to move forward.
"Just a little more," he muttered to himself, trying his best to continue. Even though he knew that this was hard on his body, if he didn't bring the food on time, it would be even harder. He would receive punishment.
Cold sweat ran down his face as he walked; some of it sprinkled onto the food, much to his dismay. He looked down at the food worriedly. There were droplets of sweat on them. He then held back a curse as he walked.
"Let's hope that they don't notice..." he said as he finally reached the door of the hotel. He then carefully placed the tray on the ground as if it was made of glass. After making sure that it was balanced on the ground, he opened the large doors using all the strength his small body could muster. After opening the door, he was about to pick his tray once again when he noticed a shard of wood on the floor. Knowing that somehow his master would blame it on him somehow if someone got injured by it, he placed it on his pocket, carefully got the tray from the ground and resumed his travel.
After a couple of hard-sweated minutes, he finally reached the room of his masters. Balancing the tray in one arm, he used the other one to knock on the door, quickly retreating his arm back to the tray afterwards.
"Come in."
He then carefully opened the door with his back. After opening, he walked inside and walked towards the dining table. Making sure to keep his head down, he placed the food on the table and went to the corner of the room. Soon after, both of his masters came in from the bedroom door.
"Finally!" The master, a middle-aged well-dressed obese man exclaimed as he quickly hurried to the table, his fat belly swaying with every moment. The young boy was careful to keep his eyes out of it.
Following the large man was a boy, around 15 years old. He was just as well-dressed as the other one, but unlike the larger one, he walked calmly to the table, without hurry. Once he was sited, he looked towards the other one that was wolfing down his food like a starving animal.
"Father, there is no need to hurry," he said politely as he picked up some steak from the tray, placing it on his plate.
"I am hungry," the fat man said between bites as he reaped pieces of the steak with his bare teeth. The young man could only sigh at the sight. Deciding to ignore his savage of a father, he grabbed his silver-ware and started eating like he should – like a rich aristocrat.
Carefully slicing through the meat with his knife, he picked the slice with his fork and brought it to his mouth. Just as he was about to open his mouth, he noticed something. There was some sort of glistening fluid on it. He then brought it close to his eyes to analyse it. The young boy's eyes widened as he realized that his young master was about to find out about the sweat.
"No, no, no..." he muttered with fear as he watched his young master analyse his sweat. He was already shivering, his eyes full of fear.
The young man, on the other hand, calmly evaluated the fluid on the chunk of meat. After looking at it closely, his eyes widened as he realized what it was. He immediately looked back at the young boy in rage, his eyes narrowing. The young boy could only tremble under his young master's ruthless gaze.
"Slave," he said to the boy calmly, although his eyes expressed extreme fury. His father had stopped eating and started directing his attention to the conversation. "What is this on my food?" He asked, his eyes narrowing even further.
"I-I-I don-don't kn-know," he stuttered. He knew he was bad at lying, and under the ruthless gaze of the young man, he couldn't even speak straight.
"Oh?" The young man said, with mocked surprise. "You don't?"
The young boy shook his head from side to side fiercely, while sweating from all over his body.
"I see..." The young man started. "Maybe this..." He said as he lifted up his fork. "Will refresh your memory," He finished as he skilfully threw his fork at the slave's hand, impaling it to the wall behind him.
"Argh!" The young boy cried in pain as he kneeled down, his impaled hand staying up.
"Now, is your memory better?" The young man said as he got out of his chair and advanced towards the young boy with a knife in his hands.
"I-I swear, I-I don-don't k-know!" He tried to prove his false innocence, but the young master new better. He was already sure that it was the young boy's sweat. The young boy, on the other hand, tried to conceal the truth as good as he could. If his other master – the young master's father – found out that there was sweat on the food he had just wolfed down, he was as good as dead.
"Hmm..." The young man said as he knelled down in front of the young boy. "Maybe I should try refreshing your memory once more," he said as he got his knife and pierced the boy's shoulder.
"Argh!" He screamed in pain once more as the pain travelled trough his nervous system; his eyes widened as the pain started increased more and more. Tears started flooding out of his eyes as blood flowed down his head and shoulders like a little red fountain.
"Are you sure you don't know?" The young man said as he slowly pulled out the knife from the shoulder and the fork from the hand. The young boy screamed in pain.
"What's happening, son?" The fat man finally said, not understanding what they were talking about.
"It's nothing, father," he said politely with a smile as he quickly looked back at his father before looking a the young boy once again. Scowling, he said, "Little piece of shit." He kicked the young boy in the abdomen, throwing him up in the air because of his light weight. Blood came gushing out of the young boy's mouth as he was lifted up in the air.
"This is useless..." The young man muttered as he looked at the young lying in a fetal position, holding his bloodied hand. "Disappear from my sight!" He demanded as he walked back to the table.
"Y-Yes," the boy muttered as he dragged his body along the floor leaving behind a trail of blood and tears like a trail of oozy slime from a slug.
Eventually, he reached his room, located outside of his master's room, near all of the other slaves rooms. It was situated exactly in middle of the hotel with twenty slave rooms to the left and twenty to the right. Since it was a slave-trader city, most of the civilians that slept in the hotels had slave themselves, so naturally the hotel had separate room for slaves so they don't mix with the masters.
"Almost there," the young boy muttered to himself as he brought his body up, dragging it up the wall near to the door using it as support. After he was completely up, he shakily brought his uninjured hand to the door handle and opened it. After the door was opened, he used his last ounce of strength to push his body in, falling down on the cold hay that was on the floor with the door closing behind him.
All the slave rooms were extremely small. While the masters' living quarters were about two-hundred square meters, with two separate bedrooms, a dining room and a living room, the slaves' rooms however were two square meters with some sparse hay here and there. It also had no illumination, casting the slaves into a complete abyss of darkness.
Curling up into a ball, tears cascaded down his beaten and bruised body. The pain was unbearable. It soared through his body, seeped into him and slung him into an unendurable and cynical cycle of pain – pain that burned. Pain that scorched his very existence so much that he couldn't take it anymore.
As he cried his heart out, a cold wind passed by, causing him shiver. He had nothing to cover himself with, so he had no choice but to endure the cold. His tears fell down on the ground, making small dripping noises. Each of his tears carried his pain and agony.
"What...," he muttered weakly, "Did I do to deserve this?" He couldn't ask God, since he had long ago deemed him dead. If there was truly a God, why did he have to suffer so much? The only answer that he could think of was that he was either dead or never existed in the first place.
"Why?" He asked one last time before passing out, the pain driving him unconscious. As he slept, his small, scarred body trembled from the cold. There were scars all over his tiny body, a result from his life of slavery. Ever since he could remember, he had been a slave. Apparently, his parents had left him by the door of his current master house-hold when he was still a new-born, and he had been a slave since then. For all the six years of his life.
Even though he was feeling cold and in pain, a small smile made its way through to his small face. He dreamed about escaping his life, releasing himself from being a slave, being free for once in his life. He dreamed of a life without his masters, a life where he could be alone.
As he dreamed, a rat sneaked in through the door, because of the stench the young boy gave off. It scurried to his hands, since the smell seemed to be coming from it, and bit down on it.
"Argh!" The young boy screamed as he was suddenly woken up from his dreams. He looked down to see a grey rodent biting down on his injured hand. His eyes widened as he moved his hand fiercely, throwing the rat at the door. Once it fell to the ground, the rat quickly exited the room, knowing that it would be troublesome to stay there any longer.
His face contorted into one of extreme pain as he looked at his twice-injured hand. He knew that if not treated it could get infected, but he had no way to treat the wound.
The same pain that had put him to sleep before now prevented him from doing so. He cursed as he realized that he would have to spend his night awake, cold, starving and in pain. He couldn't bare it anymore. Life was just too cruel. He did nothing to deserve this. He thought about grabbing the piece of wood in his pocket and killing himself, but soon decided not to. If the religious studies his young master took were right, he would be going to a place way worse than this tortuous place for suicide. He could only cry in silence.
As his tears travelled down his faces, like water coming from a spring, he realized something. It was October 7th, his birthday. His mouth formed into an ironic smile.
"Happy birthday," he muttered to himself in irony. His current birthday was just like his previous ones. On his birthdays, and also on every day of his short, miserable life, he would spend his nights shivering and bleeding.
He at least wished that he would spend at least one of his birthdays in his life without being hurt. He didn't need gifts, he didn't need a cake, he didn't need a party and nor the presence of anyone. All he wanted was to spend it without being roughed up or bleeding.
As he started imagining his perfect birthday, the pain slowly faded away. His mind was completely focused on his thoughts, the thoughts of a utopian dream and ignored the immense pain and burden on his body. That was one of the only things he liked about his life. Every time he was in pain, if he started thinking about something happy, there was a chance the pain would fade away. Even though the chance was small, there was still a chance.
In his perfect birthday, there wouldn't be a lot of things. His masters certainly wouldn't be there nor his parents. They could burn in hell for all he cared. Also, the suffering he'd had to endure would be gone, replaced with happiness, joy and freedom. They abandoned him to those bastards he called master, so he had no affection whatsoever for his parents. In fact, he loathed them. Who leaves their new born child in the house of slave-traders? Only sick bastards would do that, henceforth he had come to hate his parents.
As he continued thinking about his perfect birthday, he failed to noticed a scream coming from the outside. Soon after, more screams followed. The third one was so high pitched that he heard it, snapping him out of his thoughts, bringing the pain back.
"Oh no," he muttered as he felt the pain coming back. It came back in full-force, making his body convulse, leaving him splattered on the ground. As he lied down on the ground with his limbs twitching, the screams kept getting closer and louder. Amidst all the pain, cold, hunger, another emotion surfaced – fear.
"What's happening?" He muttered to himself as the screams only kept getting louder, meaning that they were also getting closer. His heart raced, filling his body with fear. At last, one last ear-splitting scream filled the air. Suddenly, he heard footsteps near his door. He immediately held his breath, trying not to make any sound. The footsteps stopped in front of his door for a while before proceeding to enter the other doors, bringing forth even more screams.
Later, the screams softened until it was almost faint. He sighed in relief as he realized that he had managed to safe himself. He could not help but wonder just what the hell was happening.
The screams stopped. This either meant that the person had already killed everyone in the hotel with the exception of him or that he was really far away. Either way, that meant that he was safe for the time being.
He then rested in a comfortable position, since that was the only thing that he could at the moment. Opening the door was out of question, since that was basically asking to die. He also couldn't stand up, since he had no strength left in his body, so his only option was to just lie on the ground.
As he shimmied and wriggled around, he noticed how calm he was in this situation. Even though there was a serial killer on the hotel killing everyone, here he was, trying to get comfortable. He simply shrugged it off.
Once he was finally comfortable, he closed his eyes. The pain was still there, but after awhile he grew used to it. He then tried to sleep. Just as he was about to sleep, he heard the footsteps from before advancing towards his door.
His eyes widened as he held his breath and hoped that the person hadn't decided to make sure that there was no body on his room. As he held his breath, the fear came back as he heard the steps nearing his room. The steps then stopped in front of his door once more.
'Please, no...' The small boy thought. He hoped with all his soul that the person would ignore his room. As he trembled in fear, he heard a slight creaking sound, meaning that the door was opening. He closed his eyes in fear. He knew that he couldn't do anything against the person, so the only thing he could do was to hope that his death was as quick and painless as possible. With his nerves steeled, he waited for his death, but it never came.
"Huh?" The boy muttered as he slowly opened his eyes, only to see a tall shadow looking down on him. The being was completely covered in darkness. All that could be seen was the glowing light of it's blood-red eyes.
"Who are you?" A voice came from the shadow. The voice was neither kind nor cruel. It was monotone and neutral. It showed no emotions whatsoever.
The boy knew that it would be best for him to truthfully answer the shadow. The last thing he wanted was to anger that being.
"My name is Issei, sir."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
minato675
minato675 This is Story From " Breaker 12 "
Link Story " https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11681812/1/Defying-The-Heavens "
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