A Fate Worse Than Death
The mansion was silent.
Too silent.
Like it already knew…
Someone had fallen.
The gates opened slowly.
Black cars rolled in.
One after the other.
Inside the first car—
Damian sat still.
Blood dried on his skin.
His shirt torn.
His body wounded.
But his eyes—
Cold.
Alive.
Behind him—
Victor.
Broken.
Barely able to sit upright.
Held between two guards.
The car stopped.
Doors opened.
"Bring him."
Damian stepped out first.
No one spoke.
The guards dragged Victor out.
His legs barely working.
They walked through the mansion.
Past the grand halls.
Past the silent servants.
Everyone watched.
No one dared speak.
Because they all understood—
This was not just punishment.
This was judgment.
Damian didn't stop.
He led them further.
Deeper.
Until they reached it.
The basement.
Cold air rushed out as the door opened.
Darkness waited inside.
Victor's breathing grew heavier.
Fear creeping in slowly.
"No…"
He whispered.
Damian paused.
Just for a second.
Then—
He walked in.
Lights flickered on.
And the room was revealed.
Concrete walls.
Chains.
Old stains that told stories without words.
And at the far end—
A chair.
Not for comfort.
For suffering.
Victor shook his head weakly.
"You don't have to do this…"
Damian turned slowly.
"You're right."
A pause.
"I don't have to."
He stepped closer.
"I want to."
The guards forced Victor into the chair.
Chains locking around his wrists.
His legs.
His body.
No escape.
Victor struggled.
But it was useless.
"Damian!"
His voice broke slightly.
"You've won!"
Damian said nothing.
He walked to a table nearby.
Slowly.
Picked up a small blade.
Not large.
Not dramatic.
Precise.
Victor's breathing became uneven.
"This isn't about winning anymore…"
Damian said quietly.
He stepped closer again.
"This is about teaching you something."
Victor's eyes widened.
"What…?"
Damian leaned in slightly.
His voice dropping.
"Pain."
The blade moved—
Not killing.
Just enough.
Victor screamed.
The sound echoing through the basement.
But Damian didn't react.
No emotion.
No hesitation.
Again.
And again.
Controlled.
Measured.
Not to end him.
To break him.
Minutes felt like hours.
Victor's strength faded.
His voice weakened.
Until finally—
He hung there.
Breathing.
Barely.
Damian stepped back.
Watching him.
"This…"
He said calmly.
"Is your life now."
Victor tried to speak.
But no words came out.
"You will live."
Damian continued.
"You will wake up every day."
"And you will remember this moment."
A pause.
"You will remember… that you lost."
Damian turned away.
Walking toward the door.
Victor's weak voice followed him.
"Kill me…"
Damian stopped.
Just for a second.
Then—
Without turning back—
"No."
The door closed.
Darkness swallowed the room again.
Victor's breathing echoed faintly.
Broken.
Alone.
Above—
Life in the mansion continued.
But below—
A man lived in hell.