Bleach: Sea of butterflies

The air inside the shack was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and burnt flesh. The oppressive heat from the blazing rod crackled in the quiet of the dimly lit room. Each time the rod touched the boy's skin, the scent of charred flesh filled the air, followed by his agonizing screams.

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

The boy's voice echoed, raw and hoarse. His body jerked violently in his restraints, but the ropes binding him to the chair were too tight, leaving him completely at the mercy of the man standing over him. The boy's eyes were swollen with pain, his skin bruised and blistered from two days of brutal torment. 

The man with the nodachi leaned in closer, his face twisted with a perverse grin. "What a nice voice you have, Princess," he taunted, pulling the rod away to examine the burn mark it left across the boy's abdomen. "Too bad it's not enough to make you talk."

The boy, panted, his breath shallow and quick. His once sharp blue eyes were now clouded, half-conscious from the relentless pain. Every inch of his body throbbed in agony, yet his spirit still held, albeit barely. He hadn't said a word to his captor about where he came from or who he was—not that he even knew the answers himself.

The man set down the rod, his sadistic grin widening as he pulled out a set of long iron nails from his pocket. He twirled one between his fingers as if weighing how best to inflict more pain. "Let's change things up a little, Princess," he said, walking over to The boy with a playful, almost casual tone. "I think it's time for some fun with these."

He knelt down in front of the kid, holding up the nail so it gleamed in the dim light. "Shall we start with your pinky finger?" Without waiting for a response—knowing full well none would come—the man began his cruel work.

The kid's eyes widened in sheer terror as the man slowly pressed the nail beneath the fingernail of his pinky finger. The sensation was unlike any other pain he had felt so far—sharp, searing, and unbearable. His body tensed, and he screamed again, his voice breaking as the man pushed the nail in deeper.

"AAAAHHHHH!"

"That's the sound I was looking for," the man sneered, his face lighting up in twisted delight. "Now, don't get carried away, Princess. We're just getting started."

The second nail was aimed at his ring finger. The boy thrashed in the chair, his body convulsing in desperation, but the ropes held firm. He couldn't stop the man. He couldn't escape. The nail drove deeper under the fingernail, ripping through nerves, sending waves of agony through his small, broken body.

"AAAAAAA!!"

The man paused, savoring the boy's reaction, his breathing becoming more excited with each cry of pain. "Look at you, twitching like that. It's quite the show." He jabbed the third nail under the fingernail of the kids middle finger. His victim's eyes rolled back in his head, and his body twitched violently, unable to suppress the brutal shockwave of torment that surged through him.

Each nail was slower than the last, each moment stretched out to prolong the suffering. Soon, all of The kids fingers were adorned with the sharp iron spikes, and his hands, though bound, twitched uncontrollably, as if trying to free themselves from the nightmare.

"Well, that's enough fun for today," the man said finally, standing up and stretching his arms as if he were tired from the day's work. "I hope you're ready for more tomorrow, Princess. You know I hate it when you disappoint me."

With a mocking pat on the boy's head, the man left the shack, closing the door behind him. He was left in the darkness, hanging on the precipice of unconsciousness. His vision swam as the world around him blurred, and eventually, everything went black.

---

Hours passed, though the boy couldn't tell how many. The relentless pain kept him hovering between wakefulness and the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness. Every time he drifted toward sleep, the agony in his hands and abdomen would drag him back to the waking world.

'I have to get out of here.'

The thought circled in his mind like a mantra, pushing him to cling to consciousness. His body was broken, but his will—though battered—remained intact. Slowly, carefully, The boy tested the ropes around his wrists. The pain shot through him, but he gritted his teeth, biting back a groan.

'I have to escape. I can't stay here. I won't survive another day.'

He wiggled his wrists, twisting them as much as he could. The ropes had loosened slightly, maybe from the sweat, maybe from the man's lack of attention. Musashi didn't care why. He only cared that he had a chance.

It took hours, or perhaps minutes—time had lost all meaning—but eventually, his wrist slipped free. The nails still embedded in his fingers sent waves of nausea through him with each movement, but he fought through it. There was no other option.

His other wrist came loose, and finally, The boy was able to stand. His legs were weak, trembling beneath him, but he forced himself to remain upright. He staggered toward the door, his breath ragged. Every step felt like a monumental effort, his body screaming at him to stop, but he wouldn't listen.

'I have to get out. I have to survive.'

The door creaked open as he pushed against it, and for a brief, shining moment, freedom was in sight. But then, as if fate itself had conspired against him, the man with the nodachi appeared, blocking his path.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?" the man growled, his face twisting into a dark, furious scowl.

His heart sank. Before he could react, the man's fist collided with his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. Pain exploded through his body once more, and he could only let out a weak gasp as the man grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back inside the shack.

"Did you really think you could escape?" the man hissed, throwing the boy back into the chair. "You're mine, Princess. You'll never leave."

He raised his fist again, ready to deliver more punishment, when suddenly, a deafening crash echoed through the shack. The door splintered into pieces, and the man whirled around just in time to see a dark figure standing in the doorway.

The intruder was cloaked in shadows, but his aura radiated danger. Without a word, he moved faster than the eye could see, his sword flashing in the dim light. The man with the nodachi barely had time to react before the blade pierced his chest.

For a moment, the man's eyes went wide with shock. He stumbled backward, clutching the wound in his chest as blood poured from him. Then, with a gurgling sound, he collapsed to the ground, dead.

The figure stepped over the body, his face still hidden in shadow. He looked down at the corpse with a faint dissapointmant.

"Weak," he muttered. "I didn't even have any fun."

He turned his gaze to the kid, who lay on the ground, too broken to move. The boy's breath was shallow, his vision blurry as he stared up at the stranger.

"Who… are you?" The boy whispered weakly.

The figure didn't answer. Instead, he turned around and left. The boy had wanted nothing but leave. So he got up and slowly walked out of the shack. The only think he saw were pile of bodys around and pools of blood. He felt graditut for the person that saved him. He will remember his crazy smile and golden aura resembeling skull.

(End of a chapter)