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Bondage and Freedom

Something changed. Physical or mental, she couldn’t quite tell in that moment; all she could surmise about her present being was that there was both something and nothing around her. It wasn’t Hell, as she’d seen the Devil himself and lived to tell the tale. He’d explicitly sent her out of that realm and into something new. Was she actually free, after all this time?
Yes, and no. She was free, but she was still a slave. Owned not by Ramses or Nathaniel, but by Diablo himself. A burning sensation compelled her to reach up towards her collarbone and touch the skin there delicately, her fingertips running over the charred flesh. She wore his brand on her body, a symbol for all to see, to judge.
The one redeeming piece of information she’d garnered from her time in Hell was that it was that time of year again, the Abyss was on again, and she’d been told that Victor Wolfe would be in attendance. Fanfuckingtastic.
Energy welled within her, dancing in a reddish cloud around her body, sparkling and beautiful. In that moment, Violet felt filled with so many emotions, but above all of it…was rage. Pure, seething, burning rage. Victor was the one that sent her to Hell, and with luck, she’d be the one to return the favor. Soon, so very soon, she hoped to see his face, mottled and glistening with fear. She wanted him to look upon her, take in everything that was written both in her aura and her flesh, and know that such a fate awaited him.
Before she could exact her revenge, she had one bigger problem to overcome: finding where the hell she was and how to get out. Also, where was Nathaniel? Did he not also get expelled? Likely not, and the knowledge of such did not bring her any sort of peace. Even though she hated him, his company was better than none. What could be done, though?
While she silently contemplated Nathaniel’s status, her eyes roved the land around her: bland grey and black monochrome landscaping, a dark but somehow still luminescent sky, shimmering lines that zigzagged in curious paths that went on forever. The lines pulsed with some kind of energy that felt cold and lifeless.
Was she meant to follow them? She had no other idea on how to get out, so following these lines was the plan, then. For hours, her feet moved, one in front of the other towards some unknown. The only thing that made noise was her feet tiptapping along the stone and the blood rushing through her ears.
“A proper tool acts ONLY when the master gives a command. You will understand this in time, or you will continue to suffer.” The disembodied voice echoed through her brain, over and over, torturing her. The command was given, she was his tool, and she would act on his behalf, whatever that will would be. The very idea of being forever bound to another, being their instrument, enraged her. In her mortal life, she’d fought against such ideals, and for the brief spurts of time when she was free-truly free- it was how she wanted life to always be. But, as she’d learned time and time again, we were all someone’s bitch, whether we realized it or not. Some were lucky to know their masters, while others wandered onward towards death directed by some unknown force, doing their bidding, but never knowing they were being played like a marionette in some carnival play.
Many times, she’d realized she was that marionette, while other times, she played the puppeteer. The insane logic of it rolled relentlessly around in her mind as blips of her life flashed before her, a place where Red lived on through death, where Nathaniel played himself and so many others, others she had tried hard to place trust in and heartlessly shattered it, a place where her life before being brought into this existence was her perfection. Her children were there, as well as Bardock and Buu. Both she’d claimed as her mates and both of which gave her her greatest gifts.
All of that was gone now. They were gone, forever lost to the aether. Dread filled her so suddenly, it made her body shudder. A gasp escaped her lips as awareness came back in a shocking crash. The world around her was still the same darkness, the lines like tattoos across its hard flesh, beaconing for her to keep moving forward.
She hoped, prayed, she would escape. She needed to be out there on the battlefield, not just to repay Victor Wolfe for his ‘kindness’, but because the battlefield was where she belonged. Living for a decade among the Saiyans and then years on Earth under military rule had that strange effect that to live was to fight, and to fight was all that mattered. She needed to fight, she needed to escape.
She needed a way out.
Kneeling, Violet placed a hand over the line she’d been following. The white pulsing light shone through, illuminating the bone and flesh, but oddly, felt just a little cool, like plunging her hand through a pool of water. Her eyes closed, and she saw that light snaking its way upward through her, merging with her skin, her very essence. She felt something within her link with this energy, compelling her to move with it, to dance along with it as it rippled across the realm.
She didn’t know how long she knelt like that, but in an instant, she was off again, her feet barely touching the surface as she moved with the pulsating leylines. Her body had changed, ever so slightly, to reflect the lines she followed. Every scar was alight, pulsing in time to the lines she followed. Perhaps she had become light itself, running along with the very soul of this world, to what end, she did not know, just that it had to happen, as it was her nature to do so.
Something waited for her, silent, but calling to her all the same. Her body moved with a finesse she hadn’t known before, forever onward towards a destination she didn’t know. She only hoped that it was her escape.

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