Call of Duty 1. The Fog of Death

**Edit 12/22/16**

Going through this fic again, and editing it, because the original version was a mess of typos and grammar mistakes. As I re-read each chapter, I had to cringe at some parts because it was just... terrible writing, in my opinion. I'm amazed that some people enjoyed it but, hey, I have to thank these lovely readers for their unconditional support! I am so sorry that I stopped updating all of a sudden and discontinued the story, but I'm hoping to deliver some sort of conclusion so it doesn't remain unfinished.

I posted this two years ago, actually. The idea came to me when I was reading Vladimir's biography and learned that he had served two tours during the First Chechen War, which I suppose made for an interesting story line. I haven't seen any Makarov fics exploring that topic so, hopefully, I can do it right.

A foreword to the readers; **this is not a Makarov love story and there's no romance**. If you were expecting such a thing, then you'll be severely disappointed.

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**Warnings:**

This is a fic meant for a mature audience and contains violence, gore, sexual abuse, coarse language, and death. While the game itself is violent and deals with adult themes, I still feel the need to warn those who wish to avoid reading this kind of material.

I do not intend to neither romanticize nor mock the sad and true misfortune of the Chechen War. Also, take into account that this is not a reliable account of the events that transpired during this conflict. Despite I did my research to maintain some level of accuracy, my knowledge can only go so far and reality, unfortunately, always goes beyond fiction.

English isn't my first language, but I try my best.

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**Disclaimer:**

I do not own Call of Duty Modern Warfare or its characters. They all belong to Activision and Infinity Ward. No copyright infringement intended. This story was written for entertainment purposes.

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**Part I: **_The Fog of Death_

It all started when a former pilot of the Soviet Strategic Aviation led the revolution of the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria, declaring the country's independence from the Russian Federation in 1991— with the aid of some of the Muslim states and the implicit support of the West. It was a time of political transition after the recent fall of the Soviet Union, and a time of struggle in which the tensions between the leaders of both sides became antagonistic, leaving no place for negotiations to appease a conflict that was eroding Moscow's control over Chechnya.

Amid civil conflict and fight for power, conciliation was never reached as opposition groups emerged and tried to overthrow Dzhokhar Dudayev's government, without much success. Separatism was strong, the Chechen economy was collapsing under a poor administration, and the organized crime was growing at an alarming rate. In this state of affairs, Boris Yeltsin issued an ultimatum that Grozny refused to heed and, then, an attack to restore "constitutional order" was launched. On December the 1st, 1994, the bombs began to rain down upon Chechnya, Grozny being the primary target as it was the place where the presidential palace was located. It was on the 11th that enemy forces invaded, in an effort to preserve the territorial integrity of Russia, beginning a war that was opposed by many in the government and military, as it was considered criminal in conception and execution.

As a result of this the Deputy Minister of Defense of Russia, and last commander of the 40th Army in the Soviet-Afghan War, resigned in protest, arguing that it would become a bloodbath— as did another general. Hundreds of Russian professional soldiers and officers refused to take part in the operation, too. Eighty-three of them were convicted by military courts, and the rest were dishonorably discharged.

However, many others called the Chechen cause sedition and carried out the nightmare that would cost the lives of thousands of people. If Russia allowed Chechnya to separate, it would show the world how weak the Bear had become. It would mean the loss of valuable resources in a time they needed them the most. They could not lose Chechnya when it held key access routes to the Caspian and the Black Sea, and trade-routes with other trans-Caucasus countries. What was even more important, Chechnya controlled vital oil and gas pipelines, oilfields and refineries, as well as chemical and engineering industries that provided a supply of building materials. The other reason was political, since only Chechnya and Tatarstan refused to ratify the Russian Federation Treaty out of all the former Soviet republics. To Russia, Chechnya was the chance to show that she still was powerful enough to crush and subdue her enemies with an iron fist. The Minister of Defense, General Pavel Grachev, had boasted he could defeat Chechnya in a couple of hours and assured it would be a bloodless conflict that wouldn't last even a month. However, it was a test the Russian armed forces hadn't been prepared for when they encountered unexpected resistance, and the hostilities carried on for longer than anticipated.

But maybe it had started way back before I was even born, with two centuries of resistance to Russian rule— which began with their expansion during the 19th century, in a race with the Ottoman empire. It was a period of constant uprisings that reached their peak in a war of forty-seven years. This conflict caused terrible losses when the Russians responded with the destruction of Chechen villages, scorched-earth policies— in an effort to reduce Chechen resistance by starvation— and ethnic cleansing, by expelling Muslims from the Caucasus to the Ottoman empire. If that hadn't been enough, Stalin's deportations in 1944— for accusations of collaborating with the Germans during the Second War— resulted in the death of nearly 100,000 Chechens in a historical genocide that would forever be engraved in our minds.

The history of my people was covered in blood, but it wasn't the past what I dreaded the most. It was the present, the now and here, what I could feel and breathe— what I could suffer and remember in days to come. It was something I could fear, more than anything else, when every moment I fell deeper into the abyss of insanity.

Whatever were the motivations and reasons that drove this war, and fueled the hostilities on either side, I learned that an armed conflict was never worth the price it demanded— the destruction and suffering of so many caught in the middle of a vicious confrontation. No mercy was spared to anyone, and innocent people were murdered left and right. Those who meant no harm, those who couldn't defend themselves, were shown a cruelty and brutality I had never thought possible nor could I ever imagine until then. I understood none of it but, then again, perhaps I'd been too young to realize the world wasn't the peaceful place I had believed it to be. It became a nightmare I wanted to wake up from; an ordeal that had begun to drain my willpower, as the fog of death eventually made it into the small, and remote, village that I lived in.

I was trying to fetch water in the bank of the river, early in the morning, when I spotted their shapes moving in the vegetation and the shadows crawling towards me. My hairs had stood on end and I could feel the threat of peril in my gut, then— hear the whispers in the wind that carried the smell of terror and blood. It was as though I could see, for the briefest of moments, the face of doom itself— feel the teeth of horror sinking in my flesh as my heart stopped beating at the realization that ruin was unavoidable. Terrified, I had taken off running to find my mother, who was plowing the soil, and sobbing I told her we all were going to die that day.

It happened, but not in the way I had expected. I died— died on the inside— the moment I crossed paths with him, and my life turned into a series of 'what-ifs' with the longing for justice that would probably never come. Ever since the enemy arrived, this place had turned into a cemetery and I knew we only were walking corpses by then.

_Cooperation._ That was all they required, or at least what they claimed to want from us. Still, much of the interaction with those men was certainly meant to end in disgrace. They knew very well they had the upper hand, and that defenseless civilians would comply with their every demand so as not to suffer in their hands. Despite my hopes for this situation to improve soon, the odds weren't on our side.

They had hardly been, as of late.

"Where do you think you're going?"

My heart skipped a beat at the deep commanding voice I heard, as I felt a big hand grab a firm and rough hold of my arm to turn me around. I had the hunch this day wasn't going to end well for me when I left my house that morning, and footsteps followed me to the outskirts, but I had hoped it would go uneventful— wishful thinking on my part, I had to admit. As dread overwhelmed my body and mind, I stared into hazel disdain that meant misery for my pathetic existence. I was certain I would know the agony of pain, for I recognized it— the ill-mannered and crude glare forever unchanging wasn't something I could easily forget.

Boris was his name, and I knew him to be the beast that slit my neighbor's throat after he was blamed for supporting and leaking information to the Chechen rebels. We had been forced to watch how they tortured the poor man before he, and his relatives, were executed in the most barbaric of ways.

It was supposed to be a lesson— a reminder that they wouldn't tolerate insubordination or sedition of any kind. That night, I watched them go unfazed at the blood and pain, eyes shadowed by perversion as though they were the sons of the devil himself. I wondered many times how they could be so insensitive before the suffering of others, but there was no explanation that could suffice. The wickedness and iniquity in their souls went beyond any human understanding, and back then I wasn't sure if I would ever come to comprehend the nature of such hatred. It was a malice that didn't let me sleep and I spent long nights on watch, crying in silence as the mourning faces of those that no longer existed haunted me— praying for a miracle to happen.

But God had vanished from these lands and no one knew where he was.

"I... I'm just... heading for the river to bring some water for my family, sir," I stuttered, legs trembling and voice breaking at his massive frame looming over my much smaller one. He had to be the scariest man I had ever seen in my life and the perpetual gnarl on his lips, accompanied by the scar on his cheek, made him look all the more disturbing. His large hands could break my bones if I so much as dared to move an inch, and I had no doubts about that. I'd watched him do it before, seen the satisfaction on his face as his victims howled and begged.

His eyes narrowed and, all of a sudden, the empty buckets I carried hit the dirt as I was backed against a wretched tree. "That'll have to wait, girl."

Before I knew it, his hands were roaming all over my body, and I felt like crying at those menacing words but didn't have the courage to let a single tear fall. Even knowing that it would be futile, I still prayed for him to leave me alone but he seemed to have other ideas and I was paralyzed with fear . We were alone and all Boris had to do was drag me behind the bushes so he could have his way with me. Soldiers had done the same with other women before and I knew that, even if I screamed at the top of my lungs and begged for aid, nobody would come to help. Only my mother would dare lift a finger for my sake, but it would be all in vain. Everyone was too scared to do something as that would bring about their deaths, or a worse fate, and I couldn't blame them for that. I was certain I would have done the same in their place, run to hide like the coward I was. I'd lost count on how many times I'd hidden with my little sister, hearing the sobs and screams from our poor mother who was left at the mercy of those wolves.

It terrified me to share the same fate, and I'd succeeded in steering clear from it so far. But no such luck with the beast who now held a knife against my throat, making an ominous hushing sound that meant for me to be quiet. I couldn't breathe or move, scared that the tip of the blade would bury in my skin, but my eyes began to burn as the cold metal slowly slid down my collarbone to the front of my blouse, cutting it down in a swift move. Even then I didn't dare scream, but tears were falling and my teeth gritted painfully when he began to slide the garment down my arms, exposing my chest. At this point, I was trying to muffle sobs of hopelessness and he merely chuckled at my distress, enjoying the way terror gripped at my heart.

"Easy there. You behave like a good girl, and you may enjoy it."

I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst— for him to grab a fistful of my hair and toss me to the ground to make me familiar with a new way of torture. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, but I wished no one had to go through such horrible agony. That was all there would be left for me; shame, and the horrid memories that would remain with me until the end of my days. His hands disgusted me, made me feel dirty and libeled but I was unable to fight for my life, to escape from my predator whose sadistic gaze was fixed on me, and I could only hope it would all end soon.

The scrunch of boots against the dirt made me aware that we had company and my heart sank at that prospect, for I knew about the horrible things they did to women. If there had been a slight chance of escaping, now I knew there was none. I opened my mouth to plead, but my voice was lost and the knot in my throat smothered me— it was then I wished I would have lost consciousness and not feel a thing.

"What are you doing?" It was cold, the way those eerie words drifted in the chilly air. The sour and spooky low voice left an uncanny sensation of dread clinging to my back, and I didn't have the courage to look at the newcomer. I wasn't brave enough to open my eyes for fear that he would be the last thing I saw. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could picture happier days in my mind but, despite my best efforts, my world of joy always became tainted with blood.

"Sir?" I could have sworn I perceived a hint of panic in Boris' voice, which didn't provide any comfort at all. Something told me that his comrade had to be a nightmare himself, if he could control the barbarian that was molesting me.

"Was I not clear enough? I ordered you to keep watch on the borders." Each bitter word was laced with venom and was spoken calmly, as though he didn't have the need to raise his voice. That was the fact which scared me the most. "Leave the wench alone and don't test my patience. Go back to patrol. Now."

"Right away, sir." Boris was off me in the blink of an eye and, with a shake, I let out the breath I was holding. The relief of the moment was enough for me to recover from the shock, if only a little.

"Wait. Come here." There was a rapid rustle of clothes and I warily opened my eyes, finding that my assaulter was nowhere to be seen. Throwing a glance to my left, I spotted Boris talking to the other male but his massive back blocked my line of vision so there wasn't much I could look at. Either way, I didn't care. The only thing I had in mind was getting the hell out of there before they had the chance to notice my disappearance, so I tried to collect myself and fixed my clothes in a hurry. Bending to pick up the buckets lying on the ground, I risked stealing another glance from the uniformed men and finally saw the owner of the chilling voice.

The shady flicker of his pale eyes matched the despondent tones of grey in the sky, and the expression on his face wasn't friendly in the least. He was truly displeased, and for good reason. After all, the threat from the Chechen fighters hiding in the mountainous areas couldn't be overlooked and it made them feel in jeopardy to a great extent. Knowing that they were unnerved by the resistance actually made me feel a tiny hope that things could change for the better, and that the fighters would free our village.

The man murmured something in Boris' ear and, despite I heard no word, it didn't seem to be pleasant conversation as the latter nodded tersely and left in a rush. As Boris departed I made haste but, when I intended to flee from that place, the man with the pale eyes turned around with a frown. Pointing at me with a gloved finger, he rudely beckoned me to come closer— which I did, feeling my stomach churn and the knot form in my throat again.

Boris scared me, but this man made my blood run cold as he roughly grabbed my chin, turning my face from side to side as if he were inspecting some kind of merchandise in display. "Where are you going, girl?"

His expression was hard and hostile, fingers burying in my skin as I fumbled to give an explanation. "To the river... to fetch water." My voice trembled as I hurried to finish the sentence with a choked 'sir' for good measure.

"On your own?" He arched an eyebrow and, at such a close distance, I noticed that his eyes were mismatched— shades of green and blue staring sharply at my grey ones from above high cheekbones.

"My little sister is ill with fever, and mother can't afford leaving her now, sir."

"Don't you have a water well in the village?" He pressed for an answer and I felt the tears sting my eyes once more.

"Yes, but we still need go to the river," I explained, almost standing on the tip of my toes as his grip fluctuated from tight to loose. "We can't waste good water just to wash our faces or other chores, sir."

After a moment, his hand released me and I almost fell to the ground with an unceremonious tumble but managed to hold up. Rubbing my jaw with care, I thought about the marks his fingers had undoubtedly left on my face but guessed that had to be better than being beaten or raped. If I managed to get out of this relatively unharmed, then I had to count myself lucky or blessed by God.

"Who is your mother?" His bicolor eyes were fixed on me, again, standing out from the whiteness of his skin. It was a stark contrast against a pair of dark eyebrows and his stubble laced with some traces of flaxen facial hair.

"She's Nuura Abramov, sir." I tried to keep calm, fighting off the threat of a disastrous mental breakdown. The faintest and briefest of flashbacks played in my mind, then, and I recalled seeing him that night of executions standing before the people with an expression of satisfaction and conceited victory.

_Traitors are not to be spared_. Those had been his words before he turned his back on everyone, and signaled his comrades to proceed with the brutal punishment that followed. He might not have been the one to torment these people but he allowed those demons to make them suffer, without batting an eye. The fact I was this close to him terrified me to the point I was ready to pass out. My sleep-deprived state didn't help at all and, as I felt the last ration of food I had consumed earlier ascend in a burning rise, I tried not to empty my stomach before him.

"Where do you live?"

As soon as I answered his question there was strong suspicion in his gaze. His nose scrunched in a grimace, and his lips drew an unsmiling expression that had me praying he would dismiss me soon. I desperately wanted to continue with my daily chores — more than that, I wished to be left alone. However, his questions never seemed to end and his stare turned into a glare, causing my body to tremble and cramp.

"I don't want to catch you doing things you shouldn't be doing, or talking to people you shouldn't speak to," he began in a low voice, leaning closer so he could whisper in my ear. "You know what will happen to you and your family if I do, right?"

I could only nod, feeling miserable, while casting my gaze down. "Was that all you needed from me, sir?"

He smirked this time, no doubt amused at my apprehension. I could feel him shamelessly eye the sliced blouse that I had tried to keep together with my fingers, in a last effort to retain some dignity, but I still felt very much naked under his unsettling gaze. What did it matter, anyways? He had the chance to see everything to his heart's content when he was interrogating me, and I had been too scared to even care.

A hand reached to pat my shoulder, as though we were old friends and had just made casual conversation— a fact that couldn't be further from the truth. "Go on, girl, before I change my mind."

He needed say no more. I gave yet another pathetic nod, ran to pick up the buckets and turned to disappear in the woods. The coldness bit my damp cheeks as I fled. The wind wiped away the tears that blurred my sight, and I never looked back— terrified that he would live up to his promise.

That night I didn't sleep either, thinking about my encounter with him.

I had heard that his name was Vladimir. He was the quiet one in the group, his strange colored eyes were always deep in thought, and his men seemed to fear him just as much as they admired him— in some strange, twisted way. I didn't know his rank but there was no doubt he was their leader as everyone followed his orders without showing the slightest hesitation or remorse. If Volodya wanted white to turn black, then it was only a matter of time until he got what he wanted.

And that was how my ruin started.

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Much of this information is found on Wikipedia and other sites. No, I'm not that smart lol.


	2. The River

Well, here's the revised edition of chapter two. It still retains the same essence of the original version, but hopefully the narrative flows better this time.

I changed the point of view from third person to first person because I thought it would make the story more personal, as it centers in the emotions and experiences through the eyes of our protagonist.

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**Part II: **_The River_

Many were the nights I spent with my little sister Zamira, dreading the coming of a new day. She tightly held onto me, for fear that I could be gone the next morning and, to be honest, I felt the same way. Many were her questions, too, but I was afraid the answers to them would crush her innocent heart. Little Zamira wouldn't understand at her age. The occasions she asked when father was coming back, thinking it was for the best, I didn't have other choice but to lie that as soon as things got better he would return. That would usually make her smile, and she believed that everything would be alright. She deserved that hope as much, despite I knew it was unlikely we would see him again.

Before the war started, our father Shamil had traveled to the city to look for a job in hopes of improving our economic situation, as several other men from the countryside had done. That year our crops had been lost to pests and the weakness of the soil, as it was too worn out due to long years of farming, so he was forced to find other options to provide for his family.

The idea of him leaving had upset mother a big deal, in the beginning. But after careful thought she decided that if, it was for the sake of their children, she would support him in his decision no matter what. Once arrangements were made it wasn't long before he set out for Grozny, the capital of the republic. After some time, father finally managed to land a job in the Krasny Molot— Red Hammer— factory, the biggest producer of oil drilling equipment in Europe which also built and repaired military material.

He used to send letters on a weekly basis, but when the country was invaded they stopped coming. No one dared say it, but there was no need to. Grozny had seen the horrific devastation of air-raid sieges ever since last New Year's Eve, and I wasn't even certain if he was still alive after long months without any news. I had really tried to keep my hopes high, if only for the sake of mother and Zamira's welfare, but there was a little voice in the back of my mind telling me otherwise. It was hard to quiet it down and, in the terrifying darkness of the night, it always whispered words I was afraid to repeat for fear they might come true. I refused to believe it at first but, with every day that passed, I began losing a little faith as word that the war was far from over made me realize the nightmare would continue.

For the most part I tried to avoid Vladimir at all costs— or anyone else, for that matter. Keeping my nose clean was my main priority at the moment, and I maintained a low profile at all times. Nevertheless, it wasn't easy escaping from their vigilant and deadly judgment. Nobody knew for certain who they were, what they sought, or when they would be leaving, and I implored every night for that to happen— for them to be gone soon and never return. Even if God didn't seem to hear my prayers, I still pleaded for better times to come. I needed something to keep me sane in those dark moments, when days were spent in bitter silence and the faith of people dimmed at the grim prospect that lay ahead.

Even so, I would always see the man with the strange colored eyes. Sharpening his knife, cleaning his rifle, or with his men gathered around him, there would always be this pensive yet hazardous manner in his unsettling demeanor. He couldn't be older than thirty and yet, to me, it was hard to understand how a man this young could be as cold-blooded as him. I still hadn't forgotten he ordered the execution of that family—how he remained unfazed by the pleas and the horror in their eyes. He was a beast, a heartless monster with the façade of a taciturn predator always in the hunt for his prey. The sadistic glint in his stare, once his claws ripped flesh, couldn't be matched by any conception of vicious morality I had ever imagined before. Then again, I'd been too naïve to know about the dangers lurking in the world— too inexperienced to comprehend the true ways of a decadent society that was overwhelmed by fear and violence, by ruin and death.

Walking across the parcel of land that my family worked, to tend the soil and the seeds I feared would never sprout, I watched the thick clouds of grey dust rise in the horizon and longed for the warmth of the sun. Longed for a way out of this hell. I had imagined that at my age I would have been concerned about marriage and children, instead of trying to survive this slaughter masked as war. There were girls who had lost that hope, after being forced, and became shells of their former selves. Some had even lost their lives in the process when they refused and fought, igniting the wrath of their murderers who were quick to take revenge.

Vladimir appeared to be disinterested in such pursuits or, if he was, I didn't know. The occasions I actually saw him unwind were oddly calm and never involved the excesses I had supposed he would enjoy. Once I saw him leaning on the fence of our house, as he took pleasure in the taste of a cigarette and the sight of the mountains afar, clouds gathering as a storm brewed in the sky at long last. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to us or, at least, he never bothered to look our way as if he were too preoccupied by his own thoughts. However, his lone presence was enough to make my stomach churn, and I could barely concentrate on the task at hand.

Why was he here, I wondered. Did he think we also had something to do with the fighters and was keeping an eye on us? The thought was enough to make my hairs stand on end. It didn't matter if this fact was true or not; a simple word from him would be enough to ruin our lives. I wasn't worried so much about dying, but the pain that would make me beg for the end. The memory of that night was still vivid, and having this man so close was like a bad omen of decay. At this, I had to shake my head to dismiss those thoughts. Perhaps he just enjoyed the sight from our place and decided to spend his free time there. Maybe he liked seeing my mother, as she paced the field ahead.

Her eyes met his and he didn't even need to say a word, only beckon her with a finger to have her approach him in a matter of seconds. The suddenness of his actions almost drilled a hole in my heart, since the exchange lasted a while. Every now and then, he was glancing our way as I pretended to teach Zamira how to tell seeds apart from one another before planting them. It was clear he didn't want me eavesdropping on their conversation, and I tried to cover up my expectant expression by grabbing fistfuls of soil, feeling its arid texture as it slid through my trembling fingers. With a rather sad look I watched as it disintegrated in my hands, wondering how worse things could get from now on. How much humiliation did mother have to endure for the sake of her children? It made me feel sick to the stomach, as Zamira tugged at my hair and asked why I was so distracted that morning. Trying to smile, I explained that I couldn't sleep well last night— which was half true— and she promised she would tell me a story so boring it would put me to sleep like a baby.

_Sweet little Zamira_. That night of horrors I tried to protect her innocence and her tenderness from the heinousness of brutality. Pressing the child to my chest to spare her from the sadistic sight, I had whispered words of comfort so that the screams of pain from that man and those around them would be muffled by my broken voice. Zamira had wailed in fear all the while, unable to understand what was going on other than she was terrified much like I was now.

As it had happened with me in the forest, Vladimir's questions never seemed to end but mother was oddly calm as she spoke with him. Her brown gaze was cast down at all times, and she would give the occasional nod or shake of her head when needed to acknowledge his words. However, this composed façade was shattered when she all of a sudden looked up at him with dismay and despair, as if the devil had asked her to give her soul to him. Just what did he say to cause such a reaction, there was no way I could tell. The only thing I knew was that, after that encounter, she asked me to go to the river in her place much to my woe. Still, I never complained, always obeying and striving to make life easier for everyone. As the eldest child, I knew that it was my duty and mother always knew best.

She always did, right?

It wasn't the first time I went to the river to do laundry. When I was a child, I had always helped my grandmother with this chore. Scrubbing the garments against solid stone, watching froth form between my fingers, was something I had become used to do as the years passed and I grew up. Those had been different times and, back then, I had nothing to fear but the situation had changed and I was terrified. Trying to blink small tears away, so mother wouldn't see them, I carried the improvised bag of dirty clothes in my arms, headed for the door and feigned to be strong. I could almost see the guilt in her eyes, the regret they reflected as I tried to smile and believe this couldn't end badly in the face of doom. And then I departed alone, uncertain of the misfortunes this day had prepared for me.

For each time I flinched whenever a Russian soldier noticed my presence, I breathed in relief every time they ignored me and minded their own business. Even Boris didn't look interested anymore, as he merely scowled and turned away to keep guarding his post. By the time I made it to the forest, I wanted to cry in pitiful joy as I found a seat on a rock and took a break.

With less grim thoughts I got to work, intent on finishing before night fell. I wanted to get home as soon as possible and see if Zamira was doing any better with her fever. It was the second time that week that she fell ill and I was worried. The poor thing was in bed and had an alarming running nose, accompanied by a persistent cough that Nuura had attempted to treat with herbal infusions. Despite it all, the cheery and hopeful smile of the child never ceased to amaze me in times like these. Honestly, if I didn't have Zamira, my spirits would most likely be down in the dumps without such good-natured company.

Once I found a comfortable spot on a rocky bank I kicked off my shoes and dipped my feet in the water, feeling a whisper of wind pass through my hair. Looking around several times, I was relieved that no one had followed me to this place and that I would get the chance to have a much needed moment's peace. I raised my long skirt a bit and shuddered at the chilliness of the river, the gravel pricking my skin as my hands got busy with the menial work of soaking and scrubbing clothes. As time passed, I felt safe enough to start humming an old song grandmother used to sing when we walked to the river, hand in hand.

"Does it make you happy to be in this place, girl?" I jumped out of my skin, and swiftly turned to look at the intruder. Soon I wished I hadn't, for my stomach made a violent roil when I took notice of the man of bicolor eyes. He was seated on a rock near the bank of the river, his faithful firearm resting on his lap, and I had the sudden need to take off running right at that moment. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the advantage he had over me, as he could without a doubt end my life in a heartbeat. "You seem to be in the mood for singing."

I trembled and fidgeted with the piece of clothing in my hands, not sure of what to say as my chest ached with apprehension. After a moment I found my voice and answered his question, forcing myself to sound calm.

"It's peaceful here, sir." How long had he been sitting there, I mused as he produced a box of cigarettes from the front pocket of his jacket and placed one in his lips. "Did you need something from me, sir?"

What was on his mind, I wasn't certain. He merely disregarded me, too occupied with the metallic lighter in his grasp or perhaps not in a hurry to reply. Vladimir just lit the cigarette and smoked at his leisure, watching the flow of the river follow its course as wisps of smoke hazed his empty pale eyes. It was then that I decided I would never hear a word from him— not that I was eager to, either way. I kept scrubbing clothes, fleetingly glancing at him out of the corner of my eye as though to make sure the beast hadn't woken up from his slumber. Whether it was my furtive glimpses that drew his attention, or he had something different in mind, I wasn't certain. But now his eyes were fixed on me and I had to get away.

Had to, but could I?

Anxiety grew tauter, my throat felt dry and tight as I strained to breathe. He finally stood up, crushing the smoke under the sole of his boot, and approached with unhurried steps. There was nothing I could do to stop him— only look at him, panic-stricken as my eyes wandered to the firearm that he let hang to his side. Was he going to kill me? I tried to escape but he grasped my arm and held me in place; then slipped behind me, legs on either side of mine as the smell of tobacco filled my nostrils. I knew I was going to die when his hands kept me chained to him, when that cold and cruel smile crept on those thin lips of his. Lost in a world of desolation and hopelessness, his ghostly stare had me trapped in a dismal trance and I saw the blaze of corruption burn in it.

"_Shh. Shh,_" he hushed my desperate and fearful whimpers, as his hands traveled to take a hold of my shoulders. "I won't hurt you, if you don't give me a reason to." His words were laced with a threatening hint, the glint in his eyes sinister as his fingers grasped my jaw and forced me to look at him. "You won't, right?"

I shook my head, the air leaving my lungs as he slowly took off one of his black gloves, revealing a large pale hand with long bony fingers that slid down from my shoulder to breastbone. Soon, the buttons of my blouse were undone and, as the folds of fabric separated further apart, my breathing ragged in fear for what was to come. My teeth clenched and I flinched with a sob at the feeling of his body pressed against my back, breathing hot against my nape as his cold fingers began to trace the contour of my breasts. His lips found their way to my neck and I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear at that very moment from the face of the Earth. Chilly water kept running beneath my bare feet, muscles shaking uncontrollably as he brought me closer, and I could have sworn he chuckled under his breath, rejoicing in my distress and dread.

This nightmarish feeling overwhelmed my soul, as I opened my eyes to the sight of the sky above. I wished I could have been a bird, that I could have grown wings and flown far, far away. But I was bound to the ground, trapped with monsters that didn't even believe my people deserved human treatment. I was just a woman, the bait that tempted men and led them to their perdition. As punishment, my word had no value. As retribution, I was supposed to strangle my voice and suffer in silence.

There was nothing I could do, lest I intended for my lifeless and bloodied body to travel downriver. Anyone would have thought that it was better that way, but I didn't want to die. I wanted to live one more day— I needed to, for mother and Zamira, but my determination faltered when his hand drew closer to the spot between my legs. My skirt had been pulled almost all the way up and, if I had any doubts about his intentions before, there was no way I couldn't tell what he wanted from me now.

This couldn't be happening; it shouldn't be like this, a voice in my mind repeated again and again. It begged me not to let him shatter my dreams, take my innocence away and shred my soul to pieces, but I was too weak to stand up for myself. My only choice was to suffer in silence, like I was meant to, with the pretense that this might be sparing my family from even more pain. However, I knew this only was a sad lie to justify my cowardice.

As soon as his hand attempted to profane me, it was gone with a swift movement as well as the pressure of his chest on my back. There was the rustle of heavy fabric and, with tears in my eyes, I thought that he was taking off his pants. Who knew what horrible things he would force me to do, I lamented as my eyes opened in a wild stare only to see that he was gone like a nightmare when dawn came. I would have cried in relief and not grief, but my better judgment wasn't buying this apparent retreat. Turning around, I spotted the dark flora camouflage of his uniform a few feet away; he was walking back to the village, leaving me to deal with my sorrows and disgust.

Trembling and sobbing, I made myself decent the best I could, never taking my eyes off him for fear that he might change his mind and return— in which case, I would be ready to run for my life. And even if I had to roam the woods at night, I was sure the shadows would provide enough cover until I made it home. Wolves were the least of my concerns right now, for there were far more dangerous marauders lurking around. Compared with them, the forest beasts would be friendly but, if that wasn't the case, they'd only be acting out of instinct when faced with a threat. If the worst happened, at least, they wouldn't kill me for mere pleasure and hopefully my end would be swift.

Before Vladimir disappeared behind a thick growth of bushes, he turned to look at me with a wicked smile. Or maybe it was more of a conceited smirk. One thing was certain, and it wasn't supposed to be reassuring or apologizing. It was cruel, and it was meant to tell me that he could break me if he felt like it.

It was only a matter of time before it happened.


	3. The Black Wolf

_This was the last chapter I had originally posted before discontinuing the story. My apologies to the readers who followed this fic. I dare not ask for feedback because I feel ashamed for failing them. However, thanks to those who have reviewed and left their thoughts when I first published this work. I really appreciate that._

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**Part III: **_The Black Wolf _

After the frightening episode, I had been reluctant and fearful to go back to the river again but I knew that, sadly, I had no other choice in the matter. Telling mother about the manhandling I had suffered in the hands of Vladimir would do no good, so I kept the misery of the moment to myself. There was nothing she could possibly do about it, and it would be useless to linger on such depressing thoughts.

However, my sleep had been restless and for the most part of the night I tossed and turned in bed, scared of the horrors dawn would bring. As I brought my legs to my chest, and curled in a ball to shield from the cold, a shiver ran up my back when Zamira's moan of discomfort echoed from the adjacent room. Propping myself on an elbow I focused on her little voice and heard a dry cough, followed by a sob and the soothing hushing sounds of mother. This could only mean one thing; Zamira's condition wasn't improving at all, and it brought me to the verge of tears.

I was worried about the little money that was left from our savings, and the impossibility of seeking a doctor, let alone buying medicine— where would we get it, anyways? Still, I would do anything for her. If that meant I would have to eat less, then I was willing to do it so long as she had the chance to get well. If I had to go outside and face the Russian with the devil eyes, so mother could remain by Zamira's side, then I would put up with it.

The night was eerily silent, and I wondered what would cause the pack of wolves to conceal their presence in its chilly calmness. Maybe the fighters would be coming soon, that was my foolish wish as I sat up on bed and stared out of the window— to the dark forest and mountains beyond. Not long after I had made myself comfortable with the blanket around my body, the small flame of a lighter flickered in the porch of the house next to mine. Softly, it shed a dim glow on the features of a shape that I'd failed to notice all along. The tobacco of the cigarette burned bright at the first drag, and my breath caught in my throat when I realized we were being watched.

The beast was out and about, lurking, in the hunt for his next prey, and I shuddered at the dreaded fate that would befall me if I dared stare into its shadows for too long. I feared I would never be able to escape them as I watched him lean against a wooden column, keeping an eye on the only place that had been my sanctuary since I was a child.

Another moan of pain had me scrambling out of the bed and dashing to the bedroom of my parents as fast as my feet allowed it. Once there, I skidded to a stop by the door and gulped at the wretched sight that greeted me in the light of a candle. Mother was seated on the edge of the mattress, brushing a wet cloth against a small and awfully pale forehead. Zamira's face was damp and sallow in appearance, dark hair clinging to her skin, and her chest heaved with every breath she took.

I knelt next to my sister, holding her little sweaty hand in mine. "Mother, what's wrong?" I looked up and saw her expression of deep distress.

"It's gotten worse." Her voice came off broken and shaky, eyes gleaming with regret she seemed to have tried to hold back for a long time.

"No." I shook my head frantically, watching as Zamira's grey eyes fluttered closed and her lips whispered incomprehensible words. "What are we going to do? We can't let her—" I fell silent almost as soon as the idea formed in my head, refusing to even acknowledge the possibility. "It's not fair. She's just a child!" Why would He allow such a horrid thing to happen to someone so innocent, so pure? I couldn't understand and, little by little, my faith slipped away as I crumpled to the floor and stared off into the distance, trying to find the answer. But I had none. "Why?"

After a moment of hesitation mother was on her feet, approaching the closet from which she took an old discolored coat. Now I realized just how exhausted she looked and to what extent past experiences have taken their toll on her health. Her dark hair was messy and dull, eyes bloodshot and lifeless, and her skin sported an ashen complexion unlike the radiance she once had bore. She definitely wasn't the vibrant beautiful woman she used to be, and I could understand why. A delicate bloom in her happy days, her petals had been mistreated with abuse and she now was a battered flower that was beginning to fade.

"Take care of Zamira while I'm gone. I will get help," she said, making her way to the door with haste.

"Help? From _who_?" My voice held despair as I regarded her with a wide-eyed stare. "Who is going to help, mother? We're on our own."

"I _will_ find it, even if it's the last thing I do." Her statement was final and it carried a determination I'd never expected to hear. "My little girl is not going to die."

Her figure swiftly disappeared in a blur of dark hues, steps fading seconds later as the slam of the door echoed and withered afterwards. I remained immobile, kneeling before the bed as my mouth hung open in silent shock and disbelief. There was no need for any more explanations; I knew perfectly who she was referring to. As my body quivered, and I tried to swallow the knot in my throat, I hoped that the outcome wouldn't bring regret and pain.

Drying my face with the back of my hand, I returned my attention to Zamira and reached for the damp cloth resting on her forehead. Soaking it in the metallic basin placed on the nightstand, I rinsed it before softly stroking it against her face. Zamira's response was a short and low whimper, her brow furrowing as she called for mother, and I tried to comfort her with gentle whispers, coaxing the child into relaxing.

Taking a seat by her side, I slowly combed her damp hair back and wished with all my heart that mother would be back soon with good news. Or with her life, if that wasn't possible. I hoped she wouldn't get hurt and abused again— that they would be generous enough to leave her be in her distress. I hoped that this time the odds would be on our side and that Zamira would have the chance to see another day. For all that was sacred, she had to live.

Time went by and I didn't know for how long I suffered the agony of uncertainty, the pain of every minute gone without word from mother. It reached a point that I feared the worst but, as the thought crossed my mind, the front door opened and footsteps approached the bedroom, alerting me to impending danger. To my relief, it was mother and I rapidly got on my feet to inquire about her well-being.

However, I stopped dead in my tracks as soon as I saw the man that accompanied her. My stomach roiled yet again, and I felt very sick as my gaze clashed with disturbing depths of blue and green. Suddenly, my surroundings seemed to spin around and I had to lean against the wall, so my legs wouldn't give out, feeling terrified and cornered like a scared mouse.

I hadn't expected for him to show up. Perhaps one of his subordinates, but not him. In all honesty, I never imagined he'd come to our aid but this wasn't the time to question his motives— neither did I have any wish to unearth his intentions as to why he'd offer his help. What mattered was that this could possibly mean good news for Zamira. For her I'd put aside whatever grudge I held against him and try to show gratitude, even when it was a lie.

"This is my youngest daughter," mother introduced the ailing child to Vladimir, who remained by the door watching the dismal scene with stoic interest. Then she turned to me with a strange expression of mixed relief, repugnance, and guilt, unable to meet my fearful eyes. "Mr. Vladimir has been so kind so as to allow me to take Zamira to find a doctor," she began to explain, clearly avoiding my gaze when I needed reassurance from her, now more than ever. "We are to leave before dawn."

For a moment I wanted to drop to my knees and thank the heavens, but my legs were so stiff I thought any movement would snap them in two. "That's… that's great news," I whispered breathlessly, a bittersweet smile on my lips.

Hopefully, Zamira would have a chance to receive medical attention and her condition would improve soon. I would see her running around the house once more and would tell her stories before going to bed. I would hold her, and her cute innocent smile would warm up my heart. Here was the chance and I would take it without question.

More heavy footsteps echoed and, all of a sudden, several indistinct hushed voices made me aware of the presence of more people in the house. My eyes darted to my mother, who had an aura of resignation to her, and I held back a shriek of panic in an effort not to lose my nerve. Instead, I stammered my concern and asked her what was all the fuss about.

"We've reached an agreement, girl," Vladimir was the one to answer, however, as she cast her gaze to the floor. Even in the faded light of the room, his pale eyes stood out and pierced my soul with their intensity, making me shiver at the mad coldness that resided in them. "We'll be taking this house." He began to pace the room, studying the environs as his black gloved fingers slid against the surface of an old rocking chair.

My jaw trembled, but I restrained tears of anger and misery at the cruel mockery in his voice. There was nothing I could do or say, however. Everyone knew it was insanity denying anything to these beasts and they took whatever they wanted, when they wanted it. There was nothing holding them back but I had found it curious, and strange, that he had waited until now to say he wanted to stay at our house. It wasn't even the biggest or prettiest one in the village. There was something that didn't fit quite well, and I was scared to find out what it was.

"Mother?" I called with hesitation but she was silent, as though far away in her thoughts and affliction. Desperate at her taciturn attitude, I reached for her arms and shook her gently. "What is he talking about?"

She seemed to react, looking hurt and defeated in her own battle whilst she enveloped me in her arms. "I had to. I had no other choice, my child. Please forgive me, forgive me for what I've done and understand. We have to do this for Zamira. Think of her, I beg you."

As much as my heart longed to show my disagreement, I couldn't argue with her on that so I let my hands drop to my sides and feebly nodded in defeat. Zamira needed this desperately and we were only wasting precious time. Still, I should have seen this coming. Did I honestly believe they would help without asking for something in return? At the very least, my family was safe and sound, and that was far more valuable than anything else. I had to be optimistic for them. These beasts would be gone one way or the other, when the war was over, and I hoped that was sooner rather than later.

Parting from her, I tried to gather my thoughts and excused myself so I could get ready for the journey, when her hand caught my arm. Confused, I felt my heart being torn apart even before she had uttered a word, for the look in her eyes said it all. It spoke of plea and sacrifice, of compunction and hurt.

"I'm sorry, but you can't come with us. I have no more time to waste, please."

"But who will care for Zamira on the way?" I pressed with urgency, as I threw a nervous glance to Vladimir. He simply ignored my babbling, too focused on the small collection of books neatly arranged in a wall shelf and uninterested in our petty dissension. "You can't possibly be thinking of going alone with her." Tears were very close to fall and my voice was faltering with pain and betrayal, as I clutched my mother's hand. "You _can't_ leave me here."

I wanted to beg her to take me and not abandon me among wolves, but she refused to acknowledge my predicament. Instead, her body shook and her head hung in pain as she denied me of the comfort I needed. "I'm so sorry. You need to stay, otherwise he won't let me go. He wants to make sure that I don't—"

"The truck is waiting. Don't make me lose my patience, woman, because I possess very little to spare today," Vladimir intruded as he impassively flicked through the pages of a book. "Go before I change my mind and leave your daughter to die." His smooth voice made a chill run down my spine and I let go of mother at once, watching as she nodded and hurried to prepare Zamira for their departure.

At that moment, I knew there was nothing I could do to escape my fate. Silent and with a heavy heart, I helped hasten preparations wrapping Zamira in blankets to protect her from the chilliness outside. Scooping my sister in my arms I kissed her forehead, lips burning at the heat of her skin. And I made a decision, then— for her, I had to be strong and pray mother would find the way.

She took Zamira from me and we marched to the front door for the final farewells. As the soldiers assaulted the kitchen, and walked around our house like they owned the place, I felt so small and disposable— so out of place. In the past, my home had been a haven where I had felt safe and protected. What did I have now? There was only the hope of surviving and seeing my family once more. That would have to suffice.

My feet refused to move, but I forced myself to walk towards the grim future that lay before me. I forced them to take me as far as possible from the demon that chased after me, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me distraught. Still, it was difficult to say goodbye, and I went to inhuman lengths not to collapse to the ground and cry like a child. Instead, I begged mother to take care of Zamira and kissed the girl on the forehead for a last time.

_Why_, the question lingered in my mind for probably longer than I would have wanted, as I realized that I was on my own. By the time the first morning light tore the dark veil, the truck had vanished in the distance and, with it, my last shred of happiness in this world. Emptiness and uncertainty overwhelmed me as the sky turned blood red, and I had a bad omen despite the hope I tried to hold onto because that was all there was left in the end.

That night, after an exhausting day filled with terror and hard work, I slept in a corner of the attic on a worn out mattress and with a few blankets to protect me from the cold. As I made myself smaller, wishing I would disappear in the bitter shadows, I thought about mother's last words before she left. _I hope one day you can forgive me_, she had said and I wondered what there was to forgive in the first place when she'd only done the right thing.

Still, those thoughts didn't provide any comfort as footsteps approached the stairs and then I saw the pale glint of madness, always on the watch— always in the hunt. Haunting, torturing and belittling me forevermore, hurting and terrifying me without end.

How was I supposed to get out of the wolf's claws when my life was at his mercy, and my every breath seemed to be a gift from him?


	4. Nothing But A Monster

_This is the fourth chapter that I never got to post in the original version. Well, after two years it's finally here and I'm so embarrassed for that. People that followed this fic have probably forgotten about it but... well, I still wanted to continue for the sake of finishing this project._

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**Part IV: **_Nothing But A Monster_

The days that followed after mother and Zamira's departure were spent in taciturn expectation, cold and lonely— though I knew the latter was not completely true. I could certainly feel the despondent chilliness cling to my skin during the endless nights, but I knew I was never alone. They wouldn't be so kind so as to give me the luxury to find the strength to endure, the time to find comfort when I needed it the most. But no matter how long I sought compassion, I'd never find it in the hostility that surrounded me.

Mother and Zamira had left with two of Vladimir's men, and I had prayed they would be safe when the ferocious roar of the Russian Air Force thundered away to the city of Grozny in the south. Such an unexpected trip would inherently be dangerous, for the road wasn't safe anymore since the start of the war. Ambushes were to be expected and feared among people who dared venture on their own. So when the truck returned later that day, a flicker of joy glowed inside my heart when I saw it was safe and sound.

However, my brief happiness was short-lived when no one bothered to say a word on my family's whereabouts or state of affairs. No one took pity on me and eased my distress, and I was left in the dark without as much as a meaningful gesture to make up for the foreboding silence. Nobody would make this fear go away, as though expecting for me to forget or pretend my family never existed in the first place. Still, I tried to hold onto this small hope for a little while, waiting for the return of my loved ones and better times to come.

But how long would it take before my willpower waned?

A group of soldiers in the company had settled in my house and I had to see to their needs at their whim— whether it was cooking their meals, serving their drinks, or cleaning after their mess. It surprised me that none of them had attempted to lay a single finger on me, despite the many opportunities they had to do so. So long as I gave them what they wanted, they would ignore me. It made me feel relieved a great deal, for I didn't think I'd be able to stand their malicious looks or slurs. Hence, being under the same roof was bearable for the most part, and I found solace in that fact at the end of the day.

I never tried to engage in conversation with them, never attempted to befriend those who held my people in contempt and didn't feel sympathy with their suffering. If any of them asked me a question, I limited myself to providing a short answer before returning to my sacred silence— fearing my words could bring doom upon me.

Nights were difficult, however, as fear tormented me and the worst outcome played in my restless mind. I wondered how mother and Zamira were doing. Did everything go well? Would they return soon? My questions remained unanswered, much to my despair, but I wordlessly withstood the desolation they evoked. With pain, I swallowed my tears as I stared at the darkness that spread beyond the horizon, and listened to the rumble of explosions in the distance. Or was it a storm approaching? I didn't know anymore. Probably both.

There was fear in my heart every time I thought about our land being sieged, and I couldn't find peace in my dreams. They'd been taken over by lurid sequences of gore and death, and I had no wish to close my eyes anymore. It wasn't until I was ready to drop dead to the world that I gave up. By the time I could get some sleep, I was brusquely shaken awake and commanded to be up and at their service until I was dismissed for the rest of the day.

There were moments where I could be at ease, however. Reading helped me with the mental strain, for the most part. The light of a candle and a book were my silent companions, making me forget my misfortunes for a while. But I was always brought back to reality when loud voices and sporadic laughter shattered the fragile world I had built to protect my sanity. Sometimes I would listen to Vladimir discuss with his men about the unfavorable situation in the Russian Federation, and the lack of competence of the high-ups to prepare a thoroughly trained force before rushing into combat. As it was, with the ill-starred beginning they had witnessed, the outcome could only be catastrophic if they didn't learn from their mistakes in the battlefield.

It had been on one of those occasions that I'd learned he was a fervent nationalist, and that he was captain. The day I saw them for the first time, they were escaping from the Chechen fighters who had ambushed them in the forest and killed many of their comrades. Many of his men were still mad at that trounce and had taken out their fury on innocent people who had nothing to do. Our only sin had been living near the mountainous area that served as haven for the Chechen fighters that were yet to show up. At this point, I was beginning to wish they wouldn't appear for that would mean the death of everyone in the village. It was better to keep the Russians waiting until they realized they had only wasted their time.

At the mere shuffling of footsteps close to the stairs, I put out the candle in a haste— not wishing for someone to catch me eavesdropping— and found shelter under my covers. The steps faded and I sighed in relief before my eyes shifted to the window above. As I stared into the black mist of the night, I began to wonder if I'd live to see the end of this war.

I feared the Wolf that always watched over his pack. His bicolor eyes alone were enough to make me tremble under their intense and inquisitive stare, so penetrating I feared he could read my thoughts somehow. Who knew? Perhaps this man was a reincarnation of the devil himself. Could he smell my fear? Could he see just how much I dreaded to unleash his wrath? Was that the reason he would always smirk and request that I read a book of poetry for him with my broken voice?

He listened to my strained lines with eyes closed and my heart tightened— not out of desire but alarm at his strange behavior. When I finished, my hands holding the book quivered as I felt a stab at my chest. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he have to remind me that I had to resign to my bleak fate and that there was no escape?

"What would you change, little one?" he whispered, and I stared at my feet in silence before he repeated his question, in that smooth and calm voice of his. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, only to come face to face with his uncanny gaze. At that moment I realized there could have been so many answers to that, yet there was only one thing that came to mind. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so naive so as to trust such a personal reflection to him, but the truth was nobody else would ask. There was no one left for me to trust— not that I trusted him, in the first place.

I was alone.

"It would be foolish if I tried to pretend that I've never heard of humans killing one another. Yet I wish I would have remained ignorant of the cruel ways of the world. Many things would have been different, now." I knew my words would fall on deaf ears, but I still wanted to voice my wishes even when they would be carried away by the wind. Or maybe I harbored the tiniest hope that someone else would listen and share my pain.

I felt him staring intently at me, watching his jaw tighten out of the corner of my eye. My fingers buried into the leather cover of the book that was still in my grasp, and I feared the worst then. As if on cue, he shifted closer to me from his seat on the porch and I instinctively stiffened in mine. His breathing was close to my cheek but I dared not enter the world of frozen horrors that lived in his gaze— one devoid of warmth and humanity.

"And what would you do to keep it safe?" His voice was unexpectedly thick, deep, dark and mocking but I sensed no threat behind his words— malice, yes, but not peril. I could clearly hear the smirk in it and imagine the half burlesque expression on his face. Then again, I never knew what to expect from him so there was no guarantee he wouldn't hurt me. "What would you do to keep that which you love safe?"

Seeing the dusty horizon, the red dawns and dusks that had passed before my eyes, reminded me of things that had been lost— dear ones that were gone. But what could I do now? Would I have gone to the same lengths to fight for what I stood for? Was such sick cruelty justified as he wanted to make me believe? To him, it was just a matter of perspective but that didn't mean their schemes weren't built around abominable deeds. I had seen it; I'd tasted the fear it had instilled in my heart. I still woke up to the smell of death and blood every morning, thinking that day might be my last one.

Would that prospect be so bad? A swift kill would be mercy at this point.

_No_. I couldn't possibly lose my sanity and will to live… not now. More than ever, I had to survive to see mother and Zamira again. Where were they? What happened to them? When would they return? Why did I have to stay here and serve as amusement for him? A burning hatred for him had begun to boil under my skin, when I finally gathered the courage to look into the eyes of one who had no respect for life.

"If I weren't who I am, I would have done anything," I whispered bitterly, defeated by my own instinct of preservation. He seemed to perceive this, for his satisfaction at my thwarted desires was too much for him to hide. And I could understand why he was really tempted to laugh at my misery. Who was I and who would I be after this? I dreaded to see my future self, when those unspoken thoughts flashed in my mind in a ghostly appearance. Still, I fought not to break down, not to give him the pleasure of seeing me in shambles.

"Maybe it won't be so hard to understand each other now."

My gaze narrowed, as I gritted my teeth and wished I could wipe that smug expression off his face once and for all. It was subtle, barely showing the faintest conceit in his lips but I saw it nonetheless; he was in control, my life was his and there was nothing I could do to change that. My every breath was his. For him. How sickening it turned out to be.

Vladimir slowly withdrew, and I became aware of the overwhelming thump of my heart. It wildly buzzed in my ears to the point it made me dizzy and nauseous— that was just how terrified I was of the suffering he could devise for me if I displeased him. And, still, I felt tempted to go against him, to tell him that there was no way we could empathize with each other when we were so different in our beliefs. He'd never understand, for he was a murderer and he was not forgiving.

He had no heart, no soul.

"I'm nothing like you. I could never live with myself, if I were in your shoes, knowing the atrocities I've done," I managed to utter in a shaky whisper, shoulders shaking nonstop. I was aware that crossing the boundaries with him would do no good and my boldness could cost me dearly— a price higher than I was willing to pay. But I could care less, then, all too blinded by my despairing need to prove that we weren't the same, and that I would never share his atrocious viewpoints.

He chuckled derisively as he stood up to leave, a menacing shadow growing on his features. He tilted his head slightly, his frozen stare ripping me apart with the imminence of pain to come. Yet he remained glued to his spot, and stared at me as if he were taking pleasure in my humiliating distress. I was stiff, and every bone and muscle in my body ached with the effort to appear strong and brave, trying to control the spontaneous and burning quaking of my body and the chattering of my teeth as I glared at him.

It all happened so fast that I didn't even have time to foresee his reaction. All I could see was a blur of flora camouflage, and then feel a force that almost sent me tumbling back in the chair. My heart wrenched inside my chest, and the desolation his eyes promised dragged me deeper into a pit of agony. His words were just above a whisper but they poured like poison from his mouth, polluting my soul. They were laced with bitterness, lips forming a snarl that I nearly failed to notice in my turmoil. Maybe I'd gone too far that day; maybe it all came down to one thing when madness became shadows of the past— the past that one couldn't evade nor forget.

He was too close, and his ragged breathing burned against my skin. His hand tightly gripped my jaw, and the small book of poetry slipped from my fingers as I tried to break free.

"Look at me." I refused to do it, to look in those terrifying depths and lose courage. "I won't repeat myself again." This time the threat was clear and I instinctively met his eyes, breathing heavily and whimpering at the rough manner his hand held my face. "You think me cruel, uncivilized in the world we live in? I'm nothing but a monster to you. I can see it in your eyes." His gaze blistered with a startling emotion that I'd never perceived until now. "I won't try to convince you otherwise but let me tell you this; when your life and all that you've fought for turns into dust and ashes, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, then you'll know that the past can't be changed or forgiven."

I froze when his warm breath touched my lips, and there was no denying of the horror that crawled under my skin when his mouth ghosted over mine. His touch burned and it felt as though I would be consumed by this never-ending torment whilst he held me in place, leaving no chance for retreat. But just when I thought I wouldn't be able to endure the torture for much longer, the trudge of heavy boots stomped against the wooden floor and yells came from the back of the house.

"Sir!"

He scowled before turning his attention away, and I averted my stare towards the door. One of his men, who I thought to be the youngest one, stood there and seemed to regret his rather abrupt intrusion. Sasha, they called him and though he looked nowhere near as frightening as Vladimir or Boris I knew of his love for knives, and that he could be equally brutal when skinning his victims… alive.

"Sir." The reverence in his voice was unmistakable. "I apologize—"

"What is it?" Vladimir asked without even bothering to explain the compromising situation we were in. Sasha didn't ask, either, and he completely ignored me like I didn't even exist. At least, the aching pressure on my chin had receded but it was hell trying to breathe at the sensation of long fingers that closed around my neck, keeping me still.

"We've caught one of them near the village, northeast, just before reaching the river." Sasha shifted, turning sideways before nodding to the former house of my dead neighbor, from where I could hear the curses and yells drifting in the air, the imminence of decay already flooding my nostrils with its fetid scent. My senses deceived my mind for a moment, when a voice long lost invited me to abandon all hope and give in to fear and doubt. And I fought to silence it with all my might. "Boris and Andrei are already taking care of him and it won't be long before he's spilling out everything he knows."

"Was he alone?"

At this, Sasha's gray eyes glinted with what I believed to be sadistic accomplishment, but his face hardly gave any emotion away. "The other one is dead."

"Good," the captain replied without preambles, aloof and casual about the whole matter— a fact that didn't surprise me, at all.

Soon, the pressure around my neck disappeared and his form looming above backed away. His eyes reverted back to their frozen state, and the rage that had blistered in them faded leaving no traces whatsoever. However, Vladimir threw a last glance at me before he walked away with Sasha, towards what I'd dubbed The House of Nightmares. It shouldn't have meant anything to anyone else, but I knew better than to ignore the dark promise his gaze concealed.

That night, the tortuous screams of that poor man were too much to bear without imagining every bit of the agonizing pain he was going through. I didn't know how many long hours I spent curled in a ball on the mattress, body aching and cold, covering my ears, but it felt as an eternity in hell.

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_So, despite what this chapter may indicate, this is not a romance story. It's not a healthy relationship to begin with and I intend to keep it that way. The story will end in a few more chapters so you'll see what I mean. _


	5. Color Me Red

_Another update and we're closer to the end! _

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**Warnings:**

Unbetaed work. English is not my first language. Chapter heavily inspired in Enemy at the Gates and Call of Duty World at War.

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**Part V: **_Color Me Red_

"Choose the wrong moment and your chance will be forever lost. You must be patient, Amina."

Silent. Motionless. I gulped and slowly shifted to my side on the cold ground, as my father pressed himself flat against a dry fallen log to remain unseen. My breathing came out in rapid wisps, turning into mist in the chilly air of winter— heart beating madly inside my rib-cage, whilst I tried to keep a steady aim with the rifle in my grasp. Eyes squinting in concentration, I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. The hot rush of adrenaline was already pumping in my veins, swiftly spreading through every inch of my body as my vision became clearer in the white curtain of snow. I had been lying on the ground for longer than I could remember. The frozen wind had covered my eyebrows and face with snowflakes, and my lips were dry and chapped, but I still lingered— waiting for the chance to catch my prey off guard.

It wasn't customary for a man to teach these skills to his daughter but Shamil had no sons to speak of, given that my brothers had perished when they were still very young. I had tried to be a quick learner of his ways but this surely was a challenge for me, despite it wasn't the first time I went hunting with him.

_I cannot fail_; those words echoed in my head over and over again in an endless mantra that made me determined to fulfill his expectations.

His blue eyes were focused ahead, on the victim that smoothly moved amid the icy landscape of naked trees. It was a wolf that had been lurking around our home for some time, hunting our livestock at night, and Shamil had decided we had to put an end to its life. He thought this would be the chance for me to put my training to the test and I'd been thrilled, as well as apprehensive, when he offered me the beast for the kill.

"One bullet should be more than enough."

I grabbed a handful of snow and carefully put it in my mouth, as he had taught me, to mask my breathing. Its coldness burnt my insides but I held it in, fingers quivering as I fixed my aim. My eyes never left the beast that roamed the wilds— oblivious to my presence, but for how long? I didn't want to disappoint papa; I wanted him to be proud of me, but it was difficult holding the heavy rifle steady and I had to put all of my strength into that single task. Even so, I knew I had to try my best otherwise I would become the hunted instead of the hunter. There would be more livestock to lose and that wasn't something we could afford. Not when mother had just given birth and the family was counting on us.

"Do not tremble. You're in control."

I held my breath when my finger barely grazed the trigger, watching the gray beast step into a clearing and snap its head to my direction with ears perked up. It seemed it had caught our scent as its snout pointed upwards, sniffing the air, and I felt a pull in my chest when it started to growl, slowly padding towards us with cautiousness. I heard father utter something and I strained to listen, but I was overwhelmed by fear and the pressure of this unexpected confrontation. The beast was heading towards me, baring its teeth with eyes full of madness. I nearly lost my concentration when I realized that it was about to tear me to pieces, aware that I wouldn't stand a chance against it, but it was now or never. If only my stiff finger could pull the trigger, then it would all end soon. Still, the muzzle followed the target and I battled to find the right moment so my chance wouldn't be forever lost.

There was no room for mistakes. I could _not_ make any mistakes if I wanted to live.

_"Amina, shoot now!"_

I woke up to the sound of a loud blast, gasping for air as I tried to tell the real world and nightmares apart from one another— though it seemed to make no difference, as of late. The buzz of gunfire echoed painfully inside my head, and I couldn't decide whether it had been real or imagined though, at this point, it didn't matter.

Startled, I scanned my surroundings with wariness only to find I was in the attic alone. Peeping through the small gaps on the wooden floorboards, I discovered the house was vacant and wondered where everybody had gone, before remembering the reason for the absence of my tormentors. I couldn't say I missed them; on the contrary, I was grateful they hadn't showed up this early in the morning to boss me around.

This time, sunrise greeted me with a headache and a sick stomach. Every muscle in my body screamed in complaint when I tried to get on my feet. Still, I knew better than to let it affect me so I ignored my ailments, in spite of how much I wanted to stay in bed until death claimed me and ended my pitiful existence.

My thoughts went back to the man they'd captured near the river. His howls of pain had kept me awake for the most part of the night, and his endless agony almost drove me mad with grief. I tried to muffle his horrid screams with hands on my ears, but it was futile; I couldn't find the peace I desperately longed for, and I even prayed for him to die soon so we wouldn't have to suffer anymore. This lasted for a long time until my sobs were the only thing I could hear, and I passed out from the exhaustion after that. It was better if he was dead, I thought while hugging my knees and listening to the heavy silence that took over the house. It felt so cold and lonely without my family, so empty, that this dwelling didn't feel like it was mine anymore.

Getting to my feet with a groan, I headed downstairs and filled a basin with water. With a dip of my hands, I cupped some of the liquid and splashed it on my face. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the image in the small mirror that hung from the wall, and I stared at the worn out stranger that blankly returned my gaze from the other side. There were dark moons under her eyes that had lost their shine and hope, her skin held an unhealthy pale shade and her face was scrawny. She definitely had lost weight and the lack of sleep had taken its toll on her health, but there wasn't much that I could do about it. She shook her head in reproach, as if she knew my thoughts, and I merely looked away unable to hold her accusing glare any longer.

I began attending the chores of the day and tried not to think too much on the events of yesterday— though it was difficult for me. An uneasiness that I couldn't explain stirred within my soul, and I found myself unable to concentrate. My concern grew to the point I was barely paying any attention to what I was doing, and I nearly chopped off my finger when cutting the meat to cook— a sheep that I unfortunately had to slaughter that morning. The option of going hunting was out of question since I'd be long dead before I even had the chance to use my father's rifle.

My curse mixed with the hiss of water boiling in a large pot, the only sound filling the unsettling silence at that point. A tired sigh followed and my head hung low, as my shoulders slumped in defeat. Just then, the smell of warm milk and recently baked bread reached my nostrils, making my stomach grumble just a bit. Perhaps it was time to take a break and get some nourishment, now that my body seemed willing to receive food. I set the big knife aside to examine my finger for a moment, then washed my hands and took a seat with a mug of milk and some bread.

It was torture to pass the first bite through my throat but, after the second one, things got slightly better and I actually felt the appetite return. For the most part I tried to enjoy my meal but the menacing tread of boots had me panicking before I could even understand why. My legs almost gave out when I met blue and green eyes, and I recoiled in fear when his ghostly appearance floated about the house— his gelid stare briefly connecting with my terrified one. There were spots of red on his face, and my thoughts again went back to the faceless man that had suffered in their hands last night. He was probably dead by now.

Behind him, Sasha came to an abrupt stop when he noticed Vladimir do the same. I couldn't help the spontaneous reaction and I nervously fidgeted with the hem of my cardigan, unsure of what to do or say to the two men. Sasha seemed more confused than curious as to why his superior acted this way and he was the first one to look away, clearing his throat.

"Sir?" Clearly he wanted to get on with whatever business they were intent on executing, and I didn't even want to think about it. Vladimir ignored him; instead, he lifted a gloved hand and beckoned me to him. A spine-chilling shiver ran through my entire being and I fleetingly wondered if he still held a grudge against me after our exchange last evening. I didn't know what else I could do apart from obeying his command, slowly inching closer with eyes cast down. I was half expecting to be slapped; I expected him to humiliate me, denigrate me, and threaten me into not defying him again unless I wanted to taste pain. I was trying to blink away tears of dread at this, if only not to give him the pleasure of seeing me cry even when he was yet to do anything.

"What happened to your finger?" His words sounded tired, irked, slowly flowing through his lips in that slightly nasal voice of his. His question took me by surprise and I believed I might have been hallucinating things. My eyes widened and I tried to babble a vain response, while holding my hand in front of me.

"I cut it by accident, sir." I finally collected myself and stammered an answer in a low whisper that I doubted he could hear, but he surprised me with a chuckle. Even his smile was uncanny, and his penetrating eyes found my trembling form as he towered above me. I still saw the same cruelty he showed that evening in the river, when he found me all alone. There was a somber intention growing in it, lips curving ever so slightly at my attempts to keep a straight expression and calm demeanor.

"Well, then. You should be more careful next time, girl." His voice was unexpectedly soft yet the aura of death clung to his very being. There was no doubt of it when one of his hands stroked my cheek and I felt cold dampness moisten my skin in a fleeting touch. Swiftly, my fingers curiously retraced the path he had drawn and, with horror, I discovered shades of red tainting them. His hands were covered in blood and I felt an imperative need to throw up when this retch of despair ascended from the pit of my stomach in a bitter rush. He was a sick man, pretending to show concern, callously making fun of me. I backed away from him, repulsed and shocked, whilst he eyed me with mockery. "You had to slaughter that poor sheep?" Vladimir continued, his voice sarcastic with a smirk to match. Apparently, he knew what I'd been doing that morning and I shuddered at the notion that he was aware of my every move— my every thought and fear. "I guess it's just a small price to pay to stay alive, isn't it?"

There was nothing to say; he wasn't expecting an answer from me, either way. Vladimir turned around and, without a word, he and Sasha were gone. I was left to my disturbing musings as my hands gripped the table behind, the knuckles of my fingers white from the forceful grip I had unconsciously exerted.

I desperately rushed to wash my face from his macabre touch. My gaze again swept over the stranger in the mirror and, in the abyss of her eyes, I saw the bad omen of tragedies that would break my heart. There was no force that could possibly keep the Black Wolf away, for his claws and maw would rip my flesh in the end. His words had struck me hard and I could only stare at my own reflection, all courage and strength suddenly drained from my already exhausted body. Muffled voices drifted in the air like whispers but I couldn't make out any words with the strenuous mouthfuls of air I barely managed to take in. My hands shook as I tried to forget this sensation of hopelessness that had begun to put down its root in the darkest part of my mind, but it wouldn't go away.

A stain of blood on my face shouldn't have been a big deal but my heart ached, my stomach revolted, as though it were a mark I'd always bear with me no matter what. An invisible open wound that only I would feel and remember when his pale eyes haunted me at night, for I saw the nameless sins its depths concealed even before I could comprehend the severity of his atrocities.

It was no use to keep thinking about it, I decided while grabbing the knife again and resuming my chores to get the meal done. Yet, my fingers strangely itched with a dark desire to slaughter those beasts— the same way I had done to that poor animal so I could subsist. But I knew it was a wish that would never be fulfilled for as long as I lived. So with a heavy heart, I took out my frustration on flesh that remained lifeless, my hands turning redder with every forceful stab.

It was then that I wondered if my price to stay alive had already been settled, and whether it would be too high.


	6. The Wolf's Prey

**Warnings:**

I won't beat around the bushes here. This chapter contains sexual abuse. I believe that, from the very moment I posted this fic, I made that clear so you shouldn't be that surprised. Granted it's not really explicit so you won't read an insanely detailed account of the events because I'm not sure how many of you will feel comfortable with it. But if you're a sensitive person or just wish to avoid such topics, I suggest you don't read this.

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**Part VI: **_The Wolf's Prey_

That evening I prepared a heap of clothes and headed for the river to do the laundry. On my way there, I watched to and fro to see if Vladimir's men were guarding their posts but they were nowhere to be found. It felt as though they had disappeared and I could only guess they were holding some kind of meeting, much to my relief. However, I didn't feel at peace as expected. A mist of bad omen had settled on the village and I had the hunch it wouldn't be long before something terrible happened. Who knew what information the captive possessed? Perhaps, after all, there were some people that supported dissenters and it would mean death for us all.

Small rocks crunched beneath my feet, as I looked for a hidden spot between the bushes that surrounded the bank of the river. The water didn't sparkle on that cloudy day, but the sounds of its chant soothed me into a trance-like state when I lay the pile of clothes and laundry soap on a flat rock. The sun was still high and I believed I would be finished before dusk.

My clothes were still dirty and I felt the need to wash myself, given that I had done quite a deal of work that morning. Doing so at home wasn't a good idea, knowing the consequences that would follow if I were found exposed. It was clear that here I didn't have the comfort of warm water and a nice fire in the chimney but, at least, I would be away from prying eyes and hands. Kicking off my shoes, my toes dipped in the water to check the temperature. It was a bit cold but nothing that I couldn't certainly stand.

Looking around for any intruders, I decided to wait a few more minutes to see if any of them showed up unexpectedly. When nothing happened, I felt comfortable enough to get undressed and discarded my garments to the ground. I plunged a piece of cloth in the water and lathered it up with soap before scrubbing it against my skin; arms first, then the rest of my body. Washing my hair was the tricky part and I had to lean against the edge to soak my head before spreading soap all over my tresses. Once I managed to get the grime off me, I rinsed and made sure to get rid of any remains of froth as quickly as I could to return to the warmth of my clothes.

The snap of a twig made my body go stiff and I looked up alarmed, still crouched and trying to keep my balance with my hands in front of me. My eyes fixed on the movement in one of the nearby shrubs, expectant and about to drop into the river if need be as long as I could escape, when a sudden push fiercely shook the leaves. To my surprise and utter confusion a hare jumped out and ran scared for its life, leaving me to stare after it with mouth agape— trying to make sense of what had just happened. Shaking my head, I smiled for the first time in a while as I crawled to the soft comfort of fabrics against stone. It had almost given me a heart-attack but I was relieved to know that there was nothing to worry about. I even started to laugh while thinking about my stupid overreaction.

_Such a little troublemaker_, I thought a bit amused as I reached for a sheet to dry myself. It was then that a crunch of pebbles caught me off guard, and a hand muffled my scream even before I was aware of the presence behind me. For a moment, I didn't know what was going on; it all had happened so fast my mind had no time to register the events unfolding. It all started to make sense, soon, when I felt a solid body pressed against my back and an erratic breathing close to my ear. But even before I could fight back, an arm covered in flora camouflage wrapped around me and there was little I could do to escape. My only option was kicking my legs and I did that, furiously, head moving back and forth in an effort to remove the big hand that covered my mouth. I even tried to sink my teeth in it but it only resulted in bitten inner cheeks more than inflicting pain to the assaulter.

It definitely had been a bad idea to bathe in the river and there was no need to say that I was regretting my decision. I should have known better than to let my guard down at times like this, when I was vulnerable. I had foolishly thought they wouldn't find me here, even after I'd made sure to put distance between me and the village just to be alone. I knew this time I wasn't going to be spared and my heart sunk at the voice that whispered in my ear.

"I told you not to get in trouble, girl. I told you I did not want to catch you doing things you shouldn't be doing, didn't I?" The smirk in his voice was unmistakable and I whimpered, becoming stiff in the arms of my captor. That voice was the one that chilled me to the bone and I couldn't even begin to process the compromising situation I was in as he spoke softly, menacing yet calm, almost with a hint of amusement. "Did you think I wouldn't notice that you were gone, _zaika_? What am I to do with you?"

His nose buried in the crook of my neck and I squirmed in his grasp, desperate to break free once more. He wouldn't let me, and I shook my head trying not to cry even though I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs.

"Please, no," I sobbed, knowing that such a daring rejection could very well cost my life. "Please, no. No!" It was the only thing I could say, the only words I seemed to have committed to memory.

"_Shh_." Vladimir's response elicited a pitiful cry from me when he grabbed my chin and made me look at him. My sight had blurred with tears by then, but I could distinguish the smirk that never left his lips and the sadistic glint his eyes always bore. It was most disheartening, and I began to understand there was no escape. "A pretty girl like yourself wouldn't live to tell the tale if my boys had their way with you."

My eyes widened in horror at the unwanted images that my mind conjured, stomach roiling at every detailed frame that it created with the very much alive recollection of mother crying in silence as she was— no, I didn't want to think of it. I wanted to erase those awful memories forever. I just wanted my old life back.

_Why? _No time to question this unfairness for he had already pushed me to the ground and I fell on my knees, barely missing the rough surface of rocks that could have scraped my skin. I quickly sat up, trying to cover my nudity with a sheet but there was no time to recover— when I tried to crawl away from him, he was already settling between my legs. No time to fight, for he had already reduced my defenses to shreds and I felt the cold air bite my skin that was exposed to his hungry eyes. His breathing wavered and his eyes blistered as he slipped a hand behind my neck and grasped a fistful of hair, making me arch in an attempt to lessen the pain of his vicious grip.

My scream was muffled by his lips as he pressed against me, his coarse stubble scrapping my face. He wasn't gentle; he was possessive, as though I was something he owned and could do with me as he pleased. My eyes darted back and forth and I couldn't breathe, too overwhelmed by this violation of my dignity. It wasn't the anticipation of a romantic utopia, but the fear coursing through me which had me paralyzed. I couldn't even fight back, jaw trembling as my arms remained painfully stiff against the hard ground.

I believed it, deep inside my terrified heart; he was going to eat me alive.

"Don't do it. I beg you!" I strained to speak in my shocked state of mind, eyes wide as tears kept pouring and pouring without end, but he wasn't moved by my grief. His pale eyes narrowed and he smiled that cruel smile I had grown to fear.

A wave of indescribable horror made me act on pure instinct in an attempt to save myself and my hands flew to his face, hitting and scratching. My screams fell on deaf ears, however, and I could only deliver futile blows that did nothing but amuse him with my pathetic efforts to stop him. His hands caught my wrists before I could even do any damage and I was restrained again, then rolled onto my stomach as I wailed the misery of my defeat— knowing what my fate would be at the hands of this madman.

I was desperate to break free, and my nails scratched the stone as I crawled away, but I was no match for his strength that left me unable to resist. He pushed me back to the ground and I was thankful the fabrics managed to soften the impact, if only a little bit, for it almost knocked the wind out of me when I felt his much heavier body crushing me. At such a close proximity, I was very aware of the obscene effect I had on him but the more I fought the more I realized I had no chance of winning this battle and my body was no longer my own. In the end, I was reduced to a sobbing mess with no hope of getting out of this beast's claws and it sickened me when his maw grazed the skin on my nape.

It wasn't long before his hands were all over me, and that was only the beginning of this dreaded torment that I had feared for so long. This couldn't be happening. He had not right to do this. It was a cruel punishment the one I'd endure, but he didn't care if he hurt me. After all, I was just a plaything for him and it was clear that he would get what he wanted— whether I consented or not. It was a vile mind game the one he was playing with me and he was enjoying every moment of my misery.

Until then, I had hoped that the first time I gave myself to a man we would be married, and it would be out of love. I realized how wrong I'd been when his hands explored places not meant for anyone other than my husband, and I was unable to find the courage to resist again. I wasn't strong enough or brave enough. Maybe I deserved this, after all. Maybe it was all my fault...

There would be no marriage. There would be no family to look after. No man would take me as his wife after this. No man would want me defiled, tainted and used. I would be a harlot in their eyes— a whore that had brought disgrace upon herself because she had tempted and led men astray. How quick they were to judge and condemn but my voice was not to be heard. My words had no value and so they saw me as an object that could be used to satiate their mindless lust. But this wasn't what I wanted; he wasn't the one I wanted. I only wished to die when I was exposed in the most humiliating way possible, and I buried my wet face in my hands. The only solace I had was that, at least, I wouldn't have to look at his face.

My breathing hitched in the back of my throat for a moment. He was close, too close, and I recoiled in a last attempt to delay the inevitable. It was all in vain; his hands only had to grip my hips and pain was all I knew— a profound pain that not only ripped my flesh but also my soul and innocent dreams. It was an invasion of my most treasured feelings, those I had kept with me to create a light of hope, strangling my voice forever with a shattered scream. It was an invasion to my mind, to my heart— one that ached and longed for past days. Days that would never return; days that were gone, far gone in the horizon of betrayal— one I saw in my mother's eyes the night she parted from me in tears. And my treacherous mind wondered for a moment, as I felt the excruciating wave of burning agony increase, if her hopeless apology had meant something else before she turned her back on me. Before she left me with this devil that feasted on me, the prey he had chased after for days until he finally got the chance to trap her in a pit of despair and confusion.

He wasn't gentle and there was no mercy for me in such a denigrating act that caused vile pleasure for him— which he made sure to let me hear, much to my mortification. At that point, I had no more strength to fight; my will to keep doing so had waned, as I was robbed from the dreams I had believed someday would come true. He took them away and in their place left a cold void that was filled with sorrow and loss. The little girl in me had died and, when all was said and done, she was left behind naked and cold, broken and used. No more would the sky have the same shade of blue; no more would the birds sing their song of bliss. No more would the illusion of love mean the same, and no more would I feel I had the right to be free— free of the chains that now bound me to him in my nightmares.

Desperate to retain some warmth, I lay on my side and brought my knees to my chest but the only thing I felt was a chilly shiver that made me sob with a cracked voice. It was torture trying to move even the slightest inch and I was disgusted by the thick trail of wetness that oozed from between my legs. I wanted to cry but the only sounds that left my sore throat were painful retches that soon had me in a fit of cough. Dirty. Broken. Abused. I felt repugnant with his seed inside of me— with my skin having felt his sickening touch. Nausea. Pain. Dizziness. Breathlessness. How much of this nightmare could I endure before I lost my mind? I wept and lay motionless on the ground, watching the sky above and the birds that flew free once more.

"Get up." His hand seized my forearm and I shook my head in refusal, crying out in horror. I didn't want to go through this anymore. I wanted him to stop, to let me sulk in my filthy misery while fearing the prospect of undesired offspring.

My pleas were cut off by his curt commands as he practically dragged me around, and I tried to keep up with his brute manhandling. Before I could even comprehend what was going on, I felt my body being enveloped by a freezing dampness that made me screech in pain. He had thrown me into a shallow part of the riverside and, again, I was soaked to the bone, hysterically shaking like a leaf as I whimpered and tried to get out of the water. I didn't know if it was its chilliness or the sight of him holding a firearm which nearly made me spill my guts but I dared not move anymore, enduring the painful spams of my body as it sought warmth that it never found.

"Clean yourself," Vladimir uttered those two words with something akin to disdain. I trembled, breathing erratically and all I could do was stare at him, not clearly understanding what he wanted. His mismatched eyes bore into mine and I jumped out of my skin when he began to move towards my direction, settling down once I realized he had taken a seat on a rock. Still, he was the one with the gun and I knew better than to test him. "My patience is wearing thin, girl, and I don't have all day." A cigarette was on his lips, hands toying with a metallic lighter that soon ignited the tobacco he smoked at his leisure as he watched me intently.

Cautiously, I turned around so I wouldn't have to look at him but he would have none of it. Apparently, the sick bastard wanted to watch me get rid of the evidence of his depraved deeds and all hopes that this hell would be over soon were gone as I sat down with difficulty on a stone, a few meters away from him, and washed under his inspecting gaze. My fingers grazed the bruises he left on me and I had to bite my tongue when I saw the water adopt a reddish shade with my blood. He didn't touch me, didn't make any snide remark after that— he merely told me to get dressed when I was done.

"Don't exert yourself too much, _dorogaya_." He was mocking me again and I never met his gaze, too disturbed and disgusted to see the gruesome pleasure he derived from other people's humiliation. My fists clenched and so did my teeth but, by the time I built the courage to meet the inferno that promised anguish for me, he was already gone— gone to steal what little hope could have served to build a new dream, for he wasn't done. The Black Wolf's hunger could never be sated. His lust for blood and power would only increase in time.

And it would devour many lives.


	7. Part VII

Back with another chapter, finally! I've been so busy with other projects that I couldn't go back to edit this story orz sorry about that. Next one should be the last update, and I'll mark this fic as complete yay!

Sorry for the adult themes but when it comes to Makarov... I can't really sugar coat anything. There's a reason why he was at the top of the list presented by the EU investigation panel, when the UN began looking into human's rights violations after the war, and he had to opt for discharge.

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**Laura627: **Aww you logged in just to tell me that? You're really sweet I agree there is a lack of Vladimir fanfiction and... some of the stuff I read wasn't to my liking. Not to say people are bad authors, of course. They can have different opinions just like I have mine, but I'm glad you believe I'm on the right path concerning his characterization! Thank you for all the support. You're amazing ;D

**Guest: **Thank you! I'm glad you agree on my portrayal of Vladimir c:

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**Warnings:**

Adult themes. Violence. Death. Sexual abuse. Coarse language. Gore. Unbetaed work. English is not my first language. Read at your own risk and don't tell me I didn't warn you.

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**Part VII**

I wished I had died that day, but death never came.

As I attempted to wash the garment in my hands, I stifled the sobs that threatened to break me down again. My gaze fixed on the menial task at hand, I refused to try and find beauty in the world once more. Beauty meant nothing to me, then; all things fair and compassionate ceased to exist the very moment my dreams were torn to shreds without any mercy. I could feel them— the claws of that beast were still tearing me apart. His lips still hurt, poisoned me, and the echo of his voice in my head made my hairs stand on end with blood-chilling words.

When coldness grew too much to bear, and darkness sat eerily on my shoulders, I realized the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. I had remained here for so long, yet my grief couldn't be washed away by the waters and the ache in my body and soul lingered... a constant reminder of what had transpired hours ago. As soon as he had left I cried my eyes out, lamenting my loss, but I knew it was futile mourning for there was no way I could change anything.

It didn't mean I had to accept it. I felt dirty, used, wounded, guilty, angry, helpless, punished for whatever offense I had committed. I felt abandoned, forsook by those I loved, trying to fathom why it had to be this way. I asked the heavens why but no one answered me. No angels comforted me and I wondered if, by any chance, they were lost— if they too were scared and fled.

Though I had to return to the village, I dreaded what would happen when I did. I knew he would be waiting, knew that I would have to face my nightmares sooner or later. And the prospect was terrifying, bitter and full of regrets. My stomach churned, feeling the inevitable wave of nausea hit me brutally and I hurried to spew out, achieving a relative sense of relief even when a sour taste took over my mouth. It was short-lived, however, before I collapsed on the ground and curled in a ball, desirous to let the wild beasts devour my flesh so I could stop breathing— stop existing.

There was a time when I closed my eyes and dreamed of a better tomorrow. A time when I could pretend that everything was going to be alright. Now every second was a constant struggle of agony, and it felt as though I was going to breathe my last at any moment. It would have been the best thing that could have happened, in my current situation, but even God seemed to have forgotten about me.

I wished I could have seen my family for a last time.

At the lone remembrance of them, I sensed a rush of air forcing its way through my throat, nearly choking me. With panic, I sat up on the ground, wincing when my muscles screamed in protest. It had been all too soon, all too hustled, and it took me a moment to recover before I had the strength to get on my feet, gathering the pile of clothes that were never washed and the lone garment that still was soaked atop of a rock. Rinsing my mouth, I realized how thirsty I was but decided not to risk it with the unclean water that seemed to murmur a song of comfort for me.

As much as I feared to face Vladimir, I knew I couldn't stay in the woods forever. I had to return home sooner or later. It was my place in the world, after all, and even if monsters now lurked in the shadows I also knew that, one day, they would be gone. All bad things came to an end, in the long run, and I had to have hope even in the darkest of moments— hope that things would change and that I would still have the strength to endure, for the sake of those I loved. I had to live one more day; there was no way I could give up now that I had made it this far. What would my father think? What would he say if I surrendered now, unwilling to fight? This wasn't the day to die. This wasn't the day to relinquish.

There was always a time when silent suffering turned into strength and valor, building fortitude, preparing the path and shaping the fate of everyone. But where was mine? I couldn't even look into the eyes of evil without feeling horrified. I wasn't a hero, like the ones in the tales father used to tell me. I was only a girl challenging a force greater than mine and there was nothing more depressing, and gloomy, than the fact of facing all of this alone.

I wanted to make father proud, but would he understand? Would he be as sympathetic when he found out what I had been through? I wasn't so sure about it; I could almost see the disappointment and wrath in his eyes. After all, I was a woman— the creature that made men lose their minds. He would tell me that it was my fault, reproached that I betrayed him and soiled his honor. He would tell me that I was to blame for leaving home alone and exposing myself in such an indecorous way— parading my nude body without shame.

I didn't want to think about the punishment that would follow. Better to keep silent about this, but for how long would I be able to? If someday I were to marry, then the truth of my supposedly fornication would surface when my husband found out I was no longer pure— that I had known another man before him.

Was he even alive? I had thought father to be dead. Maybe he was, with Grozny having been attacked many times, and it was only mother, Zamira and I that remained. Nuura wouldn't have to endure his disgust and contempt, either, if he was gone. She would understand my affliction because she had gone through the same hell like me.

The lone idea was nauseating but, in my shaken up state, I was desperate for some solace. As I roamed the dark and terrifying forestry, I felt the ache in my limbs return, accompanied by the unbearable burning in my crotch that was the reminder of what that beast had done to me. My insides cramped, as though I was about to have my menses now of all times, and my knees wobbled unable to keep up. Even as I struggled to take one more step, I staggered with the bunch of unwashed clothes in my hands and several times almost lost my footing. I still managed to hold up, and slowly walked back to the village, night falling by the time I was half-way.

I really didn't want to return but I had no other choice. I had to face him and show him that, no matter what he did to me, he wouldn't break me. Or, at least, that was what I tried to believe. In reality I was scared out of my mind... so much that, if I encountered a predator on my way, I would have happily ran to it so it could hunt me down. Nothing could be more painful than what Vladimir had done, and I doubted I would ever forget this day. But the beasts of the night had wandered away, for there was only silence— one that preceded tragedy— and my heart tightened with pain when the whisper of the wind carried the scent of death.

It was then that I heard it; the thunder of vicious metal, and the screams of suffering and terror that made my blood run cold. At that moment, I realized what the dark promise in his eyes had meant when he left me behind. I knew I should have turned around and ran away, but I couldn't bring myself to stop and think clearly of this situation. It was as if I needed to see that my world was falling apart to understand that there was no hope.

Deep down, I knew the truth but I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to believe that my home, the cradle of my life and all I knew, was being destroyed. As bright embers ascended to the dark skies, I watched the gruesome scene unfold before my eyes. Bodies were lying all across the ground, eyes wide and mouths open in a perpetual but silent scream. Some seemed to be asleep and others wore a vacant expression of acceptance, as though they had been waiting for this day to come all along. For them, hell was over but to the poor souls that were trapped in the confusion, trying to escape the demons that tormented them, fate was still so unkind.

In the distance, I saw my house ablaze and my whole body quivered in unspoken horror, as I slowly shook my head in futile denial. How had it come down to this?

No one tried to help me, but I couldn't blame them for wanting to save themselves from this inferno. I knew I should have done the same, too, but I was too stunned to react as I watched the flames engulf my home. It wasn't until I had tripped and painfully landed on my side that I was brought back to my senses, restraining the urge to cry out at the sight I encountered. Before me lay a dead woman in a pool of blood, and her child— her poor baby— had shared the same fate as her. It was so sickening and sad that I couldn't help but feel a chilly shiver in my body, shrieking while trying to get on my feet as fast as possible.

Every second was a fight to stay alive. Amid shadows and corpses I hid, terrified someone might spot me. Throughout my path, I had caught sight of several soldiers— weapons in arms, as they paced around the village murdering any survivors they could find without any remorse.

_"There!"_

My hand instantly shot to my mouth to muffle a cry and I hurried in the direction of the House of Nightmares, not even stopping to think about the doom that could be waiting for me in there.

_"Inside the barn!"_

My time had come, I could feel it. I only hoped it would be swift and that there would be no pain. No more, please. I didn't think I could take any more of it. There was no way someone could stand that much torture, I pondered as I ventured into the dark building. Once inside, the reek of blood and other revolting bodily fluids assaulted my nostrils. I gagged in revulsion but, for my own good, kept quiet and prayed they would forget about me. With a shudder and a stifled sob, I remembered the man whose screams still echoed in my mind and wrenched my heart. He was probably in a much better place than the world I lived in.

The sound of heavy footsteps coming my way startled me. Death had been so close for the past days that I wasn't optimistic on getting away from her this time. But something in me didn't want to give up so easily— or maybe I still had hopes of seeing my family again. Whatever my motivation was, I knew I wanted to live then.

"I know you're here." I recognized that gruff voice and could imagine the nasty smirk on the lips of the scarred man. "Why don't you make things easier for us and come out?"

As I made myself as small as possible among the crates of hay behind the wooden stairs, I desperately tried to hold my breath and tears. There was no escape this time. I had stepped into a deadly trap and there was no way out. I was going to die, that night, in the most horrid and gruesome way possible at the hands of a sadistic killer.

"So this is how you want to play?" Every word he spilled was an implied threat and I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst. Sooner or later, he would find me. I didn't want to think of the things he would do to me once he did. "You can't hide for much longer."

My nose scrunched at the smell of burnt hay and I gasped in alarm, watching the enraged flames spread swiftly on the barn. As the fire began to consume everything in its path, I realized I was between a rock and hard place, debating whether I should remain in hiding or attempt a risky dash to the gates. Would I dare? Was I crazy enough to run to a certain death? It couldn't be any worse outside. At least, I would have the mercy of a quick execution instead of the excruciating agony of being burned alive.

Or that was what I thought.

At this point, I was ready for everything but nothing could have prepared me for the horrific sight that was revealed by the flames. The shadows flickering ominously on the face of murder itself had me frozen in place, and I shook at the fright of a ghost that had been haunting me for months on end. Had I finally lost it? I closed my eyes again, hoping to get rid of the awful apparition I had feared for so long, but it didn't go away. It never did. My jaw quivered with inexplicable emotions, all of them clutching my heart in a vicious grip. It was so otherworldly, so uncanny, that madness clawed at the walls of my mind and I couldn't breathe.

Was it the lack of eyes, the blood? Or perhaps it was the broken bones and pulled out teeth? Maybe it was the chopped off fingers or the skinned flesh? It could have been that and many other things but, as my eyes widened in horror and a scream tore from my throat, I realized I vaguely recognized that face.

Why was my life falling apart piece by piece? Tears rolled down my cheeks as I regarded the wretched and broken body of my father, resting on a solitary chair. Never in a million years did I imagine I would see him like this. Part of me couldn't give credit to what I was witnessing, and I shook my head in denial while I sobbed in desolate despair. I had always had the hunch he could have passed away, but I didn't expect it to be this way. How blind or deaf had I been all this time? I'd been so close, listening to his agony, as I sulked in my own misery, feeling sorry for myself and wishing he was dead. How despicable could I be?

"What do we have here?" At some point, I was looking in the eyes of none other than Boris, his brute and big hand seizing me by the hair. "Thought you could hide from me, little mouse?"

I was dragged outside, like a ragdoll, unable to match the callous strength of the animal that was manhandling me. Did I care at this point? Probably not, in my disturbed state of mind. Everything felt so far away that it seemed as though this wasn't happening to me but to someone else, and I was merely an observer of this nauseating feast of carnage and depravity.

The wretched cries of a girl paralyzed me. When they threw her to the ground, I saw the faces of scorn and lust of the men that had gathered around her. I wanted to stop them, but the world had become so alienating, so strange to me in the wake of this dark revelation of the worst side of human nature, that I could barely understand how I was witnessing such a crude and desolate scene. I watched as her blouse was torn to pieces, and hands defiled her body, but I stood in place unable to move— scared to do so.

Boris' pale eyes flickered in the portentous light of hellish flames, as he kneaded her without shame in front of his comrades. This earned him some wolf whistles and coarse comments when her dirty skirt was hiked up and her underwear shredded, revealing her already abused crotch.

"No more of a little girl, are you?" he jeered as he raised two fingers coated in red, before cackling in laughter. "Would you look at that? It seems like our dear captain has been having fun with this one! He'd called dibs on her after he found me trying to get some, but I was beginning to doubt he had any intentions of making her his little bitch."

"He sure enjoys taking his time."

"You know how he is. He loves waging some kind of psychological war with his victims. Pretty weird hobby, if you ask me. I would have just put a bullet in the heads of these rats and be done with it, but it wasn't enough for him."

"Whatever, I don't think he'll mind that I have a go at her now. Been keeping my eyes on this one since we got here."

"Isn't she the daughter of that son of a bitch we caught the other day, though?"

"I'll slit her throat after I'm done."

"Like hell you're doing that, Borya."

"Why do you give a shit all of a sudden? There are plenty of whores here to choose from."

"I just so happen to want that one, too. And I don't like the idea of fucking a bloodied corpse so don't spoil the fun for others, okay?"

"If that's the case, then I'll try not to hurt her... Too much." His snide remark was followed by scoffs and crude words. I felt the repulsion and fear grow in the pit of my stomach as memories flashed in my mind... nightmares that chased after me— the face of a demon I couldn't remember. I didn't want to remember and yet it was all I could see!

Peace was nothing but the vision of a distant past to me.

I dropped to my knees and clawed at the ground, howling and begging for mercy as I watched Boris undo his pants and part her legs wider. No one listened to my pleas, and no one would. She didn't react, either, and even though she was still breathing it felt like she was dead on the inside— there was no will in her to live and no strength to fight.

The thunder of gunfire, and screams in the background, mixed with the eerie laughter of those around us but she remained unfazed, irises carrying an empty gaze. I had seen her before, but her name eluded me and I struggled to recall who she was. However, I did know that she'd been happy like I was once, that she'd bloomed with life and dreams. Where was the shine in her eyes? Where was the smile she once bore? How could she be the same after all the horrors she'd seen and lived?

She simply could not when hatred was all there was left for her, and it had put down its roots in her soul.

But something changed in her. I knew she wanted Boris dead, then,— all of them— and I was aware of what she intended to do, to what extent her madness and her rage had taken over all reason and erased all humanity. I couldn't judge her for that; they didn't deserve mercy or pity, but I ached at the sight of this once innocent soul who now craved for blood and retribution. In her endeavors to destroy these monsters, she would become one herself. I didn't want to see the end of this, but the look in her eyes froze me to the core as I realized that she had nothing to lose and, therefore, fear couldn't stop her anymore.

Suddenly her hands started to move to his shoulders, massaging them. He hovered above her, unable to hold back a chuckle when her fingers traced a path south, and she writhed beneath him as though she wanted him closer. Of course, he would believe that she desired him when she looked so inviting.

"It seems that this harlot enjoyed spreading her legs for Vladimir because she's eager for more. Better give her what she wants, no?" Boris said with smugness, earning more amused reactions from the others. The drone of their malicious laughter made my head spin with pain, but I endured as I didn't dare look away.

Boris buried his face in the crook of her neck and, soon enough, let his guard down seeing that she had surrendered her body to him without a word— without putting up any resistance to his sickening advances. He could almost taste the pleasure when her mouth opened in apparent anticipation, her eyes rolling back as she nuzzled his cheek lovingly. I didn't understand what was going on, why did she decide to yield to him. But when I heard his howl of pain it all started to make sense, as he desperately tried to get away from her and she clung to him as if her life depended on it.

When she finally let go, Boris clutched the side of his head as a look of pain and fear crossed his rough features. I never expected to see him in this state, whimpering like a frightened little child, but I couldn't deny part of me derived satisfaction from his distress. A dark liquid began to ooze through his thick fingers and, when he looked at his stained hand, I noticed that a chunk of his ear was missing.

Her mouth and jaw were stained in blood and she spat the piece of flesh from her mouth. Everyone was too stunned to even react, including myself, and we watched the macabre scene unfold in a daze. The predator became the prey this time as she snatched the knife attached on the front of his vest and sunk it in his throat, pouncing on him with a savage cry. It was a most grotesque image to behold as she took out the blade and stabbed at his flesh, again and again.

Until he stopped struggling, at long last.


End file.
