He would have torn his eyes out to avoid seeing that hideous face above him. He'd rip his skin off so he wouldn't feel that disgusting, greasy touch on his body. He would gladly throw away his heart so he wouldn't feel all that pain.

Kakavasha gasps as he feels someone else's vile hands clutching his throat and tears involuntarily roll down his cheeks. His Master loves this sort of thing: to finally corner him in a moment of filth and despair, making him feel even more helpless and worthless.

Is being a cheap puppet in the hands of a disgusting creature your blessing, Fenge Biyos?

Kakavasha coughs painfully as the grip on his throat suddenly loosens. He doesn't notice it right away: the one who a few seconds ago was breaking his soul and body again with a disgusted grin lets out a surprised wheeze, and then falls to the floor, dead. The gaping wound in his throat makes it all feel so good.

Kakavasha, still naked, presses himself into the headboard, staring at the unknown figure at the door. A killer? An assassin? Oh, hell, had death taken pity on him, dragging first his tormentor into hell and now reaching out to him?

Who was this angel of death?