𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Yandere! Isekai! Knight

Word Count: 997 words

The dungeon was a living thing, breathing in tandem with the damp air and the rot that festered in its corners. Water dripped from unseen cracks in the ceiling, each droplet marking time’s cruel, endless march. The darkness was thick—a suffocating void where shadows twisted, forming grotesque shapes in your periphery. But none of it compared to the terror clawing at your chest when the sound of his boots began to echo against the stone.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

His approach was slow, deliberate—a predator playing with its prey, savoring each step as he closed the distance. You’d learned to read him through that sound alone: the way his mood colored the rhythm, faster when he was angry, slower when something darker churned beneath the surface. Tonight, the steps were unhurried, the pauses between them drawn-out, and that sent a cold dread unfurling in your stomach.

The iron door screamed in protest as it opened, and there he stood. Torchlight crawled over him, casting jagged shadows that exaggerated his already menacing form. The dark plate armor that encased him gleamed faintly, stained in streaks of dried crimson. Blood—fresh enough to reek. His gloved hands were dark and wet with whatever life he’d extinguished before coming here. The sight alone turned your insides to ice.

“Still so quiet, little mouse,” he drawled, his voice a slow, syrupy taunt. It curled around you like smoke, inescapable. “No cries? No scurrying? Have you finally learned your place?”

“Little mouse.” The moniker stung. He’d given it to you after the hunt—days spent running, hiding, clawing for freedom through unfamiliar woods, only for him to find you anyway. Then, he’d spoken it with amused frustration, as though you were nothing but a challenge to be conquered. Now, it dripped with something worse: affection.

You didn’t respond. You kept your head down, gaze fixed on the cracked stone floor beneath you, your body stiff, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Defiance was dangerous, but submission was worse. Silence had become your only shield.

He sighed, low and almost theatrical, and crossed the room with that same measured ease. The heavy cloak trailing behind him dragged across the filthy floor, but it was the sound of him kneeling that made your pulse spike. A gauntlet found your chin, cold and unrelenting as it tilted your face upward.

“Look at me.”

You kept your eyes down, fixed on his chest plate instead. That earned you a smile—a slow, humorless thing that did nothing to soften his sharp features.

The wall cracked beside you as his other hand slammed into it, the force reverberating through your body. Your breath hitched, but still, you refused to meet his eyes.

“I said,” his voice dropped lower, rough with warning, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, you obeyed, dragging your gaze upward until it met his. His eyes glowed in the dim torchlight, a shade of smoldering amber that seemed to see straight through you. A faint scar bisected his jaw, catching the light, only serving to amplify the cold menace etched into his expression. The smile that followed was almost tender, and that frightened you more than anything else.

“There you are,” he murmured, as though he’d just found something precious. His fingers trailed down your cheek, leaving a chill in their wake. “Why must you make this so difficult? I’ve been so gentle with you.”

Gentle. The word curled in your stomach like spoiled food. You’d seen his version of ‘gentle’—chains that bit into your skin, meals drugged just enough to rob you of strength, whispers that dismantled your resolve piece by piece. There was nothing kind about his hands, and you despised that you’d begun to flinch when they moved.

“I brought you a gift,” he said suddenly, as if announcing a grand surprise. Reaching behind him, he pulled something wrapped in cloth and unfurled it at your feet. The bundle hit the ground with a sickening thud, its contents rolling free: a severed hand, pale and twitching, fingers curled in death’s final spasm.

You recoiled, bile rising as the smell hit you.

“He was skulking near the wall,” he explained, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “A rat with foolish ideas of taking what’s mine.” His eyes locked onto yours, unblinking. “You see, little mouse? This is what happens to those who try. I won’t allow anyone to steal you from me. Ever.”

The word was soft—almost tender—but its weight crushed you. You didn’t speak, couldn’t, but he noticed the way your lips trembled. His smile faltered, his grip returning to your face with enough force to make you wince.

“Say thank you,” he ordered, his voice still quiet, but far sharper now. “For keeping you safe.”

It was a choice between words and consequences—one you’d faced too many times. Shaking, you forced the words out, a broken whisper.

“T-thank you.”

Satisfaction bled into his features, and his grip loosened, though it left behind the sting of bruises. “Good girl,” he said, voice velvety with approval. “You see how much I care for you? No one else can keep you safe. Not like I can.”

The hand lay beside you, still and silent now, the fingers splayed like some obscene offering. Your eyes flicked back to him, unable to hide the fear he drank in so greedily.

“Remember that, little mouse,” he whispered, leaning closer until his breath skimmed your ear. “No matter how far you run, no matter how hard you fight, you’ll always belong to me.”

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut, its echo sealing you back into the dark. You sat motionless, heart hammering as the silence crept back in. The severed hand lay inches away, a macabre reminder of his promise—one that choked the last flickers of hope out of you.

Because he was right.

Where could you possibly go?

Forever.