Disclaimer: Champions isn't mine.

Note from the Shadows: ...Don't kill me for this one. The identity of the man is never revealed, and the girl, only in the very end. And I swear, I know, some of you will want to kill me when she's revealed. If you're disturbed by violence and verbal abuse... Don't read this. Just don't. You really don't want too. The verbal abuse isn't as bad as it could be, I admit, but... This is not a nice story. This one shot was inspired by a story I read a long time ago. I can't remember the name, or what it was about, but one line stuck out- "Sometimes, to repair someone, you must break them completely."

[Breaking]

He knew her process of waking up. He knew it intimately, down to how that very first breath of wakefulness was always jerky, and shaking. Knew how she yawned, parting those perfect lips into a small 'o'. Any moment now, she would start to stretch. Her eyes would fly open, terror clear in those perfect orbs as she realized her hands were cuffed.

There! The clink of metal against metal. She was already working the chins back and forth behind the metal loop, he could hear it. That was his cue to go out into the main room. It was dark, just enough light for him to see her face, eyes wide with terror. He could see her relax as she saw him, whispering his name in relief, asking him to hurry up and uncuff her, before her captors returned. He sighed; she didn't get it.

He walked over, caressing her cheek as he had done many a time before, leaning in to kiss her gently. This was for her own good, he told himself. She would thank him, someday. "I'm not here to save you, love..." he said in that soft, seductive voice of his. Confusion dawned in her eyes. He sighed, gently stroking her cheek. "Did you truly think anyone could love you? That anyone would want someone so damaged, so worthless?" He forced a hint of scorn into his voice, though his heart clenched painfully at his lies. Her eyes widened in shock, watering, and she whispered that he didn't mean that. He sighed softly, removing the candle from the holder above the table she was chained to. Her eyes followed the flame as he leaned forward, whispering into her ears, "No, love. I'm not."

He held the candle over her, the hot wax dripping onto her unprotected stomach, a shrill cry being torn from her throat as the wax splashed and burned her skin. His heart clenched, yet he remained firm. It was for her own good, he told himself. "It hurts, doesn't it? Knowing that no one will ever love you. No one will ever care about you. You'll always be just another face in the crowd, another freak." His mouth twisted into a hateful sneer, as her breath came in choked gasps. She pleaded for him to stop, but he only shook his head, moving the candle up. The wax dripped across her chest, and up her neck. Now, into that soft hair. Onto her face, a scream ripping itself from her throat, a sound of vocalised agony as the burning wax dripped across her cheeks, on her ears, on her forehead. He held the candle off to the side as he leaned in and gently kissed her lips, tears running down her pale cheeks.

The candle was set in the holder again, as he reached to the side, picking up a small, thin, knife. A terrified whimper forced it's way from her throat as he smiled sadistically. He placed the knife on her cheek, pressing in, and cut into her pale flesh. Still liquid wax ran into the wound, drawing a shrill scream from her throat as he carved, his entire being focused on his work. The burning vine pattern he had begun continued onto her other cheek, along her forehead, and down her nose. Perfect. He lifted the knife away from her, looking at the tears that streamed down her face, mingling with blood and wax. Impulsively, he leaned in, kissing her lips before beginning his work on the rest of her.

Only her stomach, throat, and womanhood were spared his didn't, after all, want her dead. "It hurts love, doesn't it?" He asked, sneering. "How could you be so stupid, so foolish? After all you have lived through, how could you still believe a worthless little bitch like you could ever mean anything, to anyone?" No! No, no no! His heart railed against his words, but he forced it aside, forced himself to be cruel He was helping her, he told himself. She must break, before she could heal. Soft sobs wrenched their way from her throat. She was too exhausted now, to scream. In the first hours, she had, but her voice was gone now. And still, he wasn't done.

He unhooked the metal ring that bound her to the table, but left the cuffs, lifting her bridal style. To her credit, she tried to fight, but she was weak from blood loss. Still, his heart, in the corner he had shoved it too, glowed with pride. Carrying her to a different corner of the room, he hooked the chain of her cuffs to a metal loop on a pole, high enough up that her arms were outstretched over her head and she was forced to stand on her tip-toes. He then took a whip off the wall, and before she had a chance to brace herself, brought it down harshly across her back.

Her cry of pain echoed through his ears, tearing at his heart as he pictured her face now. Blood running down it, eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth would be half open as soft cries would force their way out of her throat. Tears would be running down her cheeks, mingling with blood as he brought the whip down again and again on her back, until her black was bloody. He started with slow strokes, across her shoulders. Then, as he built up speed, he worked his way down her back, careful not to cross the raw lines. Once he had covered her back, he worked his way across it, crossing as many lines as he could. Her repeated this pattern for hours, until her back was a bloody cross work of lines. She had long since lost the voice to even cry out, or the strength to remain standing, resting her weight on the pole and sobbing silently. And still, he was not done.

Once again he unhooked her, and lifted her with the gentleness he would treat spun glass, leaning in to kiss those lips of hers, heart clenching at the betrayed look she gave him. He stroked her cheek gently as he laid her back on the table. He left the room for a moment, heart railing against him once more as he grabbed a cinder block, and returned. He set the block on the ground next to the table, and grabbed a pair of cuffs, which he attached to her feet. It wouldn't do for her to squirm and make him hit something vital, by accident. Once she was secured, he lifted the block again, looking down at her. "You're worthless. You're less then trash. I don't know how you fooled yourself into believing we cared." A soft sob wrenched it's way from her throat, but he was past caring now. All that was left was the beast, his heart thrown aside as he lifted the cinder block- and dropped it on her legs. A sickening crack rang through the room as a pained moan slipped past her lips, and he lifted it again, dropping it on the other leg. This time, there was a crunch. Twice more he lifted it, and twice more he dropped it on her legs. When he finished, both legs were broken in both places. He looked down at her coldly, all the love gone from his eyes as he lifted the block one last time- and dropped it on her knees. Somewhere, she found the voice to scream, a shrill, loud, agonized wail that echoed through the halls of the old building.

The cinder block was set to the side as he moved up to her arms. Her chest heaved with sobs, but he cared not. There was nothing left in him to care with, after all. He had no humanity left. Nothing. He gripped her elbow in one hand, her wrist in another, and started to bend back, until he hear the sickening crunch of bones breaking. Moving to her other side, he repeated the process, then stepped back to look down at her.

Her face was a mass of carved vines and bruns from wax, her arms bent at unnatural angles. Her torso was decorated by tiny, detailed carvings that continued down her legs, which were also bent at unnatural angles, and in spots, seemed crushed. Her knees were crushed, bits of bone poking through where the kneecaps had shattered, and he knew, that could he see her back, he'd see an intricate lacework of scars. Finally, he nodded. She was broken, utterly and truly, and his work was finally done.

"Goodbye, Lana.." He said softly as her turned and left, leaving the young, beaten, and battered woman to sob herself into oblivion.