Tenacity.
The ticks were passing, and as they came they flowed away. It took him a while to understand that the injuries he'd sustained and kept causing to himself were not as grievous as he thought. He'd already be unconscious and well on his way towards a death from excessive bleeding. In this painful madness he had the clarity to assume, between screams and whimpers and sighs and moans, that those twisted petchers that had the nerve to call themselves doctors, had found a way to amplify pain. No doubt the effect of some poison. A few bells later, he was still fighting against his metal prison, spitting obscenities at his torturers; the fact that his wounds were most probably minor lacerations did not make it any easier. It hurt like nothing else.
His pride was being battered, his ego badly bruised. Yet in all his agony he just wouldn't stop. It was as if every little sting fed his fury and kept his foolish persistence going. The poisoner kept on taunting deliriusly; as if he was reciting passages from an endless tome, his colorful imagination was a truly frightening thing. Daegron's throat was already hurting and his voice was reduced to a raspy croak; as if he was shouting out his frustrations from within a tomb. It was futile. Whatever they'd fed him wasn't going to loose it's potency. A dark blot of despair steadily spread to cover his fuming wrath.
And then, as Parnell's speeches were slowly pushed to the background, and turned into an ever-present incomprehensible babble, a notion was born in his mind and it's gravity overwhelmed every other thought. He was dead and gone. This wasn't real, nor a dreadful nightmare. This was the aftermath of his own demise, the echoes of his downfall, the last remnants of his disturbed mind flowing away towards oblivion. Perhaps he was tricked and never actually managed to return to his body, his life force being snuffed by that uninvited abominable guest. How beautiful death would be now, indeed. Just a flicker, a last breath and then silence and quietude. No more anguish. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.
"No !" he managed to gasp after a long bleak silence. He was standing still, unable to bear the consequences of his struggle. His breath uneven and his heart beating furiously, sweat running down his brow. And blood, so much blood.
"Make it stop... you got what you wanted. If screams and curses and torment is your pleasure, I have no more to give." A coughing fit followed and his sore body shuddered. "Tis I, the man who came looking for a cure. That monstrosity is no more, defeated and long gone...There's no reason to continue this... Make it stop... " Yet his pleads remained unheard and silence was his only answer. This ignorance would normally send him reeling towards another fit of rage, but he was already too tired.
"Know that the only reason why this ... entity did not take your lives away, is because I disrupted its casting, thinking of you as my ally. What folly! There was a pattern in all that chaos... a weapon you would not predict. Yet I could not foresee the magnitude of your own insanity. Make it stop ! You've won !". The long silence that followed was like a loud cackle, a spit right on his face.
"I've learned my lesson, I've satisfied your sick fantasies. Make the hurting stop !"
Yet it seemed that the tight metal cage he was encased in was absorbing his cries, feeding off of them. And on he went, asking for deliverance from that agony that grew with each passing moment, desperately trying to prove that the Abominable one was no more. He was too proud to beg. He'd never give that kind of satisfaction to his captors. He'd endure. Whatever poison they'd given him, it would eventually wear off.
It seemed as if an aeon had passed, and he was feeling numb. The wave of exhaustion that washed over him was welcomed. And with it, consciousness flew away, sending him into the lap of an uneasy kind of torpor.
_________________________________________________________
"Wake up..." said that charming voice, like a gentle breeze caressing his neck. He stirred and tried to move as his eyelids opened.
"Haven't you learned anything, fool? You have to keep still." His whole body was sore, and the pain was significantly reduced. She'd just save him from another unexpected stab."let's get out of here..." she suggested sweetly.
"But...I can't !" he exclaimed, frustrated and weary.
"And what about the Art, love? she laughed softly.
"I'm not ready yet...Am I?"
"Nonsense ! Slither and shrink, their blood you could drink..." she sang a sweet song of horrid deeds, how brilliant in all it's perversion.
"But, how ?"
"Should I start it for you ? Very well..."
And thus incited by the Whisper, his chant begun. His vocal chords resonated weakly yet it only took a few morbid phrases for him to realize the true potence that swam under his skin. His Djed stirred and swirled, eager to be commanded; it's formless strands stretching out in all directions, till they were wrapped tightly around his whole frame, energizing his aching flesh. The shaping begun, slow and steady..
Woe to him to have underestimated his torturer ! Parnell had anticipated such a trick. and slivers were placed around his spine; as soon as he'd try to Morph into some form that could escape, they'd come into play. And so it happened and a series of stings pierced him. Just as he'd thought he had enough of it, hoping that the poison was gone. Alas, that wasn't the case.
His howls pierced the very air, his shrieks made the walls shudder and the cold metal amplified it all, like a cruel symphony, an ode to atrocity. His focus broke, the shape gone. He burst into a roaring laughter.
"Ingenious ! Such talent going to waste !"
The suffering went on and on. And certain though he was that there was no way out of his suit, he'd keep on foolishly trying...
