Monsoon117
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Chapter 48: Resilience
🕑 Added 2016-06-18 09:36:33 +0000 UTC Blood pulses power through me as my muscles and tendons expand. The basement of the hearth fills with the scent of blood and racking cries. Scratch marks on the floor and doors speak for the poor souls that left them, and as I grip the edges of the door, my blood boils at the sounds of Joan’s weak, splintering cries.Clenching my hands together, I rip it from its hinges before I step through the doorway. Two torturers lean over Joan as she lays strapped on a wooden table cloaked in bits of skin and bone. They peeled her left cheek from her face exposing her teeth. A set of fresh cuts down her side exposes flaps of hanging skin. Her missing fingernails scab over. A slice of her cheek hangs from her face as the torturers handle a cauldron of boiling water.
They glance at me with beady, empty eyes from fat faces before Joan’s eyes flare with shame as she glances at me. She wears no clothing, but large patches of coagulated blood cover portions of her. The paleness of her skin brings her weakness to light, and the near skeleton thinness of her arms shows her state of starvation.
The torturers eye me with a morbid sort of curiosity as I stand tall and unearthly still. Time stops for a moment as my mind refuses the reality before me.
Both of the torturer’s, who are garbed in the white clothes of a priest, panic as my malice engulfs their own. A black radiates from me as I step forward. A torrent of wrath saturates my soul. A quiet sobbing begins from Joan as she whispers,
“Not like this...I never...wanted you to see me...Not like this.”
An all embracing, white hot fury pumps through my body like magma, but my outer expression never changes. This is no heated nor uncontrolled rage. No, this is a cold, calculating ice. Thoughts of inflicting torments beyond imagination swim through my mind as I step forward.
The two torturers grab long, thin pieces of metal they used for torture before they dash towards me. As they reach me, my fists move on their own with the force of boulders behind them. The two blue eyed wretches slam onto the ground on their sides, one with a sunken in skull and the other with a sunken in chest.
Their deaths mean nothing. Revenge means nothing. Only one singular facet of my life holds any importance at this moment - Joan. In her crushed state, she whispers weakly as I near her,
“Please, don’t look at me...They showed me mirrors...not like this...”
No words can express how I feel, so I say nothing as I unshackle her restraints. They grip into her skin leaving marks as I release her. She tries covering her face with her thin arms, but she can’t lift them. Even if she could, they’re too thin for hiding her face. They can only convulse at her sides as she sobs.
Her lamentations never grow beyond a whisper however. She is to weak to scream anymore. I lift her in my arms before I press her cheek into the nape of my neck where she fit so perfectly before. My warmth floods into her while the icy coldness of her own figure bites into mine. The oppressive rage of before evaporates as her body relaxes from being released from such an unnatural posture.
She closes her eyes as she presses her face against my neck. I hug her against me for a moment before I say,
“You are as beautiful as the love of a mother, and with you, I find refuge. I find home.”
The walls between us crumble as she weeps for an eternity. Listening to her torment peels the flesh from my bones, but I sustain through it. I listen for the times we laughed with one another. I listen for the love she gave me. I listen for her.
After the endless sobbing, the light tapping of feet down steps echoes into our room. I lean Joan away from me before I say, “I’m taking you somewhere safe. You can rest now. Everything will be alright whenever you awake again.”
I speak the words with such certainty and confidence that I surprise even myself, and Joan believes my words as she falls asleep in my arms within seconds of my saying so. I wait until the tapping of the stairs reaches near the door before I hide at the side of the doorframe.
A leather masked man peaks through the door before I lift my leg. He turns towards me as I slam my foot against his shoulder. The blow crushes him against the edge of the doorframe sending the dull pops of breaking bones throughout the hallway. The man slides down the side of the door as he wheezes for air. No guilt assaults me. He will die along with all other members of the palisade.
I hold Joan with my left arm as I step into the hallway. I pull my arm back before I shove my hand forward colliding my palm with another man’s face. I compress his skull against the stone wall. The pop and squish gives me a sick satisfaction before I turn towards the hallway.
Three other guards stand in the orange lighting of the stone basement with each staring at me. Their gazes hold anger and malice and hatred, but most all, they hold fear. Without jerking Joan, I sprint until I reach a foot’s length from one of these guards.
I jut my arm outwards as I grit my teeth. My arm stabs through his sternum creating a wet splitting sound before my hand pierces through his back. My arm submerges in a warm mush before I pull him backwards flinging his corpse from around my arm.
He falls with a thud behind me before the other two guards turn around in retreat. With a few quick strides, I near them as one falls to the ground. His black hair and tan skin spread across the floor as I pulpify his face with stomp on the back of his head. A sort of rising bloodlust grows from within me as I lift the corpse at my feet and throw it towards the last mercenary.
The body of his comrade pins him down before I reach him. In a dark, spiteful rage, I place my foot on the man’s shoulder before I tear his arm off. My arm turns behind me before he howls but for only a split second. I push myself forward before I lift my arm torqueing my new club downwards.
His upper arm slams into neck with a dull crack before I kick his head. His broken neck flails with little resistance before I toss the hanging limb behind me. They deserve worse.
If they aim to show me torment, then I shall return their kindness tenfold. Even if they wield death in their scythes, I won’t let them escape.
My mercy left Joan in shambles. My mercy left both Sophia and my life at risk. My mercy will no longer cause these problems. It ends now. This world feeds me an endless stream of suffering. It leaves those I love mangled while I watch them writhe in agony.
No longer shall I be the world’s plaything as I wait for yet another calamity. This is the beginning of the palisade’s end. I will not reason. I will not relent. I will not cease until their corpses become food for the worms burrowing underground.
The shivering and deep cold of Joan ignites this fusillade of hatred further. As I run up the stairs, the same racking cries enter my ears with the same visceral pain emitting from each of them. I would save them as well, but Joan takes priority. I must assure myself of her safety before I attempt saving anyone else.
I shall return here. I engrave the scents of those working here into my mind before I dash outside of the building. The same students huddle beside one another as though oppressed by a dark shade. Even with my growing cruelty, I can’t help but feel pity for them.
They carry a set of chains locking them down on the cold floor. They almost lack life behind their eyes.
The sight would normally unsettle me, but malice flows through my veins like liquid metal. The sensation blankets the tragedy around me in an alloy of cynicism and scathing bitterness. I numb to the pain of these people as Joan’s plight overcomes all else.
So I dash outside and across the campus with a pace oustripping any speed I’ve ever attempted. Earth splinters and bends under my step as I move, and my journey through the campus and across the forest blurs in my mind and in my sight as I focus all my efforts on Joan.
Within minutes, the small pond and hill of boulders meets my eyes before I crawl across the rugged rocks towards the edge of the circular entrance. I meander through the hole since submerging Joan underwater will wake her.
After I reach the bottom of the cylindrical stairway, I hurry down the steps before I dash through the cavern until the cave’s glowing center. As I near our rooms, the splattered blood along with Joan’s deformed appearance unveils from the light of several glowing topaz overhead. This yellow light gives Sophia and Antoinnette vision of us, and the sight proves gruesome.
Sophia leans back while Antoinnette tilts sideways before she pukes. I cross them before I reach into the set of rooms on the other side of their makeshift benches beside the corundum. I clamp the fingers of my right hand onto the ruby plate before I lay it on my bed as I enter with a gentle toss.
If I laid her down without the plate there, the moss and dirt may enter her wounds infecting her with blight. The ruby plate offers a far cleaner environment for the surgery she’ll need for survival.
Her shallow breaths signal her living, but with each passing moment, her wheezing grows more shallow. After setting her down for a moment, I press my fingertips into the side of my head before I think for a moment.
I’ll heal her as Deluge healed Sophia. I lower my hands before I step outside where Sophia and Antoinnette wait for me. I grab the sapphire plate in front of my room before Sophia says with a shaky, weak voice,
“What happened?”
I glance between them both before I say, “Do not walk nor look into this room.”
Antoinette stammers, “But your hurt and so is-”
I boom my voice, “Do not. Enter. This. Room.”
All hope for refusal dies. As they stare in silence, I grow a claw from a hand. I stab it into the stone underneath me before I create a notch in front of my room. After stepping into the room, I place the plate into the groove locking it into place. This produces a sort of suction effect sealing the air within.
I won’t let them see Deluge and I as we heal her. The process will be grotesque at best and soul wrenching at worst, so I will spare them the experience. I pace over to Joan before I shout in my mind for Deluge.
No one replies for a moment before I bellow my call for help with a building desperation. The howl reverberates in my mind for a moment before a groggy voice replies, “What is it?”
With an injection of hysteria, I say, “I need you to heal Joan. They...they’ve left her half alive.”
Deluge stammers as he says with his standard derision, “You seem rather disgruntled. Did they break one of her nails?
Blasting my words, I hiss, “No, they left her with half her skin peeled and all her fingers broken.”
The unusual tone of my voice changes his own as he says, “Hmmm...Alright then. I suppose I can offer my assistance. Give over control.”
We swap consciouses as anxiety bleeds into my words, “Please, save her.”
He smiles a rather derisive grin before he says, “Calm down Jack. She may not look the same, but she’ll live. I would worry more about what this has done to her mind more than her body.”
The thought leaves me floating in the subconscious as he crack his fingers one at a time with his thumb. I pray she’ll be the same Joan as I remember, but a part of me realizes a simple and undeniable truth.
All wounds leave scars.
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As I observe the damage done to her frame, I can’t help but appreciate the surgical application of the wounds. The vast majority of the deeper incisions reach into nerves that show inflammation. They cut her open before they toyed with her nerves...The cruelty of humans shall never cease amazing me. It is boundless.
Wiping the gruff horror from my voice, I grab her wrist before I gage her pulse. The steady rhythm of the heart signals her body’s desire for life. Good. That will make this far easier.
This operation will still prove difficult however. Compared to Sophia’s wounds, Joan’s are exponentially greater. Her heart beats twenty times a minutes which is a third of her normal pace. Her blood applies minimal amounts of pressure on her veins due to blood loss which strains her heart even further. This discounts the external damage dealt to her.
Some of her injuries already scar over as her youthful body struggles against the lacerations on her skin, and without her consciously allowing my tampering, I won’t be able to restore her without a few flaws. A few deformities should be welcome if that’s the only price she pays for this experience however.
That concludes my initial analysis of her condition. With this observation out of the way, I begin my surgery.
I fold several loose flaps of flesh hanging from her back onto her body. I seal them together one by one, but her body convulses in agony as I attempt removing the already formed scar tissue. Her soul stops me from regenerating her back to perfection. What a shame.
After completing the sealing of her larger wounds, I stab tubes of flesh through her skin before I inject a pool of blood into her body. I make sure the blood matches her own specific type, but her body reacts unfavorably as the foreign substance enters her.
Despite Joan’s shivering, her blood pressure stabilizes, and with the added nutrients I injected into her, a sort of tan complexion materializes. Whatever. I mold my skin to her hands causing her to squirm in discomfort despite her being unconscious, but within seconds, I restore her fingernails with the same clean polish she maintained them with before this tragedy.
I unmeld our hands before I observe a single river of dug out flesh that runs down her side. The deep, penetrating set of hollowed trenches crawls down her right side like cracks of lightning through a dark sky. The web of wounds leaves me bewildered at its cause. How can such a myriad of deep trenches formed through her skin and in her flesh. It is strange.
I’ll have time for reflection later. Healing the wound on my own causes her heart to stutter, so I enhance Joan’s metabolism giving her own body the ability to heal. Unfortunately, her own natural healing process pales compared to the exactness of my own approach.
Streams of fibrous tissue replace the wounds, but they form without the reddened appearance of a normal scar. Instead, a web of white forms down the side of her neck and right side as her body heals through the injury.
The color contrasts with the tan complexion of her skin making the jagged series of streaks pop. They manifest as if a holy bolt of electricity left her with a mark of a god. The mark starts below her jaw before it crawls down her neck and diverges into several dozen streaks down her back.
The smooth surface of the scar mimics her skin’s texture giving the mark a fluid appearance. The jagged streaks would instigate fear if not for their coloration. In its current state, it gives Joan a compelling, almost surreal appearance as it stretches with each of her breaths.
I can’t comprehend why or how it formed however. The mark’s artificial origins leave me clueless as to the side effects of this procedure, and most of all, the marks leaves a visible distortion of her soul. They were...tampering with her very being.
I repress a gag as I dwell on the violation of her soul. I wonder what she’ll be like whenever she regains consciousness. At least watching will be interesting.
Healing her takes priority however. I fold portions of dead skin back onto her before I ready myself for rejuvenating the decaying tissues. They were flaying portions of her skin on her left side, so restoring that missing patch of skin will be necessary for avoiding infection.
So I improvise since her body will likely reject my own cells. She accepted the blood transfusion to an extent, but giving larger portions of my body will instigate a harsher response from her body. If I spur an immune system response, then her body will inflame and heat until she dies. That would likely kill her, so I’ll evade that risk.
With this in mind, I graft portions of her skin onto the exposed flesh from the heels of her feet. The thick, durable skin there will hold best since the shoulder skin stretches in most movements. Peeling the skin requires far greater finesse than I like maintaining, so Jack performs that specific operation with a knife of enamel he creates. This doubles as a sterile instrument as well.
After the surgery finishes, I inspect her body for any further wounds as her vitality returns. Before I finish the examination, the semblance of a fading conscious returns before her eyelids stutter. I already inspected her more sensitive parts however, so by the time she can comprehend what’s happening, I finish the operation.
Her vigor impresses me. Returning without even passing through a temporary coma despite the changes her body went through is impressive. She’s resilient. Midway through the procedure, Jack calmed down, and now he asks in a far more controlled tone than before,
“May I have control back?”
I grin before I reply, “Are you scared I’ll make a bad impression?”
He replies without concern, “She’ll have to learn at some point if we’re ever going to become serious in our relationship. I just don’t want her to do so right after such trauma if that makes sense.”
I slide into the subconscious as I say, “It’s called sarcasm.”
A tiny laugh escapes him, and after a pause, he says with a slow and decisive wording, “Thank you Deluge...Thank you.”
“Hah, hah, hah. I expect compensation.”
He gazes at Joan as he says, “And so you shall have. I swear it upon my parent’s grave as I carve that truth into my spirit.”
Hmmmmm. Interesting. I say, “Then be ready.”
-------------------------------------------------------
Joan’s eyes twitch before they open as she glances around. Her features returned, yet the marks of her agony linger. A scar runs down the left side of her face while the white mark crawls down her side appearing unearthly and strange. Patches of her skin expose themselves with different coloration due to the grafting of Deluge, and the sudden tan of Joan surprises me.
She may have been pale as a ghost before, but she now sports a deep coloration with the white mark contrasting like a pale canyon through a sea of golden brown. As she glances around, her expression shifts from confusion to outrage as she says,
“Why am I naked?”
I sigh in relief as I place my face into my palms. Something about my body language spoke of my anxiety as her expression alters once more, though this time to concern as she says,
“Are you alright Jack?”
After a peaceful moment, tears spring in the edges of her eyes before she shivers for a moment. She pulls her knees against her chest using a fluid, inching motion before a sudden cascade of memories assaults. Visions of vile and grotesque evils ebb into her as her eyes open until they strain. Her face wrinkles as she crumbles and collapses.
She belts out with the thinnest slither of sanity remaining. The suffering pierces deep, and the depth of her grief evokes memories of me sitting beside my dying mother as her cries expand and evolve. The sound of her misery grates with enough force to grind glass and peel stone. The convulsions of her frame omen the depth and darkness she now carries, and as I hug her, my embrace only encourages this biblical, bottomless misery.
Yet as with all things, her grief wanes and ends with a series of weak whimpers. After a moment, I move her from atop the plate of ruby while I use the sheet that Deluge cleaned earlier as a barrier between her and the bed. She glances towards me before she places her hand on my cheek as I lift her and move the sheet under her. She blinks tears from her eyes before she pulls her lips against mine.
The sudden act surprises me, but I find my limbs weak. Deluge cleaned the blood from us both revealing her enchanting figure. Her body’s curves returned, though without the same hard muscles as before. This isn’t the only reason I can’t deny her.
Pushing her away would crush her, and even with her new appearance, I can’t deny the obvious and innate attraction I have for her. As we fall into one another, she tells me how she feels,
“I just...I need you...”
Our passion moves slower than I expected. My body shakes with excitement as does hers, but our lack of experience and knowledge shows with a near painful awkwardness at times.
That all washes away however. She hurts at first, but the closeness and the intimacy of the experience frees us from our own torments, if only for a few moments. I enjoy the process far more than her, but she pushes through the pain until she finds her own pleasure.
I imagined myself ravishing her with the hulking brutality of my frame, but she never finds herself overwhelmed. The Joan I remember, with all her energy and wit, returns as we escape from our hellish reality with each other as havens.
The fleeting moment ends as we return from our own slice of bliss. She lays against me with her head underneath my chin, and after several minutes of silence, she says,
“Thank you...for getting me away from...that.”
I move her hair over the crease of her ear before I hum the peaceful melodies of our past. I continue brushing the hair behind her ear as I say, “You amaze me Joan.”
She blinks for a moment in surprise as her eyebrows rise. She looks up with her eyes before she says, “What do you mean?”
I say, “I expected you to be shattered, to be a shell. Instead, you retained who you were.”
She bites her lip for a moment before she glances away. A shameful self hatred leaks from her voice as she says, “I don’t...I don’t think I’m the same.”
I run my fingers through her hair as I say, “I remember facing my own bleak reality months ago. I felt as though I would never be whole. I felt alone and scared and empty...I found a friend however. He helped me through the abyss I found myself in...I want to be that person for you.”
I blink for a moment before I lift myself with her resting on my belly. I stare down at her as I say, “It doesn’t matter if you change or if you’re hurt or if you feel broken...I will be there for you.”
Her expression cracks as she glances away while he chin wrinkles. The new scar on her left cheek stretches as she meets my eye once more with her lips frowning. She blinks for a moment before she says with a voice both empty and full,
“I...I’m sorry for leaving you. I didn’t want Petra to hate me, and my mother and father, but...”
As her words trail off, she traces her fingers down the white mark on the side of her neck and down her shoulder as she says, “All that happened was this.”
I lean backwards before I outstretch my arms as I say, “You aren’t the only warped person here... There’s a part of me, though small and hated, that’s glad about what happened to you...It’s a part of me that selfishly wants us together regardless of the cost. It makes me despise myself, at least a little.”
A familiar grin laces her face before she says with renowned vigor,
“I guess that’s another way of looking at this. We get to be with each other.”
I lean towards her before I say, “We may both be broken, but perhaps with the pieces we have left, we can help each other feel more whole.”
She turns her head before we lock lips for another moment. We relax afterwards for only a few minutes before Joan falls asleep once more. Without waking her, I lift myself from the bed before I cloth myself in my shredded pair of shorts. So little of my body’s hidden. It makes me feel naked. Ugh. Bleck.
As I begin leaving, moving the gem slab proves more difficult than I anticipated. The saphire fit closer than I anticipated, so I grow exceptionally thin claws that grip under the plate allowing me to lift it from the crevice I hollowed out. A stream of air flows into the room cooling it and I lay the plate further from the door allowing Joan room for her own escape if she chooses to leave before I return.
Whenever I walk out, I find Antoinnette and Luke sleeping in their rooms while I pass towards my own. I find the same empty room as before, so I roll my eyes as I rub my chin. I need clothes, yet due to my size, I’ll need custom tailored outfits. Damn you Deluge.
He saved Joan however, so I suppose I can handle a few tight fitting clothes, for now at least. I glance around for several moments before I sense a slight rumbling of steps. The sound grows closer until a bright blue glows from the edge of the entrance to the spiral staircase that leads outside.
Aether paces through revealing a bulging burlap sack with herbs and vegetables while his other hand carries a set of strange looking fruit. The yellow berries sports orange stripes with a variety in the width of the stripes present on each fruit. They look hearty and whole with their rugged skin and firm bodies.
So that is how they’ve eaten for so long. I glance around the room before Aether spots me as he says, “Ah, it is good to see you Jack. I’ve come with today’s harvest.”
I grin with a sort of refreshed crispness before I say, “It’s good to see you as well. I should probably gather something of my own as well.”
He nods before he says, “These vegetables should suffice. Antoinnette actually has a wide and varied knowledge of herbs from her discussions with several of her estates gardeners. She has a passion for gardening. It’s lovely.”
I raise an eyebrow as I say, “Excellent. That makes providing for the group much easier.” I nod as I relax my expression, “Whenever I get back, we’ll sit and talk. We should catch up.”
Aether says, “Hmmm...We haven’t seen each other but for a few weeks. That is nothing.”
I shrug before I say, “Perhaps for you, but many things may happen within that span, and I’d wish to know how my captives have fared since their arrival.”
He sets the supplies beside a makeshift table of rock before he turns towards me saying, “So why are you leaving now? We can speak now if you’d like.”
A growing madness leaks into my voice as I say, “I’m aiming to enact utter destruction. ”
Aether glances towards the table for a moment before he turns his purple, slit like eyes towards me as he says, “Is that necessary? Will that really help anything?”
I close my eyes before I say, “Imagine if you found Sophia without limbs, and being tortured to death...What would you do to her tormentors?”
Aether turns back towards the table before he says, “I...understand, but please, don’t lose yourself Jack. There are people here who need you.”
A fiery resolve ignites in my chest as I say, “It is for them that I throw away what I once was. It is for them that I embrace what I will become.”
Comments
Kathy Avsar
I am glad you Finally went to the doctor. Glad its feeling better! I think this is my favorite chapter.
Monsoon117
Ah yes, I also went to a doctor to inspect some rather intense shoulder pain. It turns out that I tore my rotator cuff, and I may need surgery. Hopefully I won't, but that's why I haven't been writing as much for the past while. I am wearing a sling with a whole setup so that I can continue typing in moderate comfort. I won't let this stop me guys. I told myself I would continue. I told myself that I would persevere. No more excuses. No more waiting. No more hesitation. Writing isn't a hobby. It is a passion, and passions overcome pain.
Monsoon117
I remember reading accounts of holocaust victims and thinking, "Wow, how have these people remained sane after the torments they faced?" I am no closer to answering that question, but their iron clad will and perseverance inspired the idea behind Joan's own resilience. I hope you enjoy the chapter.
