For a few moments, you twist against your bindings; strength enough to shatter steel does nothing but ravage your skin against the sharp, spiked metal of your chains. It hurts, savagely so, but that's good. The pain is real. You're real. You are still
you
.
Almost absently, you watch as a line of blood--a bright, burning gold--trickles down your arm.
When it touches the manacle on your wrist, it starts to melt straight through it.
A few seconds flit by as you blink in incomprehension.
And then you start to laugh, high and sharp and violent; the sort of laughter madness wishes it could sound like. The
fools
. They sought to cage a Solar Exalted--a Hand of the Unconquered Sun--with a cell as pathetic as
this?
Oh, you will enjoy watching them
burn
.
You breathe in, once, and hold it. And then you begin to
thrash.
The chains rip across your flesh, the manacles slice across your veins, but it doesn't matter. You will be
free
. Breathe in, breathe out. Pain is not an illusion. Pain is the only truth. Accept it. Live it. Love it.
Blood streams down your skin, spilling from a thousand scars; you feel light, and dizzy, and your head spins, but you don't care. Death is just another type of freedom.
The last manacle bubbles away to nothingness under the heat of the heart of a star, and you hit the floor.
You pass out seconds later.
---
When you come around, it is to stone and darkness. It takes you some time to realise what happened - you bled so much, from so many places, it melted through the floor. Your skin is coated in your blood; almost your whole body is covered, until your skin is the gold of your ic*or, tinged with the black of your
saa
as they swirl beneath the surface.
Your sword snaps into your hand, and you leap, landing awkwardly out of your self-made pit as your weakness makes itself apparent. You shake your head to clear it, and the shadows wrap around your body, forming your armour.
20-Jan-2015 04:52:48
- Last edited on
20-Jan-2015 06:34:35
by
Enheduanna