I have returned from the grave! 'The grave' being a few-month-long break from writing because a) I had an idea for a comic I had to write and b) I needed some inspiration.
This chapter was requested by FluffyKitten!
But, uh, just a head's up, this story is...very whumpy. It deals with torture and its sequel will deal with the aftermath of torture, so if y'all aren't comfortable with reading that, I'd recommend skipping this installment. Just a heads up.
Also I'm probably on a government watch list for the research I did before writing this
Anger, fear, and despair were all things Pit had felt before. He'd been angry at Medusa, at Tip, at Viridi, and at Hades especially. He'd been afraid for himself, for Palutena, and for Tip when he was nearly killed. And, in some moments, he'd known despair, crushing and soul-shredding. He remembered, albeit faintly, the loneliness and utter despair that came in the aftermath of the Angel War, of which he was the sole survivor.
But Pit had never felt these emotions so clearly as when he laid, unmoving, on a stone floor. A cold stone floor, not made warmed, somehow, by the blood spilling from his body at an alarming rate. Of course, the young angel was fairly accustomed to pain, but not on this level. Ceaseless agony tormented him, seemed to chip away at his sanity and his very being.
Not to mention the mind-numbing, maddening, deafening silence. Silence so thick it was almost tangible, seeming to wrap Pit in its unrelenting and suffocating folds, starving him of even the slightest hint of sounds, just palpable, unmoving, inescapable silence. And Pit resented it. He'd never really liked the quiet; he was always either speaking or listening. Quiet meant alone, and he'd never liked being alone, either.
He figured, dully, that he should be grateful that he at least wasn't alone. There was that constant presence in the back of his mind, nagging him, telling him he was being watched. That was alright. He took comfort in the fact that there was some other living creature near him, even if it was working with the ones who had done this to him, beat him bloody for days on end, then sealed him in this prison of soundlessness, which, combined with the constant inky blackness, threatened to swallow him whole. He could no longer recall what colors were, or what his friends looked like. He couldn't remember what their voices sounded like, the joy of music, or even what sound really was. And he hated himself for it.
But then, one day, the darkness was shattered. Unknowingly, Pit screamed, eyes burning and heart racing in fear. There was no sound- there never was- but there was light, blinding but so, so beautiful. He knew that it wasn't good. He knew that the light meant his tormentors had returned, undoubtedly to break him further, but Pit couldn't help but savor the light. He'd been so afraid that he'd never see it again. The light, while it spoke of torture and pain to come, comforted the angel. Light meant home, meant safety and warmth. Lady Palutena was the goddess of light, after all, and thinking of her always brought even just a little peace.
A hand on his arm, warm against his frigid skin, pulled him back into reality and forced his whole body to recoil. The hands grabbed his shoulders, heedless of the cuts and the throbbing joint damage of one, hauling him into a sitting position. Greys and whites and blacks swam in his vision, nauseating the boy and worsening his ever-present headache. When the swirl of colors oriented themselves into a humanoid figure, Pit shuddered in fear, and unbeknownst to him, a whimper slid from his mouth.
The figure picked him up with ease, he was so light and malnourished now, and Pit struggled weakly. It was in vain and he knew that, but it seemed wrong to just accept whatever sick torture had been dreamed up for him. He had been trained to be a warrior, and he would fight to his dying breath, even if it only brought him more pain in the end. Everything was a blur; even if Pit could see properly or hear, he doubted he could've followed what was going on.
Then, he was lying on his back, staring at yet another glaring light. He didn't know where he was, but it certainly wasn't good. His prison of silence and darkness was the only place where his tormentors didn't hurt him.
A woman stepped into his view, but he couldn't quite see her face, despite looking right at it. She looked familiar, the long hair especially, but a heavy fog sat over Pit's brain, rendering thought and coherence all but impossible. But when she set a delicate hand on his swollen shoulder, the young angel twisted painfully, trying to get away. The woman held him down, though, and Pit could only brace himself for agony. He was trembling, whimpering out of fear, but rather than skewing his eyes shut, he focused on the bright light above him, burning his eyes but conjuring up vague memories of warmth and happiness.
A sharp, fiery pain shot up from the boy's knee, electing an unheard cry. Pit fought to sit up, to at least see his tormentors, but he was weak and the familiar lady was restraining him. A hand came and covered his eyes, and Pit only screamed more, although he wasn't aware of that. He needed to see the light- the light was his friend, his loyal companion. The light would save him. Wouldn't it?
Another jolt of agony, this time from his other knee, and tears of pain, fear, and loss spilled from his covered eyes. Almost before he had time to think, an even worse pain exploded in his left hip, like a hot iron pressed against his bone. This one lasted longer, and he could feel the long-dislocated joint grating against his pelvis. His throat went raw from shrieking as he bucked and writhed, desperate to alieve this awful agony.
Then, finally, it faded a bit. He wasn't sure if he stopped screaming, but he could still feel his chest heaving painfully, disturbing his shattered ribs and stabbing his lungs. He felt calloused hands grab his own, wincing as his broken fingers were moved.
After a long while, the rough hands moved to his injured shoulder and Pit realized they were the ones causing so much pain. He gritted his teeth, but screamed nonetheless as the joint was forced back into its socket, the damaged ligaments popping and twisting.
He wanted it to stop. He wanted the light. He wanted Lady Palutena, Tip, even Viridi or Magnus. He was scared and in horrible amounts of agony, with no idea what was going on. He wanted it to stop.
I'm terrible. But there will be a part 2 soon! And I'm really liking that idea of just a fluffy one-shots book, because I've got a lot of ideas for it. But...we'll see.
Anyway, hope y'all had a Merry Christmas!