Page 90 of Remnants: Disruption
My eyes stay closed. No point in acknowledging them. They just want the attention.
“I told you you’d never be loved. You’d never be accepted,” another one tries a different tactic.
“You act like I’m surprised,” I say, shifting. My ribs and spine hiss with the movement. “Disappointed, sure, but surprised?”
“You thought she was different, though,” the voice continues and this time I do open my eyes.
Titan.
“Oh, fuck you man,” I laugh out. “I don’t even remotely regret gutting you.”
“I would have never considered the great Dark One might get her heart broken by Bloody fucking Mary,” Titan continues.
“Are you going to just sit there and mock me?” I ask, glaring at the figure.
“Maybe,” he says, a grin evident in his voice though his helmet covers his face. “Are you going to try and slit your own throat?”
“I doubt they left anything sharp here,” I throw back. And everything hurts too much to check. “If they want to kill me, that’s one thing, but I’m not giving you the goddamned satisfaction of goading me into it. Not this time.”
No one responds, but I see their faces above me. Hovering like wild dogs waiting to attack.
Waiting to pounce.
“Fuck,” I hiss, gritting my teeth against the wave of hopelessness.
The first tear trails down my cheek. Then the second. I finally let loose after my vision blurs.
They descend on me. Not with mockery or jeering, but whispers. Whispered threats. Whispered commands. Whispered violence.
Tears turn the room into a slurry of darkness and faces. Spirits grin as they take turns goading me into finally ending it. Into taking that final action.
“I fucking tried,” I sob. “You stopped me.”
“That was you,” a voice hisses, far too close and I let out a sharp gasp.
The whispers turn into shrieks as razor sharp shadows swirl around my body. They’re mine, but they don’t feel right. They don’t look right.
I try to pull at them. To stop the manic movements, but they resist my commands.
The inky tendrils move like trained swordsmen, curling and diving at me.
They enter my upper thigh first. Then at my bicep. Again, and again and again. Blood seeps into the sheets, but I can feel these wounds healing as fast as they’re made.
They’re taking my power. They’re controlling my healing.
They’re using me like a goddamned puppet.
“Fucking stop,” I cry out, but they don’t listen.
Why would they?
One sharpened blade impales itself into my abdomen, the edge slicing cleanly through organs and intestines.
“No,” I shriek, the pain intense despite it being my own fucking power.
Shadows grip at my wrists and legs, their strength unyielding as they hold me against my fruitless struggle.
Nothing works. Nothing ends the pain. The dagger in my gut retracts and tilts back
