Chapter Text
At some point, sometime after the fleeing and falling and cracking bones, he stopped moving at all. The pain, which had once been contained to specific wounds, spread through every inch of his body, mixing with his exhaustion to make every limb feel like lead. Even the slightest movement sent aches and sharp shocks streaking through him, leaving him even weaker than before. The trembling that he couldn’t stop if he tried left him exhausted, struggling to inhale. His eyes fluttered open and shut, fatigue trying to carry him into darkness, to give him some reprieve from the constant torment.
But unconsciousness was respite, and he’d learned long ago that he was unworthy of it. The long, thin hands managed to startle him every time, appearing just when he thought the haze of oblivion would take him at last. Their fingers dug directly into his wounds, letting them close ever-so-slightly before tearing them open again and again, until his entire body was wet with blood. Their nails sliced into his back where they had burned it, driving the heat of hot iron, crackling electricity, deep into his skin. Sometimes, their arms would grab his broken leg or fingers, and bend them until they snapped once more. He’d lost the strength to scream ages ago, but they could still make his body contort in pain, silent cries escaping his lips.
The worst part was that he couldn’t even see them. There was no way of preparing. No way to know when the next torment would strike. There was only constant dread, the knowledge that absolute misery was only one second away, that he was always one second away from being thrown back to Whitestone. One second away from reverting back to the person he’d been there. Young. Helpless. Terrified.
Because, in truth, this was who he’d always been.
Useless. Shattered.
Each time they dragged him back to that state, they reminded him of who he truly was.
Over and over and over again.
Each time they did, their laughter echoed in his ears.
No matter how exhausted he was, their presence never failed to send jolts of sheer, animalistic terror through his body, and he would feel every single one of his muscles tense up as he tried to somehow shrink himself into nothingness. As if shrinking would grant him some sort of escape.
Every encounter left him utterly drained, inches from unconsciousness, with only the pain tethering him to reality. Each moment of sheer suffering rendered his body’s unending shaking a little bit worse than before, until he’d forgotten what stillness was.
Wherever he was—he hadn’t seen for so long, how could he possibly know?—was endlessly damp with a slight chill in the air. It was not enough to freeze him instantly, but it was enough for the water and cold to seep into his bones, little by little, until he was chilled to the core. The hands would bring fire into his cell—is it even a cell?—and he’d still be shivering, aching from the cold.
Eventually, he couldn’t tell if he was shivering from cold or terror, though the constant drip of sweat on his forehead seemed to disprove the latter.
Why is it always so cold?
Perhaps, ages ago, he might have had an answer, but he’d long since lost the ability to comprehend anything but pain, exhaustion, and terror. This was all he had now. All he deserved. All he’d ever deserved.
You belong here. The voices were never far away, and they brought the mocking laughter and the cold with them. You were always meant for this.
Yes.
Still shivering, he gave into the cold, letting it settle into his bones and stay there.
Did he truly go still the next time they came for him, or was he imagining it? Did he even have the strength for stillness anymore?
***
It felt like Vex fell for years before she once again felt air rushing around her, damp cold already seeping into her skin, as she crashed into a dark room. She nearly fell flat on her stomach, but years of falling out of trees had taught her how to land. The second she felt the rush of air, she was already flipping as she oriented herself. She landed—a shock running up her legs from the impact—in a crouch, eyes and ears already taking in her surroundings.
The room she’d fallen into was dim but not pitch-dark. There was enough light—though she did not know where it came from—for her to make out abnormal angles between the floor and the walls, corners and rounded shapes where they logically shouldn’t be. A creaking sound alerted her, and not a moment too soon, as she looked up and saw the ceiling—also dark—falling towards her. She didn’t even think, instincts taking over as she leapt sideways into a roll, landing perched on one knee and ready for a fight. She was now on the other side of the room, her hand mere inches from Vax’s dagger in her belt. The ceiling left no debris behind her, as if it had never fallen at all. Perhaps it hadn’t.
A few more moments of adjustment allowed her to make out dim arches in some of the walls around her. Beyond the arches lay nothing but inky darkness, and she realized, upon closer inspection, that these wells of darkness were the source of the flowing air around her.
Tunnels.
This is a prison.
Not even seconds passed before she was on her feet and running towards the nearest archway. Around her, the room shifted, angles twisting, floor falling, but she kept her gaze locked on the tunnel ahead with the precision of a hunter. Though everything in her surroundings morphed and moved around her, her path remained straight, the tunnel dead-center in front of her. So she kept running forward.
Without warning, hands appeared in the darkness around her, latching onto her arms and legs, wrapping around her chest so tightly that they nearly stopped her breath. Their grips were firm and cold, like metal or plastic, and as she listened, she could discern a faint creak in their movements—so subtle that even she had missed it when they’d first arrived—almost mechanical.
Long, pointed fingers grasped the back of her neck, jerking her head upwards, as a ginormous, sinister grin floated out of darkness above her, mere inches from her face. A singular, pointed finger landed in the center of her forehead.
Hello, child.
The clouds of memories she’d brought on back in the keep came crashing back. This time they were a wave, overwhelming every sensation within her and threatening to pull her under entirely.
So much pain. So much suffering.
Her mother, mere feet away, wreathed in smoke, calling her name as flames engulfed her. Vex tried to run forward, but her legs, weighed down with exhaustion, betrayed her. Each step only brought her closer to the ground, until she collapsed at the woman’s feet. As she looked up and met her mother’s gaze, Elaina’s eyes morphed into empty, black spheres as her face turned to ash, disintegrating one inch at a time. Vex frantically grasped at her mother’s fading body, but it merely crumbled under her fingers, until there was nothing left to hold onto.
From behind her, she heard a scream, so anguished it cut right to her heart. She turned her head to see Vax on the ground, sobs shaking his entire body, so close to the flames that they threatened to engulf him, too. Desperate, she tried to run towards him, but as he looked up, his gaze was nothing but fury.
“You did this.”
It was all your fault. All of it.
Her friends. Keyleth, cradling a bleeding Vax with an arrow in his neck. Grog’s neck twisted at an odd angle as Pike frantically tried to split healing energy between him and an unconscious Scanlan, screaming Vex’s name into the darkness. But Vex was glued to the ground, only silent screams escaping her as she watched the Cleric collapse from exhaustion, her hands stained with her best friend’s blood.
Your love is poison.
It is. I know it.
Her father, towering over her as she sobbed on the floor, the remnants of a broken pipe before her. Desperate for some sort of connection, she reached out, trying to clasp his long, slightly gnarled fingers, but her hand was only met with a sharp smack, making her cry out in pain. Still, tears continued to fall as she looked up into his eyes.
There had to be something she could give him. Something that would matter.
“I love you, Father.”
There was nothing but ice in his gaze as, at last, he looked at her.
“I don’t care.”
There is nothing to love in you.
Percy stood before her, wreathed in smoke, as he had been in Whitestone. His eyes flashed between green and black and he cried out in pain, a single tear trickling down his cheek that only she could see.
“Percy!” Even in smoke and guilt-clouded mania, she couldn’t help but call out his name. It had become instinctual to try and reach him, no matter the darkness. But her cry was lost to the clouds, and she could only watch as Percy raised his gun to his own head, staring her directly in the eye as he did so.
Bang.
His eyes went cold as he collapsed to the ground before her, blood pooling around the bullet wound in his chest. Even in death, his gaze locked onto hers, and his mouth opened to release one final phrase. Somehow she knew that it was meant for her and her alone.
“You couldn’t save me.”
You could never save anyone.
Looking into Percy’s eyes, shame and failure settling over her like a suffocating blanket, something shifted inside Vex’s heart.
Percy.
I can not fail him.
I will not fail him.
It didn’t matter what she was seeing, didn’t matter how many times she failed; somewhere inside her, for some foolish, illogical reason, there was hope. Hope accompanied by a fierce, unshakeable need to bring him home. She clung to that feeling for all it was worth.
He can’t be dead. Not if I have anything to say about it.
We aren’t done yet.
Memories came flooding back into her mind as something vaguely resembling screams and dissonant organs sounded in the distance. The Mimics. The black blood. The arrowhead.
Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the fucking third.
She hadn’t come here to be overwhelmed by her guilt. She’d come here to protect him from his own. And it didn’t matter how much harm she’d caused or how warranted her own shame was—Percy did not deserve to drown in his.
The storm of self-loathing, whispers of shame and pain, still battered every corner of her mind, threatening to flood her thoughts at any moment. But even though the guilt still gripped at her mind, her mission controlled her heart. I will not let him drown.
It was the only thought she repeated, over and over, as she slowly opened her eyes. The figures surrounded her, their grip still too strong, but she knew them now. She knew the creaking sound they made when they shifted. Knew what to listen for.
And there it was.
She jerked her left shoulder as hard as she could and rolled sideways, grabbing Vax’s dagger out of her belt and thrusting it upwards as she came to land in a crouch. Black blood poured from above her, splattering her face, and a shriek rang through the air as she slashed. She didn’t hesitate before springing forward onto her hands, flipping through the air as she pulled out her bow, grabbing three arrows and shooting them downwards.
One.
You will not break him.
Two.
My darling. Whatever that meant.
Three.
I will protect him. Always.
She barely even heard their screams. She didn’t care. She wasn’t here to watch them suffer.
When she landed, only one figure remained, standing directly between her and the nearest archway. This time, there was no fear in her as she stared into its sickening, elongated grin, already drawing back her bow.
Come, child. There is so much guilt in you.
The images flashed through her head again. Mother’s death. Vax’s pain. Her friends, falling one by one. Percy, drowning in pain as she failed to pull him back. Father’s utter loathing. The knowledge that she was a failure, too weak and broken to fix any of it.
Give up on this useless endeavor. We can fix it all.
We can make you into something that can be loved.
For just a moment, it almost worked.
But this time, she knew where to find the hope in her heart. She knew why she was here. She remembered who she’d come for.
Perhaps she could not be loved. But that sure as Hell did not mean she couldn’t save him.
Bow still drawn, she opened her eyes once more.
“I’m not interested in your guilt.”
She let the arrow fly.
***
By now, his body only knew how to react, how to panic, how to tremble. There was so much pain and terror that all conscious thought had melted into a haze. All that remained was fear, along with the ever-present knowledge that this was deserved. He’d been here once before, back in Whitestone. He’d forgotten how to think then, too. When all that remained was darkness, it was easier to let go of his own mind. Easier to retreat into oblivion, and let physical impulses take over.
Every rapid, panicked heartbeat sent another tremor through his body. After all this time, how could it be that he still felt everything so strongly?
Let go. Give into it all.
Every last part of him had been completely drained, and all that remained was utter exhaustion. His existence was so devoid of hope after endless days of pain, and he knew that nothing but more misery awaited him. He was going to rot in this place until there was nothing left of him. It was so much safer to let go of it all. To let go of himself.
Let the fear win. Anything to free his mind from this Hell.
He would have given anything to be free of this place.
Something flickered through the back of his mind. Once upon a time, he would have called it a thought.
If anyone is out there…
Save me.
Please.
Laughter echoed around him. Somehow they’d heard it. Of course they had.
As if they would.
Something began to sting his eyes, and he realized his utter hopelessness was driving him to the verge of tears.
No.
You do not deserve to cry.
Even at the edge of oblivion, Percy bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tears yet again. He could feel the fearful nothingness seeping into his mind, about to consume every last ounce of conscious thought.
Let it in.
And so he did.