This Is His Devotion (Destruction)

Chapter 1

***

(sigh)

Here I am... writing a story based off of my one-shot...

Curse all of you... Causing my mind to work overtime with this and just straight-up plaguing me with ideas... 

But I suppose I am having fun...

Kind of...

I am going to rip your heart's out though...

-Dani-

***

Damian didn't know why he was going there. He wasn't supposed to be going to the dungeons. It was forbidden of him and Damian did not want to invoke the wrath of his mother or grandfather; the consequences would be painful. 

Yet, here he was, walking and walking, one foot in front of the other, down long cold pathways to the long rows of barred rooms.

His wrist jerked forward, an invisible hand pulling him along. Damian stumbled minutely at the unexpected movement before gathering his stability easily. 

The hand was tethered quite insistently to him, pulling and pulling no matter where he was. When he was sleeping it weighed heavily on him, like a shackle had been locked on his wrist. When he was training it burned through his skin, leaving marks his mind could only conjure, as though telling him that he was needed elsewhere and it was far more important than swinging around his sword and knives. 

He stopped; The door in front of him was thick, 6 solid inches of reinforced iron. You should not be here; you still have time to walk away. 

Damian reached out, gripped the handle and turned.

Water drips was the first thing he heard. Decisive plinks against the stone. Each breath was painful, hot stale air that couldn't rush out of his lungs fast enough. It was dark, the only light coming from the open doorway that let out a long rectangle of light. It didn't even reach 7 feet from the door.

Damian closed the door with a resounding thud, stepping between the two rows of cells. The darkness took a moment to adjust to, but he blinked enough for the darkness to turn into vague shapes. If he squinted his eyes, he could see the grime and dirt that coated the rusted bars in front of him. 

Skeletons stared at him, huddled in the corners of the cells; the occasional one was splayed out as they had been tortured before being left to rot. There were some covered in leathery skin, others bare and cracked, and a few fresh and rotting.

He looked away from the vessels of those who used to live and continued walking, letting his wrist lead him. The hand was tugging more insistently now, burning, but not like the way it had been before. Anticipation, maybe? Excitement, perhaps?

Damian came to a stop and stared. It was a cell, but why would he be looking at it? It was empty. Confused and irritated, he growled and took a step back. There was a small hanging cot with chains, something that other cells didn't have. The prisoner was long-term then. Damian filed that information away for later. He shifted his eyes around, searching, but nothing came up. There was nothing. He scoffed. Stupid hand; stupid, stupid, stupid. 

But just before he could turn around, he saw- His breath caught.

Blue...

They were blue; they were blue like the sea; blue like sapphires; blue like iris in full bloom; blue like a dark bruise; blue like the sky; blue like none of those things because they were the purest form of blue that Damian could think of and they stole his breath-