The Ultimate Soulreach :[Damian Wayne x Reader]

Crimson Traces

Hi guys!

Well, here's the next chapter. It's a lot, so I apologize in advance.

Disclaimer: There is physical and psychological violence in this chapter. Please proceed with caution. This material is heavy and triggering.

Enjoy <3

(Y/N) POV:

Hushed whispers float around me as my senses slowly begin to trickle back. I try to move, but my limbs won't respond. Even the panic in my mind won't translate to my heart. I try to fight, but the more I do, the more ravenous the darkness fights for control.

I don't have the energy to fight it, so I succumb to it once more.

A dull ringing in my ears is the only indication that I'm alive, or maybe not. Maybe this is hell. My consciousness tries to claw through the inky abyss, but the more effort I put in, the heavier it becomes. I wish the hysteria in my mind would penetrate into my nervous system, but once again it does not.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

I muster all my strength to focus on isolated fragments of my body, attempting to reclaim my sense of space.  My eyelids remain oppressively heavy, but for now, I fixate on the rise and fall of my chest.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Minutes, maybe hours, pass before the stygian darkness begins to dissipate, a small hope I cling to. It tries to fight me, but this time I don't give in.

Focus on your chest. Focus on your heartbeat.

A sluggish, barely perceptible thumping echoes throughout my body. It may be faint, but it is a beat, a sign of life.

Yes! Good.

Focus on your fingers, focus on the blood flowing to your fingers, and try to wiggle them. I imagine my blood traveling through the arteries of my heart descending with gravity through the veins down to my fingers.

I strain to force the sensation of tingling, but it eludes me still. Instead, I begin feeling a heavy, anchoring weight.

This is good. Yes. Move, you fool. Move!

I concentrate on that weight, which gradually transmutes into warmth. Warmth blossoms into a prickling sensation that rapidly pervades my entire form.

Finally.

Drawing deeper breaths, I hone in on that sensation, clinging to it like my life depends on it. Maybe it does.

Come on, (Y/N), feel something.

I beg my body to respond, and a surge of relief washes over me as my fingers begin to twitch.

Slowly, the rest of my senses come back to me. The taste of copper and bile coats my tongue, making me regret so passionately missing it. Next, my hearing returns—the faint sigh of creaking metal and the mournful wail of the wind. Fragments of scent waft through the air, mingling with the dank mustiness, the tang of salt in the air, and a subtle hint of something sharp and earthy.

Still, I can't open my eyes, but I can feel them flickering behind my lids. My heartbeat remains slow but steady. More time passes, but I can't tell how much before the veil of darkness lifts. Blinking makes my eyes feel like there are a thousand pins burning into me, but I welcome it as I lift my heavy head.

I curse my blurred vision, or perhaps it's just foggy. I can't tell. I blink repeatedly, wincing at the searing sensation. Gradually, my sight sharpens as it adjusts to the unfamiliar surroundings, bringing certain details into crystal-clear focus. First, I realize that I am not in Robinson Park. Second, I find myself confined within a metal room, devoid of any illumination. And third, I am bound to a cold, metal chair.