Entreißen [PaperHat]

Alptraum

He's in the plane. The plane. For a moment everything is going well, he's proud that his baby is sailing smoothly. And suddenly he's going down. He's covered in blood and on fire. His knee is going the wrong way and he can't feel his arms. He's screaming, he can feel it in his throat. His face is hot and numb. There's something on the left side of his face, it hurts too much to feel. Nails dig into the ground as he tries to pry himself free. He's still screaming-he thinks-he's still breathing smoke. He's dying.

Suddenly his body is cold as a grey claw reaches through the rubble and pulls him free. He's on his feet, shaking hands with BlackHat. Monocle glinting in the light and contract in his free hand. Skin all too cold. There's a push against his back and he goes tumbling forwards. BlackHat disappears into a cloud of snake shaped smoke.

He hits a concrete ground, hands attempting to catch himself. It's cold against his sweaty palms and blood is pooled in front of him. He can taste it on his tongue, can feel it drip from his lips and chin. A lash streaks across his back. The pain is hot and agonizing. The end of the whip curls around his arched back, it leaves angry red welts behind in its wake. It doesn't break skin yet, they're careful to not put enough force into it just yet. Two more lashes across his back and another across his shoulders. He screams again, he can hear himself this time.

"Be quiet!" His father's voice demands. But when he looks up it's Golden Monarch, smiling. Two large horns casting shadows over his eyes. He paces around him, whip trailing behind him like a tail. He pushes himself up and the crack of the whip sounds as a heart stopping pain shoots through his shoulder. Suddenly he's in the bathroom again, candlestick pressed into is spine. Tšernobog pulls back, teeth covered in his blood. He smiles and makes a show of licking his lips before going down and lapping the blood from his skin.

Something inside him snaps off, leaving him feeling slightly emptier. Tšernobog pushes his teeth back into his skin, he can feel him suck, draining him of blood, sucking more of whatever had broken inside out. He lets out a desperate whimper, trying to will his arms to move and push him off. When Tšernobog's head rises again he's BlackHat, glaring at him like he always does. He's in his usual lab attire with a clipboard to his chest, his knees trembling. Never has a fear felt so familiar.

"You're a pathetic being." He says staring down at him, eye deduced to a thin slit. "What makes you think you're good enough to even breath the same air as me?" 
  He speaks but the words don't reach his own ears. This conversation is vaguely familiar, but he doesn't remember BlackHat saying these exact words.

BlackHat grabs his throat, squeezing enough to cut off his air. His head is yanked down and suddenly he's beneath water. Bubbles flood from his mouth and he flails helplessly, trying to swim to what he thought was up. He doesn't break surface in time and can feel his lungs fill with water. The pain is cold, unlike the flames, it evades his whole chest. Burning his lungs and eyes. His vision begins to darken as his mind slows. The thrashing stops as he succumbs to the insistent pull of the deeper water. As he sinks, he nearly thinks he can hear BlackHat laughing.

Flug awakes with a jolt, tumbling off the couch with a terrified gasp. His forehead meets the hardwood floor. Inside his chest his heart hammers and his lungs gasp desperately for air. Looking up, he shoves his hair from his face, surveying the unfamiliar room around him. Suddenly there's someone at his side, a hand on his shoulder. Flinching away he turns towards them, squinting in the darkness to make out that familiar silhouette.