Origins One-shots

Torture Chambers - Aftermath

A shadow falls into the room. Questions arise, without language or answer. One day, he will understand them again.
 [ It's darker here... his breathing evens.
   The great slayer Michael will never return, but perhaps a close friend will. ]

Something's different. He can breathe, first of all, and-
with a feral claw at the doorframe, Brandon flies out of the room. Away from the rubble. Away from the earth. The atmosphere thins and he falls again, catching himself somewhere among low-drifting clouds.
Guildwork and fatigue will anchor him once more; he'll have to return to the ground.

Mario opens the door to Ritchie's room, and is thrown back in a tackling hug.
"H- hey there,"
It takes a lot for him to break, but in this room, he'd shattered. Mario remembers how he arrived, stranded with only his twin and a corrupted lacrima. Here, even they were gone. There was nothing but blank walls and silence.
Being alone never felt so... cold. Guild meetings fill the great hall wonderfully, but everyone has obligations. Even Ritchie. Forcing down his fear and unease, he does his best to seem alright.

Silver won't leave at first; convinced that his escape is sitting in front of him, he tries every combination of spells he can think of.
As though he hasn't already.
An hour passes with no sign of lax effort, and Colin drags him away. He feels Silver's weakness when he tries to fight back, prays he'll forget this room. A wasted wish.

With shattered spirits and breaking bones, Bri and the dragon lie in opposite corners. Wind ripples across the room in shivers. Neither moves to get up. Mario closes the door behind him, catching the question in Bri's expression. Her face looks worn, her eyes weary. She doesn't resist when he pulls her away, but turns toward the dragon with a last longing glance. There are no tears, for it's too late for that. There is only a steadying breath, the first she's had in who knows how long.

Fear has never tinted the lenses of a warrior for as long as it will this one. Lo'pho is just glad to be out of that room. Although, many things will bring his mind back.

Bryan heard... something... and with gritted teeth, dragged himself to the door. The ice in his veins had crystalized, breaking through his skin in tiny glacier rivulets. Sleet spun spiderwebs in his skeletal hair. Once-fiery eyes shut tight against the cold. They would open soon, dull and unused, seeing everything too brightly, too bright. Not unlike Michael's own. Heat would come too fast, light would be unwelcome. Bryan would be plunged back into the world he knew, old scars purged away by magic and spells. Forced to adapt, like when he was thrown in. Forced, again, against his surroundings.

Flames leapt out from the walls, licking at old scorch marks. Snap-jawed coyotes and claw black foxes, eyesmoke and lung-taint and the scent of burning flesh. Hours bled into days. Days blurred into months. David blurred into nothing and no one. Be glad that this isn't truth.