Blood Blight

((continued from http://www.lillegardisland.com/t692p30-blood-bliss#15051 ))

Sner didn't need to say much at all, thankfully, during the walk. Denskith put up little fuss. Observers could probably assume that they were going on a quiet walk - nothing like what had just occurred in the theatre. He hadn't even needed to keep a close eye on him, he could hear the footsteps behind the entire time. It gave him time to think. Time to clear his mind. He wanted Denskith to get his just desserts, but above all, he wanted to be fair. Entering the main castle, he walked up the staircase, before entering the nearest room to the right. Convenient placing, as it were.

He strode inside, keeping the door held open for his... acquaintance.  "Come in, and take a seat." This was a professor, not a student, a professor--  "I only wish to ask you a few questions. You can manage that, can't you?" He smiled, not expecting an answer.  "You will have to be honest with me. I do not wish to think of what I'd have to do if you weren't."

He shut the door gently behind them.  "I want to know if you have done this before."

Denskith did exactly what he was instructed to do.  He ascended the staircase and sat down.  All was calm, all was well.  He listened attentively; he merely nodded to Sner's polite question before the real interrogation began.

He gripped the top of his knees tightly.

"Yes," his voice quavered, barely audible.

"Here, it's happened . . . three times now."  He assumed the man was talking about the controlling as a whole, not just the blood bliss.  "Two of them were an accident, I swear--"  His voice raised slightly in pitch and volume, but he quickly ceased it; no excuses, no excuses.  "--and one was to save a student.  Try to."  He inhaled deeply, sharply.  "Nothing was to the extent as with you, though, nothing . . . nothing here."  Sner was the worst extent in Lillegard, but overall, there were worst cases.  So much worse.

Yes. Sner had been hoping that such an event had been a one-off incident, but three... Three times before. Had he not been apprehended yet? Had he been allowed loose to victimise other inhabitants of the castle? This was bad, and evidently, nobody else was going to do anything about it.

A grim look passed over him, but he remained silent until the man had finished. Meanwhile, he'd quietly paced to behind his desk, fingers trailing along the wooden frame of his own chair, but not yet sitting down. "I see," he murmured, concern written all over his face. There were assumptions to be made, but Denskith's apparent nervousness made the leap easier. "How is it done? You do it with your voice...?" He gestured to his own throat in demonstration. Details were essential.

The pacing put Denskith on edge.  It was an interrogation.  He deserved it, of course, but-- he was too familiar with the process, either with Wolfgang after a bad relapse or accident or with the Locals and-- he managed to keep his face straight, though.  More and more, he remembered Windor.  He got so in the mindset that he forgot for a moment that people here did not know of his powers.  It was okay to tell, wasn't it?  He had to, regardless. . . .

"Y-yes."  He swallowed to clear his throat.  "Yes, I manipulate with my voice, with commands."  No need to mention the serum; it would only complicate things.  "I can force anyone and anything to do what I want, should they not provide enough resistance.  It usually helps to lure them in first," he admitted openly but still clearly, almost neutrally-- almost.  "I let them be entranced by the music, and the commands . . ."  His voice drifted; there was no need for such explanation.

"The commands have to be specific, though, and sung for the utmost effect.  Singing simplifies the process, allows me to be a bit more LENIENT with the process.  Under the right conditions--"  He allowed his eyes to lower towards the ground in shame.  "I could control anything, anyone, however I pleased."

He was a monster.

This was important. He tuned in to every word that the man spoke, his attentive stare pinned on him and only him. His eyes widened as he described the luring - yes, that was exactly what had happened to him beforehand. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security, only to---

He released his contained breath as Denskith finished. Did he really have that much power? Just what had he done to others? Had he been lucky to escape? His fingers crawled over the edge of the chair, tapping thoughtfully. He needed to be careful here. The man had surrendered, but at any moment, he could sing and all would be lost again.

He turned away to face the cupboards-- drinks. He tugged out a single cup, glancing towards the array of different drinks available, before simply deciding that he wouldn't need any specific beverage. Plain water would do. As plain as it could get, anyway. He swiftly filled it, before reaching into another cupboard for something else. The clinking of glasses could be head, as well as some visible hesitation, but finally, he brought up what looked like a black test tube.

"I must imagine that it's uncomfortable for you to confess all this," he murmured, stiill turned away. "This is all rather dangerous... And I think you're aware of the trouble it could cause." He popped open the tube, tipping it to allow a few drops into the drink. The water immediately fogged up with a thick, opaque blackness. He blinked at it numbly, before tipping it to add even more. He wanted it blacker than black. As dark as possible.

He looked at Denskith again. "Do you feel remorse, brother? Do you wish to stop?"

Silence rang as the tubs clacked.

Uncomfortable?  Of course it was!  It never got easier, despite how many times this now made-- how many warnings he had to give, how many excuses-- and, all for what?  Dead comrades he didn't mean to kill, dead enemies he didn't want to kill, a war won, a talent reaching new heights . . .  He looked up from the floor and his self-pity only to see the black tube.  And, his head began to ache.

It wasn't the drink itself that began to terrify him-- though the idea of anyone drinking it, him or the interrogator, made him shiver slightly, too, the concoction of such a thing setting him on edge-- but, it wasn't the main reason for his fear.  The main reason was the similarities, the aching similarities to the serum interview (why did his head hurt so much?).  Ask questions, get under your skin.  Make you thing in their terms-- don't you want to change?  Don't you want all of your problems to just miraculously disappear?

He broke out of his calm and leaned back from the man-- monster?-- and his drink.

He wished it to stop, yes.  Just not like this.

"What is that?" he asked, his words crisp and obviously frightened, despite the attempt to keep his composure.  He was shaking.  He was shaking!  He was right about the interrogation but wrong in the person-- it wasn't a Local or even Wolfgang doing this!  It was Xenox!

The man didn't answer his question, but he asked another, just as equally important, so he allowed it to slide. He glanced down to the cup. Well, one could say it looked a little daunting, and it was. He couldn't blame the man. But instead, a smile crept along his face. "This is a drink that will help you. I will help you. I understand your fear, and I only wish to release you from it."

He shifted towards another tin - sugar. He could add sugar, just to make the tasteless drink a bit more sweeter. It was the least he could do, after all. Two spoonfuls were thrown in. "I know some families that drink this before they pray. They say it brings them closer to God. This drink will last a while, and I surely hope you will be able to find It too in that time." This was a much more powerful variant, but the point remained.

Picking the drink, he turned to place it slowly before Denskith. "And when you find It, It will aid you. It cares for all." He smiled warmly."Please, drink. There is no pain in it. There is no fear, only Its love and acceptance. It is for the best."

The Lexi sprites. Black variant. That was what the drink was. And true to his word, there was no pain indeed. Only silence. Many weeks of silence, unable to pass a single word through ones lips until it wore off.

And, in his humble opinion, it was his only option.

That wasn't an answer.

He didn't notice the sugar, didn't care about praying to God.  He wanted run.  He wanted to run, but he had promised Wolfgang that he would be a good soldier, a good soldier, and good soldiers didn't run, didn't-- didn't--

He got out from his chair but didn't run.  Standing.  Standing was better than sitting and waiting and exactly what he had done before with Xenox.  He didn't want that again.  He didn't want this.  Yes, the commands terrified him, yes, life would be better without them-- but, his voice!  His voice came with the commands, there was no way to separate the two, and--

--and, he twists his arms out in front of him, sheilding himself from whatever that was--

"You-- I didn't hear you answer my question."  That was close.  Too close-- maybe whatever that was in that drink was his only option.  No, whatever that was in that drink was a-- a serum, through and through.  He wouldn't concede blindly to experiments or blood anymore without knowing what he was getting into.

His back was haunched, trying to make himself smaller.  His arms were still in front like thorns.  Protection.
"If you want me to drink that . . . I would like you to tell me exactly what that drink is."  Details were key.  He was not going to charge in blindly for his hopes and dreams.  Not again.

He looked to Denskith in alarm as he stood. Frankly, he couldn't understand the reaction, no matter what way he looked at it. His words had not been alarming, had they? They'd only intended to inform, to give Denskith some glimmer of hope whilst he looked like he had lost it all.

Sner raised both arms - an attempt to show that he did not mean harm at all. And he did not. If anything, he was giving the man lighter retribution than what he deserved, if only out of sympathy. He gave a long sigh. Honesty was his best option at this moment.  "Lexi sprites. They're tiny creatures found in small pools by riversides. Colourful things. They're known for tampering with one's voice box."

His eyes trailed towards the drink.  "They vary. The black ones are dull and calm. They taste of nothing, but they're cold and soothing. They prefer the quiet." He glanced up to Denskith. "But, I believe that this is the cure for your troubles. After this, there will be no burden!"

His tone raised with both fervour and desperation. "This is no punishment! You've sinned and committed treachery all over, and here I am, rewarding you for your foul deeds! What do you want?  Do you wish to bring harm to more? Is that what you desire?"

Sprites--?  Yes, when in Windor, one learned mythology quickly, but--

--No.  No matter what the serum had done to him, what he had done to other people, how much he had to tip-toe around people and his words and-- his immediate answer was "no."  No, he didn't want this.  No, he didn't want to lose his voice-- that was the entire problem, didn't his audience member see that?  The reason he hadn't silenced himself a long time ago was because he lacked the will to actually resist the song, like so many of his victims.  No matter how much he had to, he couldn't give up his voice.  It was a cure to his troubles, but at the same time . . . it was his happiness.

"What do you want out of life?"
He didn't want to answer that.  Not again.

The man shook his head slowly, eyes on the audience member in case of anything, arms still shielding.  He didn't want to cause any more harm, but-- just "no" to everything.  He didn't know what he wanted anymore.  This was just like last time.  Just like last time!  The conflicting wanting of voice and not being hurt by it-- it was exactly the same.

"I want . . . control," he eventually answered.  He knew it was too vague, too simplistic, but it was the best he could do.  He wanted his voice.  He wanted to be free.  Why was that so difficult? And, so wrong. So unfair to his previous victims . . .

Control. He wanted control. Sner's expression revealed little. There was nothing that he desired to reveal. He only continued to gaze, his grin more like a tense grimace than anything, his amber eyes unblinking.

The man had just rambled beforehand about the control he held over others. And it seemed he craved it still. He wanted the world to bow to him like puppets. Sner had seen the thrill of it earlier - the man clearly enjoyed it.

He reached for the cup of blackened water. "You will not leave this room until you have consumed this drink. You will desist your crimes, and you will revert to a brighter life." His tone was a harsh whisper as the cup was pushed towards him, droplets splashing slightly. The last thing he wanted to do was force it down, but Sner feared that it might be his last option.

That smile was the same: that promising smile that it was for the better, that everything would be all right after this, you just had to do this one thing-- and, Denskith knew that being mute would be the best for everyone, himself included.  He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he couldn't imagine living without music, even with his train-wreck of a mind.  The thoughts sped by, split hairs, and never reached that ultimate solution.  He couldn't.  It was too simple of an answer, but . . .  He wanted a middle-ground.

Denskith continued to shake his head, back and forth, back and forth.  His hands moved closer to his face, one clutching the top of his head in desperation, combing through the hairs, while the other continued to shield.  The nearing glass was noticed and properly feared-- he nearly screamed but bit his tongue.  All of his fears were coming together in this one moment, this one singular moment . . .

"It won't be brighter," he pleaded, careful not to raise his voice too high in pitch and volume.  Such general statements did not turn into commands, but the truth within it remained.  "Please, I--"  He cut himself off, knowing that begging wouldn't work-- but started again because excuses were all he had.  "I'll be more careful."  How, though?

It was clear that Denskith just wasn't going to submit. Every sign of fear was apparent. Did he not agree with his morals? Was he not aware that the ability was a blight on those all around him?

He sighed through his nostrils, trying to console himself, before raising the glass higher in demonstration. "Imagine this cup was a gun. Imagine I had the finger on the trigger, and it was pointing at you... Not just you, but at everyone around you as well, and I told you I would be careful with it. Imagine that I have already shot three people." He smiled slightly as he allowed Denskith to process his words. "Would you let me keep the gun, or would you want to take it away?"

He leaned back slightly, his expression flat and serious. "You must understand that I cannot allow you, under any circumstance to walk around like this. You are a threat to the people here." His eyes narrowed coldly. "And this is my job."
This was his last chance, he swore.

And, analogies.  Always with analogies!  With Xenox, they talked of life being a chalkboard; with the audience member, his voice a gun . . .  Like before, the words did not make sense to the situation itself.  This time, though, he would counter.  That determination, that promise to himself made ten years ago now, calmed him, if only slightly.  He lowered one hand, allowing the other to rest on his head.  Ready for anything.

"What if that gun WAS the finger?" he asked, his voice as level as possible, nearly a whisper.  "Do you amputate so that the entire hand-- the entire arm-- suffers?"  He was quite proud of himself for the counter-analogy but not in the argument itself.  He knew he should drink.  He knew exactly where the audience member was coming from and really, it made sense.  It really did.  He wanted him to understand the consequences of that sense, to at least see what would happen to him as a whole once his voice was gone.

"I am a threat, yes; I have been for ten years now."  Such a powerful number, ten: double-digits at last.  Soon, the normal years would be outweighed by the monster.  It was only a matter of time.  "I'm a threat to everyone.  I understand if you were to take away my powers, but my voice . . ."  He took a deep breath in.  "It's all I have.  It's my job, in fact-- I'm the music teacher.  And, we probably should perform our duties."  Even if it was murder.  "Yes . . ."  Even if it was mass-murder . . .  He didn't want to think about those times.  Not now, not ever.  He did, though, and his eyes squinted to hold back the tears.

"I'll try harder."  The promise was barely audible, shaking.  "Please . . ."  He had to try.  And, he had.  It was just too much for him to handle.

Sner sharply inclined his head as Denskith countered him, keeping a sincere, straight face. Of course, of course, the man had every reason to hesitate. Sner had been afraid, in fact, everyone had been anxious in one way or another. But duty overruled one's conflicting emotions. Always.

"There is more to you than your voice, I am certain," he assured, his smile weak. "Perhaps it would be for the better. We all deal with loss, I'm afraid..."

Denskith had a lot more to worry about than not being able to teach his lessons correctly. Who could say that he would still be teaching? A grim image flashed across his mind, a class sitting numbly, listening... no, they were compelled to listen. Enchanted. Controlled. Leaving the room not knowing what had happened. The man would get away with it every time, his voice could dictate it so.

It was these images that darkened his expression. "And to answer your earlier question... Yes.  Yes I would." He straightened his poise. "I would give up my wings if I saw it the right thing to do."

And with that, he lunged forwards, flailing one hand towards Denskith's throat.  And the throat, in particular - he didn't want him to give him the chance to squeal out a command before he'd silenced him. If by chance, he'd managed to secure a hold there, he'd raise the glass high, in preparation of forcing it down.

He didn't smile back.  He had tried giving up his voice before Windor-- and, those were dry times.  Tasteless times.  He didn't even remember those times . . . for other reasons, of course.  Still, he remembered an ache about it all, like life had lost all of its color-- not in a  black-and-white sort of way, either.  Just lines.

He did not believe the monster in front of him.  He did not believe that he would give up his wings because it was the "right thing to do."  Things were never that simple, didn't he see--?

Denskith saw the lunge coming; it was a basic assault per Resistance teaching.  They'll try to use their speed against you and catch you off guard.  This is why you always watch.  Eyes on them-- but, he didn't attempt to dodge.  That wouldn't be right.  Sner was only doing his job, which was right, by taking his voice, which was wrong-- the commands, he meant, not the taking of his voice-- but his entire voice, that was wrong.  He had done his best telling him that, though, and this . . .  Well, he probably deserved this, one way or another.  Definitely, even.

His throat tensed; it did not care for the abuse.  Pompous to the end.  Denskith screwed up his face into the most determined expression he could manage-- and, if everything goes wrong, remember this: do not show that you are broken.  You may break with their torture-- it's expected that you will.  Do not show them that you are.  Remain strong until the end and past it.  Resist until the end-- right, Wolfgang?

He looked up at the black glass, his eyes steady but a tear escaping regardless.  He could never obey orders fully.  What a disappointment he was.  Even now . . .

Upon seeing the look on the other man's face, he could not hide the dismay on his own. Was he going to accept this, like he ought to have? If he'd resisted, like expected, there would be no remorse. Sner would do his best to pass justice. But this man put up no struggle. It made Sner feel all the worse - he was never fond of persecuting the honourable. Or could this even be called honour? He was confused, and the answers did not appear to be within reach.

There was no need to worry. The voice would return, eventually. The water diluted the sprite's power... and how much power they had depended on the person.

His hold on the man's neck loosened, but he did not release it entirely. Could he do this...? No, he would have to. It was a sacrifice, not only on the man's side, but his own. All in the name of the greater good.

"There is one last thing I want you to know..." He sighed. "This hurts me more than it hurts you." He moved his hand from the neck up to his chin to force it upwards, before tipping the glass towards his lips. So help him, if he kept it shut, he'd let it pour down his nostrils instead. The orifice didn't matter.

He doubted that.

He accepted the circumstances best that he could.  His mouth opened a crack, resisting such force drink; some of the liquid ran down his face and, eventually, slipped through his nostrils.  There was no use resisting-- Hold your head high, no matter what-- he shook, quivered, tears rolled down his eyes and choked sobs escaped from his mouth.  He suffocated, and then swallowed.

He gasped for air, and nothing returned from his mouth.

Everything was so lonely now, dark.  No.  No!  He knew this would happen, accepted that this would happen, but for it to actually happen was another phenomenon entirely.  The tears rushed down, his breathing uneven.  H-he needed music!  Yes!  Music would solve everything, clear his head of woes-- but, when he tried to let out a note, nothing came out, and the entire process started again.  Lonely, dark.  Music would solve everything, just one note--!

If Sner lets go of him, Denskith cradles himself with his arms in desperate, silent sobbing.  If he does not let go, the teacher does not cradle, simply cries.

He withdrew himself from the man, his gaze hardening as he observed the results. The Lexi sprites would be taking hold now, like they usually did. They'd grip and tangle around the voice box, twisting it to their own fiendish desires. Silence. Pure silence.

He held his breath in his best attempt to contain himself. Doing something like this never sat well with him, even if it was for the good of the academy. Seeing the man's reactions felt like a stab in his chest. But now the castle was safe from his powers, was it not? There was nothing to fear... There was nothing...

"It won't last forever," he said, his voice wavering slightly. He cleared his throat to correct it. "Only until you have learned your lesson... teacher."

Putting the glass aside, he reached forth, intending to land a comforting pat on his shoulder. "Rise above it. I have faith in you."

A mute scream escaped the teacher.

That's right, that's right-- he was a teacher, a teacher of Lillegard that was entrusted with the safety of his and the entire school's students.  His voice was, ultimately, taken away because of that, but--!  He understood all of that, and yet--! To have his voice back again!  What he would give!

He violently pulled away from Sner's hand, his eyes whipping up from the ground and giving the former audience member a wild glare framed with reddened skin.

He did not attack.  He did not move from his spot.  He simply stared up at Sner a moment longer, eyes locking . . . and buried his face into his arms, still crying.  Still not moving save for his shivering shoulders and shaking head.  One note-- that's all he needed to make things better.  One.  Note.

He was calming down slightly in his sobs, at least.  Not due to the situation being any better, but rather that he was becoming exhausted in his mourning.

As Denskith refused his touch, he let his hand waver in the air with a frown. Evidently, this was someone of whom he had shattered all of his trust in. Despite evils, he genuinely seemed like a good man at heart, and it hurt. Would the sacrifice be worth it? Would the highers even know? Or care?

He seemed so utterly broken. And he had caused it. Look at what you've prevented, Sner. You've saved everyone. Quietly, he returned to his desk, hands skimming over the surface to find-- aha. Tissues. He pulled out two, before turning towards Denskith, holding them out.

"This is hardly a consolation, I know. Do try to forgive me... I only did what had to be done," he sighed.

Sner hoped that he wouldn't have to do it again... but what if he did? What if then man went wild as soon as the spell broke? What if started using his powers in wicked ways again? He'd be forced to do it again, and again, and again... to lock the poor man in silence for eternity. His expression turned grim as the thoughts crossed his mind. Dear Csestasa, he hoped not.

The tissues went ignored.  It was doubtful that Denskith even knew of their existence.

He continued his crying and the silent wails.  The tears were coming back again in full force-- and, his shame.  He was crying in front of a staff member!  He had promised himself that this wouldn't happen, not like in the Resistance-- everyone knew he cried there-- did everyone knew he cried here, too?  Had he cried in front of Everly when she was still, um, existing?  He had cried in front of Richard, he knew, but-- maybe Aisling?  Maybe the golem girl?  He didn't know.  He didn't know!  He didn't want to know-- or, rather, for them to know in the first place, not for himself to know the actual number.  The actual number was probably horribly depressing, but he needed to know, right?  Right?

He needed to leave. He needed to leave now.
Denskith stumbled from his chair, knocking it over in the process. He opened his mouth, breathed in sharply when nothing came out, then awkwardly picked the chair back up onto its legs with his own two hands. There. He proceeded to head for the door, his hands moving to cover up his blotched and tear-scarred face. They stung at the actual scars. They burned-- where was music when he needed it?

As the tissues went ignored, he tried to press them forwards adamantly, willing Denskith to just take them already. However, it seemed that his colleague was intent on leaving. He flinched slightly as the chair clattered to the floor, then watched as he set it back in place and resumed to the door.

Would he just let him walk away on such a depressing note? Though, there seemed no other alternative, and all of Sner's reassurances seemed to have fallen flat thus far. It was for the best. It was for the best.

He shifted past Denskith, reaching out towards the handle before the other could. "Listen to me," he said urgently, trying to maintain steady eye contact with the other, even if he were not looking.  "You will find solace. Now, it seems bad, but it will get better. I can promise you this."

After a moment's hesitation, he twisted the handle, and opened the door wide, allowing enough room for the man to leave.

There was no steady sight. There was no solace. He needed music. He needed music, and solace wasn't going to give him that, silence wasn't going to give him that. Everything was so silent now; he could hear so many things, still see many things, but the color and sound and everything was gone. His music was gone, so everything was gone, doomed, music would make this better--

He stumbled, half-blind with tears, out of the room, dashing down whatever corridors it took to reach, to return his room. Did his room have music, though--? The music room, then. There were no classes yet, he could still steal away the piano. It didn't matter who saw him-- well, it did in the long-term, but in this short-term, in this now, such a thing as consequence ceased to matter. He needed music. Denskith tried to rub away the tears again and again, his stilt legs off-kilter, his vision still impaired-- but, he needed music. And tripping all the way to it was no matter at all.

The man didn’t even regard him as he left. He stared after him, watching his disgraced state with disappointment as it disappeared around a corner. Quietly, he closed the door with a click, before his eyes shifted towards the rest of the now eerily quiet room. He eyed the inky black stain on the floor, before exhaling, and bending down to dab at it with his tissues.

What a complete mess. He thought he’d done the right thing, stripping the man of his ability to manipulate others… but at what cost? Had he been a man of righteousness, or a monster of cruelty? Surely, the door man would find enlightenment… surely. Yet, seeing his teary, scar-encrusted face made such hopes feel empty.

He raised the tissue. It was completely black, but it hadn’t moved much off the floor. It seemed that that stain was there to stay. A reminder, as it were. Good. He needed nothing less.

For a moment, he simply sat quietly on his knees, unmoving as it were on the outside, but doing everything in his ability to not allow the day’s events to drag him down. He had a job to do here… whether it was in the name of justice or some other misguided intention. His finger dipped into the cup, before he brought up a tiny drop of the concoction to his lips.

Regardless, it was time to pray. And he would pray in Denskith’s name.