Another week, another chapter!
You all know the drill by now, so read on and enjoy.
"Cassie! Cassie wait!" Knuckles finally caught her up at the elevator. "What just happened back there? Why'd you do that?"
Her eyes were red, although not a single tear flowed.
"It's always the same." She said bitterly. "As soon as something seems to be going my way, something or someone comes along to ruin it!"
A soft bell like tone was followed shortly by the opening of the lift doors. Knuckles gently ushered his friend inside and pushed the button for the car park. He looked at her. Her shoulders were sagging, her head bowed, eyes constantly staring at the floor. Her hands were clamped together, her entire stance radiating vulnerability.
"I'm uh... not very good at people problems," He started, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I know someone who is. I'm sue she'll be able to help."
Cassie smiled up at the echidna as the days generic tune played them towards the car parking complex.
She whimpered in the dark. Cold tears running unheeded down her cheeks, thick blood trickling unseen from many cuts, both shallow and deep. Her torturer had been careful. No tendon or artery had been cut in his slow deliberate carvings of her once unblemished flesh.
Like painting a masterpiece, he deliberated over every slice, every cut, carefully channelling the seeping blood along planned routes, creating intricate patterns only he could see. Licking his forever dry lips, he flexed his wrist and twirled his razor sharp knife lightly between his fingers.
His captive had long ceased her futile struggles against her bonds, and now sat, shivering against the cold as their breath misted between them. He thought of how to continue his vile art as he inspected the intricate swirls and curves of his work. The ugly bullet wound to her shoulder caused him only a minor annoyance. He merely plied his art to draw attention away from the blot on his canvas.
Since his new master had left him with his captive, he hadn't uttered a single word. His silent, penetrating gaze flickering along each line as he carved into her flesh with each stroke of his blade, his forked tongue lashing out, tasting the metallic, dusty air tinged with fear and blood. Not once had he spoken or made a sound. But now as he drew to a close on his masterpiece, something compelled him to speak.
"My old masters used to question my fascination towards art, and the pain and agony that comes with it." His voice was soft, almost wistful, like remembering for a moment long past, a time long forgotten. He looked her hard in the eye and smirked. "I know what you're thinking. Art isn't always dark and full of despair, but that's where you'd be wrong."
He gently pressed the knife point to his chin, walked past his bound captive and leaned against the wall behind her.
"A normal person will look upon a work of art and only see the finished piece. They will not take the time to look closer, to see beyond the top layer of paint, to truly experience what the artist themselves felt as they worked."
"So what! You think you're some kind of artist!" Rouge spat through her teeth, cringing at the stinging wounds covering her body.
Her torturer, Seniva walked slowly by her, running his blade across her right shoulder. She cried out against the searing pain, the knife feeling red hot at it carved its path through her flesh.
"I once dreamed of becoming a great artist it's true. But how do you define an artist?" He squatted down before her, her head tilting up slightly to look her in the eyes. She stared back, salty tears glistening as they ran down her as-of-yet untouched face and fell, stinging as they soaked into her open wounds.
"For starters they aren't psychopaths!" His answering laughter was amplified by the confines of the small room. Even after he had stopped, it took several moments for silence to return.
"Let me give you an example then. Vincent Van Gough. A brilliant artist, a true master at the stroking of a brush. And yet, he cut off his own ear, believing that doing so would stop the voices."
"So do you hear voices too? Or are you just insane!" Rouge said in a condescending tone. The serpent grinned, revealing his long yellow fangs.
"Oh I did, once. Till I found an, outlet."
He pulled off his black shirt, revealing in the dim light, a multitude of scars running at different angles and curves along the entirety of his torso and shoulders. Some were still scabbed over, and there was a red stained bandage wrapped around his left shoulder.
"It began as meaningless self harm, but soon enough I began to relish in the pain. It reminded me that I was still alive. That feeling, that elation which pain brought me, I had to bring to others." He shifted forwards and rested his empty hand on her bare, blood speckled knee. "You're just the latest to experience this sensation of true..."
He trailed off, turning his head to the side, listening to the tinny voice of Dr. Robotnik in his ear piece.
"Hearing the voices again?" Rouge asked with a sneer.
Seniva glared at her with a hiss, before standing upright, retrieving his shirt and marching out of the small metallic chamber, switching off the yellow light, leaving Rouge alone in the darkness.
As soon as his footsteps had faded completely, Rouge began to pull hard at the rope binding her wrists to the arms of the chair. At first they wouldn't budge, but before long the blood which had run down her arms and soaked into the thick, coarse weave provided enough lubricant for her to slip free. Skin ripped away along with the rope, but she had felt worse pain.
She rubbed at her torn wrists, feeling blood trickle through her fingers. She looked down at feet, finding the same rope binding her legs. With her newly freed hands she set about working on the knots.
They sped through the dusty, wreckage strewn wasteland. Shadow no longer cared if they were spotted, he needed to break something, and until he got his hands on Robotnik, his robots would have to do. What he didn't smash with his own bare hands, he fried with chaos energy or took off the head with a well place shot from his pistol.
Sonic however, was trying his best at not becoming a target for Shadow's incessant rampage. Mainly by keeping as far ahead of him as possible.
Ignoring the explosions and robotic cries for mercy, the blue blur flashed past the swat-bots standing guard over a large hole in the Death Egg's structure. They barely had time to register the hedgehog's passing before the Ultimate Life Form appeared before them, unleashing a powerful crimson wave of chaos energy, obliterating the droids and tore the hole even wider.
Shadow took a moment to regain his breath and slow his heart rate, catching Sonic cowering behind some debris out of the corner of his eye.
"Don't just sit there and tremble Faker! We've got work to do." Sonic risked a peak back at the path Shadow had smashed his way through. The sight sent shivers down his spine. For once, Sonic felt sorry for Dr. Robotnik.
Shorter than I hoped, but there it is.
I can only say: hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.
What will happen to our heroes, or more importantly to Eggman when Shadow gets ahold of him?
Gonna be messy, thats for sure.
Til next time on FntS
-Corrupt TE-