Time ceased to exist in the darkness. There was nothing but cold and the constant drip that echoed off of the rock cave that would become Hansel's tomb. He had fought for a while, knowing it was a futile effort, but he needed to try. The chains refused to budge. Eventually his energy waned and his struggles slowed but the black void of nothingness continued to surround him.

As his physical ability to resist slowly died he turned his thoughts away from his current predicament and the growing nausea that was starting to build. He could only lose so much of the precious ruby liquid before he died and when that happened Andrea's plans would be ruined. It would be the last thing he could do to protect the ones he loved and the innocent lives that would never know the danger that had been lurking in these woods. Death would be his release from this torment; all other possibilities eluded his addled brain.

The steady throb that had been emanating from his wounds had settled to a dull ache, never disappearing, but no longer all consuming. With heavy eyelids, Hansel closed his eyes and tried to block out the cold that was desperately trying to ravage him.

He had to fight his whole life and never backed down, even in the face of some of the most horrific monsters imaginable. This time felt different, like no matter how hard he tried or how much he struggled, there was just too much stacked against him. There were witches and magic, surviving a rogue lifestyle and now he could add betrayal and family heritage. How does one fight their blood line?

It was a constant ticking sound that penetrated the fog that had settled over Hansel. He felt sluggish and exhausted but the ticking signified something important; it was right there at the forefront of his mind but he couldn't seem to focus on it. The sound continued, burrowing its way though his entire being, trying to stir the urgency it usually did.

A scuffling sound preceded the flicker of the candles bursting to life once again. The shift in light burned the hunter's eyes and he screwed them shut to try and dampen the new pain that tingled through him. He blinked several times and a fuzzy dark and lanky silhouette caught his attention. The figure clamoured around the nearby table, and Hansel caught the gnarled and twisted features through wisps of black hair.

Panic burned through Hansel at the sight of the witch. Muriel was back; Gretel was in danger. He tried to move his heavy limbs to no success and a gasp tore out of him as the many slices across his chest awakened and sparked new pain. He had to stop Muriel, stop her from performing the ritual... he had already done that.

Hansel let out a frustrated sigh; it took too much effort to block out the dripping sound, the urgent ticking and form a coherent thought with his mind so muddled. Why were things so jumbled? He searched the dim light for Gretel; she could help him sort things out.

"Gretel," he groaned. The word sounded rough even to his ears and he licked his painfully dry lips. He turned his head and twisted as much as his body would allow but he couldn't find his beacon of hope anywhere. "Gretel!"

Katja let out a hiss as the pathetic whines of the human bound on the altar picked away at her. She contemplated the punishment for cutting out his tongue but reconsidered when she final found the source of the infernal ticking. Holding the strange device up, she turned it over in her hand as she examined it in the light. Unable to find a way to silence the constant noise, she stormed over to the prisoner and shoved the device in his face. Katja shrieked, "Tell me how to make it stop."

Hansel squinted to try and bring the object into focus. It was his, the timer belonged to him. A wave of clarity washed over him as the ticking finally registered. This wasn't Muriel and Gretel wasn't there; this was Andrea and her fellow witches slowly bleeding him for some wicked purpose. He smiled as the familiar lightheaded feeling took hold. He may not be able to escape them, but in due time the parting gift from the first witch he killed would take care of his problem. It was the first time in his life that he didn't feel the dire need to inject himself. His condition would do what he was unable to; kill him before Andrea could enact her plan.

A morbid chuckle filled the room as he stared at Katja. She snarled as the man laughed instead of answering her question. Her anger took form as she backhanded the prisoner but the laughter didn't stop.

"Enough!" bellowed Andrea as she entered the dimly lit cave. Katja automatically shrunk back and stepped out of her elder's way. Picking up Hansel's pouch from the wooden table, she pulled out the syringe and vial and filled the needle.

Hansel kept his eyes glued on Andrea as she approached the altar; syringe in hand, displaying it proudly. He grit his teeth as she jabbed it into his thigh and he had to bite down on his lip to hide his disappointment. Apparently she had been paying more attention to him than he realized.

She pulled the empty needle out and patted him on the cheek. "Can't have that now; you're too valuable to me." She moved back to the table and placed the syringe carefully away. Andrea ripped the alarm out of Katja's fingers and wound the dial setting the timer to count down to his next injection. The witches relaxed slightly at the sudden silence.

"Get out!" snarled Andrea and Katja bowed her head and scrambled to comply. Once alone she began to circle Hansel like the vulture she was. She trailed her fingers over the red and angry cuts that had almost stopped weeping. "She's not coming you know."

"Who?"

"Your sister. She's left you here, wandered off somewhere with the brat and that troll." The words rolled off her tongue with delight.

A smirk crossed Hansel's face. Edward and Ben had managed to keep Gretel away. It meant that he was going to die there alone and at the mercy of a creature of the dark but Gretel was safely out of Andrea's reach; he was remarkably alright with the situation.

His smile offended Andrea's sense of control and she dug her sharp fingernail into one of the larger cuts disturbing the clotted blood allowing the warm liquid to trickle out again.

Hansel's muscles tightened and he pulled weakly at the chains binding him to the table. He tried to give her a defiant look but all his energy was devoted to keeping his eyes open. Missing his injection time usually left him feeling run down for a bit afterwards but compounded with the blood loss he didn't stand much of a chance. The world tilted slightly and the nauseas feeling resurfaced with a vengeance. He tried to follow Andrea's movements but the black dots that had been dancing at the edges of his vision descended in full force and everything disappeared.

A gentle humming tickled his ears and soothed his stiff muscles. A faint smile ghosted Hansel's lips and he started to roll over and settle back to sleep. It had been awhile since Gretel woke up in a good mood and as much as he wanted to enjoy it, he couldn't ignore the exhaustion pulling at him. His arm suddenly pulled back and his head smacked against the hard stone surface he was lying on. His eyes shot open and it took a moment before his calmness shifted back to despair as his situation reaffirmed itself.

He twisted his head until he could move no further; it still wasn't enough to get a good view of the witch. She was diligently tending to whatever she was conjuring in the caldron and he tried to ignore that icy feeling of panic that what she was working on was not going to be in his favour. Despite his looming fear, he couldn't take his eyes off of the proceedings.

Andrea snatched the dagger she had skilfully carved up Hansel with earlier and dipped it into the thick black liquid. She pulled the blade out; the dark coating slowly dripping off like molasses. Moving with an almost envious grace, she made her way back to her prized possession. She held the blade up high for Hansel to see; the cold, dark stained metal suddenly glowing green. Her delicate hand grabbed his arm with unimaginable strength, almost crushing the bones in his wrist, and in one swift motion sliced a thin line through his flesh.

The deceptively small cut burned with the force of a bonfire, spreading quickly from the epicentre through the rest of his body. It was so intense and like nothing he had ever felt before. Instinctively Hansel tried to curl in on himself but the ever present chains binding him to this prison prevented such a small attempt at comfort.

"This," she jeered holding up the knife, "will ensure my fountain of power will never dry. A cut from this blade will never heal. The magic will keep the wound from healing and by making small cuts, you won't lose more blood than you can do without. You're about to make me the most powerful witch of all Hansel; you should take pride in that."

The hunter wanted to laugh in her face; magic didn't work on them. Except the way he was feeling, the slow burn that blazed from the tips of his fingers down to his toes, maybe he had found the exception to the rule. The familiar arms of sleep wrapped around him and as he let them guide him gently into that good night, he reminded himself that the vial of his medicine wasn't bottomless. This couldn't go on forever.