A/N: Please forgive me. I hope this chapter makes up for my transgressions. A huge thank you to HubrisP for giving me this idea, I hope you like the interpretation.
The metal was cold against his back.
That was Scott's first thought on regaining consciousness. He had been stripped of all his clothing apart from his black jeans, which clung heavily to his body from the warmly damp atmosphere, his wrists and ankles bound with something he suspected might be leather, chafing the skin beneath as he tugged experimentally. No steel this time; physical strength was not an issue in holding him down, unlike with Matt. Lifting his shoulders and head as far as he could, he saw that he was tied down in a T shape, his arms stretched out to the very edges of the table, his legs in front of him.
He briefly thought back to that time Marcie had forced him and Jamie to go to Church, recalled looking up at the crucifixion of Jesus sadly and wondering how much it had hurt him to die like that.
Scott tossed his head to the side, irritably flicking sweaty tendrils of hair out of his face. Now was no time for nostalgia, he had to figure out where he was and how to escape!
He was in a room that seemed to be half dungeon, half surgery theatre. The light from the lamps lining the room reflected harshly off of the polished chrome surfaces, making his eyes sting if he looked for too long. There were no windows, the only entrance and exit being the door about five meters away from him. It was like something out of a crime drama, dark grey iron with a slide-out section to look in through, striped with bars. Dotted around the room were elaborate markings made with what appeared to be black paint, lines of brown cutting through occasionally. The sight of them made something stir inside of him, the ghost of a memory. What was it?
It hit him like a slap in the face. The ritual the villagers of Lesser Malling had used to try to sacrifice Matt at Raven's Gate. They were the same symbols!
Scott jerked upwards in horror at the realisation, pain crackling through bruised and torn muscles, the result of his struggle with his kidnappers, at the sudden movement. He ignored it as he squinted, trying to make them out.
'No . . . not the exact same, but similar,' he amended. Whatever they were here for, it was definitely not good news for him.
The screech of metal on metal caught his attention as the door was unlocked from the outside and pushed open. Scott gulped involuntarily; sweat sliding down his cheek from his forehead. The same man from Silent Creek and the failed mission of theirs strolled into the room casually, as if he were walking to work. Which, Scott thought, he actually was.
The man paused as he reached the table, reaching round to the side behind Scott's head to pull up the industrial stool that had evidently been placed there for his usage. He winced slightly as he lowered himself down onto it, as if his joints were in pain, or perhaps his back.
In the unforgiving light, Scott took the time to briefly look over the man's features as he had not before. One of his eyes was missing, the result of Matt's power helping them to escape, the surrounding skin red and raw with still-fresh cuts, the hole left behind covered with a cheesy black eye patch, like something out of a bad action or pirate movie. The other eye was bloodshot, from what Scott could not tell, the pupil so huge it nearly obliterated all the colour of his iris, which itself, was so pale as to almost be as white as the sclera.
The torturer had a nondescript face, the kind you would look at and forget immediately. Up close Scott could see the unhealthy tint of his skin. Prison pallor, that was the term. What inmates got when they hadn't seen the sun in a long time.
The man cracked a manic grin and Scott internally shuddered at the state of his teeth, black and yellow, probably what caused his stinking breath, as well as the intent behind the leer. He reached and casually placed a hand on Scott's exposed stomach, a twisted version of an affectionate gesture. His eyes trailed up the teenager's exposed body to his face, a gaze that made his very flesh crawl with disgust.
"You've caused me an awful lot of trouble, you know." His voice was like the hiss of a serpent. Scott made no reply, thinking this to be the safest option until he knew what was going to happen.
"They thought I broke you. I thought I broke you; they were so very angry with me when they found I'd made a mistake. The thing was, I didn't, not really. Did I, Scott?" He smirked, staring into Scott's eyes as if he too possessed the power of telepathy. "It haunts you; I saw it in your reaction at our previous meeting. I may not have broken you but I damaged you. And my methods failed through no fault of my own, they'd always worked before. It was your fault. Your inner strength was incredible, as if you have a core of iron. I could weaken but not destroy it. It was exhilarating to try."
He paused here, as if he expected Scott to say something. When he didn't, the man continued with his monologue. "I must thank you for that. Not only did you entertain me as I haven't been entertained for, oh so many years, but you presented a possibility to me that has never been considered before. I don't know if you are aware, but our King, whom your kind call "Chaos" has no corporeal form of his own, he is the living embodiment of evil and terror and all the hideous things in this world."
Scott shuddered at the memory of that horrific thing emerge from the gateway in Peru. It was an image he would never forget, even if was never really his. The man felt the movement, making his smirk widen.
"But," here his eyes darkened, the shadow of rage crossing his face, causing Scott to unwillingly shrink back against the slab. "That brat, Matthew Freeman, wounded him as he was freed. He was already weakened from his millennia of confinement and the boy's power was at maximum capacity, twenty times the strength he currently has. He is hurt, damaged, just as I damaged you, child. His power leaks out in sudden bursts, near uncontrollably. He needs time to heal. And that's where you come in."
The anger disappeared and in its place a petrifying hunger appeared. "He needs a vessel, one who can contain his essence until he can repair himself and this honour has been placed on you. Your inner strength will keep you alive and he will draw on that until there is nothing left, draining it out of you bit by bit, causing your very soul to waste away. I estimate you may last three months, maybe six, until you disappear completely."
He smiled as Scott lay there frozen, his mind unable to process the fate that awaited him, unwilling to believe that such a slow, torturous death could be possible.
The gloating continued. "Would you like to know why you were chosen? Your strength was the deciding factor, it's true, but there is also a certain poetic justice in having one of the five, who is supposedly destined to destroy him, cursed to carry him to victory. The other four will be weakened by your loss. The very fact that you will be alive for all this is, in my opinion, the best bit. If you died, Flint would be brought to the future to take your place, completing the circle. While you live, this is impossible."
He leaned forward so he was hovering over Scott's prone body, his mouth lingering by Scott's ear. He whispered, "He's in love with you, you know. I possess the ability to see auras and his lights up like an inferno in your presence. You will watch him suffer as he desperately tries to save you when he cannot; nothing can once you are taken over. My King may even kill him whilst in your body, so he can look in your eyes as he dies, so you can feel his blood on your hands and he will feed on the pain you'll both feel, making him stronger still."
He straightened up abruptly and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Scott tried to draw air into his lungs and found he could not.
XXXXX
Anger swam through Matt's veins with his blood, pounding at the back of his head as he watched these stupid, heartless fools discuss strategy. That was not what was important here. Why couldn't they see that? They had to find him, had to rescue him, now.
"We cannot muster sufficient enough forces to attempt any kind of retrieval until tomorrow at the earliest and that's all there is too it!"
"He is one of the five! He must be saved without delay, forces or no."
"Are you insane? They'll be killed without backup!"
"And Scott could be killed or worse if we have to wait until the morning, we must move now!"
Their voices faded in and out of Matt's mind, a single mantra repeating, just one word, constant as a heartbeat.
Scott, Scott, Scott, Scott, Scott . . .
Vaguely sensing a gaze on him, he looked up, into the unseeing eyes of Susan Ashwood. She stared at him stoically, as if trying to tell him something silently.
Scott, Scott, Scott, Scott, Scott . . .
Jamie sidled up to Matt's shoulder, reaching up slightly to whisper into his ear, "We've got to do something. I don't care what they say. My brother . . ."
Scott, Scott, Scott, Scott, Scott . . .
The blind medium gave him the tiniest of nods, as if she had heard Jamie and agreed with him. Matt did not so much as glance at the Native American beside him as he spoke. "Let's go."
Turning, Matt lead the way among the bickering adults to the exit, beckoning Pedro as he walked. The Peruvian boy hesitated for the briefest of seconds before following. None of them, excluding Susan Ashwood, noticed as the three boys left the room, or as they descended in the elevator, or as they walked down the street.
Scott.