"She is rather late." The Young Master complained, leaning against a wall as the night crawled towards midnight. Sebastian glanced at him for a moment. His attention had been focused on the surroundings. To some degree he could feel his covenant in a similar way he could feel the whereabouts of a human marked by the contract. Mouser had not moved for quite some time.
"So it would seem." Sebastian said without any particular inflection. He was uneasy with the delay, there was no use denying it. Recent findings were also slightly unsettling... "As only boys are chosen for the Heaven Choir the young master would be the only one able to get close to the founder." They needed another way into the cult's secrets if the mission was to have any chance of succeeding. "In a rather roundabout way but…"
"Really?" Grell made its grand entrance, wearing… well stuffed and overflowing the younger cult uniform in a rather disturbing way. "Entering the Choir is something I can do." As if children often came in the form of a 5'7 person. And the Grim Reaper barely made any mark in the boy part of the request. "So? Does it suit me?" Grell continued the disturbing parade before the utterly repulsed pair. Before the sound of chanting cut through the air, stealing their attentions towards the cultists, properly dressed and veiled going in a singing procession, carrying candles that glowed faintly, wobbling with each step. Above in the tower that was the Founder's room someone moved.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, catching the scent again stopping as the Young Master decided to see what the ceremony that was definitely about to take place was.
"Is something wrong?"
"Nothing." The demon answered, following. "I just perceived the stench of a fallen apple that has rotted through." And underneath that a hint of a familiar blood, cold an spilled.
Chains… Mouser though, feeling the familiar weight of metal touching her skin. It was warm enough, meaning she had been bound to it for a while now. She was kneeling on a stone floor, her arms stretched, in a cross, the short chains pinning them to the ground in constant tension. Couldn't lower them, couldn't lift them. At least without cracking with the chains, the floor or her bones, whatever came first. Her clothes were gone. The bloodstains that should have marked her front and back were also gone and there was no scar in the way despite feeling a bit sore inside. She sighed heavily and moved a bit, just rolling her shoulders, unaffected by the situation, bothered only by the slight knot forming on her back.
Black nails sharpened suddenly, answering the movement. She glanced at them, noticing them recoiling as she relaxed. Mouser did it again, experimenting with some glee, noticing that the control over the shift was now completely hers, not instinctive, not a response to a threat. Her feet hurt… she glanced back only to chuckle when she noticed the black nails of her toes were also responding to any twitch of her muscles. Another change. There was a little bit of give and a smooth rattle around her flesh, the familiar tell-tale signs that she could escape. With some effort but it was good. Perfect.
The thief glanced around.
Underground most likely, judging by the smell… there were guards outside, fearful, twitching and reeking of that burned scent, rotten. She stopped the appraisal as steps became clear, walking down the corridor accompanied by a salute of pure respect and awe. It was coming.
What did a thief do when captured? It depended. Escaping as soon as possible was, most likely, the best course of action. She kept quiet as the not human entered the small cell, looking at her with a smug expression. The thief looked up with red eyes and wide grin. There was just a moment where the angel, as there was no other explanation after all the dots were connected, faltered. But only for a moment.
"Ah. I see you have awakened." Mouser didn't answer and didn't look away from the immediate threat. She also betrayed no expression. Habits, fall back into the old habits. "I am Ash Landers." He introduced himself smoothly. Mouser arched an eyebrow but still kept silent. There was nothing to be gained by riling him at that moment and maybe if he was prone to gloating something could be learned. "I recall that in my shock I have forgotten to introduce myself." The angel paused, staring, his lips curling in distaste and pity. "Such a corrupted thing… I was saddened." The wings suddenly unfolded, filling the tight space. Mouser's eyes narrowed, reacting to the sudden brightness. "But purification is possible..."
The first volley of sharp feathers traced the skin of her arms. Blood welled from the shallow cuts that closed quickly. Ash looked for the tell-tale signs. He was not looking to maim or kill her. Not at that time. Barely a whimper, barely a twitch. She just endured, grinning madly. He cut, cut, cut, the walls riddled by feathers, blood collecting and dripping over her skin, onto the floor. Barely changing yet. Ash grimaced. No matter.
"Even though I have to allow your corruption to be completed." The angel approached, gripping her head, making Mouser look up, back, exposing her throat. She had those red eyes closed due to the blood dripping from the now closed cut on her forehead.
"Go ahead." The thief whispered, showing fangs once again, grinning.
Ash gritted his teeth, wings opening for a moment, sharply, snapping closed angrily, the next feathers jabbing into the woman, not as hard as the one he had used to bleed her in the capture but hard enough to imbibe themselves into her flesh like needles, like knives, their angelic nature burning the demon's nature. That managed to drag a grunt out of her as she curled in pain. Her ears where changed smoothing turning pointy and slightly triangular, like a kitten's, peeking amongst the dishevelled locks. The earrings rattled when she shook her head, lips pressed together. He allowed the little movement not letting go.
If simple physical pain wasn't enough, if even the presence of an angel was failing to shift that new-born, there were enough memories of hurt, true agony and suffering inside that on, memories he could use. She was already beyond the point where she could be saved by simple cleansing her cinematic record. If it were that easy no demoness would have ever been created.
He tugged at one of the memories, a single thread first, gripping Mouser's hair, keeping her straight as more feathers slashed the skin. The female's eyes opened suddenly. A single whimper escaped her, as she felt the pain in the now, the sting of the feathers, the old cuts and new and the suffering drawn from the past as if it was happening once more.
Ash's eyes narrowed.
Not enough.
He drew form all her memories of pain… he drew upon them, intensified them, moulding them into a tool as the razor feathers flurried, cutting. Then he used them as a single entity, lashing from within.
Mouser screamed suddenly, eyes wide, throat exposed, a sharp high pitched sound torn from her. Her claws sharpened by instinct, the feet leaving marks in the stone as swirling markings of a smooth pearly grey colour started to trace her features, her body, faint at first, growing more noticeable as the angel kept cutting, kept using the past, harming her without pause until her screams began to fray into a broken sound.
A last hoarse groan followed by ragged breathing marked a bit of a break. Mouser shivered, reacting both to the pain an effort. The marks were still spreading over her. Glancing at her arm she noticed that the pattern was almost… tabby-like. Pained she gulped air and shook her head slowly, eyes closing.
"The pain will only be passing. You should survive the process." The angel stepped back, speaking up smugly and calmly, stopping, letting go of her head. Mouser slouched down still panting heavily. The feathers that had been stabbing her stomach were gone. The wounds were gone. The blood was still dripping over her markings and onto the stone around her. Actually it was splattered around her, small droplets prickling the dark stone. "Still… such a shrill unpleasant and inharmonious sound."
Even as he said that he unleashed another flaying. Mouser held on to what she could for a moment before screaming again, arching against the agony. Unlike the rest of the markings there was a single round spot, where her throat met her chest, the little dip between clavicles, that was paling becoming pure white under the blood that gathered there from the cuts on her neck and cheeks.
It ended abruptly, leaving the thief panting, struggling against the chains that still kept her down. Her wrists were slick with blood. That was good… if only. No. Don't think of that part now, Mouser instructed herself, taking as deep a breath as she could. Her feet were still hurting… but they hurt differently than the pain of the memories, than the sting of the cuts…
"I am ever so sorry I did not inherit my mother's voice." The kick was rather unexpected due to the earlier methods and she had fully been expecting another blast. It reverberated through her pain-soaked body. Still it was better than feeling a pain where she could not see the origin but could remember each cut, each beating…
And again… each lash, each strangling attempt, each drowning in icy cold water…
And again… the bite of the cold, the burn, broken bones, shattered shrapnel biting the skin, bullets…
And again… the lack of air, the stinging pain, the throbbing, bruised flesh…
And again… coupled with the emotion, fear dread, pain, panic, terror, sickness…
The thief chuckled even though that also made it all hurt before screaming again as that was unleashed once more. Her screams echoed underground, fainter and fainter as voice started to fade, broken by use and effort, the pain going beyond the need to scream, the body struggling to simply breathe.
"Founder…" There was a knock on the door. Ash Landers closed his wings, allowing them to vanish. The man came inside, bowing. "It is time."
"Very well." Ash Landers left the cell, instructing his servants to lock it, covering his form with the more decorated version of the cloak, white in colour with a last glance at the demoness that was almost fully corrupted.
Panting Mouser smirked, growling.
About time.
The steps had faded and all was quiet.
Time to go.
