Warning: The following chapter contains a sequence of torture.
Author's Note: Remember when I warned you all about glacial updates? In my defense, things got a little crazy in my neck of the woods, which made writing difficult. This chapter, along with the next two, were challenging on their own and I had to write them all together to at least try and ensure continuity. I am trying to keep my lead though, so if I need to make edits to earlier chapters the proceeding few aren't already up, so things may continue to go slowly. All that being said, thank you for reading and enjoy!
Vera positioned herself behind the pillar closest to the stairs, by the couch tucked away in the left corner. Close but hidden, with her back pressed to the stone so she had little choice but to keep her promise to Crona. Pointedly not looking at him. The arrangement had the added benefit of seclusion; no one could see her rare, tender smile or the tears that shone in her eyes without falling. Sparkling with the opalescence that marked her contract with magic, an ethereal sheen over her amber eyes that was both beautiful and inhuman. Crona, it seemed, was anything he put his mind to, including eloquent. Honest, both about his guilt and innocence, genuine in the gratitude she'd advised he show. Would anyone be swayed, she wondered. Would she, the she of even six months ago, have been swayed? Could this short but poignant display of vulnerability have led her to recognize her rage as grief and cooled her lust for vengeance? Might this, delivered just a little earlier, have saved them all the suffering? It was such a sweet sentiment, but she knew the answer. It had taken watching a new witch pull him inside out and saturate him with Madness and magic, watching him experience impossible terror as the ability to fight faded into submission… watching him suffer like a person instead of a monster, for her to realize her mistake. Misery only loves company.
The conclusion with the candles was nice; begrudgingly she had to give Maka credit for that one. There was no way such a thing could've been picked up in Death City at the last minute, so she had to have had them ordered long before anyone else voiced plans of a memorial. The meister had more sensitivity than Vera ever gave her credit for, she was aware, but the fact remained that the two had not really gotten off on the best foot. What with Vera saying some very not nice things about Crona and implanting the centipede that ultimately led to his possession and all. That had been resolved, still Vera found Maka irritating, overly concerned with procedure, and abrasive. Pot calling the kettle black, she knew that too, but every conversation felt like a competition as to which could out-asshole the other and neither Vera nor Maka liked to lose. Throw in a stupid, primal possessiveness of Soul's affections that both were continually trying and failing to purge themselves of and it was safe to say the young women did not like each other. So Vera acknowledged the gesture, but it would take a miracle for her to say anything to Maka's face. Though tonight was about reconciliation…
"Yes, you should be sad, monster. But I don't think that's possible, so we'll help you find the next best thing: suffering."
Vera's insides went cold and her eyes wide as the words cut into the swollen mood of celebration turned mournful, ringing, accompanied by a mockery of applause. Several pieces of knowledge sparked in her mind all at once, overlapping and disjoint and unsettling. First, something terrible was about to happen. Second, this room was saturated with DWMA students that would not be subdued easily. And most disturbingly, she knew that voice.
"Ethan," she asked, coming out from behind her pillar.
Ethan didn't answer her. Instead there was a series of hollow metallic noises and then a cacophony of sharp, sustained hissing. White gas filled the room, heavy and uncomfortably moist. She choked on it, coughing with all the rest, yet for Vera that was it. No wooziness, no disorientation, just discomfort. Thuds and breaking glass alerted her to the fact that she was alone in this experience and she opened her stinging eyes to peer into the fog. The white was dissipating quickly so she could mostly see the partygoers passed out on the ground. Soul, Maka, Crona, even Death's son Kid were in heaps on the stairs, their ribs expanding and contracting with deep, regular breaths as if asleep. Quickly, before the gas could dissipate entirely, she dropped to the floor too. Panic was mounting inside her, bringing with it the whispers of the Black Blood. Vera had never been able to use it as a weapon, excepting that one time Crona had empowered it to completely overtake her, so still she was useless in a combat situation. She was, however, more able to interact with the Black Blood in others than either Soul or Crona. If she could get to one of them, the Black Blood in her palm told her she could activate their immune response against whatever had incapacitated them.
Soul was closer and, more importantly, potentially reachable without blowing her hiding place. Wiggling back behind the pillar, Vera reached through the banister railings, stretching her arm as far as it could go. For this to work she'd need to bring her scar back into contact with his, bridging the Black Blood once more. Pressing the side of her face into the wood so she could extend her range, she groped blindly, feeling his hair and face. There was no way she was going to get to his scar from here…
"Damn that shit's effective," commented Ethan's voice again, sounding like it was close but not yet on top of them. "It sounded too good to be true; I thought we'd been scammed for sure."
"Eric wouldn't have sent us if he wasn't sure," snapped a voice she didn't recognize, a ragged but beautiful alto. "We're just lucky everyone ate it; they should be out cold for a while now that they've inhaled the activator. Still, let's not push it. Go get what we came for."
"Why do I have to do it?"
"Soul," Vera whispered with as much urgency as she could muster without increasing her volume, repeatedly smacking him unceremoniously in the face. "Soul, wake up!"
Not so much as a grunt. Making an irritated scowl, she withdrew, worming her way back around the pillar towards the belly of the atrium. Her original plan was still sound; the Black Blood would not care about whatever fancy drugs Ethan had used, she just needed to give it a jumpstart. There were unexpected shuffling noises and she froze, propping her chin on the floor uncomfortably so she could still see what, if anything, was going on. Kid sat up, coughing a little and scanning the room with his critical golden eyes, and for half a second Vera thought they were all saved. Then he opened his mouth and she deflated.
"Disgusting. What have you done? No, I will not accept this. I cannot abide such chaos!"
"Whoa," Ethan yelped, coming into view and looking much worse than Vera remembered, exhausted and pale with poor health. "Keisha, we've got a live one!"
"No no no, this is terrible, they're everywhere. It's making me sick… Let's see, how many are there? Groups of eight, I think. Yes, eight groups of eight in two columns of four on either side of the main doors. But are there enough people for that?"
"Relax," scolded the alto- Keisha, still out of view. "He's a Reaper, some resistance to the drugs was expected. The intoxication should keep him distracted for a little while at least. Just don't get in his way and work fast."
"I don't know about that… Maybe we should try again later."
"We will never get another chance like this and you know it. Besides, everything's going well. Or are you getting cold feet? Have you decided you don't believe in Eric anymore? You don't trust him to get us back to our families?"
"Of course I do! You think I'd be here if I hadn't already drank the Kool-Aid?"
"Then stop bitching and get what we came for! I'm going to bring the van around."
Vera pushed forward at a reckless pace, taking advantage of the distraction Kid was providing as he tried to plan and find his footing at the same time. She hadn't seen Ethan for something like six months, not since before Pendra. They'd been in a sort of support group together, except instead of trying to heal and move on they'd picked at their wounds, drawn to one another by the rancid stench of shared hatred. Back then they'd had an enemy and a dream in common. Following that dream had led her to Pendra. As for Ethan, well, apparently it had led him here. She knew what he was after and she couldn't let it happen a second time. If she got to him first maybe she could pull the toxins into herself? Maybe this time she could protect him?
"This one can't be a Reaper too," Ethan's voice was right over her and she froze, playing dead too late. "Let's see who you are, you filth."
He squatted beside her, his clammy hand closed tightly around her outstretched wrist before she could tuck it under her body. She did her best to jerk it away but to no avail; he pulled her with him as he stood, nearly yanking her arm from its socket on the way. Once she was at eye level, though, he faltered, frowning in confusion.
"Vera? The hell? Why are you here? In a dress no less."
"That any way to treat a lady," she deflected tersely, tugging at her arm and hoping he'd slip.
"Come on, you and I both know you've never been a lady," he chuckled, but it was a cold, mirthless sound, his fist squeezing more tightly around her bones. "I'd heard rumors you were hanging around here now, just didn't want to believe them. They didn't make any sense- no one hated that monster more than you."
"That monster has a name," Vera bit back. "And things are more complicated than either of us thought. Call off whatever you're doing and I'll explain it to you. Just leave and I'll pretend I never saw you, I swear."
"Yeah, no. That's not going to happen," Ethan laughed again in the same desolate tone, grabbing her chin with his other hand and tilting her head so her eyes caught the light. "Especially since I just noticed what's so different about you. So that part's true too, you made a deal with the devil. You're his little bitch now, aren't you."
Vera curled her lips back in a feral snarl, torqued her neck sharply to free herself from Ethan's grasp, then lunged forward and bit into his still outstretched hand. Her aim was good, she got him right in the meaty bit between his thumb and pointer, where her teeth could sink in. He let out a howl, releasing her wrist so he could throw a punch at her face, but she was too quick. She gave a good twist as she ducked, pleased with the noises of pain it elicited, then spat him out and made a mad dash for Crona. Her fingers stretched wide as she dove, the mark on her right palm aching with an actual hunger as she willed the Black Blood into action. Alas, Ethan was not as incapacitated as she'd hoped. He caught her by the hair and tossed her backwards so hard Vera didn't know which was worse, the searing pain in her scalp or the shooting pain in her tailbone when she hit the ground.
Come on, come on, she thought, focusing on her right palm and trying desperately to manifest the Black Blood, force it into waking up. It was something she'd never been able to do before and was not succeeding in accomplishing now. A backup plan was formulating in her mind, something that had a higher probability of working, though she was loathe to try it. Her astral self might prove more useful in this instance, still there was substantial risk associated and she wasn't particularly keen on joining the unconscious. Frustrated, she did the only thing she knew with 100% certainty she could accomplish.
"Crona, you useless lump, get up," Vera screamed, fists clenched and face flushed.
Ethan opened his mouth to make one scathing comment or another. Something more interesting beat him to it: the sounds of someone getting up behind him. He blanched, Vera smirked, and Crona… did nothing else. His lithe form was slack and sluggish, teetering as if in a breeze, his storm cloud eyes just barely cracked. In the background Kid was still buzzing around, near hysterics because the number of people on the ground was not a multiple of eight, yet to Vera there was only a horrible silence. The Black Blood had fought off the drugs, like she'd suspected it could, and his body was free. Crona's mind, however, wasn't there. A dead man walking. To say she retained any of her optimism from moments before would've been disparagingly laughable.
"Crona," she tried again, softer, still frozen on the opposite side of Ethan. "Crona, get out of here. Go home."
His chin lifted just a little and he took a step forward, falling down a few stairs and landing in a heap at their base. Unfazed, he pushed himself back up and began to stagger towards the main door, tripping over the bodies that littered the atrium and hitting the ground again more than once. Obedient. The sight of it made Vera sick and Ethan, for his part, seemed entirely unable to process what was happening.
"Stop," he finally yelled without really expecting it to work. "Get back here!"
Crona halted and turned, tripping over the same bodies on the return trudge. It was painfully farcical, absurd even, but Vera could find no alternative. If she tried to astral project now Ethan would take Crona for sure and then they'd be off to do god knows what. How far would they get before she'd even entered the astral plane, let alone honed in on Crona? What could they do to him in that time? She wished she had some way to contact Lord Death or Professor Stein or someone who could help or do something other than hold the kidnappers off with a verbal slap fight.
"Stop freaking out, Ethan, we expected he'd have some resistance remember? Quit dicking around and grab him, we're on a timetable here."
Vera experienced several unpleasant sensations all in a row. First, her stomach clenched and her ribs contracted painfully; she'd forgotten all about Ethan's new friend who was, apparently, standing right behind her. Second, there was a sharp pain at the back of her skull, just below the tender spot where Ethan had pulled her hair, and an impossibly loud cracking noise. Third, and least enjoyable, was a deep sense of regret that she had stopped working with Crona to develop her Black Blood. That, or the pain from the blow, made her nauseous as she crumpled into the void. Her last thoughts were more of a wish: that Professor Stein and Mrs. Marie could know what was happening and come put everything right again.
Ethan found the irony sickening, but he had to admit the Black Blood's resistance to their drugs was actually making this whole thing a lot easier. The monster just did whatever they said, albeit sluggishly, dark eyes glassy. Sit here, stand, move, follow, sit, stay still, everything. They barely had to touch it, something for which Ethan would be eternally grateful. Without the sorry excuse for a soul that had to be in there for it to function, the monster was even more unnerving, angular and pale and synthetic. Vacant, just like that flash he'd caught when it flew overhead moments before the fire caught and the witches swarmed like insects. Hatred wasn't quite the right word; how can you hate something that has no capacity to understand the horror it causes? Like hating a hurricane, it solves nothing. There can be no resolution or retribution. Pointless. Still, his skin crawled and his gut twisted as he coiled the braided steel cables around the monster's arms from wrist to shoulder, binding him to the sturdiest chair they'd been able to find in three months of planning. It would be a senseless lie to say he wasn't going to derive any satisfaction from what they were about to do, as were they all. Some of them were there for vengeance, some to feed their hatred's hunger, but mostly, like Ethan, they really just wanted it to stop. In the void left behind, a space he couldn't satiate with anything, especially not futile hatred, he'd been dying for a long time now. Eric had promised that if they did this it would be over and Ethan agreed. They'd all agreed.
"You sure they're tight enough," Keisha criticized, coming over and squatting to check the cables herself.
"Doesn't really matter if I'm sure, does it," Ethan sighed, straightening and folding his arms. "So long as you're satisfied."
"Don't be cute. We've worked too hard to fail because of sloppy negligence."
"I know how not to fuck up."
"Stop it you two," chastised a new voice, Vanessa, hissing the words through clenched teeth. "If they're tight then lets get on with it. There's no time for this infighting."
"What do you mean no time," Ethan repeated, turning to face her and frowning. "We've got hours before any of them start to come to and probably at least half a day until they find us, right?"
"If we were dealing with regular people you'd be right; however, these are the students of the DWMA. One is a Reaper who didn't go down in the first place, as you no doubt noticed. Others have abilities. Without the reversal compound the oral/respiratory combination drugs should stay in effect for at least four hours, but it would be smart not to push our luck."
"Hello Eric," Keisha sneered in the most respectful way possible. "I take it you're ready for him then?"
"Assuming the grab went well," he answered, emerging from the shadows that coated the far end of their still dilapidated hideout carrying a bucket of water in one hand and what looked to be a cattle prod in the other. "Nothing unexpected I presume? No need to reschedule?"
"Reschedule? You too? You can't be serious. We'd never get another chance and you know it," she cried in response, standing so quickly Vanessa felt compelled to move to her side and place a restraining hand on her forearm.
"Vera was there," Ethan spoke over her, keeping his arms folded but shifting his weight, betraying his nerves. "She hadn't had anything to eat and confronted us when we took the monster. Keisha gave her a good crack on the head though, so she should be out cold even now."
"Or awake and working to figure out what we dosed the rest of them with and how to wake them," Eric said with a wire tight edge, his green eyes flashing in the gloom. "Head wounds are unreliable. Nevertheless, Keisha's right in that we are unlikely to get another opportunity, we'll have to work fast. Vanessa, give him the reversal compound, then I'd like you and the others to stand back. You're welcome to watch, but stay quiet and don't even think about breaking our pact."
"After everything we've been through," spat Keisha, pulling her arm from Vanessa and retreating to the far wall. "Don't insult me."
"Are we sure," asked Vanessa, looking fearfully down at Crona. "Are we sure we want to do this?"
"It'll be alright Vanessa. We've already done the hard part, we suffered for a year at the hands of an unjust and unnatural fate. Now there's just a little more discomfort and then everyone can be at peace. I'll take care of that and no one will think less of you if you don't want to know how I do it. You trust me. You believe me, don't you."
"Of course Eric," she whispered, pulling out a small amber bottle and clean rag from her pockets. "I believe you. I'll stay. I owe it to everyone to see this through."
For all her brave proclamations she couldn't keep her hands from shaking as she soaked the rag with the bottle's liquid. A second passed where the remnants ran between her fingers, evaporating before they could form droplets and drying out her skin. Then she shoved the rag into Crona's face, covering his nose and mouth with it and pressing him forward with a second hand at the back of his skull. He breathed normally, without resistance, and in the vacuum her expression came alive with pain and rage. Vanessa stared into his dark eyes, watched as he blinked and realized what was happening, watched as a secondary iris that shouldn't have been there made itself known by pushing back the darkness. Pale blue, almost white, the eyes of a monster. When he made his first moan she felt herself snap, releasing a monstrous noise of her own and hot tears which made cold tracks down her cheeks. He squirmed and she pressed harder, plan forgotten in a flash of vengeance, curling her fingers in his hair and cranking his head back so she could put all her weight onto the drug soaked cloth. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and remembered herself.
"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, releasing Crona and stumbling back.
"It's alright," Eric comforted over Crona's ragged breathing, coughs, and gagging. "Go stand with everyone else now."
"Where- where am I," Crona demanded in a raw voice, disoriented and gasping. "How did I get here? What happened? Where's Maka?"
"My you catch on quick," mocked Eric, giving Vanessa's shoulder a squeeze before pushing her towards the others and positioning himself before Crona. "But I'm afraid you've got the game wrong; this isn't 20 questions."
"I don't understand. Why can't I remember coming here? Who are you?"
"Shhh," Eric leaned forward, bringing one finger to his lips and placing the other hand on the steel cables that bound Crona, trusting his weight to them. "I'll explain the rules if you listen. It's very important that you stop asking questions and play by the rules, because we took hostages and we will kill them. Do you understand that?"
"Y-yes," he breathed, concentrating on suppressing the panic that was boiling up inside him. "I-I understand."
"Good! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll enjoy our game once it gets going. Now, Rule #1: you keep your blood inside you, including that demon sword of yours. This is our game and it doesn't get to come out. Do you understand?"
Crona jiggled his head a little, wide eyes unblinking, entangled in the other's green gaze like a vice that just got tighter when he struggled. Eric's face tensed and Crona recoiled as best he could, sinking back into the chair. Looking away.
"Say it," he hissed, leaning even closer so that Crona could feel the air pass over his lips. "Tell me you understand. Look at me when you do it."
He returned his eyes to Eric but didn't turn his face, keeping his chin tucked and his shoulders hunched as if he could disappear into the chair if he tried hard enough. Like a frightened animal cowering.
"I understand."
Eric smiled at that, pulling away as a reward for Crona's compliance.
"Good. Rule #2: you will answer all of my questions, honestly, but I have no such obligations towards you. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Good. The last rule is very important. It's the whole point of the game actually. Are you listening?"
"Yes," Crona said in such a low undertone it was barely a word at all as the trembling started in his stomach, his gaze fixed and unblinking.
He remembered this submissiveness, hated how naturally it returned to him and how easy it was. But what else could he do? They said they had hostages, that they'd kill them if he didn't obey, and he couldn't be responsible for more needless death. Did these people know that? Were they intentionally playing with his instincts and restraint? Pitting the two against each other? Crona didn't need to voice those questions; he could see the answers in this man's eyes, mixed in with the intent to cause pain, and it made his blood congeal.
"Aren't you a quick learner," Eric praised, smiling when Crona winced. "Rule #3: at the end of our game, you will break and you will give us what we want. Do you understand?"
"You don't have to do this- I'll give you what you want right now, just please let me go!"
"Quick to learn, quick to forget. I asked you a question. Rule #2, remember? Or have you been lying about caring for others?"
"I don't understand," Crona whimpered, dropping his gaze and wincing as Ragnarok squirmed inside him, aching to come out. It took magic to keep him suppressed; the quartz with Maka's blood was warming around his neck like a rebuke.
"Look at me!"
Flinching violently, Crona did as he was told, shaking uncontrollably now.
"Good. Now, what part do you not understand? This is a very simple game."
"What do you mean "break?" What could I have that you want? Are-" Crona swallowed, desperately trying to take slow, deep breaths and tragically failing. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Kill you," Eric laughed outright, his smile spreading in unchecked amusement. "No, we're not going to kill you, that's not our problem. Why, is that what you want? I wouldn't be surprised, not with the amount of blood you've got on your hands. But the way you're shaking tells me you're not there yet; for all your posturing and apologies you still have no understanding of the suffering you've inflicted on others. If you did then you'd be begging me for a different kind of mercy, begging me to end it right now, not groveling like a whipped dog. Maybe one day you'll actually understand, and you'll want to just do it yourself. Maybe one day you'll even follow through. Shame, I'd kinda like to see that, but it's just not meant to be. See we're not so different from your future self; we can't live with the loss anymore. So we won't. We want you to finish what you started. We want you to kill us."
"No! No I won't! I don't kill people anymore," he yelped, jerking against the bonds even he couldn't overcome with brute strength and shaking pink hair from his eyes. "Please don't ask me to do something like that."
"No one is asking. That's how our game is going to end. Your opinion doesn't matter, your preferences and comfort don't matter, your newfound morals don't matter. This isn't a discussion."
"I don't want to hurt people anymore. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm trying to make it right."
Eric made a sharp clicking noise, flicking his eyes to the group Crona assumed was behind him and preemptively silencing their commentary. Then he returned his focus to the meister's wide blue orbs, leaning on the armrests once more and tilting his head just a little. An evaluation.
"Looking at you now, I think you actually believe all that," he muttered, getting closer and speaking into Crona's ear. "They must have some kind of program up at that school, huh. But tell me this- answer this question correctly and we'll call this whole thing off. If you can break me first, I'll let you go. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Crona choked, an old blankness swelling inside him as he continued to repeat the phrase, his breath catching. Now the whispers of Madness joined the magic and Maka's Anti-Magic Wavelength was starting to burn. As long as it was around his neck, even if it hurt him, he'd remain Crona, so in spite of the pain he was thankful. What had happened before would not happen again.
"Good. Now, do you remember me? Can you remember the first thing you ever said to me?"
Crona's gut fell through his flesh and spilled onto the floor beneath him, his heart stopping and petrifying in his chest. Oh god. He'd known in his mind there were people from that night, from one year ago, that had not forgiven him. Vera had warned him. But he hadn't known. And he couldn't remember. There was only Lady Medusa and her will propelling him through a world of red-black ooze. Hands made of hunger reaching from every surface, three eyes always at his back. Screams and phantoms and smoke and the directives to let no one through and kill the girl from the church if he saw her again. He remembered that girl, that he hadn't killed her, and then it was like waking up from a nightmare for the very first time. This man had no part in that. This man was a stranger to Crona, yet Crona was no stranger to him. This man… was another one of his victims.
"You can't, can you," Eric chuckled, pulling away just far enough for Crona to see his gotcha-smile. "You can't remember any of us. You weren't paying attention then like you are now. We just weren't important enough, right? And it didn't matter if we lived or died. Is anything actually different now, or are you just pretending?"
"I'm not pretending! I am different," Crona yelled, lurching forward, bringing his face to Eric's for the first time so he could give him a fierce look. "I am different. Back then I- I couldn't even think unless she told me to and she filled my head with Madness. I can't remember and I'm sorry, but you have to believe I'm a person now! Maka made me a person."
"I don't have to believe anything you say," Eric replied calmly, unflinching. "Don't you know, being the child of a snake makes you one too. If you can't help yourself that makes you more of a monster, not less."
"Please don't call me that. I'm sorry, I don't know what you want from me."
"Yes you do." He withdrew, turning his back on Crona and bending over to retrieve the tools he'd set on the ground. "I've already told you. And now we're going to play my game until you give it to me and everyone else who seeks the same thing."
Using both hands Eric emptied the bucket of water into Crona's face without ceremony or warning. He winced away at the last second, scrunching up his features and bracing. The cold water seized up his muscles and stopped his already clenched heart, causing him to sputter and then gasp as if the wind had been knocked from his chest. His white suit sucked the water in like a sponge, cold and uncomfortable and bunching against his skin. The reason for this onslaught became apparent moments later when Eric pressed the rod into Crona's stomach and fire punctured him. Muscles contracted in response to the current, forcing him to fold in half even though his restraints prevented the action. Joints popped, electricity arced, tiny choking noises took the place of the screams he couldn't release, and unrelenting pain similar to getting hit with someone's soul wavelength directly made his mind go completely blank. When it finally stopped the screams broke free.
"Last time we met," Eric explained casually, taking up a position to Crona's right and waiting for him to recover. "I was the one doing the screaming, remember? Everyone else saw you flying like a devil over the city, watched the fire catch beneath your black wings, but not me. I saw you on the stairs leading into the DWMA, at the base. I'd gone there looking for someone who might be able to do something- to save people. I mistook you for a student, ironically enough."
The prod met Crona's ribs, twisting him in a new direction and jerking his body around like some kind of sick dance. Ragnarok was quiet now, but not because he'd given up. No, Crona was leaning on his magic more and more heavily to keep his blood contained and follow the first rule. When the agony subsided he panted, immediately returning his focus to the dust on the ground, holding it exactly one millimeter from the floor. Telekinesis had come easily to him after he first started studying magic, so much so that even now suspending every dust particle in the room took little more than a half-formed impulse. But it was enough. Maka's blood was getting hotter, blistering, denaturing, and Crona felt a stab of terror. It hadn't occurred to him that his solution could destroy itself. The hellebore rang in his ears, an urgent messenger of the building Madness, his instinctual method for making pain go away. He resisted, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, letting Eric's words enter his mind unchallenged.
"The first thing I felt when I saw you was hope. Can you believe that? It makes the despair all the worse. I called out to you, got your attention, and asked you to come help us. And do you know what you said? Hmm? Because I do; I still hear it in my nightmares, it's the sound I hear as a I watch my brother burn."
Again in his side, but this time below the ribs, in the fleshy part where his intestines coiled. More screams boiled in his throat but the electricity held his muscles in a constant pattern of spasms which only allowed strangled grunts through. At least, until it let up again. Crona howled in earnest, sweating and trembling with a mixture of fear, pain, and exhaustion. Desperately he grabbed onto the first disparaging but coherent thought that entered his mind, clinging to it like a rock in the squall of magic and Madness that was rising inside him. This hurts so badly because the Black Blood was designed to conduct all forms of energy, magic, the soul wavelength, electricity, all of it. It's like an experiment- The hellebore shrieked inside him, so loudly he winced.
"You told me, and I quote: "Why would I do something like that? She said to let you all burn, which means you're supposed to die. I can't kill you right now though, I have to go, I can't let anyone past me. Maybe later, if you're still here. I think I could deal with that if you're still here." Well, it's later and I'm still here. Now you're going to make good on your word, for all of us. We were all supposed to die and didn't; do you have any idea how horrible that is?! Do you have any idea what fate you've condemned us to?!"
Eric jammed the rod into Crona's lower back, hard. He arched away, contorting, pulling everything but his arms away from the chair so he was standing on the tips of his toes, just bent over backwards. But the pain followed him, agony seizing in his back, fire burning against his chest, sickness churning in his gut. Stifled noises gurgled in his throat and his eyes rolled back as far as they could, seeking refuge in his skull. Something in there was offering a way out, a way to make it stop, and before he'd considered the consequences Crona had reached for it. When the current ceased he collapsed into the chair again, leaned forward as best he could, and vomited with such force he didn't even get his shoes dirty. First it was just the party food, acidified and masticated, but then Crona felt his jaw ache and saliva build in preparation for round two. More party food, ejected in a wave that left him shaking even more violently, his nose and throat burning. Then in round three his body expelled that which he had unknowingly rejected. A slimy texture on his lips, the sick splattering noise as it joined the rest of his stomach contents, and an oddly savory aroma like roast beef. Others might describe it as wet dog… The hellebore.
"No," Crona moaned, heaving breaths rattling. "What's happening… this can't be happening… Please stop. I didn't want to hurt you then and I don't want to hurt you now. I never wanted to but if you keep going-"
"No one here cares what you want," snapped Eric, grabbing a fistful of his pink hair and cranking his head back, stretching his neck so that his Adam's apple threatened to break through the thin, pale skin that contained it.
"You don't understand- the hellebore- it keeps my Madness contained," he gasped, tears welling up from the silence in his head. "Please let me go back. I need to find Maka before- before it starts."
"You're wrong, I do understand. We all know exactly what we're doing. The basics of your past aren't secrets, not if you listen to the right people. It's been your mission to lock up your Madness but the truth is you can't. Insanity was bred into you, as was obedience. With enough pain you'll return to your natural state and consume us like you should've done back then. How long do you think you'll hold out? We've been at this for maybe 30 minutes; the drugs we gave all your friends will last 4 hours at the minimum. You're not going to "find Maka," you're not even going to make it until she wakes up."
"He's right you know. I didn't create you so you could turn away from my goals."
Crona's eyes widened, his breath catching just before the prod pressed back into his spine. Gurgling noises simmered in his exposed throat, his scalp burning as Eric held his hair and his head jerked around. He hoped he'd been mistaken, that this wave of agony would clear his confusion. Yet when the electricity stopped and Eric thrust his head forward again, he couldn't deny what was literally standing right in front of him. Her eyes were golden and serpentine and frigid, her wide lips twisted into an amused grin. Bare feet stood in his vomit without being soiled by it, yellow nails played with coiled hair. She was dead and gone, he knew that, just as he knew she was here. She was always there, it had just been so long since he'd been able to hear her.
"You were made with a purpose, an inescapable purpose. Your refusal to see the futility in your struggle makes it no less futile. I taught you this lesson; tell me, how is it that you must learn it again?"
"Lady Medusa," he whispered, old instinct holding him prey still. "No- no you're not her. You're not real."
"Aren't I? Come Crona, you know better than that. Just because I'm not alive does not mean I'm not Medusa. Just because no one else can see me does not mean I'm not here. These people couldn't have known how effective their torture would be, but you do. You can feel it building inside you, overcoming every barrier you've put in its way."
"No! Stop it-" Crona's shouts were cut off by another jolt of current, his body twisting in an inhuman dance, and when the pain ebbed he retched again, spitting out another mouthful of hellebore extract.
"Explain it to me, Crona. I'm interested to hear your theories. Tell me, how is it all those walls against the Madness that took you months to build are being broken down in a matter of minutes by one man with a cattle prod?"
"You can't tell me what to do! Get out! You don't tell me what to do anymore-"
He was absolutely weeping now, tugging weakly against the steel cables and biting into the side of his cheek as the Black Blood writhed inside him. Another pulsating wave of torment during which Eric might've said something, but Crona couldn't hear him over the ratcheting static that was filling the space left by the hellebore's ejection. Convulsive dry heaving, tears wetting his cheeks, and boiling pain on his chest where his pendant rested. Then the old void she filled with compulsion:
"You will do this for your mother."
"The Black Blood is an organic-inorganic composite in which carbon nanotubes in the corpuscle membranes come in and out of order, polymerize and depolymerize, in response to energy," Crona sobbed, squeezing his eyes closed and letting out the recitation like a different kind of sickness. "Typically this energy is the soul wavelength, but any energy will do. The soul, magic, electrical current, any one of them causes the Black Blood to release Madness. To generate Madness… Madness that swallows… dissolves…"
"That's good, Crona. You're doing very well. You've always been such an obedient child. Now what comes next?"
"I… I harden…"
"What do we have here," Eric breathed, lowering his cattle prod and coming around to face Crona, careful to avoid the mess on the floor. "I didn't expect them so soon, but there's no mistake. Those are the eyes I remember."
He grabbed Crona's sharp chin delicately and brought their faces close once again, smiling a wide, cutthroat smile. Crona looked back, vacant. There was no recognition, no understanding or conflict or anything at all. Like staring into an infinite, dense fog. His entire face shone with perspiration and tears, a specter glowing in the gloom. The rim of his right eye grew black as a single tear of blood welled to the surface. Breaking free, it left a trail of consuming darkness down his cheek. Around his neck, the quartz containing Maka's Anti-Magic Wavelength burned so hot it scorched a hole in his suit and blistered his chest. Then it went cold, as if it had died under Eric's cruel and triumphant gaze. For the first time Eric relaxed, sighing heavily as he prepared his greeting:
"There you are."
