This one's from a couple years ago, now, just something a friend of mine wrote that I've adapted for this platform. It's a bit, erm. Stale, I guess? It's still relevant, though, so I'm posting it. It's quite old though, as said, and since was written by a friend of mine, the style is a bit different, I'd think? Despite my adaptation. Warnings for graphic imagery.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A dark sky, a crowd seething with rage.
"Pleath. Pleath, don't! Take me inthead!" A voice- Crystal clear, lovely, even, rings out... Despite the lisp that maybe makes it not-so-clear. Psiioniic's voice. Your voice. "They NEED him!" Your vision was looking at a purpleblood- Pain sprawled across your mind now, as the highblood backhanded you.
"Silence, pissblood. You have no permission to speak here." Your vision moved to the ground, yellow already spattering it, dripping from your nose, from your mouth. Then, slowly, you looked towards... Kadian. The redblood, beaten up, being dragged towards a tall pillar of stone, upon which Her Imperiousness sat, twirling her culling fork. You could HEAR her laugh, a cold sound indeed. Two white irons hung from chains, and as the minutes went by... No, no, you didn't want to see this, yet, you could not drag your eyes away. That was your moirail being led up there. Your moirail, about to die, before your eyes. He was taking it like a champ, though... A thud alerts you to Darkleer, the blueblood. He's standing over the Disciple, bloody, holding her book in one hand and her hair in the other. But the look he is giving her... You know that look. You have that look for Kadian. You hope she'll use her charms to help Darkleer decide to let her escape... To the left, the Dolorosa. Ryn. Origin. Mom. Her head is hung low, with Dualscar holding her tight to him, a sneer on his face... That fucking asshat. He's finally getting what he wants. You hope she bites out his throat.
The Condesce said a few words, just a few trivial "I won!" words, and you'd screamed out. You couldn't bear to hear her voice, you couldn't bear to see this happening.
'Thop!', you'd yelled. 'You can't do thith! I won't let you!'. Psionics moved about now as the you fought back, swinging weapons of every type at the Condesce with an incredible burst of psii energy. You were suppressed, but somewhere, you'd gotten the energy to do this. Maybe it was your last ditch effort- Maybe it was just you overloading the collar arond your neck. In any cade, she, that disgusting fuschia wretch who was making your life MISERABLE, evaded each weapon with little steps, and small laughs, then, she points, and she orders, and suddenly three highbloods were on the you, beating your head, pulling at your horns and tearing at your eyes.
This was awful. You could only watch from a pool of blood on the ground, your vision fading in and out, as Kadian was strung, up, the manacles heated. You think you hear him talking. You strain to hear him, but someone's clapped your ears in the scuffle, the tinnitus ringing in your ears dulling everything else out. It feels like minutes in which you memorize his face, his lips, the way he speaks like you can know what he's saying just from how his lips form. He's looking right at you from that point high up on the stone. At his words, the crowd around you revolts, and pushes to get closer to him. Someone steps on your side, and someone's pulling you to your feet, some half-baked highblood who wants to make sure that you see this... whatever this was.
Something snapped, something twanged, and two arrows flew into his chest, the chest of your moirail, your Vantas, spilling red blood. The crowd was silent and then, "See?" Said the Condesce, curse her fucking name. "All this time you've been listening to a mutant! He would use you to earn a place on the castes, ya hear? His problems are nothing compared to the REAL trolls, with real blood colors, not super fugly fake ones like that filth!" And so on and so forth. Your vision turns to her. Full of hatred and rage. Those around you could FEEL the hate, the wanting of you to just blast her into oblivion. It was a hate that never would settle, not as long as he lived.
Which would turn out to be a very long time indeed.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
From here on out, there's going to be some pretty graphic things happening, as the rest of what I intend to post here is from the Helmsman perspective. TW for body horror, derealization, depersonalization, graphic violence, mentions of noncon. I'm putting this here so that, if you're still with me, you're not thrown for a loop by whatever comes next. I may not post for ages at a time, though.