"Something died inside of him that day. Watching that man slip away was more than his mind was willing to handle."
Thunk.
The sound of iron into oak and flesh. Screaming, deep and hoarse, echoes across the Choir. Blood is already pooling around your boots, too quick, too humane? Is it enough?
Creak.
A strangled gasp for air.
Slam.
Screaming again, higher now, pride is shredding, good, good...
Creak.
Pleading in a foreign, guttural tongue.
Wipe the crimson-tinged spittle from your cheek.
Slam.
Nothing more than a keening whimper. Fading...? It's not enough, not yet, you need this man, you need him to bleed and burn and scream in your place, let the nightmares devour his still-beating heart, LET HIM DIE!
Creak. Slam. Creak. Slam. Creak. Slam. Slam. SLAM.
You dare not...
Cannot...
Will not...
Stop.
Ears filled with cotton, arms trembling with exhaustion, tongue dry and lolling, ignore it, ignore it, ignore it, it doesn't matter until you can no longer stay on your feet. Your knees hit the flagstones with a splash, and you slump forward against the comfort of ironbound wood. Hands fumble through pockets, closing around a near-empty bottle. Your tongue flicks out to catch the few remaining drops, habit, not need, but it's a moment of peace.
Gradually, you become aware of the sweat drying on your neck, the blisters on your palms, the rotting-copper scent of death, the limp hand dangling, half detached, from between the doors of the Iron Maiden.
Blood rolls from the fingertips and down your forehead, broken nails brushing your scalp and you arch up into the palm, comforted by the warmth in your hair.
Once more, if anyone has a particular loading screen quote they would like to see me use, please suggest one! I would be more than happy to give it a whirl. Paint the suggestions, cut the quotes, cut the screens, watch the ideas spill, LET IT COME!