Since I've been writing things for my muses lately, I decided to make this. Lighting. It includes my muse Summer. I believe you met her on the oneshot Storm?
Light.
Crackle.
Boom.
Repeat.
More light.
More crackling.
Bigger boom.
The process repeats.
I send out another attack.
Light. Crackle. Boom.
And another.
Light up the room.
Crackle his bones.
Make him feel like he's about to go boom.
Hurt. Pain. Suffering.
Light. Crackle. Boom.
Green. Lightning.
Twisted laughter fills the room.
Burnt flesh reeks through the room.
Ears are still popping from all the crackle and boom.
Eyes sting from light.
Eyes see the bloody, bruised, and burnt form on the floor.
Feeling his heart beat strong, through all of the pain.
Feeling sympathy for this poor soul.
Shaking it off.
You do not feel sympathy for prisinors.
Or slaves.
This boy, which is he?
He couldn't be both, could he?
I was once a prisinor, but not a slave.
But in a sense, a slave is a prisinor.
A slave is kept at a place, forced to do someone's bidding.
Forced to pay his master's demands.
He must be both.
So, if he is both and has done something wrong,
I should not feel sorry.
He didn't listen.
Ignore his cries of pain.
Ignore his plea for mercy.
Focus completely on the task at hand.
Light. Crackle. Boom.
Light, crackle, boom.
Light. Crackle. Boom!
The boy is weak.
Almost dead.
What use is a dead slave?
None.
So, torture must stop for now.
I must switch methods.
Direct blasts of lightning is too much.
Move forward.
Drag him to the wall.
Tighten the chains so he hangs off of it.
Ignore his pained eyes.
Ignore the rumbling of his stomach.
Chuckle at his patheticness.
Chained to a wall, inches off of the ground.
Put chains on ankles.
Leave the room.
Stop at the door.
Turn your head a tiny bit.
Only send him an apologetic glance.
Walk away, closing the door.
Feeling little to no regret,
to know you just tortured a poor, innocent soul.
And just laughed.
At his pain.
And his suffering.
All at your hand.
I like this writing style... Summer is torturing Danny. Yay!