Vhalar 112 717, A Break After Sundown
Location: The Lightning Cathedral
He had been in this place once before already and yet somehow he returned, already an imminent threat to the people of own home outside. Rharnians beyond the walls of the cathedrals were all happy and carefree, celebrating their daily lives and routines with the name Illaren. Illaren. Illaren. Where was the Immortal now? Did she even know a cursed Sesser remained chained in her halls? Did she even understand the pain one of her subjects endured?
Patrick could only wonder but the thought was fleeting in itself, his chains from the first time broken and strewn across the floor. The mirrors all remained in tact thankfully, therefore the Fiend inside wouldn't have chance of escaping tonight. They were the perfect prison cell against the creature, and he was lucky to remember that from the first night he turned. "Release..." A deep and menacing tone echoed from within, while the muscles of his flesh ached and burned hot. Just like last time he laid in the center of the room, curved up in a fetal position with deeply pained breaths.
"Immortals forgive me, for whatever I have done. I am a cursed man who's forced to endure, while this monster within seeks freedom out within the world." Laughter mocked him deep within as he pleaded frantically, a couple of tears trickled from his eyes to the floor below him. Sweat had already started to puddle around the bartender, and even created a damp cool spot of moisture beneath him. Yet even then his insanely high fever never once cooled down, instead it felt as though his entire body could crack or even melt the stone rock beneath him.
He flinched hard with a cry as he felt his insides twist and contort on their own, the muscle holding them all together pushing and pulling with a will of it's own. "They have abandoned you..." The Fiend within tormented with a low snarl, there are no Gods or 'Divine' beings to save you. You're mine now!" His entire body proceeded to burn internally and he groaned helplessly, a turn onto his back so that his limbs could stretch out completely. It was so very cold now and he shivered uncontrollably, his muscles continuously aching as he did the only thing he could.
"Please..." Pat begged. "Please just leave me alone." He was already alone save for the lingering demon within, and as much as he hoped the plea didn't seem to move the creature. He writhed with an arch in his back as the pain intensified within his spine, the familiar series of snaps and cracks accompanied with a brief release of pressure. Patrick's body fell limp as he laid there like some ragged doll, unable to display any signs of life in the rest of his form.
"Accept it... Accept what you are now." The monster beckoned viciously within the confines of his head, while he simply remained limp with not but his thoughts. Accept? He means accept him? Submit to the pained rage of the Fiend and give himself over to it? All of a sudden he wanted to. Patrick wanted nothing more than this cursed nightmare to end, but he would probably never be able to forget the influence the Fiend had over him.
"Fuck you." He murmured within his head after a considerable amount of time, the Fiend didn't seem to make any sort of response. "Fuck. You." He swore again a little more loudly and defiant within his mind, this time the monster within seemed to react. Patrick writhed when pain once more filled his entire being, another "FUCK YOU!" shouted loudly in his agonized cry from the torture. Patrick was many things but a slave would never be one of them, not to anybody or any Immortal out there traversing the face of Idalos. He spited them for this, spited Syroa for giving him the curse to begin with.
He turned over from his back to his belly to attempt a meager crawl across the floor, his figure seen reflected in the mirror at the chamber's wall in it's pathetic form. His hair was completely drenched from the amount of sweating his body extruded, and even now it looked as though steam vapor rose from his skin. His eyes suddenly glowed into a vivid bright silver coloration with animistic pupils in their change, a final scream resonated out within the chamber of mirrors as a low-grade roar accompanied his vocal range. "You will break." It proceeded to taunt him further as he clawed at the stone floor, the hairs on his hands and arms stiff as they started to grow rapidly. Patrick looked from his forearms back into the mirror next, his entire form already covered in more hair all over while his skin tone changed.
White tissue seemed to dissolve to reveal a much darker pigmentation that looked thicker than muscle, as hair seemed to rapidly grow over the splotches of black his skin slowly turned to. "This! This is what you are now!!" Silvery eyes narrowed on the form that once looked to be Patrick, and another roar reverberated from the man's throat as he continued to attempt resistance. Suddenly a spasm threw his head back as he rose to his knees, as another pained roar filled the halls of the cathedral while the mass of his muscles started to grow in density. His consciousness faded to the overwhelming surge of rage from within, and sure enough Patrick's last visual memory was that of the monster he became; before the rest proceeded to fade to black.
"I WANT OUT!!!!" A sharp and snarling voice demanded as scratches and claw noises were heard against stone, however with the amount of time that passed dawn would soon come. "DAMN YOU!!" The Fiend cursed with a rush towards the doorway, it's massively large form incapable of breaking through however. The stone walls of the cathedral were stronger than Patrick gave credit for evidently, suddenly it seemed to be a well thought out plan to use the Chamber of Reflection. The Manticore growled as it tried to push open the door, his front claw however too big to even effect it. He growled once more and paced frantically from one side of the chamber to the other, his eyes down to the floor as he avoided the reflection in the mirrors.
"LET ME OOOOOOOUT!!!!"!!" The voice of the Manticore demanded with an infuriated roar, finally it looked to one of the mirrors in a fit of rage. At the sight of it's own reflection it snarled and lashed the scorpion tipped tail forward, a violent crack of the mirror heard as it shattered from the center of impact and then outward. The Fiend hissed and snarled at another reflection and this time shot out one of his fore-claws, a nasty scrape heard as stone seemed to eerily sing from the scratch. Yet the moment that claw contacted the mirror it barely managed to destroy it. A large crack from the right side filled the mirror while a chunk fell off to the floor, while the Fiend staggered back in horrid anger as flesh started to sizzle.
The mirrors burned.
The Fiend whimpered as the wound under it's paw looked to fester, unable to regenerate as rapidly as any other injury it seemed. Finally daylight seemed to break through under the doorway, the Fiend incapable of releasing itself from the captivity Patrick cleverly set up. The Manticore seemed to exhale a disenchanted sigh, aware that his time was now up since the sun had risen to light the morning. There came a moment of complacency with the creature, almost suddenly peace-like, as the creature laid on all fours and started to pant lazily. When it's final moment came it raised it's head and with one last roar, slowly started to dissipate as it's form shriveled back down to the size of a human.
The roar quickly dulled from the sound of a magnificent lion down to the sound of a pained Patrick, as his body soon found release from the shroud of rage that consumed it. No longer bound to the creature of night his arms gave way beneath him, the side of his face met with the stone cold floors with claw marks raked within them. He was so tired. So very, very tired. And his right hand ached within the center of the palm, the festered wound from earlier only half healed in cursed form. Now it looked to be just a cauterized gash across his palm, as though someone took a fiery hot knife and burned the wound shut. He wanted to call out or even whimper to let someone know he was here, that he still existed in this lonely isolation he was forced to live within. However he could not.
He could do nothing but lay there incapacitated, no longer able to move as his muscles proved too tired. He was too tired. As uncomfortable as he felt laying on the hard stone, that didn't seem to prevent the wave of sleep that soon washed over him.
The night was over now, he could rest knowing he made it through.
