grantuseyes: (blood tears)
Micolash, Host of the Nightmare ([personal profile] grantuseyes) wrote2017-12-02 10:17 pm
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Healing a Nightmare ((For [personal profile] darkpiety))

So much of the ordeal blurred together. The time spent speaking with the likes of Faris, April, Tina and others at a party was a lifetime ago. Did it even happen at all? What if this is him truly waking up now? What if everything before was another reality, another Dream, one that's broken under the strain of frenzy and now he, having gone through the grueling process of adaptation once again, has surfaced someplace entirely new? What if it was all a figment entirely, one crafted by a consciousness untethered from the physical body, lost and searching, alone in the darkness and desperate for stimulation, for sense?

The realest thing to him right now are the sensations of his searing blood, the culmination of it reaching its crescendo marked by forming into a stone-like spear and punching up through his skin. Piercing him with the unusual properties of the godsblood he still holds in his frail and human veins when meeting mind-melting truths of thought.

His blood sings and flows stronger now, stabilizing Micolash's punished body. The Old Blood injected into him, once, twice, thrice, working its near-magic on keeping the man living and breathing.

Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears...

There are memories of fleeting moments, visions. The young man from the Nexus, the dreamwalker, speaking his name. A woman grasping his hand in hers. Messengers crowding around his body. The seated Amygdala statue presiding over his torment.

Red and black. Black and red. Beams of orange streaked over it all. Swallowing it all.

Wet. Always dripping wet. The floor, the stone, his body. An unpleasant stickiness in the rare opportunity it was allowed to dry. Under his nails, filling his mouth, flooding his nostrils, streaming down his face from the eyes.

The pain. The pain. The tearing, the shredding, the piercing, the burning, the cutting, the screaming.

He remembers screaming. He remembers screaming until his throat tore itself raw and then he screamed again. And again. And again.

He remembers pain most vividly and at first Micolash cannot be certain if now it is just the deep-seated, close-by memory burning bright against his skin. Or if it is the one thing he carried with him wholly through the end of the Nightmare.

Micolash cannot stir. There is no way to move himself under his own power. He hangs limply in Abysa's arms and whimpers. He is awake in the barest sense of the word and he wishes dearly that he was not.

It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
darkpiety: (frowny)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-03 10:02 am (UTC)(link)
"Ah, good, you recognize me." Abysa too seems to relax somewhat, worried up until this point about just how much damage had been done.

"It is me, yes, the 'kin'. You are back here now with me, in your room. Henry is here too. I will need to spend some more time healing you, but it will be slower now. Would you like to sleep more? You need not stay awake for me."

Abysa sets aside the empty vial and its stopper for now, edging closer to his patient. On impulse, he leans down once more to give him another kiss. Rather than the forehead this time, he places a gentle, warm kiss on the human's mouth. He comes away from it with a bit of blood on his own lips, but seems not bothered by it so much as saddened.

Henry, seemingly curious, sniffs at his human master with great thoroughness. Each unfamiliar scent on that borrowed cape, the somewhat unpleasant undertone to his blood, and a number of other smells that are otherworldly give the feline familiar much to ponder over, in whatever way a Henry may ponder. He settles near Micolash eventually, purring deep.

"All will be well, now. I am sorry I could not - I really should have.. ah..." Abysa sighs, trying to find the words.

"If I had been more vigilant, perhaps. I could have kept better watch over you. You were nearly upon the shores of Death's river, and I brought you back just in time. If I had lost you..." Oh, that would be awkward, wouldn't it? If he begged his dearest Lord of Death to fish out the soul of a rotten mortal from the river? But he would do so all the same.
darkpiety: (frowny)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-03 10:32 am (UTC)(link)
Abysa doesn't catch on right away, until he notices Micolash's twitching hand, and remembering the kind woman who had been there with him before. He does not hesitate in taking Micolash's hand in his, and then placing his other hand on them both. It feels so delicate, like when he had first seen him collapse on the library steps all those months ago.

"You are safe, and back... back home. Let that knowledge give you peace, and dull your pain."

Without letting go, Abysa concentrates once more on channeling his own inner power into a healing spell, letting it flow from himself into the weakened human where their hands meet. The spell isn't instant, nor will it be noticeable at first, more like a subtle fog rolling in that becomes thicker over time. As time passes, Micolash may feel it, bit by bit. It is as though one must fill a parched canyon with one ewer of water at a time, Abysa thinks, and feels, his empathy able to sense just how deep the frenzy had wounded his charge.
darkpiety: (frowny)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
Time stretches on long enough that Henry has settled into a nap, his purring eventually fading out as he curls into a circle next to his bedridden master. When Abysa decides to take a break from his healing, he looks down at the feline fondly before letting out a tired, small sigh.

"There is so much to be done... But I suppose the eyes in particular will need special attention." He mumbles to himself.

"Micolash, are you awake still?" He says, clearer now that he is addressing his patient. Henry's ears twitch at the sound but remains in kitty dreamland, whiskers twitching just slightly.
darkpiety: (Default)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh, did I wake you? I apologize. I will let you sleep some more, it is not urgent. If you need something, I will be nearby, so you need only make a sound." He does feel slightly guilty for disturbing Micolash's comfort, but he did want to hear him one more time before letting him rest.

"If you like, I can lull you to sleep like I have before. Ah, with the magic." Abysa clarifies, waiting some sort of positive or negative noise from the human.

"It will help with tonight's healing, if that is incentive." He adds.
darkpiety: (Default)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
"Very good. I am sure you will find some improvement when you wake next. May your dreams be gentle, dear Micolash." With that, Abysa uses his free hand to press his fingertips gently to the scholar's forehead. He mouths a few silent words, going over the spell in his head before it takes form. The sleeping spell appears like a soft cloud of dust, or perhaps soot, due to the shadowy nature of Abysa's power, which dissipates as it falls onto Micolash's body. To the human, it might feel like a puff of cool mist has fallen onto one's bare skin, before all goes dark, drifting into sleep.

As much as he feels lonely now that Micolash's consciousness is drifting in the realm of sleep, Abysa knows that now is the time to prepare properly for his patient. He nudges Henry awake, (Henry responds with a whine and a wide yawn), checks Micolash one more time to assure the spell has taken, and sets about to work.

Much of the night is spent cleaning, as the poor scholar's body is caked with dried blood. Abysa works patiently, opting to clean him with a cloth and basin rather than dip him in the bath. Something pleasant like a bath is better left to when he is awake, and requires comforting. He has to refill the basin more than once, the water becoming cloudy and dark with old blood being rinsed from the hand-cloth (which will now not likely resemble its old colour ever again, stained a sickly rusted colour even after a washing).

The bed is then prepared with new sheets and blankets. Though soft, they are of a special fabric woven expertly by demonic hands to account for messes efficiently (that is, absorbing much and dampening little), which will be handy, considering the amount of blood Micolash is prone to losing. The embroidery is white on black, depicting various demonic designs, mostly stylized depictions of native underworld plantlife.

Abysa also spares no expense drawing up an order for more supplies from his home realm, scrawling it on parchment as he occasionally looks to his sleeping charge. It is then rolled up into a tight scroll, which Abysa affixes to Henry via a handsome ribbon around his neck. The nice thing about Hell-born cats is that they understand how to navigate through the portals and channels needed to reach their destination. This makes them perfect messengers, if one corresponds often with demons.

Once Henry is sent on his errand, Abysa seats himself back near Micolash, who is now significantly cleaner, and tucked in with new and clean blankets. It is an improvement, at least by looks alone, yet the human still looks so frail and wan. It still feels too much like a deathbed, and not simply his bed. With some time before Henry returns, and before the scholar will wake, Abysa sits himself cross-legged besides him, bows his head, and begins to pray.

It is rare for him to pray seriously in this manner; clothed and chaste, rather than reveling in the pleasure of a ritual, but his spirits are low and his drive similarly so. Instead, he prays with all his might that one of his dear Lords will take the chaste and solemn plea of their betrothed with seriousness.

It feels like hours pass as he remains in that spot, begging for a merciful blessing. He is about to weep from feeling dejected before he senses an answer. There are no words, no visions, but the echo of his loves' affection and well-wishes. It is a soft, encouraging warmth that fills him from within his skull, and down his spine, until he feels refreshed and relaxed.

He wonders if they called each other first to discuss what the problem might be before their answer. It had happened before. Oh, they better not send an entourage with Henry if that is the case...
darkpiety: (uhhh)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
Since Micolash is unable to see, he does not spot Henry immediately jolting awake and puffing up when he screams. Abysa is not far; having stepped out to go about a few chores as he waits for his patient to awaken. He hears the scream too, and floats past Henry in the opposite direction of the cat's escape to investigate.

"Micolash! I am here! What is the-" Abysa, even as a demon without eyes, knows right away that Micolash's eyes look very, very bad.

"Oh, no no no. Micolash, dear, close your eyes again, do not panic. They are very sensitive right now. Let me explain it to you." He floats over to the bed to land, sitting neatly next to his distressed friend.

"I am right here, now. I am going to put my hand on your arm, so that you know I am." He puts one hand to Micolash's thin upper arm gingerly.
darkpiety: (ugh)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 04:50 am (UTC)(link)
Abysa does his best to pull Micolash close, attempting to hold him still like one might try to calm a squirming Henry. It might be easy to mistake Abysa for one of weak physical inclinations, but he is a demon, for one thing, and Micolash is a greatly underfed, anemic, injured human who cannot see. He puts one arm around him, and holds the back of his head with the other, hoping to keep him held to his chest.

"Yes, Micolash, but please calm yourself! And close your eyes! Focus on being close to me instead. Let me explain." The physical contact is not just an emotional salve, but the demon's calming aura is strengthened with proximity and touch. This makes subduing the frenzy much easier.
darkpiety: (frowny)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 05:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Your eyes are in your eye sockets, as they should be. But please, close them! They are radiating that frenzy that pains you!" Abysa tries to sound urgent without sounding cross, not wanting Micolash's odd condition to manifest after two days of rest and healing.

Should he fail that, Abysa will simply clap one hand over the scholar's face to obscure the orange light emanating from his pupils.

"I know you are frightened, but all will be well. I need you to calm yourself, so I may tell you what will happen."
darkpiety: (Default)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
"Yes, just like that. Eyes closed, now breathe slowly..." The hand that holds the back of Micolash's head now moves lower to pet down the human's back. Abysa is keenly aware of how easy it is to feel each bump of the spine, how sharp his shoulderblades are, how the flesh there is still mending even after two days of steady healing. Even so, the act is meant to help soothe the one being petted, not the petter, as it were.

"Of your many injuries, which I am treating carefully, your eyes have certainly suffered the worst. I suspect it is on account of their proximity and direct connection to your brain, as well as their significance in your world's mysticism. They have become extremely sensitive, and the tissue is badly damaged, the majority of your eye is engorged with blood, while your pupils appear to be projecting that awful frenzying light. My best guess as to the reason is that, the optic nerve has taken a sort of metaphysical blow from your ordeal that is causing it to bleed that light out through the lense of the eye." Abysa pauses for a moment, just to lean down and give the top of Micolash's head a kiss. Ah, his hair still smells of blood, though he had carefully untangled out dried blood and combed it thoroughly. It will take a proper bath to fix that.

"While it must sound terribly frightening, paired with your inability to see, I believe that this injury is treatable. I cannot stress enough, however, that you should avoid having your eyes open or pupils unobstructed as much as possible for this process. I am using my healing abilities to mend your body and soothe your mind, and this means I am expending as much of my energy that I can spare, for every day that will pass from now, until possibly days or weeks, maybe even months, hereafter." Which also means Abysa is spending some fraction of his strength keeping that frenzy under wraps at all times, rather than let Micolash wear his cage. (The cage is now nowhere to be seen, hidden as is the demon's way.) While his naturally-occurring aura is normally enough on its own, Abysa is taking no chances now, while recovery is still unpredictable.

"In the meantime, I was to propose when you awoke, that you become acclimated to wearing a blindfold. In fact, I will even gift you some that I personally have worn! This next while will be difficult while you adjust to the temporary loss of a sense, but Henry and I are here to aid you. Oh, well, Henry is not here right now, but he will return."
darkpiety: (Default)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-04 07:37 am (UTC)(link)
"You will see again, Micolash. I will ensure that you will. I promise it, in fact. And a demon's promise is binding."

Abysa does as Micolash wordlessly wishes, and pulls him to be seated on his lap. One needs no arms, nor does Micolash need to strain his weak and torn muscles to move, he is simply swept into a more comfortable position by the priest's psychic manipulation. Abysa finds this arrangement much more comfortable for him as well, able to pull a blanket up to wrap around the human's shoulders, before holding him close.

"Do you understand? I will heal you every day, if you wish it. Every minute, every second that passes between now and your sight's return, I can give a portion of my own spirit's vitality to ensure that not a sliver of time passes where my magic is not flowing through you. This is how deep my promise goes. Say it, and it will be done. Our bond has become strong enough to facilitate such a spell." Indeed, Abysa has taken notice, ever since the night they spent gazing at the stars, that the connection between their beings has become more potent. Certainly, the rituals and offerings had something to do with it; but that is what the priest had claimed all along, much to Micolash's disbelief.

"And, should even the power of a High Priest of Hell fail you, one need only find new eyes. Humanely, of course. I know all the right connections." He adds, trying to be reassuring.

"Not that you will need thus! Am I not a being of great power?" He's trying.
darkpiety: (Default)

[personal profile] darkpiety 2017-12-05 04:22 am (UTC)(link)
"It will! I will grant you sight, but it will take time. But since you have accepted my offer..." And really, even for a scared mortal, it was a fairly quick decision. Abysa does have a little voice in his head that tells him when something is a foolish idea, but he ignores it for this situation. Micolash's whimpering is heartbreaking, not to mention the state of his physical form, not to mention that the demon does still blame himself a little for allowing such a catastrophe to happen.

"Ah, keep in mind, this means part of my magic, generated by my soul, will be siphoned to you in the form of a healing mark. It will be as so until your eyesight is restored, in whatever way that is accomplished. We could seal it with a kiss, if you like. I do not think a blood pact will be necessary or a good idea." Actually, it's a good idea to keep as much blood in Micolash as he can.