Healing a Nightmare ((For darkpiety))

[grantuseyes]

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.

Comments

[darkpiety]

"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."

[grantuseyes]

His mind is racing, burning, struggling to make sense of this all. His voice still a worried whine from his crying, Micolash asks, "H-How did this happen? How did this happen to meee..." Soon dissolving into weeping and causing his breathing to hitch. Sobbing uselessly against Abysa's chest like a child.

That additional kiss continues to work its uncanny magicks upon Micolash's mind, tamping down even further the frenzy inside him. Removing another layer of that seething fire, or at least burying it for now. It does the same in calming Micolash's state of mind. Less frantic and confused, but still beside himself with fear and dread.

"You ha-...You have to," he chokes out as he turns his head to rest his forehead against the demon's chest instead. Pulling at his clothing to be held closer still, to be picked up and kept in his lap. "You have to fix them. You have to, Kin. Without my eyes..." Oh gods, he can't even dwell on the implications. The mere thought of losing his sight, his eyes. Everything his studies ever centered around, gone...

[darkpiety]

"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.

[grantuseyes]

"You are," Micolash agrees meekly. His words are strained and cracking still from his outburst and the fear has yet to subside. He certainly should put nothing but utmost faith in Abysa, who has not once let him down since being taken in as his charge. But that pervasive, black-veined dread still slithers through the cracks, whispering what if, what if, what if.

What if Abysa DOES fail?
What if he's separated from the demon and it disrupts the process?
What if only one eye is restored and the other a lost cause?
What if his eyes are never quite the same and only for the worse?
What IF...

"...I must. I must take that offer. Please, Kin. Give me back my sight..."

[darkpiety]

"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.

[grantuseyes]

Sealing a demonic deal with a kiss. It's so absurdly trite, faerie tale-like. And likely from one of those tales that's of the cautionary bent. After all, isn't everyone warned away from making deals with devils?

But Micolash has never been one to balk at unwise risks or questionable choices. It's one of his finest qualities. And every second ticking past is another second the man is left without sight or not actively working towards regaining it. And besides, he's of the same mind as Abysa. Him shedding anymore blood is the last thing he cares to do right now.

"This is more than amenable to me." He tilts his head upwards now, looking towards Abysa. He's in no condition to try and be the one to initiate this pact. That's a good way to get your skulls clonked together: by a blind man trying to land things. Micolash does however, unwisely or unthinkingly, opens his eyes again. Those horrid pupils are looking sightless and directly into Abysa's face.