(THOB) Chapter 109: Residue Of A Time Used (Patreon)

Pain has always proved itself capable of conquering even the greatest of men. It would reach into their minds, demanding of them a submission they never knew themselves capable of. It’s one of the few things men have grown to feel and, no matter how much they experience it, never truly adapt to.

Still, there are men who have grown to accept it, because no matter how much it can make a man, or break him, it speaks to those of them who would listen. Whispering into their very being the one thing most were oblivious to. That beyond the torture, oblivion, and confusion. Beyond the chaos and insanity. When all things fade away. It is proof that they still live.

Ezril’s eyelids peeled open. The action itself demanded all of his strength and all of his patience. A patience he seemed to have in massive amounts.

First, the darkness hit him. Then came the warm glow. The light came from a side of the room casting its warm golden glow in its selfishness not bright enough to escape the corner of the room. Not that he minded. He cast his gaze across the room. Each movement coming with a flicker of pain. A phantom of the true nature of things that had hit him the last time his eyes were open.

The room was more a tent than a room, its brown walls a muddy color that reminded him of the forest grounds after a heavy rain. But what had given it away was the nature to which it waivered every now and again, as if a wind raged behind it.

Or outside it.

At its entrance, where one end of the material met with the other, stood an empty rocking chair. His eyes moved in their sockets, taking stock of the things that shared this space with him. Though the room proved void of much else noteworthy, his eyes eventually settled on a vial to his left. He moved his hand to reach for it and the weight that came with it sent a shiver of pain through his arm and he succumbed to letting it lay.

Turning his gaze in curiosity, he saw her.

She sat beside his bed. Her hair so disheveled he wondered how long she had been there. The bruises she had possessed in his most recent memories now a whisper upon her caramel skin. She slept with a worry on her face and a twitch to her lips. And even in the darkness he could tell she dreamt a dream she did not want. And within that lay the responsibility for the weight on his arm.

Amidst the dream that troubled her, she clutched his bandaged hand in a desperate grip. It reminded him of Unkuti, and how he had held the brother when he had thought to save him. The thought saddened him. And when a frown drew his lips, he found the skin around his mouth rigid, and trapped in covering,

He trailed his gaze from Lenaria, where she held his hand, up his arm. His survey met with an observation he had deduced from his failed attempt at a frown. The bandages trailed all the way up his arm and he knew with a certainty that it covered most of his body. He looked to his other arm and met the same bandages. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to his unforeseen time on the bed. After all, there wasn’t much he could do without invoking the pain that rested beneath the bandages. And it wasn’t long before sleep took him.

The second time he slipped back into consciousness, eyes unopened, he met with a chaos of words spoken in clear disunity. At least five voices his ear could pick out sounded in raised whispers, and he concluded it was night. Of the five voices, three spoke in a language alien to him. So finding himself focusing on the two he knew, he found recognition. The first was Lenaria, a desperation in her tone.

It seemed his recent memories of her were filled with it, and an apology crawled in his mind knowing himself responsible. The other voice, however, was old, frail, and feminine. It confronted Lenaria’s, a mixture of consolation and persuasion. He could sense the manipulation in the voice. And its soothing nature that seemed to come with natural ease spoke of its owner’s years of having dealt with children, because in that moment Lenaria sounded like no more than a child.

Lenaria’s words, reverting back to sobs, and slowly, sniffles, the woman’s voice trailed off into the language he did not understand. Its instant switch from a tone motherly and loving to one of authority and absolutism shocked him. Still, in all of it he hadn’t failed to note the hint of resignation and fatigue in the old voice and he dared to wonder how many times the owner had had a similar conversation with Lenaria. The realization dawning on him, he dared to believe days had gone by since he was last aware of anything.

When next his mind arose, it was not to the noise of incomprehensible chatter, and he was glad for it. However, in a moment he found he would have very much rather preferred it to the invasion he felt. Hands, poking and prodding. Sliding over him, they glazed, and caressed, and teased over every inch of skin he possessed. By his estimate, there were more than two pairs of them. At least, three. Whatever they smeared on him stunk of mud, not the kind found after a rainfall, but the kind something shat in… there was also a hint of spices in it. An odd combination. A hand reached for his exposed crotch, its touch curious, almost explorative, like a child with a new toy. It sent a mild tingle coursing through him.

The touch left him, seeking out other exposed skin and for a moment he worried at his safety. Remembering Lenaria, he cast aside the thought. If she had allowed them this close to him then it meant one of two things. She trusted them. In which case he could too. Or there was nothing else that could be done for him. In which case he worried about his life and dreaded sliding out of consciousness again.

The hand returned to his crotch, almost with a vengeance. Fingers prodding, an intense curiosity in each contact, sending mild shocks through him. At a point it flipped his member from side to side but never left it. In a moment the fingers grew tense and he knew whatever curiosity they had sought to satisfy was not a part of what was intended to be done to him.

Another set of fingers joining them smeared the putrid stuff all over his crotch, making sure it missed no patch of skin before working its way along the shaft. Exploring and teasing. It was only a matter of time when the employ of the entire hand became a necessity in executing the task where the fingers had once sufficed, moving, teasing, stroking. All in a manner that said it was pleased with itself. And Ezril found himself fighting a mental war against an erection.

A war he lost greatly.

Ezril dreamed a dream natural, and yet, unnatural. Every bone in his body pricked, and his back stung as the scars hummed a crescendo. There was pain. But it wasn’t the one he had since grown familiar with. This was new, undemanding of his attention, but still demanding he paid it. He fought to ignore it and in a moment his eyes snapped open. It declared his defeat.

Two consecutive defeats in the times he had regained consciousness and he sighed visibly. His chest rose and fell at the action. His eyes darted to his hand and he met with Lenaria in the darkness of the room. Her sleeping form still holding her hand. The worry on her face was significantly less than the last time he’d seen it and her grip on his hand, though desperate, was not as firm.

Noting the complete darkness of the room, his gaze flickered to where he remembered the light to have once rested and found it without flame. Returning his gaze to Lenaria, he calmed himself. There was no need for light. The darkness was where he found the most comfort.

The hum in his back rose another crescendo. His eyes snapped into focus, staring at nothing, and he knew in that moment that they were not alone. His eyes slid over the darkness to where he remembered the entrance to be. Settling on the rocking chair, he met it, a massive silhouette in the darkness, performing its final act of the remnant of its use. A residue of a time used mere moments ago.

His shoulders tensed and his body grew alert. The chair he had thought massive and vacant was not. And upon it, blue eyes pierced through the darkness to look at him. They watched with a curiosity. Not one of a person who wanted to know, but that of a person who knew exactly what they sought. Accepting whatever they found, a voice spoke.

“I see life has yet to give up on you, child.”