The soulbound connection was a tenuous one at best in this hellish dollhouse, where the lines of reality were not clearly defined and his presence on this realm no longer as cemented. Days of unrelenting pain had been endured at the hands of Shoat, reborn as an Avatar of Them, but Synne’s mind was his refuge and his haven when he could find her across that link.
Soulsteel. The metal was unknown to him but his body did not like the touch of this foreign blade composed of such a substance, the essence of his very being /rejecting/ it and every time the cold blades would slide home, he would be left frigid in their wake with crimson tears pouring down his lacerated figure. It seared in comparison, and felt of molten copper dripping down his chilled frame.
It was an understatement to call the situation miserable. Soulsteel was simply the tip of the iceberg in his experiences and though it had been but two suns since his disappearance, his perception of time in this place had elongated. Stretched. Left to Their whims and the nefarious desires of the Shoat of the Mire, the clock did not seem to exist here.
All of the physical pain did very little to prepare him for the stretches of silence. Where he could not reach his beloved, reach out to those he called friends. Family. He could feel no one, and nothing, and those periods of isolation tormented him further than anything that had been brought.To be connected so deeply to one and suddenly have no evidence of them at all was an emptying experience…but it did not break him because as promised She always. Came. Back. She would always find him, no doubt in his mind that when she did, she would chase away his despair as the rising sun might chase the night’s shadows.
Oft it restored him. Left him brimming with the remnants of hope, something They despised. A moment of reprieve They could not touch. Ultimately, it would ebb away like a dying ember, leaving him longing for the warmth of such motivation, but the ember kept and that would be enough for every whisper of assurance to breath such faith back into existence.
“You… fucking… get your ass back here in one piece or I will hunt your down in the next life and make you regret it.” It was the last of Her voice and while it was pain that drove him to unconsciousness, it was the Sinner’s voice that soothed him to sleep. His response is given aloud, faithfully for his wife and spitefully for Shoat of the Mire, and Them, his abused baritone raspy, quiet, but strong with defiance.
“I…promise…”
When his eyes open, and his senses return it is to the midst of unfolding chaos. Below many fight, presumably he assumes for him though many of the faces are unfamiliar. More alarming, is his bonds, the heavy chains that writhe and wrap around his body like a constricting snake preparing for its next meal. Beneath is Astra, and again, the sensation is inspired. Hope. Blazing strong with the taste of liberation on his tongue.
Freedom ends before it begins, chased away by irresponsible explosives and compromised structural integrity. Like brittle bones, the walls begin to crumble and Caelric is swallowed in mass of slithering metal. He is pulled away, to another place, another fold in reality, another pocket between realms. He doesn’t know, consumed in the twisting, obsidian chains. In the end, such confines leave him terrified despite his best efforts, and while there was acceptance in his fate knowing others had been saved at least, he could not help but feel his heart sink, and his stomach drop.
The Coyote sees this moment as a fading light, knowing full well that it may be some time before he sees another friendly face at all. If he would. Such an small word, the thought even smaller but it burrowed just enough to leave the first whisper of doubt in its wake. Foundation weakened, he comes to understand one thing. For better or worse, he remains. Hours, days, a week, of nebulous time and uncertainty he finds Her, latching onto the light she has to offer, yet when he speaks, it is hard to tell whether or not he’s attempting feigned triumph, or cursing his despondent fate.
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