"Our greatest mistakes always come back to haunt us. One way or another."

Something feels wrong.

Drip.

Drip.

Spinning, spinning. Twisting, turning. Never slowing, never ceasing, ever sickening.

Drip.

Drip.

His eyes flutter open and he immediately feels ill. Right is wrong, wrong is right. Up is down, and down is up.

Drip.

Drip.

Colours swim in his vision, blinding him from the suffocating darkness, hiding the pooling scarlet beneath him. His ears roar, echoed by a thin whistle of white noise that deafens him.

Drip.

Drip.

Chilling metal encircles his wrists and ankles, long chains of it knotted and tangled behind him, wrapped so his legs are pulled to his hands. Links hang loosely, their freezing touch clinging to the youth's bloodied and bruised back like leeches.

Drip.

Drip.

Where is he? His outer coverings are gone, leaving him in naked in all but a pair of ragged trousers, and every scratch, scrape, and broken bone has been left unseen to. He can feel the hot blood running rivers down his bare flesh, pooling on his forehead where it falls to the ground in singular drops.

Drip.

Drip.

"Ah! I see you are awake!" 

Esmerion flinches back at the sudden voice, making himself sway on the chain. This small action makes the speaker chuckle with a grating sound, a mocking and cruel laugh. He cannot help but be reminded of a cornered dog, where the person is pelting it with stones for amusement. It brings him no solace to find himself the dog.

"It's been a long time, old friend."

He blinks at the upside down figure, eyes widening and lips parting in horror. The youth shakes his head, though it brings pounding like drums, and stares. It cannot be.

"Ar-Arthur killed ye..." he mutters in disbelief, shaking his head in a constant motion. "Ye were meant to be dead."

"And yet, I still live," they step closer, into the dull, green glow of the crystals that lights up their features. "Quite surprising isn't it?"

"Mordred..." he snarls, curling his lip to reveal his bloodied teeth. "Ye bastard."

The man nods in acknowledgement to this phrase, a cruel smirk on his lips. His blue eyes shine with a coldness that he didn't possess the last time the youth saw him. There is only blazing hatred left in the shell of the boy he once was.

"You know, it's a true shame," Mordred comments slyly, pacing the ground in front of his prisoner. "A real shame that we can't have Emrys here with us."

Esmerion snarls, the bellow echoing throughout the cavern. He displeasure is undeniable, not only rippling in his expression but in the glow of his eyes. The air simmers between them.

"Oh, I do hope you don't mind," Mordred says offhandedly, leaning against a stone table to inspect an item in his pocket. "I chained you with dampeners. Normally wouldn't do much. But with you forcing this appearance and that nasty fall you took in the nursery, it's quite effective."

Another snarl rumbles off the stone walls, rippling vibrations through the earth. It drips with ferocity and unspeakable curses. Surely a sound that should not come from such a silver tongue.

"My, you have quite the temper, don't you?"

Esmerion bites his tongue to keep himself from growling. Ah. And another thing to remember: sharp teeth. Bushigal.

"Not as quick-witted as you once were, I'll admit," Mordred hums, placing down the item in his hands. "I wonder..."

The youth stares at him with unease, finding the calculating eyes of the druid just as unsettling as his brother's had been, if not more so. But he can read the look he's receiving, and it is not something he wants to see. No, it scares him.

"You've been human for far too long, old friend." The druid chuckles with cruel humour, dragging his gloved hand across the table. "It's turning you into a mutt."

Something inside Esmerion snaps and he lurches forward with a roar of fury, spittle flying from his lips. Stalactites tremble above them, and crystals clatter with the echoing vocal, rivaling even the great Gunmar the Black. Mordred only laughs, however, not at all bothered by the threatening gesture. 

"No," Mordred corrects himself, circling the chained lad with a gleam in his eyes. "It's turning you into a beast."

Esmerion releases a low rumble of warning, disliking where this happens to be going. The more rational side of him is waning, thinking less and feeling more than it should. This taunting game is driving out his plans and ideas, leaving him defenseless without magic and Mordred knows exactly what he's doing.

"You've never been quite as powerful in this form," the druid notes, picking up a long shaft of metal. "Fire never did much for you, but iron? I recall that your weapons and armor bore a safety enchantment. I certainly remember when Arthur hit your arm with his blade. You played the fool, acting as though your skin wasn't burning."

Something starts smoking behind the youth, filling the cavern with putrid air that overwhelms one's senses. The space starts turning a faded grey, darker than fog yet heavier than mist. 

He coughs, trying to clear his lungs of the stench. Every breath he takes grows more painful and he can easily see that his vision is worsening. Under normal circumstances, he'd be completely fine, but his magic has weakened and he cannot think straight enough to drive the smoke from his lungs.

"Now," Mordred begins, "you will tell me where the Bridge is. There will be certain.... consequences if you don't comply. Am I clear?"

Esmerion hisses, spitting a glob of scarlet blood at the sound of the voice. He hears it splatter on the ground, followed by a positively gleeful sound. His scowl deepens, haunted by the noise he cannot understand.

"Oh, but this is fantastic," Mordred claims from somewhere within the thick smoke. "And you... you have no idea!"

Esmerion growls this time, but weakened by the intense spiraling of his desperate thoughts and frantic tugging at his chains, he falls limp. With his eyes half-lidded, he spares the druid a confused look, barely grasping what he is doing. 

Mordred clears his throat, clearly withholding a grin of twisted joy. "Now, I need you to answer the question, Esmerion. Where is the Bridge?"

The youth fails to reply, hanging helplessly from his chains.

He hums, tutting quietly before grabbing Esmerion's bronze hair and yanking his head close to his own face. Esmerion grunts, eyes flickering with cold fire as he's forced to look into the empty soul of the druid. Sweat sheens his paled cheeks.

"Or perhaps you have something to say of Arthur Pendragon?"

The way his muscles tense gives him away before he even puts together a sentence. Mordred grins.

"Ah, so he has returned." He releases his hold on Esmerion and disappears from his line of view. "Where is he?"

The youth snarls warningly, a pathetic threat for someone in his position. He grinds his teeth, swallowing the words on his tongue with some difficulty. 

"Tell me where he is!" Mordred demands. "No?"

Esmerion howls in pain, arching his back to pull away from the blistering heat. Spittle flies from his lips as he gnashes his teeth, eyes wild in agony. The strong scent of charring flesh fills his nose yet he cannot smell it, in far too much pain to even acknowledge it.

When the object is pulled away, Esmerion hangs limply, panting and huffing to regain his breath. His eyes are unfocused, unable to make out the figure of his tormentor.

"Tell me where Arthur Pendragon is." Mordred tries again, voice firmer as he crouches in front of the youth. He draws a thin line across Esmerion's neck with a red hot iron rod as he tries not to scream. 

"Go...to...hell," Esmerion grinds out, gasping in agony.

"I think you'll find that I'm not going anywhere," Mordred sneers harshly. "And neither are you."

He screams, thick blood spewing from his mouth as the iron rod is driven into his shoulder, right above the collarbone. It chars his flesh, blackening the pale skin as it pierces through the other side. Smoke rises from the wound, blistering and scorching as blood pours down his neck.

He chokes on his own fluid, a mixture of shimmering blood and mucus stripped from his insides. Blood fills his eyes, mixing with salty tears of agony.

Drip.

Drip.

The world fades out.

Drip.

Drip.

He'd only hoped to see the sun before the end of his days.

Drip.

Drip.

The beast comes out to play.

Not quite as violent as I wanted it to be but oh well. Hope you enjoyed!