Brice spent that evening pacing back and fourth in his room—panicked. He felt lightheaded, nauseous, and confused at the same time. They couldn't advance to the main base (of the Sorcerers) until tomorrow, which means Isaac would have to fend off the Headmaster (most likely, to Brice's own assumption). Not only would they have to find Seto, but now Isaac as well.

He stopped for a brief moment and sighed, then had sat down on his bed. The sheets were all messy and unwashed. It smelled disgusting, but it was slightly comforting. He took out the single photograph of himself and Seto; smiling faces that didn't have a care in the world.

Or, at least Brice assumed Seto didn't have a care in the world.

"What would you do?" Brice waited for hot tears to roll down his cheeks—but none came. He knew that doing this wouldn't help; consulting that Seto he once knew wouldn't help at all.

He wasn't ready to face Seto after all this time.

Things have changed—they both have changed. How will his memory even return after all this time, and will it return? Brice wanted to stay strong; that's how people had always looked at him. But now, he just wanted to melt and revert back to his old self—the selfish brat from the School of Creation who thought the world was his and his alone. The Prince of Hybrids.

Now he wasn't a Hybrid—mentally. He was a Human; a stupid race that was a neutral party in the Revolution that had took too long. Fighting for love and peace, he couldn't help but understand why most, Sorcerers and Hybrids, would just brush them aside with no regards. He flopped backwards onto the bed.

Memories felt like they were fading day by day now. Training after training, conflict after conflict, war after war—there was never truly a time where he could feel "safe" again. It was such a vague word, it could mean different things to different people. Safe, to Brice, was knowing everyone was alright and happy.

But no one was truly "safe" in Brice's eyes.

Isaac is gone, Seto is gone, Ethan's condition is worsening. Sub is losing hope, Zek is hopelessly falling behind, Tyler is finding weakness. Kyle is faking smiles, Mitch is becoming more tense, Jerome's questioning sanity on a constant basis. Adam is falling apart and Ty is—well he's Ty.

Tomorrow was going to come, Brice couldn't stop it as much as he wanted to. Zek, Mitch, Jerome, Adam, Ty, and himself were going to risk their lives tomorrow entering the Sorcerer's Palace. It was destiny—it was destiny that they were going to succeed and Brice should be basking in the thought of success. But it was always that uncertainty of death tapping at his shoulder—Isaac didn't mention if they were all going to come out alive. The thought of losing someone close made him want to vomit.

Brice tossed the photo aside and got more comfortable in bed. Sleeping wasn't going to help him; his thoughts were beginning to come too restless. He was going to try anyway, he needed all the rest. He shut his eyes, focused on the silence, and proceeded to go to sleep, embracing the fate that laid ahead of him like an open road.

***

Isaac felt dazed as his eyes opened slightly. He coughed, struggling for breath as he looked up. He appeared to be in a basement; his hands bound to chains and his body numbed and paralyzed. He grunted in a failed attempt to move his body to a more comfortable position.

It was completely silent; he could only hear the sounds of his own breathing. The only thing he could remember was his world fading to a shade of pink—a pink that could only belong to Dawn. God, he was so stupid for trying to retaliate; he was disoriented and weak after all. He (mentally) shook his head at his own stupidity.

Though he wanted to scold himself more, it wasn't the time. He didn't know where Dawn had brought him, and quite frankly he could care less. He needed to escape somehow; this wasn't the first time he had gotten kidnapped after all. He scanned around the room, trying to look for some kind of open exit (though it would be no use to him at the current moment, seeing that his whole body is paralyzed).

There was a tank sitting in the distance with ooze spilling out of it. The color was a mix of blue and purple and had two figures floating in them. The lid that covered the tank was close to falling off; Isaac would have shit his pants if he had woken up to the sound of that falling to the floor. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to analyze further.

The two figures in the tank were lifeless—corpses ready to be revived at any moment. One he could recognize as Seto's body; knowing the Headmaster there must be some Frankenstein-like plan waiting to occur. This information would be useful to him and the rest of the Humans.

The other body Isaac couldn't recognize, but he knew it was of Sorcerer blood. Hell, it appeared to be the same blood as him—pure and powerful. He contemplated for a moment; he didn't know anyone who utilized blue Sorcery. His focus was drawn away when he heard the familiar sound of the heels of shoes clicking down the staircase. He gulped, his eyes shifting to the figure adorned in black.

"So, you're awake," a voice whistled. Isaac could feel his stomach churn.

"Uncle Hayes," he murmured, averting his gaze. The immense fear and the recognition of danger scattered throughout his body; this wasn't going to end well for both parties.

"That's Lord to you," was the reply he had received. "Though you may be the same pure blood, born from my younger brother, you do not deserve the privileges of a pure blooded Sorcerer."

Not knowing how to retaliate, Isaac screamed, "Unbound me! My father will have your throat if he knows you did this to me!"

"Your father?" Headmaster Hayes had sneered, giving out a wicked cackle. Isaac frowned, heart pulsating. "Why—he's dead Isaac. My poor nephew, not witnessing the death of all the people around him!"

The sarcasm was evident.

Isaac froze, gritting his teeth. The man in front of him continued. He could hear the clicking of his heels grind against the floor. The sadness drowned him, but now wasn't the best time to show weakness. The Headmaster could strike at any moment—like a snake in tall grass.

"One by one and they all fell down—but you saw it call coming, didn't you? With those pretty little eyes of yours."

Isaac grunted, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The Headmaster had stepped a bit closer, forcing Isaac's chin up. Their eyes had met; insanity versus the broken, "You know what I'm talking about. Harvey should have gotten your Eye Ability if it wasn't for that stupid transplant. You're disgusting."

The Headmaster went to kick Isaac in the chest; his weak spot. The purple haired male gasped, feeling the blood rush up his throat and out his mouth. He toppled foreword, unable to breathe properly. Tears streamed down his face. He felt a foot being placed on his head. The pressure bashed against his skull; he could feel himself becoming light headed.

"Sometimes I wonder if Harvey could see things through your eyes," the Headmaster frowned. "They're his after all."

"What do you you mean they're his—I was born with these eyes!"

"Don't you know? Hasn't your father told you this!" Headmaster Hayes scolded him. Isaac winced at his intensity, fear controlling every ounce of his paralyzed body. "You were suppose to be born blind Isaac; but your father didn't want you to suffer—you already had a lung condition. A team conducted the transplant between you and Harvey; it was successful. Harvey's body works differently than yours, and it adjusted to the vision and the Eye Ability; Analyzation."

The room went completely silent. Isaac heard the sheathe of a sword tumble to the ground. With the little strength he had left, he looked up to see the Headmaster holding a sword; shiny and glimmering in the dark light, "I'm doing my son a favor and giving back his vision."

Isaac screamed as he felt the sword plunge deep into his back.

Tears blurred his vision and the blood rushed up his throat and out his mouth. The smell reeked; it was disgusting. The Headmaster gave out another cackle, shouting, "You still have it in you! Don't die on me yet, we're still going to have fun!"

The sword continued to plunge until it came out the other side. The wound stained his clothes. The sword was lifted up, but this time was bashed in another section of his back. Again, Isaac screamed in agony, the tears streaming down his face in multitude. All he could hear was the sick laughter of the Headmaster. He was completely helpless.

The sword was lifted again. The pain was unbearable. He couldn't slip just yet; his friends needed him. Seto needed him. With the little strength he had left in his body, his eyes gazed upwards to see the sword aiming towards his shoulder. Instead of a stab, a slice was felt. A chunk of bone and skin was removed; Isaac hissed from the pain.

No, no, no, no, no.

The sword continued to move swiftly, cutting and stabbing. Isaac tried his best not to show weakness; he needed to be strong. But he crumbled under the pain—he wasn't meant for anymore pain. He didn't want this, he didn't want this at all.

"You still with me, Isaac?" The Headmaster's voice was so faded now. The ringing in his ears didn't stop. His body was now soaking in blood; he couldn't feel his left arm. His right arm was fully gone, all that was left was his right shoulder that was barely maneuverable. It was cut badly—open wounds and blood spilling.

"Now for the grand finale!" The Headmaster cheered as if it was some sick game. He bent down, touching Isaac's forehead lightly. They both made eye contact. This was the end.

The Headmaster's hand traced towards Isaac's left eye. Without warning, he grabbed at it, digging deep into the socket. Isaac screamed until his lungs gave up—which they have already done since the moment he was born. He could feel his sight fading; nothing more than darkness. He was now pulling at his eye until it had felt out.

It did.

He did the same with Isaac's right eye—except the process felt more painful and slow. Isaac's voice was already coarse and dry, he wanted water. Scratch that, he wanted death. His vision was fully gone now; colors faded. He could only rely on hearing now, but he didn't want to hear anymore for the Headmaster's twisted voice. The torture was enough—he wanted to be wiped off the face of the planet.

"I'll leave you here to rot," the Headmaster sneered. He couldn't see him walking away, but with the sound of his heels against the ground, he knew he was gone. It was silent.

Isaac went to sob.

There was too much pain. His body was no longer full; his was empty. There were too many wounds, too many cuts. He knew he was done for, and he knew that Brice was going to find him in this very basement tomorrow; nothing more than a disembodied corpse.

He gave his last sob, the blood from within him finally giving its last spill.

It was over, he was done suffering.

There was a light now, no more darkness emitting around him. It was too bright perhaps, almost even blinding. He felt a light tap on his shoulder and was quick to turn around.

"It's over now, Isaac."