Poisonous Fox

Rigid fire.

Each of my nerves, every single one of them, and I could almost count them, they screamed in agony. My teeth nearly shattered against themselves, my mouth clenched tight, my tongue roiling. My vision was red and black. I smelled pain.

That memory… that had been what it was, I told myself that over and over. But… it had felt real, as though I were living that unfortunate–

I was better off not thinking about it.

Why was my body–

My guts churned. Had I been able to, I would have voided myself.

And then in the midst of it, I heard him. His patronizingly calm voice. He was speaking. I remembered that I was still in the inquisitor’s tent. At least, I assumed I was. It was possible I had moved. But I was still restrained. The Inquisitor with the wings was still there.

“...I cannot tell if this is a strong reaction to a largely harmless serum, you’re naive enough to think that faking a seizure would exempt you from what comes next.”

A flat hard thing was pressed between my lips, prying my teeth apart. The skin of my neck was pricked. A wave of cool relief radiated out, following my veins, bringing permission to my muscle groups to relax wherever it passed.

I sagged and just sat there, breathing.

“A negative reaction then,” the Inquisitor commented. “An unfortunate waste of time.”

One of my claws on my right hand was suddenly peeled upwards away from the cuticle.

I gasped from the pain.

“Awake then?” The Inquisitor asked, releasing the grips of his pliers upon my nail. “Good. Open your eyes and focus upon me, if you wish to keep your hand unmangled.”

It was a struggle, but I managed to focus my gaze upon him. He loomed over me, watching me with contempt. When he saw my eyes open, he gave a slight nod, before turning back towards the worktable with the command console. He set a set of rusty pliers down on the surface with an ominous clink. While he had his back towards me, he continued.

“After receiving the serum, and before I roused you just now, did you experience anything of note?”

“-heh–” I said, barely a whisper, as I was still collecting my breath. “-l-like what–?”

“Hallucinations, Flashbacks, Vivid Dreaming, Recall of a memory, or any such experiential event.”

His dry voice droned on as he listed the possibilities.

“Well? Yes or no, did you experience any of those, or anything of that like?”

I thought of saying no, but that would have been a lie. Because I had recalled something. I wished I had kept that memory lost, but thanks to this serum, it was found all the same.

“Answer,” he said, losing his patience. “Three. Two. One–”

“Yes,” I said, hurrying before he punished me again.

“Very well. For the expedience of time, answer with a yes or no. Did you reexperience a memory?”

I was grateful he had yet to ask the details.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Was this memory of a point prior to receiving your Marks?” he asked.

While in that memory, I had certainly received a multitude of markings, both physical and mental, they were not the sort of Marks that he was asking about.

“n-No…”

The truth detector flickered and I felt a zap.

“y-Yes! I meant yes. It was before.”

“Hm. In the future, refrain from deceit. Did you reexperience any other periods of memory?”

“Nno?”

“You did not? Speak clearly.”

“No. It was just that one.”

“Did this memory contain the entity that granted you your Marks?”

“No.”

At least, I was fairly certain that was not the case.

“Hm. Do you know or do you suspect the identity or description of the god and or goddess that granted you these Marks?”

“No.”

But how would I know? Doubt started seeping in. If I had no idea who had granted me these Marks, then could I say with certainty I had never met them? What if it was Mother? But, how could she have… the doubts from earlier compounded, and the pale green light flickered.

“You are unsure?” he asked.

And then there was the bigger issue. The same issue I had back when Nick Delaney ‘claimed’ to have been sent here after death by the Greek god of death, Thanatos.

“I… it’s just… gods don’t exist…” I said, voicing one of my doubts, but trailing off under the winged man’s dumbfounded expression.

“An atheist?” he asked.

I winced. “Agnostic?” I offered.

He scoffed. “In the face of undeniable proof, you would claim that? How much of the world have you not seen, to make such a foolish claim.”

“I… haven’t seen anything like that, though?”

“Pft. I would hope not. Divine elements are not permitted to roam free. Just look at the mess they’ve made of the land.”

“The shattered barren landscape was them?”

“Yes. The Shattering. It is always odd when we come across atheists,” he said. “As the evidence is clear. Tell me, from whichever ‘realm’ you arrived from, did they not have the divine?”

“No…” I said. “Not that I saw evidence of anyways.”

“Fascinating.”

He turned back to the table and began shuffling through what sounded like a sheath of papers. He found one in particular which he brought back and held outstretched before my face, practically touching my nose. Were it not for my nighteye, I would have found reading it difficult. Printed across it were lines of sigils, not dissimilar from what I had on my Marks.

“Yes or no,” he said. “Can you read this?”

I kept looking for a pattern among the sigils, but all I received for my efforts was a headache.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

“Hm.” He turned back to the table and shuffled through the papers again, before returning once more, holding the paper before me, practically touching my nose. “And this? Same question.”

My skull still felt too tight, and I was hesitant to try again.

“No,” I said.

“Did you make an attempt?” he asked.

“...”

“Do so, now. And do not attempt to fool me again.”

I focused my eyes on the sigils. They swam before me. But they did make a sort of twisted sense. Words and ideas, none of it stringed together to make sense.

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Or. No.”

“Yes,” I said. “I can read the words. But nothing makes sense.”

“Progress.” He turned back to the table, once more digging through the papers, before returning once more and repeating the process.

This time, the words made sense, and flowed in a pattern. They were Marks. Whatever I was looking at, was a Mark for greater strength, one for greater weight, and another for echoing steps. I might not have known exactly what each of those meant. But I could read it.

“And these?”

“Yes,” I said.

“To confirm. You can read these markings?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Then read to me what the sigils within your Mark say. Describe to me, your Godsmark. And I shall know if you attempt to deceive, I remind you.”

I had been played. Not that I could have resisted, or steered the conversation. This Inquisitor appeared competent. Likely, any attempt at obfuscation would have been discovered.

In the pause, he tapped my arm, one of the sweeping sigils on my forearm, with a metal pointer. “Start with this. What does this say?”

“Are you… not able to read them?”

I would have thought that a language that had been documented would already have been decoded. What was I missing there?

“You are not entitled to questions. Now read this. Out loud.”

He was pointing towards the top of the markings, where they started. How he had found that in the midst of the swirling lines of symbols, I was unsure. Now, I had a choice. I could cooperate, and eventually reveal all that I could do to my captors. Or, I could resist, and likely receive torture.

I strove for a middle ground. Revealing what was already known. Eventually, they would reach something I had yet to tell the humans. And when that point came, then I would decide. But for now? Now, I could answer. At least a little.

“Talents…” I started.

He asked me to describe each one. He asked for my progress. He asked for the Major Glyph, Minor Glyph, and Sigil. I was unsure exactly what those were, so he explained. The Major Glyph would be the Talent, such as Stealth. The Minor Glyphs would fall under that, such as Eschiver. The Sigils below that, which I had yet to receive.

We reached Spells. And while it pained me to confess I had them, it was something that was already known to Muleater. So I continued.

And then, he came down to Blessings.

I had never revealed I had any. But he knew there was something further.

“And what of this section?” he asked.

I remained silent, debating my choices. What harm could come from revealing the category named ‘Blessings?’ It felt wrong. Blessings. They often went hand in hand with benedictions. I might not have known what they were, but whatever they were, they sounded religious. Considering that I had yet to prove I was Godsmarked, and considering the dire fate that likely awaited me if I was found to be one, I was incredibly hesitant to reveal anything that might corroborate with the Inquisitor’s suspicions.

The silence lapsed too long.

“This reluctance only harms yourself. It wastes our time. It wastes resources. Will you not relent in your stubbornness? In your fruitless waste?”

I winced and thought fast. Was there anything I could tell him, that would throw him off? Could I pretend it was something else? Not without being caught by their lie detector. Could I change the subject? No. He was too good for that to work. That would likely only result in me revealing even more than I wanted to. I had no doubt he would twist whatever I said to gather even more knowledge of myself.

“No?” he asked after another pause. “Last chance…”

He trailed off, returning to the selection of tools, where he had left the pliers. Where the scalpels and forceps and saws and clamps were laid out.

“Very well,” he said with some distaste. “Then, let us seek a more manual answer.”

Ingestion 1.6.8.7

He picked up a set of pliers, glanced back towards me, then set them down with a huff. He glanced back towards me once more, particularly at my bare shoulder. He next picked up a razor, which he proceeded to rasp along a side of leather.

“Wh–what are you planning on doing?” I asked.

He ignored me, continuing to sharpen the razor blade instead. It reminded me of an old time barber. Or, more appropriately, of Sweeney Todd.

What could I say that would prevent this?

He wanted to know about my Blessings. If I revealed them, then I likely would suffer for it. But that was hardly a certainty. And this upcoming torture session likely was. A certainty, that was. Unless it was a bluff?

If I was truly useful to the Crown, then he would hardly want to leave me in a permanent state of disrepair. Though, I was already damaged–I was missing an arm. Would he really want to keep me around? And did I know, as a certainty, that his original spiel was the truth?

He might have been planning to do away with me from the start.

Really, my best hope at survival currently was that Muleater would somehow intervene on my behalf.

She did owe me.

But I already knew just what humans thought of other species.

The rasping stopped.

He approached, with the now sharpened razor blade. He sneered in disgust at my shoulder, at my arm.

He poked my fur covered skin with the blunt tip of the blade.

“This–this is a bit of an escalation… yeah?” I asked, gulping in the middle, suddenly feeling much more nervous than I had. Intellectually, vivisection was much less frightening than it actually turned out to be, at least when seconds away.

“Likely this is wasteful,” he said. “But you insisted. And there is possibility that an examination would be required regardless. Now, silence please, while I work.”

I gulped once more.

He brought the steel to my shoulder, dimpling the lilac fur. He swiped the blade upwards, across the grain of the fur. He scraped the fur, my skin beneath, leaving a trail of disturbed and marred flesh. He was not shaving away much skin, but enough. I had never experienced such awful razor-burn, but I supposed that was the equivalent.

Soon, he progressed down my arm, quickly denuding the skin. Enough for him to papitate my veins, and the lines of silver from the Marks which ran besides those veins.

Blood trickled down my arm, dripping onto the manacles and then the bottom of the chair.

Incredibly awful razor burn.

After far too long, while I grimaced and looked away from his barbaric shaving, he broke the silence.

“Fear not,” he said, prodding the largest of the veins of silver beneath the skin of my shoulder. I had never realized that the Marks had extended so far or so visibly up my arm. When he prodded the bare skin, already the patch felt too cold, with every air current in the pavilion made manifest on the suddenly nude flesh, but when he prodded it with cold metal, it was too much and I flinched.

“I said, fear not,” he repeated himself, prodding the trail of silver back down towards the actual Marks themselves. “For the most part, verification is unnecessary. Only the circuitry of your base Godsmarks themselves need examination.”

He finished prodding, right around where the Blessing and Talent sigils were tattooed in elegant sweeps and arcs across my forearms.

“Here. Here, we will start.”

He turned back towards the table, letting the razor clatter noisily against the other metal instruments, and returning with forceps and a scalpel. The tools appeared greasy and soiled. He wore no gloves. It was far from sterile.

“I… I don’t consent to this,” I said, at first attempting a glib remark, but instead ending up sounding rather pathetic.

“That is not needed, nor is your cooperation.”

The scalpel pressed down upon my skin.

I hardly felt anything but pressure.

The pressure grew.

And then, a pop.

Blood welled up and the scalpel slid slowly, sawing through the snags of my skin.

“Hnnng,” I gasped.

“Do you require gagging?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Nnnn…” I answered.

I had to avert my eyes.

My skin was peeling back.

Tugging.

Oh Motherswear it but it hurt!

He continued speaking as he worked. Almost to himself, as I was in no state to respond.

“High Silver then? Was the divinity so supplied by treacherous ritual, or did the divinity spend themselves to infuse you. I perhaps see why they covered their tracks so well. They would not wish to be struck low should another discover their weakness…”

The scalpel got stuck near the circumference of the mark. The forceps were engaged, twisting, diving, separating that which should not be separated. Layers of adipose exposed themselves to the air. I smelled Iron. No, blood. Why did that make me hungry? It hurt so bad.

The scalpel slipped further, deeper.

He swore.

I screamed.

Minutes stretch into an eternity.

“What madness is this?” he asked, more to himself than anything.

He was ignoring the scream, not that I cared. I wanted to beg for mercy, for anything. Only once before had I felt such deliberate hurt. Had I not that experience, likely, very probably, I would have screamed and sobbed until I was gagged and hoarse. But, Mother had had similar operandi to the Inquisitor, at least that I could remember.

Time stretched on and on until there was a blessful interruption.

A knock.

From the wooden post by the door.

The pavilion flap swept aside.

The Lady Trigg entered, followed by a woman marked with grace and poise and expensive raiments. Beyond that, I thought I saw Muleater and Kate, and several soldiers more.

“Most irregular Lady Trigg–” the Inquisitor began, before the second woman followed, leaving the Inquisitor sputtering “-Princess Marissa!” He bowed. “What brings the Crown’s child to this unpleasant workshop?”

Lady Trigg spoke on behalf of the princess.

“Her Highness has heard of a unique… creature.” Lady Trigg finished, glancing towards me. “Her Highness would not wish it irrecoverably damaged, and thought to intervene.”

“But–”

“Enough,” the princess said, causing Lady Trigg to take two steps to the left, giving the princess an unbroken line of sight towards me. And me, an unbroken line of sight towards her.

Her eyes illuminated the dark, a neon purple. They peered at me, sweeping over me, glancing across my exposed skin, my fur, my tail, my wound, and the clamped open marks of my arm. She measured with but seconds.

And then she gave her verdict.

“Mine.”

That statement left shivers running down my spine. A part of me forgot the ongoing vivisection. A part of me twisted and clenched at the word, so forcefully uttered. Another part of me protested.

“Princess Marissa!” the Inquisitor said, somewhat unsure, and startled by the proclamation.

“Why do you damage what is mine?” the princess asked.

Her eyes were still upon me. I could not bear to meet them, instead gazing upon the floor by her feet. Even then, I was torn. I wanted to praise her and beg her for intervention. I wanted to damn her for claiming ownership of a sapient intervention. I wanted her–

“Your Highness…” the Inquisitor trailed off, unsure of how to respond, but he did make an attempt. “As Her Highness is likely aware, this is a prisoner, suspected of collusion with a divinity, and well within the Inquisition’s Charter.”

The princess tapped her chin. “Is she infested?” she asked.

“Not that we’ve found…” The Inquisitor trailed off.

The princess turned to Lady Trigg, expectantly.

“No, Your Highness,” Lady Trigg answered.

“Expected,” Princess Marissa said. Then, back towards the Inquisitor. “What divinity did she collude with?”

“We–I am not certain yet,” he said.

“Did the truth stone fail?” Princess Marissa asked. Her eyes narrowed, and the room dimmed slightly. “Or… did you fail to question her?”

“No, Your Highness, we question her.”

“Then why are you unsure? Unless you claim ineptitude.”

“She doesn’t remember who Marked her,” the Inquisitor said, grimacing. “But she clearly is. And on top of that, she’s a criminally trained Kunbeorn!”

Marissa’s eyes widen fractionally, but in the way a manic person’s would when they see a new project. “Phenomenal.”

“No, not phenome–”

“You will not interrupt Her Highness,” Lady Trig scolded.

“Clean her up and bring her to my quarters,” the princess said. She turned and walked out, leaving Lady Trigg to implement her will.

“I strongly protest,” the Inquisitor said warily.

“Your complaints have been heard,” Lady Trigg said with a curt nod, before giving a playful smile. “And your complaints have been subsequently ignored.”

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 65

Mind: 75

Spirit: 49

Talents:

Athleticism (3/9):

Climbing I (1/9)

Featherlight (6/9)

Stealth I (5/9)

Trackless Tracks I (1/9)

Area Coverage (1/9)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Eschiver (3/9)

Evasion (6/9)

Spells:

Illusion I (5/9)

Touch (6/9)

Closed

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (3/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)