Deafening screams echoed through the burning landscape; damned souls drowning in the lake of fire. Their rage and misery clung to the thick air, suffocating any who breathed it in; ensuring that they did not suffer alone. A pit, half as large as heaven itself and twice as deep, growled louder the deeper it went. Its darkness grew ever more intense and at the bottom, there was nothing; growls and screams came to halt and even the weight of the dreaded souls lifted away and were replaced with a crushing emptiness. It was truly a void, depraved of not just life, but anything at all. Save for one being.
The darkness lifted from nothing. It was a strange sight to behold. Like light bending through a plastic, the void shaped its darkness. At first it looked like a chair --no, it was grander than that; a throne perhaps. The way the legs sit confirms that. Legs might be a curious word, they certainly gave off a vague semblance of what might be called legs; only because they were attached to something that gave off a semblance of a body. The body could have been a man’s; it sometimes looked like a man. It also looked like a woman. Though those might also be curious words, silly words even. After all, how would one even begin to know? It didn’t look like anything. Not anything you’d recognize. There was a gaze, one that burned and pierced; one that cooled and smothered. So it must have had eyes. It must have had everything, for when looking at it again, it was perfect.
“My child,” There was a voice. Could it be called a voice? It was certainly a sound. It was a low sound, so low it would rattle your bones. It was slow and creeping, like a dark miasma. It ushered fear into this barren void; but it was gentle, and it was warm. Like a strict parent. Perhaps it’s because of this that it could be called a voice. It is felt, and it is understood. If a voice can mean that to you, then this is what the voice said, “Never forget what you are. You, like me, are a perfect being. There is nothing you can’t do. But this… this is--”
“FOOLISHNESS!” There was another voice. At least, another sound. A sound of sounds. A cold cacophony of sudden shrill sounds. If the low rumble brought fear, this piercing screech dragged in pure terror by the ankles. Then it hid. It shrieked and it howled and it hid from all sight. “YOUR SOUL SHALL BE FORFEITED! FOREVER FORFEIT!”
“My child, forever shall you be--”
“A CURSE! A BLIGHT UPON REALITY!”
The sounds battle back and forth, like the ebb and flow of a riptide.
“Pride will pump your heart and tenacity shall flow through your veins.”
“SHAME WILL PIERCE YOUR HEART AND DESPAIR SHALL TAINT YOUR VEINS!”
“That is your destiny.”
“THAT IS YOUR DESTINY!”
“A grand soul glowing with the light of confidence.”
“A PATCHWORK SOUL REEKING WITH THE STENCH OF DOUBT!”
“That is your fate.”
“THAT IS YOUR FATE!”
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Diego woke up in a cold sweat and immediately sat up on his bed, panting heavily. His limbs felt numb. They usually did; he still wasn’t used to recognizing them. An arm, a leg, yes he knew those. He notices them even when he can’t feel them. He always has. To recognize them as his though, it’s still early. It will feel weird at first, that’s what he told himself when he first noticed his body; when he first recognized it as his.
His arms jerk suddenly as the sensation of pins and needles jolts them from their slumber. He’s been told it’s an uncomfortable sensation, painful for some even. It was never like that for him, however. The sensation reminded him of the dark he stayed in not long ago. Back then, that sensation covered him from head to toe. It would envelope him, hold him gently, wrap around him like a blanket. It was always comforting to him. That comfort disturbed him, disgusted him; and because it disgusted him, it comforted him. Like the low rumble. The sensation as his arms woke up has been subtly nostalgic to him lately.
Once his arms come to, he feels the tattered rag he’s been calling a blanket on top of him. Usually it’s so caked with dirt and grime, it’s propped up like a piece of cardboard. Many times, he truly believed it was one. He would have today too, if it weren’t for the fact that it was now limp and damp with his sweat; the feeling of it sticking to him brought him a disgust that did not comfort him whatsoever. Finally he noticed the thin sticky layer of sweat smeared across his forehead and made a noise that was a somewhat mix of a groan and a wince as he squirms his way out of the blanket and toward the edge of the bed.
He pushes his hair back and wipes his face with his hand. Wind whistles through eight air holes carved out on the wall next to him. Also spilling in through the holes are eight streaks of gray sunlight. For some reason they reminded him of when Xerena had once asked him about the sky in The City: “Don’t you have any clear days?” She asked. He thought the question was silly at the time. He had never thought of it much. The clouds are the sky and the gray is the sun; that is what has always been for him and that is what he told Xerena. “Well it’s drab as fuck, man.” She replied with a grimace. In return for his answer, she told him about the sky in Terra Magica; apparently it’s blue with no clouds and the sunlight is bright yellow! Can you imagine?
Tracing the streaks of monotone light across the room, his eyes land on Liv’s guitar hanging precariously on a nail jammed into a crack in the stone wall. He tried recalling the last time he had picked it up, let alone played it. It used to be red and black, with that swirling water pattern he liked so much. Now it was as gray with dust as the sunlight that poured in the room, rising higher by the second. It was a nice gift though —not to mention the only gift she’s ever given him— so in his long list of regrets, the guitar was spared.
Through still panting breaths, he dragged his gaze past the guitar and over the shelves lined up next to it. Then he froze, and his eyelids fluttered wildly trying to clear his vision of the swelling tears. Everytime he looks at this shelf, he feels his heart drop. So many trinkets from so many hobbies abandoned. The fishing rod, the decks of cards, the old telescope, the paintbrushes. All the simple lives he could have lived. Not that he ever had a choice as to what path he walked; well, perhaps he did, a long time ago. Perhaps that’s why he always cries on this shelf: it’s all he can do about it now. He had fought so hard to convince the wardens to let him keep all this junk, and for what? To remind himself of all the times he quit? To keep fresh the memories of every time he gave up? He looked away.
His vision drifted to the other corner of the room where there lay a pile of dark clothes. Black shirts, dark red coats, deep blue jeans, clothes of all kinds in all kinds of muted and desaturated tones.
After a while, he hadn’t noticed when, his vision had settled on nothing in particular and his sweat had dried up. One massive sigh had zoned him back in. “I told you,” His words were not spoken, but regurgitated. As if each of them tasted worse than the last and he had to spit them out. “Keep your damn memories out of my dreams.”
And I told you, There was a rumble, low and slow like the one from the dream. But this was not the voice from the dream. This sound was vile and Foul. It felt like a suffocating slimy sludge at the forefront of his mind and everytime it spoke and rattled his bones, his tongue tasted like bile. I have no influence on your dreams. That just happens when I’m up while you’re sleeping.
“Why are you awake before me?” He groans as he gets off the bed and begins rummaging through the pile of clothes.
It’s your fault. Your anxiety is too loud. Diego froze; so still you’d think time stood still. . It’s today, right? The question is asked slowly and softly, as if it didn’t want to be asked. Yet asked it was, which caused his eye to twitch. The question wouldn’t bother him on most days, at this point in time it probably wouldn’t bother him at all. This voice, this putrid sound terrorizing his mind with trivial questions on today of all days; that’s what bothered him. He knows that it knows what day today is. He knows that it knows why it bothers him. And he knows that it knows damn well not to talk about it. He clenches his teeth.
More silence as the voice’s question awaits an answer never to come. A most chilling silence as Diego uncomfortably resumes his motion to fish out some clothes. His heart quickens as he plucks a red coat out of the pile. Each beat of his heart sends a cold pulse coursing through his veins. Grabbing black pants, he feels that icy gaze leering at him from within himself; his breath shivers. After digging out some dark shirt, he rushes to the other side of the room where a creaky rickety door hangs by its last splinter. Growing more aggravated each freezing second, Diego nearly kicks the door off its hinges to rush inside some kind of bathroom; Looking at his reflection in the smeared and cracked mirror, he casts an unending gaze into his malignant red eye, then his putrid yellow one, and can’t help but grimace at the sight of them against the pitch black sclera.
In his mind, this reflection has always represented the purest antithesis of all that is just and well. Every morning he wakes up and wishes to view a new sight in the mirror. A sight he could be proud to call himself. Every morning he wakes up and that wish is run through by the piercing daggers that shoot out of his miasmic eyes. Today was no different.
After getting ready, he grabs the doorknob to exit his room and pauses halfway through turning it, taking one deep breath to speak slowly. The air that exits his mouth is icy cold, seemingly freezing time itself so that his voice could be heard clearly in uninterrupted silence.
“From the moment we leave to the moment we get back, especially at the cemetery, I don’t want to hear a single word out of you.” He opens the door and slams it behind him.
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A young boy and girl await a younger Diego outside his house. Diego runs out of the house with a zealous spring in his step and a beaming smile on his face. He wraps his arms around both their shoulders and pulls them down in a huddle.
“I have something cool to show you guys. Come, follow your leader!” Before either of his friends could respond, he grabs the girl’s hand and pulls her along as he rushes forward, shouting behind him, “Close my door, Peter!”
The boy tosses his arms in the air and grumbles under his breath as he rushes to close the door and catch up to the other two.
“Hey, D?” The girl struggles to keep her balance as Diego pulls her along. Her lungs burn as the cold air rushes in. “Diego?” She says louder. Her feet stumble on the uneven sidewalk. With her breath shallow from the wind, her arm sore from being pulled, and her blood boiling from being ignored, she pulls her hand away and stops in her tracks.
“What’s up, Jess?” Diego asks, noticing her hand slip away.
“Shouldn’t we wait for him?”
“What for? He’ll catch up. Come on, let’s go.” He reaches for Jess’ hand again, but she quickly pulls back and gives him a stern stare. “Fine,” Diego says, rolling his eyes, “We’ll wait.”
Peter shortly catches up, already beginning to breathe heavily. “Sorry.” He says between breaths, “Thanks for waiting.”
“Yeah whatever.” Diego scoffs, already moving again, “Just stay close, okay? Don’t wanna have to keep waiting for you.”
Diego leads the two far away from the curbs and streets and into a nearby forest, steering off the main path. Diego looks over his shoulder to see the boy and girl trailing behind, enjoying a conversation of their own. He scowls at them and shoves a branch out of his way.
There was a feeling in his stomach. A feeling he was all too familiar with. It happens all the time when he sees them together. It starts as a small rumble. Stop it. It condenses into a ball that travels up his throat and sits there; it makes it harder to breath, harder to swallow. It makes him mad. Just stop. He knew it wouldn’t disappear. Not with Peter here. He’s our friend. He wants to say something, separate them, grab Jess and run. You can’t. He can’t. Not without reason. For him, the consequences outweigh the reward. She has no need for you. Every iota of his being burns as he resists the overwhelming urge.
“Are we allowed to be here?” The boy asks, pushing various vines aside with one hand and swatting bugs away with the other.
“I don’t know. Does it matter? Stop being so scared of everything.” Diego snarks.
“Your adventures do tend to be pretty dangerous. Can’t blame him for being cautious.” The girl interjects.
“Yeah, remember when I broke my arm climbing the tree for you last gale season? You said we could see the top of the Jungle from that tree!”
“And you were stupid enough to fall for that so-” Diego cut his snap back short and took a deep breath. “You didn’t break it, it was a hairline fracture at worst.”
“He got hurt, D. It doesn’t matter what it was.” Jessica aggressively chimed in.
Diego slumps his shoulder as he sighs heavily and turns around again. “I didn’t see any sign that said we can’t be here. So as far as we’re concerned, it should be fine.” He gives the boy a half baked smile, “Happy now?” Diego had already turned around before Peter could respond. “And you don’t have to coddle him all the time, Jess!” He shouts over his shoulder before leading the way once more. The boy and girl stare at each other and then Diego and hesitate before following him.
After a while of walking in silence, Diego stops in his tracks at the base of a hill, past the inner edge of the forest. Turning around, he rushes over to Peter and Jess with a smile on his face. “We’re here!” he grabs Jess’ hand and rushes up the hill with her, leaving Peter behind.
Peter slowly trudges up the hill, breath replaced with heaving huff and puffs, and sees Jess and Diego staring down at a mossy stone structure, about two feet off the ground; barely any gray rock can be seen through all the vines and moss. He comes up to it and stares down as well. The structure is hollow and leads to an underground chamber, too dark to see past the opening.
“What is it?” He asks.
“That’s the neat part.” Diego responds, “I don’t know yet. I wanted to discover it with you guys.”
“How are we even gonna get down there? It’s a pretty long drop.” Peter says with a slight quiver in his voice.
“There’s a ladder to the side.” Diego points without looking at Peter.
Peter looks over and sees a ladder bolted to the inside of the circle. It is black with rust, as are the bolts, which caused them to come out of their holes until the ladder was now hanging on just one. The ladder itself is peeling off layers from the slight breeze brushing past it and already missing some steps.
“Okay.” Peter says slowly. “And we’re all going down?”
“Well yeah, eventually. But you’re going first.” Diego finally tilts his head to look up at him, a large grin on his face. An eerie silence passes to allow the company to soak in the statement.
“Wait, what--” Peter starts.
“Why does he have to go down first?” Jess interrupts.
“Well, you can’t go first, you’re too fragile.” Diego begins explaining.
“Excuse me--”
“Which is why I’m going to go down with you to guide you and help you.” Diego turns his head to look at Peter again, “Once he maps it out and comes back to us”
“D, are you joking?” Peter motions towards the ladder, “I mean look at this thing, it’s ready to fall apart at any moment. I can’t go down there.”
“He’s right,” Jess begins, “We should get our own ladder or something, at least.”
The two continue to bounce pleas back and forth as Diego sighs and stands up. He ignores every word coming out of both their mouths and tunes them out as white noise. Perhaps it’s the way he walks, maybe it’s that look in his eyes, but as he approaches Peter, each step heavier than the last, his focus becoming narrower and narrower; to Peter it seems that their surroundings had disappeared, and there now exists nothing but him and Diego in a deep, dark, heavy sea.
Diego places one hand on Peter’s shoulder and everything freezes.

Peter’s body goes cold as all bravado scatters and flees down his spine. He swallows hard and loud, trying to avoid Diego’s unblinking gaze, feeling it burning away at his soul.
“Peter.” Diego’s voice has changed. No, not a voice. It doesn’t sound like words are spoken, instead there is a rumble. A rumble that shakes Peter’s very core. It is soft, but cold. It is devoid of patience and has filled that void past the brim with a heartlessness that burrows and lingers and echoes in Peter’s mind, giving it a meaning he can regrettably understand.
Peter tries to look Diego in the eyes, but as soon as he peers over he is enveloped in a dark embrace. For a brief moment, however, he swore he could see something like a purple cloud swirling around Diego and wrapping itself around him like some kind of snake.
“Peter.” Diego repeats. This time Peter had no problem staring into his eyes, in fact he felt nearly compelled to. “Go down the hole.” The command brings the world back around them. When Diego lifts his hand, fear comes flooding into Peter, and his knees buckle, nearly dropping him. He gulps and stares down the hole and with one deep breath, heads for the ladder.
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An older, present day Diego stands over a tombstone, holding a handful of small blue flowers. The harsh wind had caused his hair to come undone and it was now flowing wildly across his unfazed face. The dark clouds begin to give way to small droplets that begin to trickle down on the headstone Diego was looking at with his dark eyes, themselves beginning to overflow.
“Hey Pete.” The words barely come out of his mouth. “Sorry I’m late. These things are actually pretty hard to find.” He awkwardly chuckles as he waves the flowers. “But, uh, well I got them for you.” He crouches over to place the flowers down. “Your favorite.”
Silence. A deafening silence. Diego stands as a statue as he stares at the headstone. Carrying the silence with him, he sits down in front of it. And there he sat in silence, for what seemed an eternity. His breath was shaky as he struggled to break the loud, silent sea he found himself drowning in.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is cracked, and small. “I wish I had something to tell you. I wish I could say that I’ve been living my best life like you wanted me to. I wish I could tell you why that’s just not possible for me. The truth is, I’ve failed, Pete.” The words are barely coming out through his shallow breathing. “I’ve failed you, failed myself, failed everyone.” He brings his hand up to cover his eyes as they can no longer hold themselves back from spilling. His voice comes out in whispers. “It’s like fate itself has cursed me.” A moment of silence, save for the occasional sniffles. “You know,” He chuckles, “It’s funny.” His hand wipes the tears away and he sits upright. “I could really use your advice right now. You always were the voice of reason.” His slight grin disappears in an instant and his gaze lowers. “I just wish I had seen it sooner.” Another moment of silence. “I should get going. Hope you enjoy the flowers.” He stands up and wipes the dirt off his pants and gives a small wave to the grave. “Same time next year, yeah?”
Diego turned around and took one step before freezing. His eyes went wide as he stared at the person leaning against the tree behind him. The harsh wind barely affects her extremely short hair, its bright blonde hue still clearly visible even under the shade of the tree and clouds. Her oversized hoodie and even the scarf covering half her face can’t hide her identity from Diego.
“Hey Jess.” He says sheepishly.
Jessica stares at him with eyes that, while brown under a certain light, appear as black as night under the shade of the tree as they throw cold daggers at Diego. Without answering, she walks her way past him and stops in front of the grave and kneels down to touch it. In a moment of silence as Diego was walking away, she called out: “You got it wrong.”
“What was that?” Diego asks as he turns back around.
“The flowers.” She speaks without facing him, not moving from her crouched position. “Forget-me-nots aren’t Pete’s favorite flowers.” She takes a deep breath in and painstakingly turns her head to stare at Diego in the eyes. “They’re yours.” Spoken begrudgingly through gritted teeth, the words stuff Diego’s lungs and throat.
“I’m sorry.” Diego struggles to speak through his shallow breathing. Jessica does not respond. “I’m sorry.” He whispers once more as he pivots and rushes away from the area.
He sits on a bench after exiting the cemetery gates with his face in his hands. The rain has subsided down to a drizzle yet the wind rages on even stronger. Through the spaces between his fingers, Diego keeps his gaze directed downward, at nothing in particular. He isn’t sure if the wetness he feels on his face is from the rain or the tears. Or perhaps blood from how hard he’s gripping. Amongst the sounds of the water droplets hitting the ground around him and the cars splashing puddles of water as they pass through, Diego hears a sound that accompanied him in his solitude: The pant of a seething rage.
“I knew the flowers were wrong. We knew it. You made me believe it was right.”
I--
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO SPEAK TO ME!” His voice shakes the incoming rainfall askew and makes the nearby puddles ripple. Even the trees and grass bent away from him.
After nature resettles, a feminine voice springs up, “I wasn’t really planning to. So…”
The voice shakes Diego out of his rage fueled trance and he snaps his head up to see Jess standing in front of him, just off the curb. Her gaze is cold and empty, and intensely powerful. He feels the familiar negative aura that surrounds her whenever she lays eyes on him. He can tell every single bit of her is telling her to run away, to get out, to flee as far as she can go. He can tell, because everytime he looks at himself in the mirror, every bit of him tells himself the same. However, this time, something differs. Same as usual, she can’t help but grimace and clench her fists at the sight of him. Yet now, to him at least, she seems ever so slightly less tense than normal.
“Jess--”
“Don’t talk to me!” She immediately snaps at him, and Diego closes his mouth and sinks into himself a little further. Jess opens her shoulder bag and rummages around in it for a while. She pulls out an object a small bit bigger than her own hand, wrapped in heaves of paper towels and plastic wrap, and tosses it into Diego’s lap. “You’re probably still skipping meals, right? You wanna start living your best life like you were crying about? Start eating something once in a while.” Her gaze follows a trail left behind by one of his tears. “That’s all.” She turns and walks away from him.
Diego keeps his gaze on her for a while until she gets out of view, then holds the implied food firmly in his hand as he slowly gets up and, still enveloped in his silence, walks the opposite direction back home.
The route he takes back is long, and quiet. Yet still, Diego easily manages to find solace and sanctuary in it. His barrier of silence is often penetrated by the chirping of birds or water from the trees falling into the puddles below. He doesn’t mind, however. Bit by bit, the sounds of nature break the silence he was cowering under and in its grasp, he feels welcomed. In the warm embrace of the sun and gentle misty breeze of the wind and the smell of the blooming flowers, he unclenches his fist for the first time today.
Finally reaching home, Diego heads indoors and shuts the door behind him, leaning his back against the door and smiling as he gives a deep sigh. A smile that faded nigh on immediately as soon as he heard a breath that was not his.
She talks to us now. The deep voice rumbles, shaking every corner of Diego’s mind. That’s a good sign. Each word makes Diego grit his teeth and shake. We might have a chance to sway her back--
“What are you doing?” Though only a whisper, the words had enough weight to drive a wedge into the demon’s speech. “I told you not to talk.”
Yes, that you did. ‘From the moment we leave to the moment we get back’ were your exact words, I believe. It pauses to allow Diego to sink in the information given to him, and once his eyes widen, it continues. We are back, are we not?
“You slimy little shit!” His voice begins to raise in volume. “How dare you--”
Diego’s rageful shout is interrupted as he feels a force upon him. His neck and throat begin tightening, and his breath quickly escapes him. The walls begin to smear and smudge, as if being washed away by a heavy downpour, and all around him turns to an empty black. As perilous as the situation seems, however, Diego finds within himself a sense of recognition, of comfortability.
As everything fades, the owner of the voice begins emerging; birthed from the dark nothingness.. Indeed, it was nothing. It was a coagulated, congealed, mess of nothing. It must be nothing, he thought, for how could anything look like that? It approached slowly, trying to amass some form along the way. Or perhaps, Diego was the one trying to come up with some form to perceive it as. The best his mind could offer was some grotesque amalgamation of flesh and eyes and arms and various extra bits and parts. It brought with it disgust and nausea. The sounds acclimating from its plethora of voices slammed into Diego’s ear, made him dizzy, his vision became blurry. The lightheadedness unintuitively helped clear his mind, and he could see this thing better; see it the only way his meager eyes would allow.
A bare, scaly body hauntingly similar to his own walks forward. A purple hue emanates from it, acting as a singular lit beacon in this deep ocean of nothing. Or was it purple? Purple was his mind’s first guess, but if he dared try to pass it over with a second thought, his eyes would ache and burn. Dark --nearly as dark as the void around them-- bat-like wings wrap around him like some grotesque coat. A long deteriorated hand creepily peeks out of the wing-coat; its long bony fingers seem to hold a gold chain connected to the shackle on Diego’s neck. From the peripheral, its face is a messy and grotesque amalgamation of mouths and eyes, always turning and shifting. Once Diego looks directly at it, however, it flawlessly imitates his own; like looking in a sick scaly mirror. What doesn’t ever change or shift are its two red eyes; always watching, always thinking. It tugs on the chain and Diego falls to his knees. It smiles, revealing vast, unhuman rows of fangs.
“I let you have your little moment. Your illusion of freedom. I sat quiet as you sniveled for that patch of dirt.” The being squats down to eye level. The smile on its face is gone, and now a large grimace lays in its place. “Do not think you get to unleash your emotions on me.” He squeezes on the chain, causing Diego to painfully grasp the shackles as they continue to prevent any words or breath from coming through. “This place --your heart-- is my domain. And all the emotions that reside here are mine to control.” With each word, it inches its face ever closer to Diego’s. “You do not get to raise your voice, to shout at me. You need to know your place. Do you understand?” It loosened the grip on the chain, and Diego gasped for air as his throat opened up again.
As Diego listened to the words of his soul partner, he found himself in a strange sense of familiarity. Very strange, he thought. Perhaps in some time long past, he would have been scared; he would have submitted. Perhaps, had this act of subjugation occurred sooner, he would have yielded. And indeed, he has yielded. So many times has he succumbed to this cycle of dominance, so many times has he had to endure this arrogant lecture. So many times has he wasted his time in this dark space; for so long he has wasted his breath and energy on this dark creature, wasted his life trying to escape. The solution came to him one day, one random day at some random time: There is no escape, there is no point of wasting so much of himself, there is no need to try any retaliation. This monster, this thing, it’s just a part of him; it’s as simple as that.
After some heavy breaths, he sits himself in a comfortable position and looks down, his eyes deep and empty. “I’ve heard these words before.” He speaks quietly. “And I will hear them again and again.”
“Excuse me?” The beast asked, bringing its ear closer.
“If there’s nothing I can do, then I will do nothing.” Diego lets himself lean onto the floor and lay there in a fetal position, eyes wide open, mouth shut closed .
“What are you doing?” Its question received no answer. “What are you doing? Answer me!” It squeezed on the chain, and though Diego let out a miniscule flinch in response, it was not enough to sate the being. “ANSWER ME!” Silence. “ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME!” Each command strengthened the grip on the chain, and its voice grew deeper and darker. Yet still he found silence as his answer. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO COMMANDS YOU?! I WAS SIRED BY PRIDE ITSELF! YOU, A MERE MONGREL, DARES TO IGNORE ME-- ZYTH, THE PRINCE OF ARROGANCE?! HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW HIGH I STAND ABOVE YOU?! ANSWER. ME. NOW!”
All through the night, and onto what can only be assumed as morning, did this continue. Yet somehow, Diego could not help but succumb to the alluring charms of his exhaustion.
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