With renewed vigor and adrenaline coursing through his veins, Icarus pulled himself up out of the water, immediately caught in a choking battle to expel the liquid filling his lungs. His coughing quickly turned to wrenching as the flashing visages of all that occurred came flooding back to the forefront of his mind with perfect clarity.
Just what in the hell—
Icarus glanced down at his arms with a shocking mix of horror and awe as swirling wisps of vapor slowly smoked off his freshly reddened skin. Like a bad sunburn, his flesh was blistered and puffy, yet as the seconds ticked by, the skin began to peel away, revealing a soft, supple layer without a blemish to be seen. Any cuts, bruises, freckles, or moles that once marred his body were gone.
He stumbled back in a daze.
His shock only deepened as he realized the pain in his hand had completely faded as well. Stretching his fingers, Icarus pulled back the cloth to see his knuckles no longer swollen nor bloody. He could once again ball his fist without a single complaint.
Sable's blood was one thing—she clearly was not human. But this? This was simply... inexplicable.
Swiveling back to the waterbed, its luminous glow of bright blue light was gone, now replaced by a still-simmering, colorless hue. Similarly, the crystal shards at the bottom that once radiated an eerie shine were now dull, lifeless, as if nothing peculiar had ever occurred.
Did I—did I do this? How?
A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered. There was a voice. Someone Other had spoken to him within the depths of his own mind. Was he no longer himself? Who else could there be?
"H-hello? Is someone there?" His voice echoed along the quiet of the cavern, shadows dancing on the walls. It was almost pitch black, dark enough to drive a man mad at this rate.
Still, there was no reply.
With no answers—only questions multiplied, crowding Icarus' thoughts like a swarm of locusts—he struggled to piece together what had happened. What had driven him to that water? The hunger, the light... Was it him? Could it be something in the pool? Perhaps something his captors had done to him? There were names, faces he didn't recognize but everything had seemed so surreal…
Curious, he tore off the remnants of his shirt, his breath hitching as he felt a crawling sensation beneath his skin, an itch that seemed to burrow deeper with every second. He peered down, half-expecting more blood, more wounds. Instead, he saw something that turned his blood to ice.
The blackened marks on his chest—they were moving.
Like dark serpents slithering beneath his flesh, the markings twisted and coiled, shifting as if with a will of their own. His stomach churned as he watched, panic clawing at his throat. Icarus pressed his hands against his skin, feeling the markings wriggle and squirm beneath his fingertips. They stretched further, creeping down his abdomen, forming new patterns—darker, more intricate, like an artist's brush painting lines that defied reason.
They're alive?! Just what was put in me??
A surge of energy tore through his limbs, and Icarus gasped, his vision splintering as images assaulted his mind—a cold, dark cell; shackles biting into his wrists; distant voices, sharp and cruel, each word a blade slicing into his soul. Icarus wanted to scream, to run, but he was trapped, bound by more than just iron and stone. They wanted something—results? Perfection? It didn't matter. They wanted to use him, to break him, to mold him into something he was not.
Another wave of pain, a crackle like lightning through his nerves, and the visions faded, leaving him trembling, breathless.
A memory... or something else?
Icarus stared down at the markings on his chest, now still, resting in new positions, new shapes. Were they... growing? Just what was done to me?! His fists clenched, and he felt a bitter anger rising, like a hot coal in his gut. He resisted the urge to pound the wall again.
Breathe, child. The Binding was incomplete.
Icarus froze at the return of an ethereal, cool voice. It spoke clearly, calmly, echoing in every corner of his mind as if he'd said it himself. His stomach lurched.
"W-What the hells—" He swiveled around like a madman. "Where are you?! Who are—"
Peace. If not for me, you would still be in a cell. If not for me, you would not be alive. Yet, if I had known the circumstances, I may have reconsidered.
The voice trailed off, a hint of amusement palpable in its tone. Icarus fell to his knees, a mix of emotions churning through him.
"W-What do you mean? Have we met before? It was Sable who freed me from my cell—you couldn't possibly be—"
No, I am not Sable. Nor are you, much to my own disappointment. But alas, we must work with what we are given. Perhaps if you were whole, then this discussion—
The voice grew louder, thundering in his skull as its irritation spread to him—a feeling that did not originate from him, but elsewhere.
"But this doesn't make any sense! Are you inside me? Are you me?" A lump formed in the back of his throat as he asked himself if he was truly mad.
No, boy. Do not be daft. I am tethered to you, as you are to me. You were soon to perish before I intervened. If I had known our Binding would not be compatible, I would have sought other means of keeping you alive. That, in part, was my mistake.
Resting his head on his arms, Icarus sighed. A deep tiredness gnawed at him. Despite its attitude, he could feel the truth in the voice's words, as if they were words he'd spoken himself. Maybe it was this 'Binding' it spoke of, but he was no longer alone in his mind anymore. In a way, his wish had come true. He no longer faced isolation—but at what cost?
Do not be ungrateful. This was not something I sought either, boy, and it is not something easily broken. If you were to—
"But then why?" Icarus snapped angrily. "Why even save me at all if it was something so inconvenient to you? I'm not buying that it was out of the goodness of your heart, if that's what you're trying to imply. Who are you, anyway?" He was upset. Tired and upset. Every time he felt he had a grasp on things—any sense of normalcy or freedom—something new came to turn his head upside down. He had never asked for any of this. And he definitely never asked to be shackled to anyone.
At once, a blinding pain—like every nerve in his body had burst into flame—scorched through him. His senses screamed for reprieve, and he was left purging the only thing in his stomach as he fought to stay conscious, nearly choking on the water as it left him.
You forget yourself, worm. I am not here out of desire or willingness. I am here because it is my duty to keep you alive—whether it 'inconveniences' me or not. Take that tone with me again, and we shall see just how short of 'alive' I can keep you.
The pain faded, and Icarus was left gasping for breath on the ground in disbelief. It truly wasn't just a voice—it could hurt him as well. He gritted his teeth in a mix of frustration and anger. He had traded one jailer for another.
I will never be free. The thought alone brought tears to his eyes, yet he could not ignore the implications the voice had made.
'If not for me, you would still be in a cell. If not for me, you would not be alive—'
Pondering this, he knew he needed answers.
"I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to disrespect you, but please understand. All I remember is that hell. Any semblance of comfort I've had has been taken from me. Those who saved me suffered for it, and no matter what I do, it seems I have no choice in anything. I don't know what to do."
Trying to reason with the voice, he hoped to quell the animosity between them, hoping for a more productive discussion. Yet, it remained silent.
Icarus took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts, but the questions kept pounding against his skull, one after another. "Hello? Are you still there?" he called out expectantly.
Silence.
A growl tore from his throat, frustration boiling over as he paced the chamber, his thoughts a storm of anger and confusion. His gaze flicked to the walls, to the shadows that seemed to stretch and shift in the dim light. Only a few thumb-sized crystals in the wall had kept their glow, and Icarus could only wonder what had happened to so drastically dim the rest of the light here. Perhaps the voice knew.
Regardless, it was clear he had upset it, and he could not afford to linger any longer. The thought of that beast still out there, hunting him... It made his stomach twist with fear. He had to move. Had to find a way out before it was too late.
Icarus turned to leave, his gaze catching on a faint glimmer on the ground. My old shard. It survived. He bent down, his fingers closing around it, the crystal's light still glowing faintly in the dark. It would have to be enough. Holding it aloft like a torch, he pushed forward, back into the tunnels, each step echoing off the cold stone, the shadows twisting and turning as he moved deeper into the unknown.
Time slipped away, his senses sharpening. Icarus kept his eyes on the ceiling, wary of the stalactites so as not to be caught off guard again. The air was thick with humidity, each drop of water glistening in the faint light. His heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the danger, of the uncertainty.
Gradually, the walls began to change, and familiar clusters of glowing rocks emerged from the darkness, their light pulsing softly, like a heartbeat. Icarus reached out, curiosity pulling his hand forward, and felt a strange warmth seep into his fingers, a buzzing filling his chest. He jerked his hand back, unsettled by the sensation. It's that—thing—again. It's squirming. Swallowing his disdain, Icarus turned away.
As he continued, the walls grew stranger, more alien. Vines with bioluminescent tendrils snaked around the rocks, reaching out like fingers, and the air thickened, heavy with a sweet, cloying scent. An unease settled over him, a creeping sense of dread that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.
Icarus kept moving, kept searching, his mind spinning with questions, with anger, with fear. What had they done to him? Was this—thing—going to kill him? Perhaps it and the voice were connected? It would explain a lot.
And what if it tears me from the inside out?
A hard lump formed in his throat, and Icarus couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Each step echoed unnervingly, the sound bouncing back as if mocking him. But there was no sign of pursuit—only the rustling of vines, the distant drip of water, and the low hum of the glowing rocks.
A sudden cry in the distance shattered the silence, followed by a loud voice calling from a tunnel nearby.
"Aye! Is someone there?"
The shout was brief, startling, and echoed noisily down the moss-covered tunnel. Startled, Icarus nearly lost his grip on the shard, swinging it toward the darkness in an attempt to pinpoint its origin.
Before he could even blink, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and the earth began to tremble violently beneath him.
Instinct took over, and Icarus leapt back just in time. With a crumbling explosion of rock and dust, the ground where he'd once stood erupted violently, sending shattered stone careening in all directions. Dirt kicked up into his face, and he fought to keep his eyes open in stunned horror.
Something massive tore itself free from the earth with startling brutality. A long, oily creature, easily three times his size, emerged from its depths and crawled along the wall with dozens of hooked legs. A pair of massive pincers clicked from its large, bulbous head, and its tail was riddled with spikes like the end of a deadly mace.
Just my luck...
A knot of dread tightened in his throat as Icarus watched the enormous centipede—if that's what it was—skitter along the walls with horrifying agility. It paused briefly on the ground, its pincers clicking in rapid succession. Unconsciously, he took a step back.
At once, the creature jerked its head in his direction, freezing him in place. The clicking resumed, and Icarus watched in horror as it began to stalk closer, its dozens of legs pattering ominously against the stone.
Yet, it didn't attack.
Why? Can't it see me?
Cautiously, he took another step back, instantly regretting it. The centipede swiveled its head toward him, unleashing an earsplitting screech that rang painfully in his ears before lunging in his direction with terrifying speed.
"No, no, no!" was all Icarus could manage as he bolted the other way, any sense of confidence evaporating in an instant.
He hadn't gone far before a sharp, searing pain tore into the back of his leg. Icarus barely managed to leap behind a large boulder for cover just as the centipede lunged again, snapping its pincers at empty air. Crouched behind the rock, Icarus racked his brain for a strategy—anything at all. The creature was already whipping its spiked tail against the ceiling above him, cracking stones loose and sending heavy debris raining down. He couldn't stay here any longer.
Grabbing a nearby stone, Icarus steeled himself and dashed out from behind the boulder, waiting for the centipede to notice. Summoning all the strength in his arm, he hurled the rock at its head. A dull thud echoed through the cavern as the stone struck its mark, but the monster barely flinched, shaking its head in annoyance.
"Sorry," Icarus croaked, realizing his mistake too late.
Before he could react, its tail lashed out with blinding speed, whistling through the air. The impact was like being hit by a battering ram, smashing into his chest and crushing his lungs. The force sent him hurtling through the air, spots clouding his vision as pain exploded throughout his body.
Agony. Again.
Icarus tried his hardest to breathe, to open his eyes, to do anything in desperation. Nothing. He was nothing. A sharp pain dug into his arm, hoisting him up, and a sense of weightlessness came over him again, followed by the crack of his body hitting a stone wall.
Something cracked within his chest.
Icarus crawled to his knees, blood spewing ferociously from his lips. There was no turning back now—it was kill or be killed. But could he do it? Something this large? No, I have to. He refused to let Sable's sacrifice be in vain, not after what she'd done for him. Not after what he'd been through.
Icarus gritted his teeth and balled his fists, watching the centipede quicken its pace. He needed an opening.
Watching it reel its tail back, he dove into a barrel roll and narrowly dodged the explosion of rocks from the ceiling above him. Launching at the creature, Icarus slammed his fists upon its armored head with a crack, and more pain shot up his arms as he felt one of his fingers break. But this was nothing compared to his regular torture. Ignoring the searing in his knuckles, Icarus continued pounding, pummeling it with all his strength.
In an instant, the creature knocked him to the ground with one of its legs, pinning him down. Its pincers clicked excitedly, but as it dove for a bite, he kicked his foot into its hideous mouth. The beast clamped down harder, and a sickening crack echoed through the cavern as his toes shattered.
The two struggled back and forth—a test of strength against determination—and Icarus was amazed he held out as well as he did, before the full force of its leg pressed deeper against his chest, crushing his lungs of any air and marring his broken ribs. The earth crumbled in a crater beneath him, and cracks began to arc across the ground around them.
His vision grew spotty.
"Oi! Over here, shithead!"
A voice called out across the tunnel, and a brief glint of metal shimmered in the dark before something hard struck the centipede square on the head. It ricocheted to the floor beside Icarus with a small clang.
It was a hatchet.
What in the—
...