Thalra stumbled at the end of the hall, gasping as she leaned heavily against a closed door. Her hand came up to clutch at the soaked fabric across her chest, pressing at the wound beneath. It throbbed with the aftershocks of electricity that seemed to simmer at the edges of the cuts Efrain had made. It seemed to eat away at her flesh almost like acid. She’d never had a wound like this and doubted she’d ever be able to heal it entirely.
The thought made her want to run, cover herself in magic and slip away. That was how she had always survived until now. When things were too broken to fix, when her life was truly in danger, she disappeared. All that mattered was that she lived to see the next day. She pushed herself off from the door, glancing towards the stairs, then—Efrain’s voice, like someone drowning, barely keeping his head above water.
The slender cord of connection Thalra had felt between them before she’d set off her spell was still there, and Efrain was using it.
Thalra turned, saw Efrain standing there, bleeding and broken by her magic, arm mangled but spine held rigid. His words in her mind registered and there was the sound of metal clanging heavily against the floor as the rapier she hadn’t noticed she’d been clutching fell from her grasp. Instead her hand came up to her mouth to stifle a sob that tore from her throat. What had she done? She’d hurt him so badly.
Her knees gave out and she knelt there on the floor, helpless to do anything except stare while Avi walked the short distance down the hall towards his brother. She wanted to tell him to stop, to grab at him and pull him back, but all she could do was witness the scene she’d set in motion. Thalra couldn’t even make out what Avi said to Efrain, only that his voice sounded so calm. So sure. “Stop,” she muttered into her palm. “Stop this, please,” The magic came forth unbidden with her words, an automatic defense that lashed at Efrain but couldn’t find purchase in his mind.
“Avi,” she choked out, more magic in her words, these ones futile and feeble, but the only thing she had left to give. “It’s not him. He’s not in control. I think it’s his… I think it’s Eobald.”
Efrain could see terror in the shaking of Avi’s hands and in his earnest eyes. He plead to the gods not to let him hurt his little brother. “Please,” he thought, over and over again even as his own brother pled with him. As Avriel stood before him, he made no move to attack at first, but then he touched his arm. His gaze snapped first to his hand and then his face. An eternity seemed to pass where the spell decided whether or not Avi was a threat.
Efrain’s elbow struck Avriel’s throat with a crack. He struck true like a well-beaten soldier and he felt the magic of his cruel spell ripple through him. The skin below Avi’s chin petrified grey as the very air leeched life from him before returning to a healthy pallor.
Though it hadn’t worked before, despite his pitiful and desperate attempts at resistance had meant nothing before, Efrain beat against the spell. He wouldn’t kill his brother, he wouldn’t kill his friend, he refused. He’d hurt them too much already.
Someone was screaming, he realized, and he could only hope that it was neither of the people he loved.
Efrain screamed, his throat tearing as he screamed and screamed. It was as if a bundle of thorny vines had curled around him, constricting and sinking their barbs into his mind. He wrenched them free, vicious and feral and merciless. With each thorn he unhooked, the pain mounted and urged him to give in. Just follow orders, he heard Eobald say. Why can’t you follow your damn orders. A phantom pain bloomed on his cheek, a memory of an unearned bruise, but he hardly noticed. It was as if he was climbing an unending staircase, no end in sight, and each step he took, each thorn he dug out of his mind, the more agony wrapped around him and sank into his bones. Still, he climbed.
On the outside, Efrain had collapsed to his knees an instant after he’d struck Avriel. His face contorted with agony. The cut above his eye bled anew. His good hand dropped his rapier, the lightning stuttering out as the blade clattered to the floor, and clutched at his head. Heedless of his bent arm and crushed ribs, he curled in on himself, his forehead nearly touching his knees and screamed mindlessly. It wasn’t the high pitched shriek of terror or even a grunt of rage, but instead a scream of unmitigated, unadulterated torture.
When his forehead bled red instead of inky, rancid black, Efrain abruptly stopped.
He retched, though nothing came up, and coughed on nothing but the memory of suffocating murk. Efrain’s chest heaved like painfully quick bellows. The pain of Thalra’s spell finally struck him full force and he hissed. His ribs were cracked and his left arm hung shattered and useless and he could feel it. Efrain fell, unbalanced, against the hallway wall and clenched his jaw and eyes shut tight against the onslaught of pain. Each beat of his heart wracked him with another wave of it. It was his pain, though, and he nearly relished in his shattered bones because he could feel it. It wasn’t a searing magic cage, but instead a true pain. He realized he’d whimpered, keened like a hurt animal, as he fell.
He forced his eyes open, his gaze searching first for Avriel and then Thalra. They hadn’t deserved this, hadn’t deserved the betrayal or the pain. He tried to speak, but his breath was still came in quick, short wheezes, tears streaming down his face. “S-sorry,” he rasped, “I’m so, I’m so sorry.”
Eobald? What did Eobald have to do with this? How could a dead man-
A surge of pain stopped the thought in its tracks. The pain wasn’t entirely unwelcome. He found that the feeling distracted him from the source. If he focused on the constricting of his throat, how difficult it was to breathe, maybe he could forget that his brother was the cause of it. He almost wished the pain was greater. He wished something would be distracting enough to make him forget that he was here, in his new home, in the same hallway his parents would be walking through in an hour or two.
As the pain subsided, Avi was forced to think about the incomprehensible situation. He watched his brother fold in on himself like paper, screaming relentlessly, and suddenly he was back in Arx. No, Avi thought, not again - but the memories were crystal clear, and the screams sounded so eerily like Scratch’s. He tried desperately to ground himself, biting down on his cheek until it drew blood and eventually gnawing on his own hand. This time, the pain couldn’t help. He felt small, and terrified, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel normal again.
“Fuck,” he managed, gasping for air. He wanted to help his brother, and in the back of his mind he knew he could. Efrain’s behavior - it seemed familiar. Parts of Ewin’s studies had rubbed off on him, and Avi was sure that if he could just clear his mind for a second he could rationalize the entire situation and help his brother feel less guilty. But his mind wasn’t clear; he couldn’t even get his goddamn hands to stop shaking. He turned away from the others, hoping they wouldn’t noticed how flushed his cheeks had gotten and how wet his eyes were. And instead of doing anything to help, he rushed back to the room he’d left Mickey in.
His duck, oblivious to everything, let out a disapproving quack and waddled into the hallway. When Avi picked him up, he quacked once more, but respectfully allowed the affection. He stood for a short moment, feeling Mickey’s heartbeat from where his hand pressed into his chest. His mind cleared just enough to remember the health potion in the pouch near his waist. He’d brought it to the market, just in case, and now he knew he wanted his brother to have it.
“Here - save your powers,” he said, his voice quivering against his will. He wasn’t sure he was ready to look his brother in the eyes, or to get too close, so he simply rolled the bottle toward him. He didn’t want to be afraid - not of him, and not here - but terror continued to course through him just as it had in his last battle. He stayed near the doorway, just in case he needed to take cover, and he clung to Mickey like the duck might save him.
