🎃Whumptober!🎃
Day 3: Emma takes away Kyle's control.
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All at once, in a crackling burst, Emma’s magic flashed forward, encompassing his vision in white light. He gasped out, dropping the glass of whiskey and hearing it just begin to crash to the ground and shatter before the noise was cut off and replaced with a shrill ringing in his ears. He put his hands to his head and waited for the effect to pass, yet it lingered agonizingly on. He blinked and pressed on his eyelids but could not free them from the stark white light. He dug at his ears, hummed and vocalized, but could only hear the same ring.
“What’s—?” he started, but could not hear his own voice, although he felt it rumbling in his throat when he spoke.
He felt panic begin to set in. He gasped and felt his throat, his eyes, his head, but could not pry the magic away or stimulate his vision whatsoever.
“Stop!” he called out voicelessly.
As the word finished vibrating out of his mouth, he felt something, much like multiple fingers creeping their way up his back, he could feel their nails scraping his skin and he twisted his body to try and get away.
“Get off! Stop!” he felt himself holler as he thrashed and grabbed at his shirt, trying to pry the hands off of his body. But the more he tried, the harsher they bore into his flesh with their pointed nails.
Kyle screamed out, leaping up off the bed and instantaneously being brought down by the splintering pain that shot up his leg. He collapsed to the ground and felt something sharp slice and grind through his palms. He cried out, pulling his hands to his chest and trying desperately to force himself up off of his knees.
The hands still grabbed at him. They tore at his hair and squeezed his throat. When he opened his mouth to scream again, he felt their fingers slip inside, making him choke. He spat them out and pushed himself away, sliding backwards on the floor until his back struck against a wall.
“Stop!” he screamed out, writhing and tearing at his skin, trying, in a full panic, to free himself from the clawing and grabbing and prodding. His entire body convulsed involuntarily from the pain he was putting it through, but he couldn’t keep from panicking and thrashing more and more, despite this.
“Please, stop this!” he pleaded soundlessly, not at all sure of how loud he was screaming, but knowing it was enough to rip his throat raw.
“Stop!” he howled again, struggling against the violation with aching arms and screaming with stinging lungs.
Finally, after a moment more of this, the hands began to soften their contact and then languidly slither away. The ringing faded from his ears and the magic poured from his eyes, letting the shadows of the room darken his vision once more.
He sat on the floor, against the wall, between the bed and the side table. His entire body ached and stung and throbbed and when he held his hands out before his eyes, he saw that they were torn and bloodied, a few tiny pieces of shattered glass glittering amongst the gore.
The others now stood against the far wall, probably having moved out of his way as he went into his panic.
Simard’s mouth gaped wide open in a suppressed fit of laughter, he pointed and wheezed and finally laughed out.
“You look so fucking pathetic!” he cackled.
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