Shadow Slave: Immortal Ice

From this point on Eirwen has been living in an endless Nightmare which consisted of him waking up, his captors performing some kind of perverted ritual and then killing him. The only thing that was different in each Nightmare was the way they killed him. The first time they gutted him, the other time they forked his pretty eyes out and forced them down his throat and one time they beat him senseless and skinned his left forearm, from elbow to wrist.

But on the seventh cycle of endless pain and death he finally felt it. A sense of Déjà vu, as if it's not the first time he woke up in this gigantic room, chained to this particular long and tall bed, surrounded by these exact same hooded men in black robes. 'Wait… I know this place,' was the last thought he managed before the cultists started their ritualistic dance again.

'What the hell…' he thinks to himself as he squirms his body and tries to get out of the chains, feeling how strong his body actually is. All of a sudden that feeling of Déjà vu hit him again. The weird sensation helped him get out of his stupor as he quickly reminded himself of what Gale had told him. Another important part of winning the first Nightmare, 'Check your Runes!'

Trying to concentrate on summoning them -as much as it is possible with weird cultists dancing around you, chanting weird whispers and slamming on their chests- he focused his mind on something deep inside the soul. In a second Eirwen's consciousness plummeted down somewhere deep, as if falling into deep water.

'Holy… This feels so much different compared to what Gale told me. But Gale is weird in general so no wonder' Eirwen lampooned as the ethereal and untouchable Runes appeared in front of him.

Name: Eirwen

True Name: ----

Rank: Aspirant

Core: Dormant

Memories: ----

Echoes: ----

Attributes: [Lucky Bastard], [The child of Gods]

Aspect: [Frosted Mirror]

Aspect Description: [The frost glimmers with faint echoes of what it sees. Ice is the death of everything]

Attribute: [Lucky Bastard]

Attribute Description: [Luck trails you to the point it's disgusting.]

Eirwen's brow twitched as he read the runes, 'Who are you calling a bastard you bastard?!'

Attribute: [The Child of Gods]

"Gods? Not a singular entity, but many?" Eirwen thinks to himself, the earlier frustration replaced by curiosity and… fear? Excitement? He couldn't tell so he just focused on reading the rest of the runes.

Attribute Description: [At the time when the Gods themselves walked the world, there were signs of your creation—hints of what you would become. The remnants of the divine seem to favor your existence. But the Unholy powers also wait for you]

Eirwen felt goosebumps run down his body as he read the last sentence. Yeah, it was definitely fear he felt. 'I really am special' he thinks to himself before shaking his head and making the Runes disappear.

The cultists kept dancing in front of him, so he still had time before his demise. He understood that the sense of Déjà vu wasn't just some weird 'feeling' it probably meant that this is not the first time he is experiencing it, which could only mean that he somehow always ends up here. He knew time manipulation was possible since he read the 'Tomb of Ariel'.

"Frosted Mirror?" He recalls his Attribute name. The description sure didn't help him understand the meaning behind his weird Attribute. "Affinity to mirrors maybe? But what does the Frosted part mean then? Reflections in general?" He whispered to himself as he looked around, trying to find a mirror or any reflecting surface. To Eirwen's surprise there were many mirrors inside the room now that he looked around with a clear mind.

Concentrating on one of the reflections he felt a certain connection, it wasn't a placebo effect he was sure of that, but the connection was so subtle that he gave up on focusing his mind on it.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and started brainstorming every single possibility as the cultists reached the culmination of their ritual. 'The frost glimmers with faint echoes of what it sees…' he repeats again and again. Suddenly a bold idea crossed his mind.

'What if I-' Eirwen mumbled before taking a deep breath and focusing on what he saw the last couple seconds. The weird dance. The way they moved their knees and elbows. The way their limbs shot up and down with incredible force as if trying to destroy the space around them. 'Faint echoes of what it sees' he keeps mumbling before shooting his elbow up in the same motion as one of the cultists did. The motion felt natural, as if he had practiced this move countless times. Yet there was still room for improvement of course, his imitation wasn't perfect.

The chain around his right wrist strained with great force as it was pushed to its limits. The chains were mundane, so they weren't as durable as Eirwen thought, but they still held. Hardly though.

When Eirwen heard the chains, his eyes widened and a smirk appeared on his face.

That smirk disappeared after a second though when he looked over to the cultist standing right across him. His face was hidden behind the hood of his robe. But Eirwen could clearly tell that he was shivering and trembling beneath that robe. Was it fear? "Yeah, be scared you son of a-" Eirwen tried to spit but he wasn't able to finish the hateful sentence as the cultist lunged towards him.

Eirwen nearly choked on his own saliva as he tried to move back, the cultist crawled towards him like a mad monster. "Get the hell away you lunatic!" Eirwen shouted as he shot his foot towards the cultists face. The sole of his feed connected with the man's face, knocking him back with good force. He could even swear he heard a crunching noise after he hit him.

The chained boy strained his wrists and tried to break the chains, more and more cracking filled the room with each second. Before the cultist regained his composure Eirwen nearly managed to free himself. The metal chains sunk into his skin, grinding it open and filling his hands and sheets with blood.

Eirwen growled like some dog as he pulled his wrists in front of him. His teeth grinded against each other and his eyes bulged from all the force he was using.

Crack

Shatter

The chains finally gave in.

Eirwen fell on his right side, his right wrist finally freed.

Just as he looked up though he was met with a sharp silver object flying straight into his eye, penetrating it like butter.

A guttural scream escaped him as he desperately tried to pull the knife out before it went in any deeper and reached his brain. 'It hurst It hurst It hurts It hurst It hurts God fucking damn it!' Eirwen's mind was filled with pain and anger, his remaining eye struggled to open up as he felt horrible phantom pains in it.

When his fingers finally grasped the cultists hand -which was pushing the dagger deeper- was he able to resist. Luckily for him the cultist was much weaker than him. Eirwen's physical strength was nearly overwhelming for his opponent, especially since Eirwen was filled with adrenaline and rage.

With another scream he finally managed to free the silver dagger from the cultists grasp. He carefully pulled the knife out of his eye socket with his trembling hand, his mouth hung open as he cried out in pain. "Good Lord why?!" Eirwen screamed, the bloodied knife was in his only free hand. His left wrist and right and left ankle were still chained to the bedframe, so retreat was not an option.

Blinded by anger he slashed in front of him without targeting anyone in particular, simply hoping to luckily hit someone.

'Calm down!' Eirwen reminded himself. But before he gets the chance to do just that, another scream escaped his dry lips. All over his body he felt knives sinking into him. Some pinned down his left palm and some pinned down his feet, adding additional restraint on his chained self.

"I will murder all of you!" He kept groaning curses, trying to somehow maybe shout over the horrible pain he was feeling. "You think you can kill me?! You pathetic ba- RAAAGHHHHH" another scream escaped him as suddenly a knife slid out of his thigh and into his mouth, making it impossible to speak. Yet Eirwen still tried to mumble something with pretty much a mouthful of knife. His tongue was grotesquely cut with blood flowing out of his mouth and down his chin. Eirwen's pristine body was now nearly completely red from all the blood and cuts.

He kept groaning and growling even with the cultists pinning his limbs down with their knifes. His right palm was pierced with a blade too now so he couldn't talk nor move whatsoever.

'Bloodydamn bastards!' so he kept cursing at them in his mind, the anger partially helped with the burning pain all over his body. 'Just let me get out and I will finish all of you off!'

As if reading his mind one of the cultists slowly twisted his wrist, pushing the knife further into his thigh. A guttural groan escaped Eirwen's throat, 'I have had enough!' he tried to mumble as he forcefully bit down on the knife in his mouth.

Shatter

The force of his bite was enough to shatter the blade into tiny pieces of silver which now filled his mouth, some of them already cutting their way down his throat. Agonizing pain filled his body and mind once again as he spat the sharp shards into the cultist across him. He knew he would die soon anyway, so he placed all of his bets on returning back in time, to the beginning of this Trial.

The silver pieces flew fast enough to sink into the cheek and lips of his opponent drawing a scream out of him too. The cultist sank back and clutched his face as blood trickled down his fingers. The whole turn of events left everyone stunned so they lost their composure for a second. This one second was enough for Eirwen to lean towards the closest cultist to him. Only because he knew death was certain didn't mean he would not try to kill these bastards too.

Eirwen opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit down onto the throat of his adversary with as much strength as he could muster, the broken shards of silver making his bite even deadlier.

Apparently, this turn of events was unexpected to the cultists since they weren't able to react and do anything as Eirwen gnawed on the throat of his enemy. Who also was their partner. They were simply too stunned to do anything. Their prisoner and sacrifice who was supposed to be weak from all the drugs and the dancing ritual suddenly started to fight back, of course they would be stunned. Especially now with Eirwen chewing on the throat of a cultist like a Nightmare Creature. The cultist squirmed and tried to push Eirwen off, but with no weapon to use he couldn't do anything but scream and die.

[You have slain a dormant human: the Follower of the Underworld]

An angelic voice whispered into Eirwen's ear

When Eirwen was done with his feist he immediately turned around with his upper body and spat a mouthful of blood and human flesh at his next target. He had little time until the enemies recollected themselves and he had to use it fully to his advantage.

Eirwen looked like a demon with his mouth, chin and neck all filled with blood and pieces of flesh. It strongly contrasted with his pristine white skin which usually seemed pure. A twisted, blood-soaked grin spread across his face as he raised his hand, the knife still buried deep in his palm. He felt the metal bite deeper into his flesh, but he didn't flinch. His hand tore open, the flesh parting as the blade cut through it with sickening ease, but some parts tore open in an ugly and tearing way. "Here I come!" he shouted, his voice a mix of pain and raw excitement, as he lunged for the next cultist, his fingers already twitching to close around the next man's throat.

Just as his mutilated hand reached for the next victim, a silver blade slid smoothly across his throat from below. It cut his skin effortlessly, opening a wound from which crimson blood poured, pouring down like a waterfall. Eirwen's remaining hand shot up to clutch at his throat as he gurgled in his own blood, his fingers slipping in the wet, hot blood, his single eye burning with anger and disbelief. His breath came in ragged gasps, choked by the flood of blood, but his anger only intensified.

He fell, his body slamming into the sheets and bouncing slightly. His curses were muffled by blood as he gurgled and twitched, his words lost in the river flowing from his throat. And yet even as he died, he cursed again and again, until he the darkness claimed him again, for the eight time.