Garden Of The Abyss

It was as if an invisible wall sat between the tip of the obsidian dagger and the flesh of the Marquis; he simply could not be reached. 

"Oh? Did I hit a button, perhaps? Look at that expression, Ren; even as wounded as you are, you're still so intent on killing me. You're a depraved one, there's no mistaking it." 

"...I'll kill you," he repeated, unable to look the man in the eye. 

Decartes only seemed to take delight in the constant threats as he loomed over the wounded young man, gripping him by his white tufts to keep him standing. 

The pale, white fingers that touched his hair were covered in scabs; so skeletal and disfigured as if they had been broken and battered endlessly. His nails were no different in their abhorrence as they sat at an abyssal, black shade. 

"If you're so set on it, then keep that conviction close to your heart. Remember the sounds of her bones crunching, her neck snapping like a feeble, little twig. Anything to keep that anger kindled in your stomach; think about what you could've done, what paths you could've taken, which actions would have led to her living. Let that regret seep into your pores, shift into guilt and anguish as it bites away at your sanity, then cultivate it into strength at the cost of everything you are--everything that makes you...you," Decartes' tone lowered as he spoke close to his ear.

Sliding his tongue from her lips, he ran it against the young man's ear in an abhorrent fashion before dropping him to the ground as he released his grip on his tufts. By this point, he was barely holding onto any sense of consciousness as his senses were nothing but a blur, only focusing on the low words meeting his ear from the Marquis' repulsive mouth. 

"Only then will you be able to accomplish anything." 

Succumbing to the heavy loss of his arterial fluid, his body shut down--with his consciousness being the first victim as all fell--to black. 

There wasn't a dream world he could seclude himself to. 

There was nothing; darkness that could hardly be perceived--unrealized and stagnant, his mind sat in nothingness for an unknown before--he awakened. 

Slowly, his eyes parted as his body felt as stiff as solid lead, and as heavy as stone, though to his surprise--he was alive. 

"...Nngh…" He groaned quietly. 

It was dark; all he could see in his awakening, blurred gaze was that he sat on dirtied, uncomfortable slabs of stone that were stained with blood, bile, and other unsavory fluids. 

His arms ached painfully, having clearly been sitting in their extended, strained position for an unknown, prolonged amount of time. 

Attempting to move, that freedom was quickly realized to have been restricted as his hands hardly budged from the uncomfortable, spread state they had laid in. The sound of metal chiming filled his ears in response to his movements. 

Turning to check, he found his wrists cuffed in black restrictors that were tightly bound to the wall behind him. 

Beginning to come to, the stomach-churning stench laid in the damp, dim cell fully opened his eyes as he realized what sat in the chamber with him--the bodies of his comrades, all lumped together in a pile as if discarded trash. 

"Ghh--!" Clenching his teeth, he couldn't stop it.

Naturally, a scream left his throat as he thrashed his arms, but he couldn't move--there was nothing he could do. 

It was real. He had wished that it was all a dream, or at least the part pertaining to the lives of his companions. He wanted to turn away from it, but there was no avoiding the truth that so vibrantly shoved itself to his face. 

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no…" 

He repeated to himself quietly as he wept, feeling everything in his body ache with utter despair as he could gather no stability in his heart or mind. 

Even the slight movements he was able to make as he tried to throw himself forward shot an overwhelming pain through his body; stopping for a moment, he looked down to see he was shirtless. 

Countless scars now inhabited his flesh as he looked down with flowing tears, unable to even gather a single thought. 

Clap-tap. Clap-tap. Clap-tap. 

It was a presence he didn't want to realize; the footsteps belonged only to one as the metallic, creaking door to the cell was opened. 

"Good morning, Ren!" The Marquis stepped in with his arms clad in black fabric stretched out, greeting the groggy young man with an almost maddening frivolity, "Hm, that brings a question, doesn't it? Is it ever truly morning in Purgatory? Even further, we aren't exactly in Purgatory, are we? We're sitting in my personal realm, but alas, the sun doesn't shine here, either." 

"..." He remained silent. 

Decartes shrugged his shoulders with a smile, stepping closer in almost a dance, "The way I see it, morning is whenever you wake up! What is your concept of morning, Ren? I'm sure it's changed in your time in Purgatory, right?"

No answer came from him as all he did was look up at the pale-skinned, ghastly man with complete contempt embedded in his eyes. Attempting to move even the slightest, the chains that latched him to the wall jingled. 

The Marquis moved his hands in an odd, wavy fashion as he spoke, "Ah, you'll have to forgive me for the restraints. Useful, aren't they? In their hold, not even the mystics of this world can be utilized. You're simply reduced to a normal, helpless human in the embrace of the cold, black steel. It may seem a bit harsh, but you were quite rowdy earlier, but it's expected you'd have a bit of a tantrum at first, isn't it? I don't blame you at all, don't worry. My men were more than honored to die for their mission. That's love, isn't it? Such a beautiful thing; good and evil both embrace it, and act on it."

It was something about the fast-paced words that flooded from the Marquis' lips that set him off despite his exhausted state, trying to lunge at the man, though his bindings stopped him from ever reaching close. 

Even as his face was but a half a dozen centimeters from reaching the man, with the spit spilling from his lips landing on his pale, dreadful appearance, such a distance might as well feel infinite. 

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you--!" He repeated. 

"You see, that's what those restraints are for, Ren. You're quite the stubborn one, yes. Kill, kill, kill--I don't believe we've had a proper, genuine conversation yet. Truly, we're getting nowhere here," Decartes contorted his lips into a frown. 

Tugging with everything he had as the Marquis' words fell on ears unwilling to listen, his wrists began to bleed from the violent, continuous pulls as he slobbered out his enraged, repeated threats. 

The swirly gaze of the Marquis turned to the pile of dreadful bodies stacked against the wall; though he held a frown, the natural fixture of his lips still somehow looked gleeful. 

"A shame, really. If you wouldn't have resisted Liber or Zeno, it wouldn't have had to come to such a saddening result. No...that would be a lie; you were always going to be resistant. That's the truth, and nothing but the truth. For the Mistress, I am always diligent, always hard working, always trying my best--so without fail, I'd accomplish my mission. You need to be properly guided; not by those Outlanders, but by us. Loss is necessary, Ren. Such pain, such sorrow--it sparks growth, doesn't it? You feel it right now, don't you? So much anger; so boundless that you've abandoned all restraints. That's the way, Ren. Abandon it all; abandon them, abandon yourself, and welcome the depravity," Decartes spieled. 

Though he returned to a frown as it seemed his words met unwilling ears. 

After a moment of standing there while he continued to lash out angrily as saliva trailed the air in which he attempted to lunge forward with, the Marquis replaced his frown with a smile seamlessly. 

"Well! I came here for a reason besides morning greetings!" Decartes said, ignoring the repeated threats and yells by the chained young man. 

Retrieving from his enigmatic, black robes, the Marquis retrieved a dish with food as unappetizing as it comes, setting it down on the ground while humming to himself. All the while, the white-haired adolescent continued repeating his threats to the Marquis' life as his restraints chimed. 

"Normally, one of my subordinates would deliver your meals, but...I believe you're quite adept at killing them--if your showing earlier is anything to go off of!" Decartes laughed casually, "ah, not even that sparked a laugh from you? What a bore you are. I'd be lying if I said that was the only reason I came though; I just simply can't resist an opportunity to chat with you, Ren. It's quite boring talking to my subordinates, you see. Such solemn, quiet men. Diligent, though, I'll give them that.. Don't worry, I'm not mad at you. Such hurdles must be overcome to lead to a flourishing relationship, wouldn't you say?"