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![](https://i.imgur.com/JPPcXdp.jpg)
Location: Southern Plateau - Pacific Royal Campus
Hope In Hell #2.004: void.
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Interaction(s):&&
Previously: vore.
The first injections come when she is ten years oldâ too many to count, too many to place. On the third night, Amma Cahors realized she wasn't going home, she wasn't going anywhere but spiraling into a sterile hell, her trappings came in silver and steel and polished linoleum. Suspended in a place over open waters, calm surfaces, and salt-tinged winds that banked over the underbelly of her waking nightmares - down within the confines of the ocean, no one can hear you scream. The Alexandria Foundation possesses their new weapon, their beast, and their creation and they gild her in black and silver and red, don her in darling phrases and whispers and promises of redemption. They collar her betwixt the void of heart and soul, the reasonings of self utterly stripped bare from her very bones. The creature contained within the frame of a child, the eyes of her mother, the subtle structures of her father, and the pale skin of pearlescent innocence soon bathed in blood and hate and taint. They had the prize, and it was time to make it theirs.
They even took her name.
The second injections come when she is ten years old- too many to count, too many to place.
But she remembers them all.
It was a scene sundered straight from her nightmares; the blood, the fog, the banked darkness edging into the distance; the buzzing drone of static, down to the very color of the straps she could feel pulled taught over her flesh. The liquid pooled into a hated glass, the empty syringes that she had felt many times over, again and again and again, the bright lights awash over her prone figure as she screamed and begged and pleaded. As she bartered for an end, as she dugs nails into her bleeding palms and reached for the heavens whose gates were closed to even she. If there was a God, He had long forsaken Amma, and instead, the Devil whispered in her ear and held her close to the pits of Hell. But there were no rumored flames or shambling dead, there had been naught but emptiness that welcomed her in coils of dread. In her waking world, he showed her the too-white halls and the sterile embellishments, the cold steel that bit in her skin many times over, the darkness that loomed and whispered and screamed.
She wished for someone, anyone, but above all, she wished for her mother.
Slow tremors still worked down her arms as she walked, her pace deliberate, seeking, and searching eyes peeled wide in manic sweeps as she looked left and right. Each classroom was much the same, desks aligned perfectly and facing forward, walls bare, the broken screens flashing every few seconds to an image she thought lost in memorium. It was her in various stages of her youth, from the child she had been, to the ascending monster that they longed for, the glowing reflection that stood before her one drenched in black and blood that was not her own. The voices still pinged away at her lobe, her heart hammering away betwixt her ribs aching with every harsh pull of breath that shakily swept from her lips. From the images, others flickered across the static, their faces smudged and blackened, disappearing as soon as they came and flickering back to her likeness, her eyes hollowed and cheeks flayed open wide in smiles lined with scarlet-drenched bone.
She walked past one room where a gurney lay in the middle, surrounded by four walls, a singular bulb shone over the pristine condition of the stretcher, wherein the floor beneath was riddled with black and red; the edges still pooling outward and spreading far and wide. Amma entered with glassy eyes lost to the torments of her past, not seeing or hearing if others followed her, not caring if they did. This was her home, where she belonged, yes. This was her reality, her meant-to-be beginning and her soon-to-be end, she reached forward, palmed over the manacles lax and open, fitted her grasp to the thick restraints, and tacked her nails against the cold steel.
Whispers of her name enveloped her, shrouding and eclipsing her, her entire self suspended upon the threads of this very room taken from her fears and regret.
The third injections come when she is ten years old- too many to count, too many to place.
They uttered of temperance, they uttered things of blocking and shaping and enhancing. They uttered of potential and intention and held palms over her trembling arms as they flayed apart the skin at her back, along the ridges of her spine, and witnessed those coils of red that rose and struck like vipers, the black that oozed and billowed forth and ate away at masks and coats of white and metal. The screams --
Amma suddenly screeched, she pitched the gurney forward, nails against the bars meant to cage and withhold, she wailed her fury and hate and pain and launched herself upon the walls, clawing at the suppression containing her power in minuscule sparks of red that flew away at her arched and bleeding fists.
You wanted to be powerful. You wanted the power to find your mother. You wanted the power to find your father. You wanted the power to destroy them all.
And they gave it to you.
Her name blooms and roars over the symphony of rage in her head, over and over -- Tiamat, Tiamat, Tiamat.
"SHUT UP!"
Amma claws away at the name on her neck, hands bloodied, hands that still bore Katja's blood too. She was sure it was there still, she was sure her power continued to thrum and pulse with the essence of her pain and anguish and the broken heart that fed her malice.
She had left the tent last night without looking back at all, not hearing the words uttered there after, caring naught for it but felt the tremors of what was said all the same. She had walked to the edges of the cliffs, looked yonder to the storm that was approaching the campsite, picked her way down the rock, clung to the sediment, and worked her way down and down and down, piece by piece Amma climbed and descended to the frothing waves below that called and sung and tempted her to their darkness.
That morning was a haze of sleeplessness, she ate little, said nothing, dressed quickly and efficiently, and fitted the neural uplink to her temple as instructed. The Trials were new to her, but she cared little for them, cared for nothing as the dregs of her thoughts bled into incoherency.
Now she felt confined and trapped, her name still whispered over and over, welcoming her home, welcoming her back to this hell.
"I wanted it," Amma whispered, knelt before a wall marked by her pain, marked by the fury that still flitted away down to her mutilated core. "I wanted the power. I wanted it all." The soft breaths of her admission slip away into nothing, the creature that was she slowly rising up and up, hands on the wall with her head bowed.
"But I didn't know," she gasps. "I didn't know the price. I still don't know. I don't know what -- why --" She carves her fingers back, sliding through her mass of hair, black taint smudged over her temples and blood ran through the curls of her dark hair.
"They experimented on us, all of us. Some never came back. Those like," she paused, the name on her tongue. "Haven, Robert. Maybe they took Mei and Pallyx too."
"They take whatever they want, make you what you fear the most. All the power in the world and they use you for it until it turns to ash and death in your hands."
Amma moves back out into the hall, words lost upon herself, uncaring if they hear her, uncaring if she was the only one there. Eyes wild and lost, she continues down the corridor, penetrating gaze aglow in the haze of fog that reaches out to her, coiling over her arms and legs, spiraling away at where her scars lay and burn.
"There are many things I cannot remember, things I probably forced to be forgotten. Maybe they forced me to forget it. Or maybe... I don't know. I'm the monster they made, the dragon, the beast of Hell. Of the End. That's what they said."
She stops, left and right, the corridor splitting off into the unknown in either direction. The sterile wall at this juncture though is different than the rest, a line of black marring the otherwise pristine surface. She pauses, studies it, and reaches forward, but a lance of pain down her spine stops her, a wet gasp splintering from her mouth and coiling into a wince. Her name continues to sound in a chorus of whispers and wails, soft sounds that are barely there and then not, a droning resonation slowly working its way up her spine in ticking increments of pain liken to needles in her flesh.
Amma can feel them and coils her arms around herself, turns right, and continues forward.
She'll do it alone if she has to, she got away once before -
- right?
They even took her name.
The second injections come when she is ten years old- too many to count, too many to place.
But she remembers them all.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It was a scene sundered straight from her nightmares; the blood, the fog, the banked darkness edging into the distance; the buzzing drone of static, down to the very color of the straps she could feel pulled taught over her flesh. The liquid pooled into a hated glass, the empty syringes that she had felt many times over, again and again and again, the bright lights awash over her prone figure as she screamed and begged and pleaded. As she bartered for an end, as she dugs nails into her bleeding palms and reached for the heavens whose gates were closed to even she. If there was a God, He had long forsaken Amma, and instead, the Devil whispered in her ear and held her close to the pits of Hell. But there were no rumored flames or shambling dead, there had been naught but emptiness that welcomed her in coils of dread. In her waking world, he showed her the too-white halls and the sterile embellishments, the cold steel that bit in her skin many times over, the darkness that loomed and whispered and screamed.
She wished for someone, anyone, but above all, she wished for her mother.
Slow tremors still worked down her arms as she walked, her pace deliberate, seeking, and searching eyes peeled wide in manic sweeps as she looked left and right. Each classroom was much the same, desks aligned perfectly and facing forward, walls bare, the broken screens flashing every few seconds to an image she thought lost in memorium. It was her in various stages of her youth, from the child she had been, to the ascending monster that they longed for, the glowing reflection that stood before her one drenched in black and blood that was not her own. The voices still pinged away at her lobe, her heart hammering away betwixt her ribs aching with every harsh pull of breath that shakily swept from her lips. From the images, others flickered across the static, their faces smudged and blackened, disappearing as soon as they came and flickering back to her likeness, her eyes hollowed and cheeks flayed open wide in smiles lined with scarlet-drenched bone.
She walked past one room where a gurney lay in the middle, surrounded by four walls, a singular bulb shone over the pristine condition of the stretcher, wherein the floor beneath was riddled with black and red; the edges still pooling outward and spreading far and wide. Amma entered with glassy eyes lost to the torments of her past, not seeing or hearing if others followed her, not caring if they did. This was her home, where she belonged, yes. This was her reality, her meant-to-be beginning and her soon-to-be end, she reached forward, palmed over the manacles lax and open, fitted her grasp to the thick restraints, and tacked her nails against the cold steel.
Whispers of her name enveloped her, shrouding and eclipsing her, her entire self suspended upon the threads of this very room taken from her fears and regret.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The third injections come when she is ten years old- too many to count, too many to place.
They uttered of temperance, they uttered things of blocking and shaping and enhancing. They uttered of potential and intention and held palms over her trembling arms as they flayed apart the skin at her back, along the ridges of her spine, and witnessed those coils of red that rose and struck like vipers, the black that oozed and billowed forth and ate away at masks and coats of white and metal. The screams --
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Amma suddenly screeched, she pitched the gurney forward, nails against the bars meant to cage and withhold, she wailed her fury and hate and pain and launched herself upon the walls, clawing at the suppression containing her power in minuscule sparks of red that flew away at her arched and bleeding fists.
You wanted to be powerful. You wanted the power to find your mother. You wanted the power to find your father. You wanted the power to destroy them all.
And they gave it to you.
Her name blooms and roars over the symphony of rage in her head, over and over -- Tiamat, Tiamat, Tiamat.
"SHUT UP!"
Amma claws away at the name on her neck, hands bloodied, hands that still bore Katja's blood too. She was sure it was there still, she was sure her power continued to thrum and pulse with the essence of her pain and anguish and the broken heart that fed her malice.
She had left the tent last night without looking back at all, not hearing the words uttered there after, caring naught for it but felt the tremors of what was said all the same. She had walked to the edges of the cliffs, looked yonder to the storm that was approaching the campsite, picked her way down the rock, clung to the sediment, and worked her way down and down and down, piece by piece Amma climbed and descended to the frothing waves below that called and sung and tempted her to their darkness.
That morning was a haze of sleeplessness, she ate little, said nothing, dressed quickly and efficiently, and fitted the neural uplink to her temple as instructed. The Trials were new to her, but she cared little for them, cared for nothing as the dregs of her thoughts bled into incoherency.
Now she felt confined and trapped, her name still whispered over and over, welcoming her home, welcoming her back to this hell.
"I wanted it," Amma whispered, knelt before a wall marked by her pain, marked by the fury that still flitted away down to her mutilated core. "I wanted the power. I wanted it all." The soft breaths of her admission slip away into nothing, the creature that was she slowly rising up and up, hands on the wall with her head bowed.
"But I didn't know," she gasps. "I didn't know the price. I still don't know. I don't know what -- why --" She carves her fingers back, sliding through her mass of hair, black taint smudged over her temples and blood ran through the curls of her dark hair.
"They experimented on us, all of us. Some never came back. Those like," she paused, the name on her tongue. "Haven, Robert. Maybe they took Mei and Pallyx too."
"They take whatever they want, make you what you fear the most. All the power in the world and they use you for it until it turns to ash and death in your hands."
Amma moves back out into the hall, words lost upon herself, uncaring if they hear her, uncaring if she was the only one there. Eyes wild and lost, she continues down the corridor, penetrating gaze aglow in the haze of fog that reaches out to her, coiling over her arms and legs, spiraling away at where her scars lay and burn.
"There are many things I cannot remember, things I probably forced to be forgotten. Maybe they forced me to forget it. Or maybe... I don't know. I'm the monster they made, the dragon, the beast of Hell. Of the End. That's what they said."
She stops, left and right, the corridor splitting off into the unknown in either direction. The sterile wall at this juncture though is different than the rest, a line of black marring the otherwise pristine surface. She pauses, studies it, and reaches forward, but a lance of pain down her spine stops her, a wet gasp splintering from her mouth and coiling into a wince. Her name continues to sound in a chorus of whispers and wails, soft sounds that are barely there and then not, a droning resonation slowly working its way up her spine in ticking increments of pain liken to needles in her flesh.
Amma can feel them and coils her arms around herself, turns right, and continues forward.
She'll do it alone if she has to, she got away once before -
- right?