Chapter 516: Arc 6, Side: J, - 132: Imprisoned

Chapter 516: Arc 6, Side: J, Chapter 132: Imprisoned

Your perception warps and twists:

Dear Reader, you now hear the thoughts of Jotou Howllett.

_23rd of March, 980 AH_

Breaths—gasping, churning. Everything was a blur, no memory stuck together enough to form what was going on.

Dragging, dragging, carrying and tossing; her body felt like a ragdoll as her barely conscious mind tried desperately to form thoughts.

"Ngh!" she remembered that sound; the sound that escaped her own lips. The memory was able to connect the sound to a sensation—a jab into her skin; something sharp and narrow, perhaps a needle to her neck.

...

...

"Ngah!" she gasped and took a large portion of air straight down to her lungs. Her eyes shot wide open and rattling of large metal chains hit her ears.

Dim light exposed two figures before her. She seemed to be on the floor, in some stone-bricked room where she saw bars past the two figures. Her wrists were cuffed to manacles behind her; the ones she heard from her own jolt of struggle.

There was a thin white gown she was wearing, where the hem of it was hiked up to reveal more of her. Her sudden awakening was from a hand that had just placed itself on her thigh as fingers crept and squeezed.

Another figure was close to her face, but recoiled back in response to her unexpected consciousness. The blonde’s hair cascaded down the sides of her face as she began to glare and her teeth gritted.

"Shh, shh, shh, easy poppet. We ain’t gonna hurt ya," the closer figure reached a hand for her chest.

Jotou’s knee launched up and kicked into the underside of the man’s chin and shut him up with a grunt.

"Shlck!"

"Gngh!" From her shoulder blood began to leak, as a knife was jabbed into her from the other figure.

While the one she kneed rubbed his chin, the one that stabbed her held her other leg down by the thigh and pulled it to one side as he got his face close to the blonde.

"Shut your fucking mouth-"

"Tock!"

"-fucking rabid bitch!"

Jotou’s teeth clacked as she crunched the air before her, but the figure moved back in time. Her neck felt heavy; she could not turn in sudden movements—something like a collar was on her, but she had no time to perceive.

The recovering figure grabbed her breast and squeezed hard, eliciting a gasp from her; the other one seized her hair from the side and throttled her head. He got close to her face again- "Shtuck-Crack!"

Blood splattered onto her cheeks. Even colour was hard to discern, but the sudden scent of fresh blood told her it was red. That being, the two finger-shaped claws that pierced through the man’s skull and poked through his eye sockets, a millimetre from piercing into her own face.

Her hair was still in the dead man’s grasp, and the one assaulting her turned to see the source. Two prongs made of blood extended to the length of the room, from the gate of the cell.

One broad-shouldered figure opened the cell door and entered, with his two claws still in the man’s skull. "Have you no decency?"

"M-m-my Lord Ambrose-" "Shtuck!"

Right through the eyes first this time, two more prongs shot out from his other hand. Two dead bodies slumped as the blood claws retracted, leaving Jotou to pant and glare ahead.

She mustered together all the strength she had into her legs, and got up; the bodies dropped and the chains rose with her. Her head lolled to one side, for the death grip still seized her golden locks.

Merely Ambrose’s eyes shone in the dim light—lights, she could now tell, were coming from the hallway outside. With an unstable stance she sneered at him.

Ambrose took a few steps forward.

The chains jingled as she ran forward- "CH-Chink!" Her head lurched forward and she grunted, feeling the weight of the body weighing her down. Her wrists strained as much as they could to no avail.

Bolts were secured tightly not only to the wall, but to her manacles as well. Through the mess of her hair, she was slightly hunched and staring at the figure who became clearer in view.

He stood a mere footstep out of her grasp, with his hands behind his back and his posture straight. "You were caught by ambush, and this is what you have been reduced to? If a beast is what you wish to be, then perhaps I shall leave you to your kin?"

Jotou heard a few cracks in her right ear; she felt each finger bend and loosen its grip, allowing her hair to be free and her head to no longer be slanted.

The dead figures rose bone by bone, vein by vein. They snarled and walked towards their master as undead thralls. Their eyes were sockets, but no blood poured any longer; their veins pulsated visibly throughout their skin, making their cheeks flush a bluish-red mix.

’Get it together Howllett. What happened. What happened. Right.’ Moisture was still returning to her tongue as she snarled out, "Where’s, Kineko."

"Observing the last breaths of the great Detective Namora."

Jotou’s eyes narrowed further, "Where is he." ’They have him? Who else do they have?’ "Where’re my friends, what have you done to them!?" The chains rattled.

"You have not the permission to demand answers of me. Besides, you ought to be concerned for your own wellbeing at the moment."

The blonde side-eyed the knife jabbed into her shoulder. ’Spark-’ She muffled her own voice, as a buzzing sensation went down her spine.

No electrical arcs flew, not even a fizzle popped. Jotou looked down as much as she could, and noticed a bright purple glow around her neck that dimmed back down.

"Your magics will be of no use Thundering Blade."

’An affinity lock...’ She eyed up to figure standing tall and with his hands behind his back.

His fangs poked out as the corner of his lips rose, "How vexing must it be," he hummed. "Not but a few weeks ago, we first met. Myself trapped, and you the inquisitor. And now," he mused. "Not so different—our roles. No, our parts remain the same; tis merely a change in where you and I stand upon the stage."

Jotou’s eyes darted around, scanning in the dark as he spoke. She held her breath, and awaited to feel how the collar rested on her neck. The pain in her shoulder she ignored—much like the grandeur Ambrose was presenting himself with.

’It’s tight. It’s also injected into the back of my neck... I could attempt to damage it, but I’m not exactly sure where I am... Probably their base, right?

I need to bide my time... Find Aru, Meko, Sobi and Kineko. Mr Namora’s already in trouble, and I gotta get him. But there’s no way they caught Meko...This knife really hurts.’

Ambrose’s hand reached for her, and the blonde instinctively stepped back with a glare and a rattle of her chains.

"If your preference is for that knife to remain within your person, then by all means."

"And what do you get out of healing me?"

"Peace of mind," he waved his hand around with a pinprick of blood on his finger. "Thy judgment awaits dear Thundering Blade. You shall stand trial for your transgressions, and pay your penance. Your current inelegant presence with a shameful wound would sour the court."

"I couldn’t care less about your judgment. And let me be clear Ambrose, you’re not gonna win in the end," she stood upright.

"I would not be so bold as to claim that-"

"Shut up," Jotou knitted her brows. "I’m already bleeding, leave my ears out of it. What’s the plan? Kill me? Torture me? You don’t have this figured out; the game’s still being played."

"Yet you have no moves left—no blade, no thunder." The drop of blood shot forward and unfurled around the blonde’s mouth as she took a step back.

Jotou mumbled with sentient blood wrapped around her mouth. The undead walked out of the cell, while Ambrose approached with his chin held high. Every step Jotou took back into his looming shadow, he dared to step forward another.

He caught up and firmly gripped her arm, before he yanked the dagger out. Jotou let out a muffled grunt. His claws jabbed through her manacles and separated them, allowing her arms to move freely, whilst still chained by each wrist.

The knife clattered to the ground and the blood and chains kept her taut whilst he placed his blood-dribbling hand on her wound.

Within seconds, her skin regenerated and began stitching together like thread. His blood seeped in, and fixed the wound as if there was never one at all.

Jotou’s brows knitted. ’Why does my head feel numb?’

Ambrose looked down at her, disappointed?

Before the blood-weave unravelled from around her mouth, Ambrose tipped her chin up with a finger and examined her glaring gaze. He parted the few golden locks that covered her cheek, "What a waste of noble beauty. Pity the lightning found itself oure foes."

Jotou pulled her face away from his hand, just as Ambrose let the tapestry of blood retract back into the pinprick it was.

"Befit thyself. Your judgment awaits," he turned to leave.

Jotou’s fingers curled in; she huffed. "You won’t win vampire—you won’t," she growled with a rattle of her chains.

The door to her cell shut, and the echoes of his footsteps next to a diminishing shadow was all she could observe.

Finally, Jotou let go of her glare and took a true breath. She flipped her hair back and winced. She glanced down and her face scrunched up. ’I almost got...’

She pressed a palm firmly below her stomach and pressed inwards to soothe any form of unease. The chains weighed heavy on her wrists. She steadied her breathing till she could bear the pain coursing through her mind and body.

One knee gave up, before the other followed suit. She let herself slump down, with the simple white gown pooling around her.

’That was an easy fight... I could’ve struck lightning through the house and blow up the walls, I’m sure he would’ve understood.

How did I lose? Why wasn’t my affinity working? All it takes to shut me down is a cold!?’ She placed her face into her palms as her brows knitted and a tear left her eye.

She slowly touched her healed shoulder; then she went to hold her own chest and shivered and shrunk into herself more. The blood splatter of her two assailants was still present around her.

With a pained grimace she rubbed under her chin as if to erase any sense of someone else’s touch. ’I hate this body...

That’s all it takes to make you hate yourself? Thought you liked the attention and the touch.

Shut up!

The worst part is that you feel disgusted, not hurt. Disgusted at yourself.

Quiet. I need to think.

What’s there to think about-’

Jotou banged a metal cuff against her head. She quietly sat, waiting to hear any noise from around her, only to find none. She combed through her hair where the cultist held it in his grip.

’All it took was a fever to bring down the Thundering Blade—a fever... And now this.’ She tugged at the collar around her neck, and could not even wedge a fingernail into it.

’What the hell am I without my affinity at this point? How do I escape? How do I solve this? Why wouldn’t I hate myself!? I can’t swing a sword without one, and my magic’s been the one dealing with my problems since Kria... I can’t even defend myself without it...

So what have I learned over the year? I’m a literal damsel in distress; from the Thundering Blade... to this.’

Jotou brought her hand forward, and watched the golden strands that were brushed out, turn jet-black. She examined it between her fingers...

’That’s still happening. I guess magic can still happen to me, I just can’t cast magic. So, nobody can get into my head... and killing me’s still a bad idea.

You’ve still got your brain left. And talking’s saved you how many times?

Maybe, but talking sense isn’t gonna work. And trying to piss them off, well... Anyway, they can’t kill me, so what’s the plan? What’s the verdict of their judgement? I’m still the one with power here... I can use that.

And this body.

I don’t exactly hate it, my head’s just pissed off.

Ambrose said it, and you know it. A noble face, a beautiful voice—you can definitely use it. Everywhere we’ve been, it’s always there; even Daiyu and Ben have to double-take. And Ceridwen’s been obviously interested...

I’m going to sway the opinions of the new gods and the Deuctus Cult with my tongue and my body? Yeah that sounds like a plan only I’d think of. ...Maybe I’m not the only one, but still. If I play my cards right, I can get out of this.

Now you wanna be positive.’

Jotou rolled her eyes and huffed. She gulped, only now feeling hunger and thirst hit her. She wiped her face as clean as she could, and moving her hair about to make it look less unkempt. ’They like a performance; I’ll give them one.’

She stood and tried once more to be free of her collar. Using the broken metal of her cuffs, she attempted to jab into the glowing device to no avail.

The sound of the attempts masked the footsteps of the cultist that approached and opened her cell, "Your time’s come Blade."

Jotou turned slow, and with grace; her face was blank and tilted to one side. She locked eyes with the cultist while the dress followed her twisting movements and her golden locks flowed down her shoulders. "For what?" she said low and unbothered.

The cultist kept her grey eyes locked. She wore a full-black tactical suit that went up until her neck where it pooled around like a hood. Her chestnut brown hair was cut in an angled bob, and the ends of her strands were tipped with glistening silver metal.

Her gloved hands snapped, and the chains around the golden blonde liquified and seeped away from the wall, and in an instant wrapped taut around her figure and solidified back into chains, "Judgement for your crimes; the death of our great new Gods."

Jotou barely made a sound, and kept her visage up.

The cultist lowered her metal-tipped glove and motioned her hand forward, and the blonde felt the metal around her pushing her to follow.

Jotou took a step forward, and the cultist turned and walked out of the cell, with her hand behind her to motion the metal around the blonde to continue moving her.