There it was. Whether it was cutting through skin or drilling through bone, people (or lions, in this case) always cracked. Unless they'd been put under extreme training against torture (and this wasn't even for the purpose of extracting information; no, their goal was much broader than that), people couldn't bite their tongue for too long. If anything, they bit it off. The doctor was honestly surprised he hadn't seen more of that during his work here.
Ignoring the screams, the man kept up with his work, drilling about five holes before he finally turned off the tool. The silence afterward was deafening -- or it would have been, if the patient wasn't still being so loud.
Thinking nothing further of it, the doctor set the drill aside. With the holes bored out, now he just needed to cut between them to weaken that part of the skull enough that he could pull it away. For this, a saw was once again needed, even if it was a different sort. Turning it on without further ado, the doctor used it to cut lines connecting the holes. Seeing how not much could be heard over the buzz of the various instruments, he didn't bother to speak. It wasn't likely he'd be heard either way.
To Scar, the experience had seemed to last an eternity. And it hurt, it hurt so much. He felt a pain that wasn't like anything he had ever felt before, and he couldn't think of anything but that very pain. The noise that kept rattling through his skull and hurting his sensitive ears...it was unbearable. Despite his attempts to shut it out, to escape it, he couldn't turn deaf to something that seemed to vibrate through every inch of his body, from the top of his head to his feet.
And after the device had finally gone silent, the noise still kept ringing through his head.
However, he had barely been given the opportunity to recover from all this horror as the doctor grabbed for another device. It wasn't over, not just yet. And when the device began cutting through bone, more screams escaped from his throat.
It was not a simple job, but it was clear that the doctor had practice with this sort of thing, as he pulled it off both quickly and cleanly. That was lucky for the patient, too, though the pain obviously wasn't going to go away that easily. Pulling away, the doctor turned off the saw and then carefully pried the piece of bone he'd cut out away to finally reveal the brain matter underneath.
Most patients would have passed out at this point, but there was something about this place that made certain they stayed awake through it all. Neither blood loss nor the sheer pain was going to let them fall into unconsciousness, because it would be downright boring that way.
"Now," he spoke up in the silence of the room, "I just need to tinker around in there for a bit, and then I can patch you up." He thought it was obvious that death was not on the menu tonight, but sometimes there were things worse than that. It remained to be see if this was one of those things.
Grabbing a small metal instrument, the doctor bent down and inserted it straight into the brain matter, poking around without actually damaging anything... for the moment.
The task may have been accomplished quickly in reality, but to Scar it felt as if it had taken much longer. And after the device had finally gone silent, the pain still remained. He drew in a couple of shaky breaths, attempting to ignore the pain and the voices that continued to humiliate him despite what he was going through. Wasn't it enough? Couldn't they have mercy?
In an attempt to block them out, he focus upon the words of the doctor. "W-what are you going to do?!" he managed, his voice sounding even more hoarse than previously.
"The whole point is for you to figure it out. Don't worry, you'll piece it together." Even if Scar was just an animal, he had a decent mind -- for now, anyway. Still, even after the alterations, he was certain that the patient would be able to work out what had happened to him once he'd been given enough examples.
Prodding around inside the patient's head, the doctor found the spot he was looking for. Doing it by touch like this wasn't the safest method, but it wasn't as if he had to worry too much about that. Pressing a small switch on the device caused it to send out a small shock straight into the brain tissue.
Scar didn't doubt that he would eventually learn, not at all. When it came to intelligence, he had always been the superior one. Yet, the man's words held little reassurance for the former lion. The King couldn't see what was going on, couldn't feel anything other than that terrible pain that still remained on the left side of his head (oddly enough...whatever the man was doing, shouldn't it hurt?), and he certainly wasn't going to hear it from the doctor. It was unsettling, if not somehow intrusive, to have someone poke around in your head and not being able to do anything about it or even figure out what they were doing. He couldn't quite suppress a shudder.
How long did he have to endure all this?! He wanted to leave this room, away from this torture, the voices...him, but he was not yet allowed such luxury.
It took a few more minutes of finding the right spots and then applying pressure or a shock. The results would certainly be interesting, with synapses not always shooting off when they were supposed to -- the lion was definitely going to be muddled up after this. Yet another way to point out the unfamiliarity of his body. They could keep taking things and altering things, making it harder and harder and then watching the progression.
Still, as fun as this was, he would risk causing serious damage if he remained poking around in different lobes for too long. Letting out a sigh, the doctor removed the instrument and set it down.
Grabbing the piece of skull that he'd taken from the patient, he reapplied it like a puzzle piece, and then, using the wire that was necessary for this kind of patch job, started to put the man back together. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He was being cruel, but that was part of the job description. And hadn't Scar been equally cruel in the past?
However long it took for the doctor to finish poking around in his head, Scar had no idea. An eternity seemed to have passed before he heard the man release a sigh. Dinner altogether seemed to even be a distant memory by now. And when the former lion had began to think he couldn't possibly experience any more pain, he felt more of it. He winced and hissed and gasped.
"It's over?" he pleaded weakly, desperately, pathetically. So unlike the King he claimed to be. His composure had cracked, had been mercilessly shattered to pieces. He didn't have the energy or mindset to say anything else.
"Just about," the doctor responded while hardly acknowledging the patient. Getting the bone back in place took a good deal of concentration, and Scar's blood was making it hard to find purchase and keep his hands steady. However, he hadn't been hired here for nothing, and so he was able to fix the patient up smoothly once it was all said and done.
Now, to get his skin back in place. Folding that up and over the bone, the doctor then started to suture that as well. The healing was going to be a painful process, to be sure, but Scar was at least lucky in that things healed up unbelievably fast in this place.
It was the one mercy that Landel gave his patients, though maybe it had more to do with just giving them the opportunity to toss themselves out to get hurt all over again.
[You're so pathetic, Scar! You don't really look like a King anymore, do you? Serves you right!] And the voices began to laugh, almost maniacally, making the former lion shudder.
Any sort of possible relief Scar might've felt with the news that this torture almost came to an end was short-lived. With a sinking feeling he realized he didn't know what would happen after that. Would he be returned to his room? Thrown out into the hallway to be left at the mercy of those monsters? Or would he be left in this room? W-with them?! With the owners of those voices? With him?! Bright green eyes shifted towards the mutilated form that had been watching all this, who he was still able to see even with his head as stuck as it was. Was that it?! Was he simply waiting for them to be alone, so that he could take revenge?!
The pace of his breathing quickened, but he didn't even notice. N-no, that couldn't be it! They couldn't let such a thing happen! He'd be useless when dead, right?! Or at least, so he tried to convince himself.
Even if the worst of it was over, that wasn't entirely the case. Despite the fact that the patient was worn down by now, the doctor could still see the paranoia and fear stirring in his eyes. The hallucinogen hadn't worn off yet, which was just as the doctor wanted it. It wouldn't have been nearly as effective if it had stopped halfway through, for instance.
Once Scar was all stitched up, the doctor worked on cleaning up -- mainly the exam table. The patient's neck, shoulder, part of his back, and even some of his shirt still had some dry and wet blood splattered here and there, but that would be taken care of by morning.
Then came the bandaging; a thick layering was wrapped around Scar's head to neatly cover up the stitches. Now he was at least somewhat presentable, if any rescue squad decided to drop by. Then again, why would they? Who would want to save someone like him?
"Enjoy the alterations," he said as he pulled back. "It might put some things into perspective for you." With that, the doctor headed for the door, passing right by the phantom that was haunting Scar before he was gone. Once he'd left, the restraints that were holding the patient down loosened and he was free -- relatively speaking.
When the doctor had finished wrapping that strange, white cloth around his head and pulled back, all signs pointed towards the fact that he would indeed leave him in this room. He'd be left to their mercy, Scar realized. Widened green eyes watched as he walked right past the mutilated form of his brother. He panicked. He'd rather be thrown out into the hallway than to be left here like this!
"N-no, wait! Don't leave me here with them! Please!!" Scar yelled. There was no response. He may have wondered how the doctor could have disappeared into thin air like that, but his mind was soon occupied with something else. The figure that had been waiting all this time, watching...now it finally moved. It approached. Slowly. And when it had finally reached the side of the table, it looked down on him, and spoke:
[You've turned your back on me, Scar.]
"W-what are you going to do?!" he asked the form, not even noticing the restraints had already loosened by now, "Y-you wouldn't hurt your own brother, would you?" A moment passed. Don't kill me, have mercy, he pleaded inwardly. His desperation increased when he still didn't receive an answer, and he repeated urgently: "W-Would you?!"
[You will be your own downfall,] came the answer. Scar couldn't help but wonder what that meant. [Your treachery and arrogance will be the death of you.]
In the mean time, the voices kept speaking, mocking, laughing, making fun of him. When would he realize, they asked. He was no King, they claimed. He was only a murderer, they said. Unfit to rule, they repeated. How did it feel, they asked, to be overshadowed by his brother? How did it feel? Did it make him jealous? Angry?
Scar shook his head, which continued to hurt, to throb, to remind him that it was a bad idea to move, and all this wasn't making it any better. "Shut up!" he repeated. "Leave me alone! Go away! Shut up! Shut up! You're lying! Stop it, please!" When was this going to stop?! When were they going to leave him alone? Hadn't this been enough?! Why did they keep doing this?! He thought he saw something move, approach in the shadows, slowly, coming from multiply directions, sneaking up to him, cornering him. Were they the owners of these voices? "N-no, leave me alone! Please! I beg you! I-I'll do anything!"
[Admit you're unworthy to the throne, Scar.] Despite the mockery in the background, this voice ran through his ears loud and clear. Green eyes widened, staring at the figure that had spoken them, but the figure didn't falter. [Admit you're unfit to rule.]
"N-no! I'm not unfit! I am worthy!! I am the King!!" he yelled despite himself, stubbornly clinging to the last bits of pride and dignity he still possessed. In the mean time, those moving things in the shadows seemed to draw even nearer. They had began laughing a laughter filled with malice and sadism. They were going to harm him?! Stunned, he yelled at the shapes only he could see, desperately telling them to go away.
[Say it.]
Scar's breathing quickened. "No! Please! Does this have to end in violence?!"
[It's the only way, Scar. You already know it is the truth.]
He could hear them, their laughter tinged with obvious malice. They seemed to be towering over him, about to jump him and sink teeth into skin. And when the former lion was sure he was about to be torn to shreds and he could no longer contain his fear, he finally gave in in the hopes of saving his own life. Pride shattered in favor of self-preservation, fear of death taking over and making everything else unimportant in comparison. Scar had never been among the bravest of lions, had never been able to deal with the threat of being killed.
"Fine! I'll say it! I'll admit it! I'm unworthy!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "I'm not..." a brief pause, as if he had difficulty saying it, "...not even...half the king he was." He whimpered before adding softly, pathetically: "Please don't hurt me..." He allowed his body to fall limb in defeat, resting the right side of his head on the cold surface of the table.
And at that very moment, the shapes disappeared, as if he had never been surrounded by them at all, had never been in danger to losing his life in the first place. If only he knew, that he had never been in danger of losing his life at all. That he had yelled to figures only he could see, had denied words only he could hear. He might've been able to deal with it, have been able to keep his pride in tact. But he didn't. He couldn't know.
Scar panted, defeated. The figure moved, leaning in to whisper in his ear. [Run, Scar,] he said, [Run, and never return. Never go back to the Pride Lands.]
The voices in the background laughed, chanting something in obvious mockery as they slowly faded away. When it had finally gone silent, Scar released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He felt tired, exhausted. He trembled, but he didn't even realize it. His head continued to throb painfully, and even so much as lifting it proved to be an impossible task. He could still smell his own fresh blood clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He wanted to leave this room, get out of here, but he no longer had the energy. He vaguely noticed he could move again, that he was no longer restrained, but he couldn't even lift an arm.
The figure continued to watch him. Was this the vengeance he hoped for? Scar stared at it, until at some point he realized that the figure was no longer there.
He had no idea how long he had been lying on that cold and hard table, alone and bloodied, pride shattered...but those mocking words still kept running through his painful head, the very same words he had spoken in the same tone to a certain someone a long time ago, but still remembered as if it had just happened:
Ignoring the screams, the man kept up with his work, drilling about five holes before he finally turned off the tool. The silence afterward was deafening -- or it would have been, if the patient wasn't still being so loud.
Thinking nothing further of it, the doctor set the drill aside. With the holes bored out, now he just needed to cut between them to weaken that part of the skull enough that he could pull it away. For this, a saw was once again needed, even if it was a different sort. Turning it on without further ado, the doctor used it to cut lines connecting the holes. Seeing how not much could be heard over the buzz of the various instruments, he didn't bother to speak. It wasn't likely he'd be heard either way.
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And after the device had finally gone silent, the noise still kept ringing through his head.
However, he had barely been given the opportunity to recover from all this horror as the doctor grabbed for another device. It wasn't over, not just yet. And when the device began cutting through bone, more screams escaped from his throat.
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Most patients would have passed out at this point, but there was something about this place that made certain they stayed awake through it all. Neither blood loss nor the sheer pain was going to let them fall into unconsciousness, because it would be downright boring that way.
"Now," he spoke up in the silence of the room, "I just need to tinker around in there for a bit, and then I can patch you up." He thought it was obvious that death was not on the menu tonight, but sometimes there were things worse than that. It remained to be see if this was one of those things.
Grabbing a small metal instrument, the doctor bent down and inserted it straight into the brain matter, poking around without actually damaging anything... for the moment.
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In an attempt to block them out, he focus upon the words of the doctor. "W-what are you going to do?!" he managed, his voice sounding even more hoarse than previously.
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Prodding around inside the patient's head, the doctor found the spot he was looking for. Doing it by touch like this wasn't the safest method, but it wasn't as if he had to worry too much about that. Pressing a small switch on the device caused it to send out a small shock straight into the brain tissue.
He wondered what that felt like.
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How long did he have to endure all this?! He wanted to leave this room, away from this torture, the voices...him, but he was not yet allowed such luxury.
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Still, as fun as this was, he would risk causing serious damage if he remained poking around in different lobes for too long. Letting out a sigh, the doctor removed the instrument and set it down.
Grabbing the piece of skull that he'd taken from the patient, he reapplied it like a puzzle piece, and then, using the wire that was necessary for this kind of patch job, started to put the man back together. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He was being cruel, but that was part of the job description. And hadn't Scar been equally cruel in the past?
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"It's over?" he pleaded weakly, desperately, pathetically. So unlike the King he claimed to be. His composure had cracked, had been mercilessly shattered to pieces. He didn't have the energy or mindset to say anything else.
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Now, to get his skin back in place. Folding that up and over the bone, the doctor then started to suture that as well. The healing was going to be a painful process, to be sure, but Scar was at least lucky in that things healed up unbelievably fast in this place.
It was the one mercy that Landel gave his patients, though maybe it had more to do with just giving them the opportunity to toss themselves out to get hurt all over again.
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Any sort of possible relief Scar might've felt with the news that this torture almost came to an end was short-lived. With a sinking feeling he realized he didn't know what would happen after that. Would he be returned to his room? Thrown out into the hallway to be left at the mercy of those monsters? Or would he be left in this room? W-with them?! With the owners of those voices? With him?! Bright green eyes shifted towards the mutilated form that had been watching all this, who he was still able to see even with his head as stuck as it was. Was that it?! Was he simply waiting for them to be alone, so that he could take revenge?!
The pace of his breathing quickened, but he didn't even notice. N-no, that couldn't be it! They couldn't let such a thing happen! He'd be useless when dead, right?! Or at least, so he tried to convince himself.
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Once Scar was all stitched up, the doctor worked on cleaning up -- mainly the exam table. The patient's neck, shoulder, part of his back, and even some of his shirt still had some dry and wet blood splattered here and there, but that would be taken care of by morning.
Then came the bandaging; a thick layering was wrapped around Scar's head to neatly cover up the stitches. Now he was at least somewhat presentable, if any rescue squad decided to drop by. Then again, why would they? Who would want to save someone like him?
"Enjoy the alterations," he said as he pulled back. "It might put some things into perspective for you." With that, the doctor headed for the door, passing right by the phantom that was haunting Scar before he was gone. Once he'd left, the restraints that were holding the patient down loosened and he was free -- relatively speaking.
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"N-no, wait! Don't leave me here with them! Please!!" Scar yelled. There was no response. He may have wondered how the doctor could have disappeared into thin air like that, but his mind was soon occupied with something else. The figure that had been waiting all this time, watching...now it finally moved. It approached. Slowly. And when it had finally reached the side of the table, it looked down on him, and spoke:
[You've turned your back on me, Scar.]
"W-what are you going to do?!" he asked the form, not even noticing the restraints had already loosened by now, "Y-you wouldn't hurt your own brother, would you?" A moment passed. Don't kill me, have mercy, he pleaded inwardly. His desperation increased when he still didn't receive an answer, and he repeated urgently: "W-Would you?!"
[You will be your own downfall,] came the answer. Scar couldn't help but wonder what that meant. [Your treachery and arrogance will be the death of you.]
In the mean time, the voices kept speaking, mocking, laughing, making fun of him. When would he realize, they asked. He was no King, they claimed. He was only a murderer, they said. Unfit to rule, they repeated. How did it feel, they asked, to be overshadowed by his brother? How did it feel? Did it make him jealous? Angry?
Scar shook his head, which continued to hurt, to throb, to remind him that it was a bad idea to move, and all this wasn't making it any better. "Shut up!" he repeated. "Leave me alone! Go away! Shut up! Shut up! You're lying! Stop it, please!" When was this going to stop?! When were they going to leave him alone? Hadn't this been enough?! Why did they keep doing this?! He thought he saw something move, approach in the shadows, slowly, coming from multiply directions, sneaking up to him, cornering him. Were they the owners of these voices? "N-no, leave me alone! Please! I beg you! I-I'll do anything!"
[Admit you're unworthy to the throne, Scar.] Despite the mockery in the background, this voice ran through his ears loud and clear. Green eyes widened, staring at the figure that had spoken them, but the figure didn't falter. [Admit you're unfit to rule.]
"N-no! I'm not unfit! I am worthy!! I am the King!!" he yelled despite himself, stubbornly clinging to the last bits of pride and dignity he still possessed. In the mean time, those moving things in the shadows seemed to draw even nearer. They had began laughing a laughter filled with malice and sadism. They were going to harm him?! Stunned, he yelled at the shapes only he could see, desperately telling them to go away.
[Say it.]
Scar's breathing quickened. "No! Please! Does this have to end in violence?!"
[It's the only way, Scar. You already know it is the truth.]
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"Fine! I'll say it! I'll admit it! I'm unworthy!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "I'm not..." a brief pause, as if he had difficulty saying it, "...not even...half the king he was." He whimpered before adding softly, pathetically: "Please don't hurt me..." He allowed his body to fall limb in defeat, resting the right side of his head on the cold surface of the table.
And at that very moment, the shapes disappeared, as if he had never been surrounded by them at all, had never been in danger to losing his life in the first place. If only he knew, that he had never been in danger of losing his life at all. That he had yelled to figures only he could see, had denied words only he could hear. He might've been able to deal with it, have been able to keep his pride in tact. But he didn't. He couldn't know.
Scar panted, defeated. The figure moved, leaning in to whisper in his ear. [Run, Scar,] he said, [Run, and never return. Never go back to the Pride Lands.]
The voices in the background laughed, chanting something in obvious mockery as they slowly faded away. When it had finally gone silent, Scar released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He felt tired, exhausted. He trembled, but he didn't even realize it. His head continued to throb painfully, and even so much as lifting it proved to be an impossible task. He could still smell his own fresh blood clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He wanted to leave this room, get out of here, but he no longer had the energy. He vaguely noticed he could move again, that he was no longer restrained, but he couldn't even lift an arm.
The figure continued to watch him. Was this the vengeance he hoped for? Scar stared at it, until at some point he realized that the figure was no longer there.
He had no idea how long he had been lying on that cold and hard table, alone and bloodied, pride shattered...but those mocking words still kept running through his painful head, the very same words he had spoken in the same tone to a certain someone a long time ago, but still remembered as if it had just happened:
Long live the King.
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