Voltrick could feel the object still in his chest as his body began to heal the hole in his chest. It burned within him, tearing at the flesh within his lungs. He couldn't stand it, even if he could move his arms he wouldn't be able to get it out!

His entire body shook as he strained helplessly over the pain. Wavered, coughed breaths never ceased as his healing body tried to heal itself. Scrunched features twitched lightly with the agonizing pain.

Even though the tiger's vision was blurred, Voltrick's narrowed gaze weakly raised to see Kirill and Fyren. From what he could make out of it, Kirill was pointing the gun at Fyren. But before Voltrick could spring any sense of hope, Voltrick suddenly lost his breath.

Voltrick coughed violently, spewing blood with each exhale of forced breath until a hard lump was forced up his esphophagus. Gagging, Voltrick gave another fit of coughs before a metal ball dropped from his mouth.

The tiger's healing must have forced the object out of Voltrick's chest. But since his chest had already began to heal, the only way the object could be taken out was through his lungs. Weak breaths were taken as Voltrick tried to focus his blurred gaze to the floor; trying to see what the object was that tore through him so easily.

But before Voltrick could focus his gaze enough, Kirill's voice was heard again. He would have turned his head towards him, but another loud blast shot towards his chest again.

The left side of Voltrick's chest exploded in pain, forcing Voltrick to shout out in horrible agony as blood splattered around the wound.

Kirill prayed that this would be over with as he shut his eyes, his fist clutching the gun tightly. He heard the awful cries from Voltrick, the blood splatter and drip onto the floor.

How terribly....hopeless it all was.

Pale-yellow eyes opened again, this time with their previous hollow look. All he could do was make it quick. Voltrick could heal. He'll get this over with, spare Voltrick the pain of waiting for the next shot.

Kirill rose his hand by himself as he aimed to the open wounds, hoping it would be easier on Voltrick that way.

The pistol shot again, the smoke lifting in a cloud above the barrel as another bullet struck near Voltrick's previous wound.

Two.

"I'm so sorry..." he whispered, "Just one more." Reassurance. For both of them.

Kirill paused, waiting for the gun to cool before pulling the trigger a final time at Voltrick's chest, trying this time to aim directly.

Fyren noticed Kirill's acquired sense of marksmanship and smiled briefly to himself. Just a little push was all Kirill needed.

Voltrick's shouting quieted to loud, pained groans as he desperately tried to control the pain. He couldn't stop the object or move to try to remove it. He was helpless to his destructive power, even if it was something so small.

Voltrick's jaw trembled as he tried to swallow, even though he knew the next object would be gagged out soon enough. But as he tried to bear the pain, his head turned to Kirill again. Although his face couldn't hide the horrific pain, Voltrick couldn't help but feel sorry for the leopard.

The way the leopard stood, the apologetic look on his face, everything about him showed Voltrick his regret, his sorrow, and his shame. Forced to do something he believes against with every fiber of his being.

I'm so sorry.... Just one more He heard Kirill say. As little assurance it gave Voltrick to hear it, Voltrick knew it was all the leopard could do. And this was all Voltrick was capable of doing.

Voltrick's brow lowered over his blurred gaze, giving a slow, grimaced nod before another blast shot another destructive ball where the last hit. A sharp shout was released just before a spurt a blood spewed from his mouth and over his chin.

The tiger's eyes closed tightly, his entire body trembling in pain. That was the last one... Voltrick tried to reassure himself. The last one.

Kirill lowered the gun after the final shot, staring at the tiger in stillness. Slowly, he released a breath he unconsciously held in, breathing for the first time in an unsteady rhythm.

It was finally over. Those four shots felt like an eternity to get through. The leopard turned his head to look at Fyren, who in turn was gazing thoughtfully at Voltrick with a quiet expression. Before Kirill could think of what to call that look, Fyren looked back at him and extended his hand.

"Very good. We're finished here."

Kirill glanced at Fyren's hand before steady coming towards it, placing the gun into the outreached palm with little thought. It was strange how his mind felt. His thoughts were numbed, as though the cracks of the pistol fire were still encased within his mind. No...they were. Kirill would never forget the sound of it.

Taking the gun, Fyren moved to the table once more, placing the pistol gingerly into the box and closed the lid.

"A guard will come to escort you back to your quarters, Nabokov. In the meantime, why don't you two..." a glance to the both of them. "...catch up?"

And without another word, Fyren walked out of the dungeon with deliberation, as though something were on his mind. Kirill stood dumbfounded as the double doors shut behind the tyrant, lips parted as his shock of what had happened were still rattling his mind.

Another cough from Voltrick caused Kirill to snap back, turning to look at Voltrick finally with a shamed gaze, seeing the blood all around.

"Voltrick..." he said, quickly making his way to the cell and to clutch the bars, looking through as closely as he could.

"I'm so sorry! It was-- I just couldn't--" he stuttered, beside himself to any explanation that sounded painfully close to an excuse.

Voltrick released another loud, agonized groan before another violent fit of bloody coughs erupted. He coughed up blood for quite a while until another tiny, heavy ball gagged from his mouth and dropped to the floor.

"I..." Voltrick's voice was raspy, almost gurgled as blood coated his throat. "I don't blame you." A heavy gaze weakly trailed back to Kirill. And even though weakness and pain filled every part of him, Voltrick's brow raised sadly and eyes winced. "I blame him." He paused briefly, blinking slowly. "...And myself."

Kirill's eyes widened at that. Blaming himself?!

A sound rang through the dungeon as Kirill threw himself against the bars angrily, glaring in frustration to Voltrick as his fists tightened around the bars.

"Don't blame yourself!!" he shouted in defiance, "It's not your fault! They don't understand you! They don't see who you really are! I....I feel awful for you..." his voice lowered as sad brows lifted once more, "...having to live like this. It's far worse than anything imaginable..."

It was strangely familiar the way Kirill retaliated, angrily grabbing the bars while trying to defend Voltrick. Even if it was only to Voltrick by trying to put some kind of hope into his argument or feeling bad for him. Voltrick's brow lowered as he turned his head to the side, his features wincing painfully.

Aidan would do the same thing. Basically taking offense whenever Voltrick blamed or ridiculed himself. Why did Aidan have to care so much about him? Why should anyone care? The tiger looked back to Kirill. All Voltrick has brought to the ones he's cared for is pain and death. It only hurt Voltrick more to hear Aidan was coming for him. He only comes to Fyren, and the pain he'll cause him for Voltrick's benefit.

"I choose this life... With the horrible decisions I've made in the past " Voltrick's voice rasped before another fit of coughs erupted. "You know what I was and what I still am."

Kirill pulled his head back slightly at Voltrick's response, staring at him in disbelieve with lips parted. Was Voltrick really as bad as he admits and what the others accuse him as? He couldn't wrap his head around the thought.

Before he could reply, the locks on the doors gave a clink sound, causing the leopard to dart his head towards it. Entering, a guard entered somberly, looking first at Kirill and then to Voltrick. Seeing the pool of blood on the cobble floor, the bear frowned deeply in grimace.

Recognizing the guard, Kirill sighed as he lowered his head, removing his hands from the bars in defeat once more. The bear watched this action silently, and as though he understood everything, waved a paw towards Kirill.

"Come on, Kirill. Let's go..." the bear acknowledged quietly, his voice comforting. It didn't take much to see they knew each other well as the bear held a somber expression seeing his friend the way he was.

Voltrick shamefully closed his eyes tightly before being interrupted by another set of violent coughs. Thankfully enough, it didn't take as much effort to gag up the last metal ball out of his throat.

Panted breaths proceed afterwards before looking back to Kirill, who was leaving with the guard. Voltrick's brow furrowed frustratedly as he watched him. The look Kirill gave at last bothered Voltrick the most. A mixture of disbelief and disappointment. It was almost as if the leopard was someone depending upon a better response. But that was how Voltrick felt about himself. He was the cause for everyone's trouble and pain. If he had not done what he did so long ago none of this would have happened. But... Maybe Kirill just needed something to keep him going. ...And maybe, Just maybe... What Aidan says about Voltrick is right.

"Kirill..." Voltrick finally said before the leopard had a chance to exit. When Kirill looked back, Voltrick's features winced slightly as he turned his gaze forward with a lowered brow. "Fyren was wrong. I didn't barge in here like a mad man." He paused to allow a few coughs to pass. "I came here to try to stop him from hurting anyone else. To save those I care about." He paused as his winced gaze turned back to the leopard. "And this is the result."

He didn't know why he felt obligated to say it. Maybe would help prove Kirill and Aidan's points. Or maybe it was to reassure himself of why he was there.

Kirill paused as he stared back to Voltrick, the bear ahead of him waiting patiently.

In another time or place when they could have met each other under different circumstances, perhaps...just maybe, Kirill could have replied to that. The was how he felt as his gaze lowered, thinking about their situation.

After a moment, a helpless smile appeared on the side of Kirill's face as a thought came to mind. He was about to assassinate the king of Faholgal. That was his entire purpose. To think of what he'd be in the eyes of others to murder such a generous man...He looked up to Voltrick with a burdened gaze.

"You know...We're actually really alike...you and I. We'll be seen as the bad guys for the rest of our lives. And with so many people accusing us, we'll start to believe it." he said, eyes lowering gently. "So...I guess when someone says you're something better than what you think...I'd listen to them. At least for sanity's sake."

Kirill paused for a while, eyes rested on the ground before a hard, bitter chuckle broke out.

"Hah! Irony! Fyren, that bastard was right! It's just a cruel, ironic joke!"

With the sound of Kirill's laughter echoing off the walls, the guard closed the door behind them, shutting off any last sound from the leopard to Voltrick.

It would be the last time Voltrick saw Kirill.

---------

The day grew long for Voltrick, unable to decipher it was actually day or if time had passed into the night. He was left in his solitude for, what he felt as, hours. The echoes of tortured souls were all that joined him.

Tired eyes heavily closed; exhausted from his recent endeavor. But there was no comfort even within his dreams. Behind closed eyes, drifting into slumber, Voltrick was quickly met with the painful memories of torture and pain. The painful whippings, the slash across his face, and the hot poker. Everything flashed painfully in his mind right before the loud bang from Kirill's gun suddenly woke him.

Voltrick's head raised suddenly as he woke, widened eyes aimlessly looking around as he panted heavily. A short moment passed before his head lowered and winced emotionally. Not even in sleep would he be able to escape this hell. And somehow, he knew, it was only going to get worse.

The heavy dungeon door loudly clicked open, its metal hinges squeeking. Voltrick refused to look and see who entered. Like before, there was no point. They were coming to him, and they only had one thing in mind.

"Ahh, Mr. Mundegard!" The weasel's voice echoed as he entered through the door. "Its good to see you're in good condition. After everything you've been through, not even our healers would be as... 'energetic' as you."

Behind the weasel, Morldon followed just behind carrying a wooden box of various items. The last to enter were two pairs of soldiers. The first helped carry a large crate holding a smoldering pot. The second appeared to be carrying another pot that steamed as if a hot liquid was within it.

Voltrick's gaze heavily raised as the weasel came to his cell gate. The smile on his face made Voltrick's stomach tighten.

"As you can see, we have a lot planned this evening. So I ask that you be as cooperative as possible to make it... easier on yourself. Although, I assure you, this will be anything but easy... for you" He said with a smile.

+++

Denzel Mowinckel adjusted his spectacles on his nose as he walked down the corridor leading to the superiors study. Under his arm were a few documents and scrolls he had gone through before being notified of a...hindrance in plan.

Tapping the door with his knuckle twice, the doctor paused politely before parting the door, allowing himself in. Entering, Denzel saw Fyren seated at his desk, leaning back in his chair while reading the top page of a bundle held in one hand.

Coming nearer, Fyren finally averted his steady gaze to look up to Denzel with the slightest upturn of his brow.

"Apologies for disturbing you, but something has come into light..." Denzel explained, looking down briefly to identify the scroll and placing it before Fyren on the table. "It seems our fabricated councilman had been found out in Vidalie."

Fyren lowered his brow in slight concern after hearing this, sitting up to replace his own papers with the scroll, opening it to brief through. After a pause, Fyren spoke without lifting his gaze.

"Every document he had was fool-proof. How had he been found out so quickly?" he asked in annoyance.

Denzel frowned, glancing away as he thought of the reason. "Extraordinary precautions are being taken by the city due to the war. But it seems that Lord Scarlatto's man, Mr. Keel, has tracked the false seals of the official letters."

"...Tracked?" Fyren asked, looking up to Denzel in stern. "That takes a considerable amount of time, Doctor Mowinckel."

Denzel met Fyren's eyes with a similar annoyance. "Yes it does."

Fyren sighed, tossing the scroll onto the desk before leaning back in his chair, "And what of Mr. Lark?"

"Exterminated, as it were..."

Fyren let out another breath, moving to rub the bridge of his nose. "Lord Scarlatto...Vidalie's own personal guard dog. It's hard enough getting inside the city without him around."

"...Are you...suggesting we...do something about him?" Denzel asked in caution, quirking his brow curiously.

"Oh! Goodness no, Doctor!" Fyren exclaimed with a little laugh, getting up from his chair. "I was merely expressing the obstacle. But we cannot upset a city like Vidalie as we usually would. They are an entirely different entity than the cities under Faholgal rule. Contemporary, if you will." Fyren said, arriving before his usual stance before the window. Peering down he looked towards the forest again. "No...it seems we will have to approach them from a different angle. If we could sway them even slightly to the Ministry's side, the resources could win us this war in the aftermaths of the assassination."

Denzel took this moment to pull a paper from his bunch, examining the profile he had written. "I've taken the liberty of finding another potential inside-man to replace Lark..."

"There's no need." Fyren broke off as he turned to face Denzel. The doctor looked back curiously. "I believe this requires a ... personal touch." Fyren added with a smile.

Denzel paused in thought before frowning in mocking defeat. "...You're saying I should go?"

The smile was left on Fyren's face. "Who knows more about their system than any artificial replication?"

The doctor didn't respond as he kept his vain stare on Fyren, hoping the man was joking.

The silence gave him the answer.

"And what if I go an--"

"You will."

Denzel sighed in frustration. "Go. And found out like Lark? The man was exterminated! Hah! What a word. Not murdered or killed. No, the official Vidalie document clearly said exterminated! By definition, no trace left, nothing!" Denzel fought, finding the very document mentioned and motioning it in front of him. "And that Keel fellow. He must be brilliant if he had found the man out so quickly! And that Lord he works for...Have you ever seen him?!"

Fyren paused to think innocently. "I believe so."

"...What...What is he like?" Denzel gulped, never hearing anything more than what was printed about him. Even then it didn't sound pleasant.

"An Aristocratic man..."

Denzel was about to let out a breath before Fyren continued, "...whose hobby was taking on assassination jobs."

"...Hobby? You mean for fun?"

"I suppose...it's a bit difficult to tell..."

"You...You don't even know? Not even with your mental abilities?!"

Fyren sighed, "I would appreciate if you didn't mistake my talent with mind-reading."

"But you can see memories..."

"Yes. But memories is not the present, is it?"

Letting out an angered huff, Denzel waved that argument away, "We're getting off topic!"

"You're right. We are." Fyren replied, moving back to his desk. "If you want something done right, do it yourself, they say. That is why you are the best man for it. I wouldn't put you in a situation you couldn't get out of, if that were possible, Denzel."

The fox frowned quietly to that. Fyren sat back down in his chair, looking to his previous readings. "I want you to leave immediately. Every other plan has been set and is in motion. There's nothing more to worry about than to get the political side of Vidalie on ours. And with your...persuasive ways, I don't see much difficulty in that."

Watching Fyren pick up a quill, dabbing ink in it and beginning to write, Denzel was left standing there quietly. After a few moments, the fox realized the decision was made and the discussion over. Lowering his ears slightly in irritation, Denzel finally accepted the fact, nodding afterward.

"Very well. I'll leave before sundown." he informed before turning away, heading out of the study room.

Hearing the door close, Fyren glanced up momentarily with the quill suspended over the parchment. The pages underneath were written by himself, documenting that all his assets were to belong to that eccentric fox were Fyren to die. A will.

After that discussion, Fyren rolled his eyes at the thought that the man who was to inherit his place was such an argumentative individual. But there was history between them. And Denzel was the only reliable man Fyren knew personally.

The quill motioned, signing his name onto the will and sealed it in wax. The papers were then wrapped into a scroll. Finishing, Fyren looked at it in silence. It was his final task. Nothing more needed to be done under his signing. The scroll was placed onto his desk before Fyren stood, walking back to his place at the window, looking out towards the forest once again.

He waited.

++++

The sun set over the mountains, a dark red illuminating the skies and low clouds. The path of the forest was widening, the trees becoming farther apart before the horse began to trot along where grass grew. Aidan lifted his head as the horse walked steady off the trail and into the field, exiting the forest.

Green eyes looked up to the sunset, the orange and purple hues of clouds against the reddening sky. What did it mean?

Soon Aidan pulled the reins, halting the horse as he looked forward, seeing the large castle of the Ministry before him. A pain was developing in his stomach as he remembered the cruel nights, wincing his eyes to the cold stone walls.

He stepped off of the horse, busying himself by pulling the seat and reins off. After, while the horse licked its mouth were the metal bar was placed, Aidan hit it's back, sending it off in a steady gallop the other direction. Aidan watched it run off until he couldn't see it any longer, moving his gaze then to the strappings left on the grass in silence.

He couldn't explain the way he felt at that moment. That churning in his stomach and the hollow stare in his eyes. The way his body felt numb and weak but his hands balled into fists seemed like they could break anything. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew why and the cost. In all of it, the thing he wanted more than anything at that moment was to be like Antonis. He would know what to do in this situation. What to say with that air of authority. Aidan was nothing like that...maybe that was why he idolized the general so much back then.

But Voltrick...

Aidan looked up at the Ministry again, staring up at the waving flags on the towers with a hard glare for a long time. The wind blew against his fur and hair, ignoring the chill before finally he walked forward, pushing away any thought that wasn't getting to Voltrick.

+++++

A loud smack echoed throughout the dungeon, followed by another soon after.

Within Voltrick's cell, the orange tiger back handed Voltrick repeatedly across each side of the black tiger's face.

While Morldon 'warmed Voltrick up', the spectacle wearing weasel prepared his effects and got everything ready. "Just place those two containers on the ground. I'll get to them later." the weasel said as he prepared an assortment of blades and viles. One vile in particular carried a thick, purple substance within it.

With Morldon's last smack, Voltrick's head was forced to his right; spewing a mouthfull of blood to the side. Voltrick's face was left feeling numb and his head weary, but through his discomfort he managed an angered sneer.

"That's enough for now, Morldon, thank you." The weasel said as he entered Voltrick's cell. After patiently waiting for the tiger to step aside, he casually approached Voltrick. "Why is it that your body heals everything including scars, but your head does not?" He arched a brow. "Infact, the only scars you have are on your face and neck even if everything else has endured so much more."

Voltrick refused to respond and kept his head turned away. For one, he didn't know why. But most of all, he didn't want to benefit this weasel in anyway. Conversation only prolonged his suffering, he'd rather they did what they came to do and leave. That's the routine he's been forced into, why should he entertain them by answering their stupid questions?

"Hmm..." The weasel gave a thoughtful glance, looking over Voltrick. "It doesn't matter, I guess. Probably just another part of that curse you have that makes you that beast. Its basically the only thing that keeps you from being an actual person." A cheery gaze quickly appeared on his face before he continued in a higher tone. "Ah! That reminds me..." The weasel paused as Voltrick turned his angered glare down towards him. "I was just thinking earlier about you and what you are. I concluded you're not actually a person."

Voltrick's sneer slowly grew into a snarl, but remained silent as the weasel spoke.

"Being cursed with that beast, pretty much makes you 'a beast'. An untamed animal, who's only purpose is to kill,” he motioned his hands up while he spoke, one hand holding a small knife. “and who has killed a lot of people. Killing and eating are the only things you do best. That doesn’t qualify as a person at all. You’re barely even an animal, I say.” The weasel faked a thoughtful gaze as he watched Voltrick’s features contort in anger. “So, I thought, what does that make you? Well, you’ve damned yourself to this dungeon here at the ministry and you will remain here forever. So, that makes you the ministry’s property. An animal kept in confinements. And like any horse or animal owned by the ministry, you’ll need to be branded as property.” The weasel chuckled to himself. “Might as well take care of that tonight.”

Voltrick’s entire form tensed as rage began to build up within him, his snarl growing fiercer the longer he heard the weasel’s speech. He’s only saying it to rile him, to make him feel lower than he already was! Just another kind of torture. But the worst part is, Voltrick knew the weasel would go through with it and brand him with some kind of iron.

The weasel chuckled again and turned around, but before the weasel could leave Voltrick’s cell Voltrick suddenly pulled his weight up from his chains and wrapped his ankles around the weasel’s neck tightly. Voltrick strained to keep the weight up, but this was his only chance to get the weasel while his back was turned. No one says things like that and gets away with it! Not to Voltrick!

The weasel choked loudly as the soldiers scrambled around and shouted. As the soldiers aimed their swords and shouted their threats, Morldon stood and only growled fiercely.

“If you want him to live, you’ll do EXACTLY as I say! No more torture sessions and you WILL NOT talk to me as if I’m lower than you!” He paused, but quickly continued. “Lower your weapons!”

As the soldiers hesitantly lowered the points of their swords, a quiet chuckle was heard from the weasel. After his chuckle grew louder, the weasel took a desperate breath before talking. “Do you actually think you can escape from this?” he laughed again. “You’re surrounded, Mundegard. There’s no chance and no escape.”

Voltrick growled sharply and jerked his ankles threateningly. “I’ve escaped before! And I’ll do it again, even if I have to kill you while I do it.”

“You only escaped because Kirill felt pity upon you and helped you escape. Now, look where that’s gotten him.” He quickly chuckled. “And look where its gotten you! You’re right back here, to mock his AND your failures!”

“You don’t kn..”

“I know plenty, Beast! And killing me will only further my point. You’re a murderous monster with no purpose but to kill. You’re nothing and all you have is that anger of yours to keep you company! And the longer you hold me the more you will suffer!”

Voltrick’s teeth grit through his fierce snarl. The weasel was wrong! He had to be wrong! And he’ll prove it by escaping this place now! “You’re wrong! I have you!! Now release me or he dies!”

As the weasel spoke to Voltrick and Voltrick retaliating, Morldon, who slowly made his way toward the cell gate, reached towards the scorching pot of hot coals; removing the branding iron with the ministry’s symbol at its end. Before Voltrick could react and move the weasel in the way, the orange tiger ran back towards Voltrick and swung the hot red end toward Voltrick’s face.

Voltrick’s eyes widened, trying to turn his head right quickly enough to avoid the branding iron. But the red hot metal quickly caught the left side of his face before he could turn.

Sparks from the burning coals, which had remained on the branding iron, flew madly across Voltrick’s face as the metal smashed against him. As the red hot brand scrapped along Voltrick’s left temple, Voltrick cried out in pain; dropping the weasel to the ground. Before Voltrick could struggle, the hot metal was quickly forced into Voltrick’s left eye.

Voltrick’s cries suddenly burst out in agonizing pain and echoed loudly throughout the dungeon. All Voltrick could feel was the hot brand burning to his eye socket; burning away the sensitive tissue and sizzling loudly. He tried to pull away, but the other tiger’s free hand grasped the back of his head and pressed it against the hot iron.

The tiger yelled in endless pain, only stopping to take a wavered half breath to continue expressing his agony. The pain was unbearable. The rod that had been imbedded in his abdomen before was nothing compared to this, he knew his left eye had to be completely burned!

“That’s enough, Morldon!” The weasel shouted as he readjusted his jacket after standing. “The smell is awful.”

Waiting as long as he could, the orange tiger forced the branding iron away from Voltrick’s eye. After smirking to his handiwork, he turned to replace the branding iron to the smoldering container.

Voltrick gave one last pained shout as the brand was finally lifted. Through is pain and struggles, his right eye reddened and damped with tears. His breaths were weak and wavered; fearful to even wince his face through the pain.

The fur on and around his eye lids had burnt off completely, the skin burnt black and sunk into his eye socket. The ministry’s symbol had burned against his eye, his eye now unable to open due to the flesh burning enough to seal his eye closed.

"Well, that gives me one less thing to do." The weasel stated as he raised his chin to examine the Eye of Michael brand burned into Voltrick's eye. Seeing Voltrick's agonized expression, a comforting brow rose. "It didn't have to be this way, Mr. Mundegard..." He waited until Voltrick's head turned shakily enough for his right eye to see him. "Your anger drove you to attack me and in doing so made you punished. Its simple logic, really."

"Logic?" Voltrick's stained voice questioned as another snarl appeared. "You..." He started before he was struck with another wave of pain from his left eye, feeling as if the wound was still burning excruciatingly. "You destroyed my eye!"

"And I'll be taking more, I guarantee it." the weasel proudly stated. "You're property of the Eye of Michael. You're not a person, but a beast to be tamed. With that, I can do whatever I want. Your anger will be apart of it. The more anger you show..." The weasel paused as he turned to see the orange tiger lift the pot of steaming water and placed it over the hot coals to heat it. "The more you'll suffer."

Voltrick's snarl lowered to a sneer before the tiger's brow raised sadly. He truly was hopeless to everything now. He couldn't fight Fyren or help his friends. He couldn't even stop a weasel from mocking him. He couldn't even rely upon his anger to give him the strength to fight. He had nothing, not even a left eye.

The weasel gave a short chuckle. "That's what I thought." he said in response to Voltrick's reaction and turned back towards his assortment of blades and viles upon the table. As the neatly arranged everything, he spoke casually again with a smile. "Did you know your healing is far greater than any advanced healer within the ministry? A wound inflicted upon them would heal in a matter of moments. Yours, on the other hand, heals in seconds."

Voltrick's eye closed as he lowered his head, desperately desiring to tune the weasel out.

"That makes you more advanced and perfect for my study on its reversal." The weasel continued, examining an empty vile before picking up a syringe. "Its all a bit technical, really." he turned to face Voltrick and approached him. "But we need have been trying to find a way to reverse the healing factor we have placed into our soldiers. Those who have joined the rebellion mainly.”

“Why tell me all of this?” Voltrick asked warily; shakily turning his head to see the weasel, more so the empty syringe he held.

“Gives me something to do, really, as I work. Morldon isn’t much of a conversationalist and I feel it best that your time here is benefiting me and my studies.”

“But I’m not a real person,” Voltrick replied spitefully. “I’m just a beast who…”

The weasel suddenly cut Voltrick’s sentence as he embedded the syringe’s needle into the tiger’s neck. “Easy, Mr. Mundegard…” He said while filling the syringe with Voltrick’s blood; ignoring the tiger’s pained groans. “I would hate for you to lose your other eye.” He smiled and removed the needle. “As I was saying…” he continued as he walked back to the table. “You may not have noticed it before, but I actually took a sample of your blood during our last visit.” The weasel placed the syringe into his box of accessories. “You were unconscious at the time, so its understandable. But with your blood, holding the key to your advanced healing, I managed to manipulate it to my benefit.”

Voltrick’s sneer returned and turned his head away.

“I finally succeeded in finding a reversal with your blood.” The weasel’s tone grew excited as he picked up the vile of thick purple liquid. “The problem before was the blood of our healers wasn’t strong enough. In order to counteract their healing, the serum had to be stronger. And the only way to do that was to find a more advanced healer.” He gave a malicious smirk back to Voltrick, still holding the vile. “Thanks to you, my search is over. But, I haven’t found a proper testing subject.”

Voltrick’s eyes widened before turning his head back to the weasel, whose smirk grew to a smile.

“But this serum wont work on someone ‘like you’, will it? Your healing is far too strong. Your stomach would heal from the effects immediately, not allowing the serum to flow into the blood stream and organs. And since there’s no one in this world who can heal faster than you, I’ve decided to take a different route.” He paused to motion casually toward Voltrick with his hand. “Destroy the tissue within the stomach before forcing you to take the serum. That will allow the serum to fully digest.”

“You can’t…!”

The weasel smiled and tilted his head. “I can and I will. Its all for the good of science, you must realize this.”

“I’ll spit it out.” Voltrick growled, briefly looking toward Morldon before returning his angered gaze to the weasel.

The weasel smiled with a chuckle. “Hmm, no you wont.”

"Ah, the water is boiling. Its time." The weasel noted before looking back toward Voltrick again with a smirk.

"You two..." Morldon's deep voice quickly said and pointed towards two of the soldiers. "Restrain him so he cant struggle. The rest of you, hold his head still and pry his mouth open so the doctor can put the funnel into his mouth." He pointed toward the first two. "Do not hold yourself back, I want him completely subdued without incident. Move!"

As ordered, the four soldiers rushed towards Voltrick's cell.

In a panic, Voltrick tensed up before desperately kicking both legs towards the first soldier who approached. The soldier was knocked back, but the rest of the soldiers managed to side step from him and ambush Voltrick as he kicked madly. Another soldier was kicked in the soldier, but it only made the soldier move more aggressively as he slammed his fist into Voltrick's stomach.

Another soldier, as the other three began beating Voltrick by either punching or kicking, felt it necessary to embed his dagger into Voltrick's thigh. After Voltrick shouted and became distracted, All four soldiers took their positions on and around Voltrick; holding him still.

"Doctor, the funnel." Morldon alerted the weasel, who whistled cheerfully as he reached into his box and pulled out a metal funnel.

"Please, dont do this!" Voltrick shouted as he struggled against the weight of the soldiers. "I'm begging you, please! Don't...!" he pleaded just before one of the soldiers wrapped both of their gloved hands around his face. One of the hands tightly gripped around his muzzle while the other forced his jaw open, exposing his teeth and open mouth.

The doctor quickly placed the smaller part of the funnel into the tiger's mouth to allow an easy flow down his throat. "Just think happy thoughts" The doctor smiled and looked back to Morldon. "If you have any left."

Morldon was dipping a large pitcher into the boiling pot of water before raising and walking towards Voltrick.

Voltrick’s struggles increased as his one eye saw the other tiger approaching. Unable to shake off the soldiers, Voltrick could only groan loudly and shout in panic with the funnel in his mouth.

Without hesitating, the orange tiger raised the pitcher of hot liquid and poured it into the funnel and down Voltrick’s throat.

The moment the scorching liquid touched the back of his mouth, Voltrick shouted in shrieking pain. But his cries were quickly silenced as the water quickly poured down his throat, causing his to choke and cough up the water. Gurgles of choked water were heard as the boiled water made its way down his esophagus. He could feel it burning its way down until the scorching was felt through his entire abdomen and stomach.

Voltrick continued to choke in gurgled cries as Morldon finally stopped pouring, the hot water finally finishing its burning decent. But the water still burned within him, the scorching heat burning his esophagus and the lining of his stomach. It felt as if everything inside of him was burning unceasingly.

The tiger desperately cried out in excruciating pain, streams of tears flowed from his right eye as he tried to cough and gag out the water.

“Quickly.“ The weasel uncorked the vile of purple liquid in his hand. “Pour the serum in before the water cools enough for him to heal.” He ended by carefully handing the vile to the orange tiger. “Pour it all in, we cant afford to lose any of it”

Morldon groaned as he grasped the vile and quickly poured the thick liquid into Voltrick’s choking mouth; cringing slightly to the smell.

Continuing in his desperation, Voltrick struggled to move his head; trying to close his mouth. His entire body tensed up in fear and struggle as he felt and tasted the disgusting, thick liquid flowed down his throat. He choked and coughed madly, feeling it coat his esophagus. He wanted to gag, to cough up this horrible thick liquid that he knew would destroy his stomach… or worse…

Seeing the vile nearly empty and Voltrick’s struggle increase as he tried to gag, the weasel shouted. “He’s trying to vomit it back up, tie his mouth shut! Hurry!”

Snarling in disgust, Morldon quickly handed the empty vile to the weasel and removed the funnel from the tiger’s mouth. “Close his mouth!” he commanded the soldier holding Voltrick’s mouth open. After Voltrick’s mouth was forced closed, Morldon grabbed a short rope from his belt and tightly tied it around Voltrick’s muzzle.

Voltrick struggled to open his mouth, his stomach tightening with the hot water and the serum. As Voltrick tried to gag up the serum, drool was the only substance able to drip down his jaw.

“You can release him now.” The weasel said before the four soldiers released their hold on Voltrick and exited the cell; each watching Voltrick to see the tiger’s reaction.

Voltrick’s eye tightened shut as his whole abdomen tightened painfully, his head lowering as the terrible pain grew quickly.

“As you can feel, the serum doesn’t take long to start taking effect.” The weasel said, watching Voltrick’s struggles increase as his body trembled uncontrollably. “First it’s the cramping of the abdomen, rapid heartbeat as the poison enters the bloodstream.” He paused to watch Voltrick’s head lower, the weasel tilting his head to see past the hair that fell into Voltrick’s face. “Next, the muscles will tremble and spasm while nausea sets in. But you wont be able to do anything about that, now can you?”

A loud, strained groan escaped through Voltrick’s tied mouth as he shakily looked up to the weasel. A weak, but angered glare darted to him before jerking his head left as a wave of pain was felt in his muscles. His features twitched in strain as his arms and legs shook in strain.

“You can go.” Morldon said to the soldiers outside the cell, who had mixed reactions to Voltrick’s situation. “Take the coal and water pots with you.”

Silently acknowledging the order, the soldiers did as commanded. Before leaving, each gave Voltrick one last glance before finally leaving.

As Voltrick’s abdomen tightened and spasmed, jerking his head forward every few seconds, the weasel held his hands behind his back and approached the pained tiger. Arching an eyebrow to the amount of sweat building up upon Voltrick’s brow and damping his hair, the weasel gave a kindly smile and tilted his head. “Now… Where is your anger? Where is that passion you had just before? Try to escape, Mr. Mundegard.” A short grunt was given before standing up straight. “You can’t escape what you’re destined to be. You have nothing, and I made sure of it.”