etrayalogs | It takes some interdiction to divide and conquer

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It takes some interdiction to divide and conquer

WHO: Sleipnir (

quibblingfunctionary) and Accelerator (

levelshift)
WHEN: Partway through the event.
WHERE: A dingy warehouse in San Francisco.
WHAT: Sleipnir has some anomaly information and Accelerator wants it.
NOTES\WARNINGS: Torture and murder. It's going to get gruesome up in here! Also ableist language.

[Investigating the anomaly hasn't gone great for Accelerator. The Etrayans in general have very little information to go off of, and while he's excellent at analyzing things he doesn't have a lot of experience with investigations. There are a few leads he looks into, and as time goes on he finds he isn't making any real headway. It stresses him out; the wellbeing of his students back home are on the line, and he doesn't have a high level of tolerance for anyone or anything that messes with them, even on a good day. The longer he stays in this universe the shorter his patience gets, and inevitably certain thoughts start creeping into his mind.

Accelerator is a violent person. That's just how he was raised, and despite being aware that it's wrong it's now an inextricable part of himself. He tries to be better, but maybe he shouldn't bother. Maybe that effort is better spent on doing whatever he can to do well on this mission. That thought occurs to him one night, and instead of dismissing it it grows and grows. Then, before he realizes it, his attempts at questioning people start to get violent. By the time he hears an Etrayan has some valuable information on the anomaly, he's justified that violence to himself. It's fine, it gets results, it'll help his students.

He gets an alias ("Grimnir," is that Norse? Would Othinus recognize it?) and sends a quick text requesting a trade: information for information. Not that he has anything to trade, but lying seems like the easiest way to get a face-to-face meeting. Arranging that and finding somewhere appropriately abandoned (a warehouse in some industrial district at night) so that they aren't interrupted by any superhero-types is easy enough. A bit before the agreed upon time Accelerator heads out, arriving early to scope out the location. When he's satisfied he'll find some old piece of machinery to sit on, drinking from a can of coffee as he waits.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[A wave of euphoria crashed over Sleipnir when he finally pulled something of value from the foolish denizens of this world. But problems are born when you tie your mood to successes of this nature. The good feeling drains out fast and soon you find yourself needing to get more. Time and patience were spent in great amounts on this piece alone and because this is so Sleipnir found himself not eager to spend more this way. Dealing with the avarice of man brought out a more bitter impatient side in him and so when a fellow Etrayan reached out in promise of sharing intelligence: he leapt upon it.

Perhaps he could have been more cautious, but every other Etrayan Sleipnir has met has seemed... not to be of concern. The illusion of His Majesty, Mythos, and himself being the strongest men amongst their number is the reason why he doesn't even suit up to meet this 'Accelerator'. He very much doubts he'll need the suit of armor. Besides, traveling around as thus would attract too much attention and Sleipnir doesn't want anyone else getting their hands on the information.

Truthfully, he didn't intend on sharing what he knows at all. Sleipnir is working under the assumption that more good favor shall be won by whomsoever finds and fixes the anomaly. In this he cannot allow the opportunity to go to another. He and his liege lord have sacrificed everything to save Valisthea already. He will not mind putting others on the alter to further their goals.

It is in entertaining these thoughts that Sleipnir saunters into the abandoned warehouse. It is a good location to not be overheard; he hasn't encountered any other person in several blocks and doesn't believe anyone will come by them randomly. It doesn't take him long to find ~~the man-~~ ~~the young man-~~ the boy who has summoned him. The grace in which Sleipnir moves speaks of the years he's spent making war and he cuts through the space to stand directly before the boy. While the clothes Sleipnir wears doesn't highlight his strength there is still an aura about him, one of confidence earned and not assumed. He doesn't believe himself to be prey. His voice is level, calm, and steady while floaty, as he speaks in a slow Scandinavian accent.]

It would seem we are up past your bedtime, little one.

[The warehouse is old, musty, and rusted out. From the scattered trash around it's clearly found occasional use as shelter for people, though Accelerator has made sure the place is empty for this. Honestly, the place suits the aesthetic that he's going for: a grungy kind of punk in line with the style he's chosen to go with. Harold wanted him putting in more effort than his usual clothing, so he's in a dressed down version of a formal suit with some punk additions. Nothing particularly unusual for this universe (the strangest things being the choker around his neck, the light on it currently green, and the metal 'gauntlet' around his right forearm) and it isn't the most mature look, but he isn't going for that.]

Tche.

[Accelerator is aware his appearance isn't all that impressive. Short, thin, fragile — even back home people only identified him as the #1 because of his abnormal hair and eyes, and even then, they still assumed they had a chance in a fight.

All that to say Accelerator is familiar with people disparaging him like this. It's irritating and he scowls, but otherwise pushes those feelings aside. Remaining sitting on the machinery, he looks like this Grimnir guy over. He's practically radiating confidence. That, paired with the condescending remark, and Accelerator suddenly isn't sure if it'll be straightforward in getting the information he wants out of him. He doesn't seem put off by things that would normally make a person wary, like the venue, and if he isn't going to take him seriously... well, there's the chance he'll turn out to be easygoing and happy to share, but Accelerator is starting to feel skeptical it'll be that simple.

When he responds, his tone is firm and matter-of-fact.]

Here's how it's gonna go down. You're gonna tell me everything that you know about the anomaly. Don't leave out any tiny details, got it? [There's a pause as he takes another sip of his coffee, finishing it off.] Then when you're done, I'll tell you what I know.

[He won't, but he'll get to that later.]

[Sleipnir observes the boy before him. It seems to him their similarities end at their albinism, and even there the differences are stark. His own hair silver in tone while the boy's is snow white– violet eyes stare into red. Their style of dress couldn't be more different: the child dressed sloppily, at least in Sleipnir's eyes, while himself adorned well- a Lord Commander must always be finely presentable. His shirt is a dusty purple button up, but one where his collar is pure ruffle, his sleeves are poofy and cinched in a couple areas causing them to bell out before ending in ruffles cuffed and hugging his wrists. The shirt also bells out before it is tucked. His pants, while plain and dark, are high waisted and cling to his form. The right half of his hair is pulled into his usual braid while the other half falls wild and free. The only odd things about his state of dress would be the black leather gloves he wears- it's summer, too hot for gloves- and the black leather boots that come up to his thighs- like riding boots, but there are some ruffly frills around the top as well.

He supposes the kid at least matches the scenery chosen, idly he wonders if the boy lives here. Sleipnir barely takes note of the collar, he's from a time without electrical technology and assumes it's a part of the strange visual statement the boy is making. The gauntlet on the other hand(ha!) does raise a flag. It could be a weapon or shield of some kind.

As the child speaks a Sleipnir's chin raises sightly higher as if to look down his nose at the other. How cute. A smile creeps in on his face as well. At least the boy is interesting. Feisty, although the poor thing doesn't look like he can muster much of a fight. Sleipnir gives him a kindness and doesn't laugh at him- we all have to start somewhere, and at least the boy is trying.]

You will forgive me for not sticking to your plan. Your delivery is strong- do not lament your performance. [his smile broadens] However. Making demands of the one you called out to for help is rather unbecoming. Share with me your knowledge and I will enlighten you with mine- if, that is, it differs.

[Sleipnir's voice is still slow and measured, light and floaty- it is how he normally speaks. His smile is getting more playful; he came here knowing full well he wouldn't be the one sharing anything, and that is how he will be leaving.]

[It really shouldn't come as a surprise that he's being talked down to by someone who looks like they're dressed for a Victorian cosplay convention, though it's nonetheless tiring to deal with. And really, unless the guy is an excellent at faking it, Accelerator suspects his whole regal demeanour nonsense isn't simply an act. That isn't impossible, he's aware that people from all kinds of universes are pulled into Etraya.

Regardless, it's tiring. If this guy could roll over and give him what he wants then he doesn't need to spend any more time than necessary out here. He can report back to Harold and go take a much needed nap.

... On the other hand, with the disappointed acknowledgement that this conversation isn't going as easily as he would like comes with the confirmation of an alternate path forwards (because, obviously, simply walking away isn't an option). If this guy doesn't volunteer the information, then he's going to have to resort to other means to get what he wants. There is a part of him that is undeniably excited at that prospect, even while he tells himself it's all in service of doing well on the mission, and therefore protecting the kids in his city.]

No.

[That's how he starts, with one blunt refusal. Extending the cane portion of his crutch, Accelerator proceeds to (carefully) hop off of the machinery. From the way he's visible leaning some of it weight onto it, it's clear the crutch isn't just some prop, either. He takes several steps forward, the clacking from its feet hitting the cement floor echoing in the large space. After his second step he's adjusting the empty can in his hand to give himself a couple free fingers, then reaches up and flicks the switch on his choker. The light on it changes from green to red.

Vector data from various surrounding phenomena starts passively flooding into his brain, like an extra sense has woken up. It's a refreshing feeling.]

Looking into this stupid fucking thing has already been a big pain in the ass, okay? So just do what I say. Otherwise you're gonna make me do this the hard way, and I guarantee that you aren't going to enjoy that.

[Look at him, being so kind and giving the man two options. He hadn't been that charitable with most of his opponents in the past, so he's proud of himself for coming so far.]

[There is no indication of the light irritation Sleipnir feels, when the child says no, written on his face or otherwise. Mankind is never free from its corruptions and he shouldn't expect better from a child, so driven by desires as many are. When he sees the crutch come out Sleipnir thinks he understands a little more. Was he born with this defect or is it something new he is struggling to adjust to? Perhaps this is why the boy has such a chip on his shoulder... In this deformity Sleipnir can see the suffering humanity continues to bear, seeing it carried by such a one filled with so much fire; he regrets what life may have robbed from him. What sort of foe could he have been if allowed to grow uninhibited?

No ground is given nor taken while the boy who calls himself Accelerator closes the gap between them. Sleipnir can easily afford the child this much respect. Again he overlooks the importance of the collar, associating no meaning with change in the small glow's color. The importance of green and red lights is new to Sleipnir as of setting foot on Earth-2025, and only by way of the motorized automobiles and their roads.

Although, Sleipnir does crack a smirk at the other's exasperation, in this he find his own emotions to be a mirror. Pain in the ass, indeed. Still, he will not give into the child's demands, no matter how relatable or filled with moxie he may be.]

Do you truly believe you would triumph in a battle against me? [he crosses his arms] How do you propose you are going to do that?

[What's worse than condescension from your enemy? Probably genuine pity.]

[That's as clear a decision as any in regards to the options he's so kindly offered. This guy isn't backing down, he isn't trying to renegotiate the deal they agreed to over text, and he isn't making any ridiculous demands. He doesn't seem the least bit concerned about the over threat Accelerator has made, which means he's going with that choice. The difficult, violent one. Accelerator warned him, so no one can say he's picked blindly.

His lips tilt upwards in a small grin. A tiny change, but unnerving on someone who spends most of his time scowling.

Cool. He gets to have some fun.

It'll be controlled fun, of course. No killing, just screwing with him enough to make him regret being so damn condescending. Make him realize that when he's facing down the #1 of Academy City, you never want to pick the more difficult option.

Stopping with several feet still between them, Accelerator considers the question. That's the benefit of having the ability that he does.]

I've got a lot of options. Just remember you chose this, so you don't get to complain about it later.

[It would be very easy to mistake his shift in attitude as cockiness, but it isn't. It's a mixture of certainty borne out of years of experience and the knowledge that a little intimidation can go a long way, psychologically speaking. Also, it's just fun to screw with people.

More seriously, he only has CAPR information to go off of, so even with all the posturing he knows he may need to be cautious. 'Darkness magick' can mean a lot of things, and he's still a newbie when it comes to anything magical. He doesn't have Qliphah here to assist, so he decides to go for maximum immobilization efficiency, then go from there.

(The guy's other specialties were all straightforward, except for 'horse.' Who the fuck knows what 'horse' means.)

He crunches the can in his hand into a pointy aluminum ball, then in one smooth motion gently flicks it using his index finger. In a fraction of a second his brain runs the calculations needed to alter the vectors of the can's motion and it changes from harmless trash to something more like a bullet. Of course, Accelerator didn't amplify its magnitude to the point where it would go straight through the guy — it's hard to get information from a dead man — he only needs it to stun him for a second or two.

Because in that sliver of time there are more calculations that flow through his head, increasing the durability and strength of his body, and suddenly he's crossed the distance between them. Now directly in front of "Grimnir," Accelerator snaps his free hand up to grab his neck. His reflection, which would normally prevent complete contact by a couple of centimetres, is altered so that he can touch him directly, skin on skin.

Aha, there they are. More data, more vectors, this time the flow of electrons from neuron to neuron. He grabs hold of those vectors, halting the movement of certain electrons, the ones that allow him to shut down most of "Grimnir's" body to prevent him from fighting back or fleeing. Retracting his crutch to free up his other hand, he then squeezes and shoves, hard, to slam him onto the floor.]

[ Alas, Sleipnir doesn't know much about the boy standing in front of him, nor his penchant to frown, so even this warning bell gets missed. So new is he to things like the internet he did not even think to comb through past network posts. As far as preparations went he did not play this well, of which he will soon learn.

Something begins to feel amiss when the child boasts. Sleipnir won't place it immediately, only later does he read the experience in cadence and tone. In the way his slight frame stands firm. The joy in his smile.

What occurs next is the first thing to get a reaction from Sleipnir. He's too busy watching the boy's face to properly see what he did with his hand, but the metallic crunch that rings out has him tensing his body and looking at their surroundings. The sound is loud in the empty space, but he didn't catch the movement which caused it and thusly he doesn't know where it came from; yet Sleipnir can tell the building devours the noise letting it get none too far.

His mind races trying to locate the source of the sound— he wonders if this building is about to be a scene of the next villain attack, about how much time he has to get the child and himself out of here, if the enemy knows they are there or not— when his left shoulder jerks causing his footing to shift to compensate. And that's the problem when you brute force your way out of feeling pain. It costs you precious seconds to figure out what the]

Fuck!

[just happened. Sleipnir's head whips to see the hole in his sleeve which is beginning to stain red and he grits his teeth. Less than a second to assess the blow came from in front of him. Eyes forward— when did he— the hand closes upon Sleipnir's neck and his eyes widen a fraction then relax. In the brief moment before the next Accelerator can see he is still being underestimated.

Then Sleipnir's eyes truly widen. He feels his body shut down, not in the way he is used to— not in the slow deadening of his limbs and organs, air and thought, blood and senses— but all at once. Not the end, not dead. Still alive. The roaring of his blood in his ears blocks out the sound of the crutch retracting and even if it didn't Sleipnir barks out a laugh which gets cut off in the squeeze.

Then he hits the ground and laughs again. It's not a wild and desperate thing, but rather one of surprised delight. Who would have thought this invalid had it in him? What joy, what mirth Sleipnir feels that this spitfire can use his own hands to wrest something out of life.]

Full of surprises, are you?

[Accelerator follows him down onto the floor, onto one knee, his hand remaining on the man's neck. Without his wings that contact is needed to maintain the consequences of his ability. Should he let go, the electrical signals he's interrupted will begin to flow normally, and a fight would break out. That isn't conducive to interrogation, so he holds him there, continuing to squeeze. His movements are confident, albeit lacking in technical skill. He doesn't have much experience using his body for a physical fight, but his ability is so overwhelming it makes up for his shortfalls.

Unfortunately, his ability can't prepare him for laughter. Accelerator's grin tenses as he makes the effort to keep it up, but his eyebrows raise and there is shock in his eyes at the reaction. Where's the surprise? Where's the fear? Did he miscalculate? Should he have been more cautious?

But he doesn't want to be cautious right now. He wants to wipe that smile off this asshole's face. It may be risky but he doesn't back off, instead he begins filtering through formulas in his mind, picking out ones that can affect nociceptors and the somatosensory cortex. More specifically, the chemical and electrical signals that transmit and process pain. If this bastard wants to laugh in his face, then he can try laughing when his nervous system is going haywire.

Keeping up the dramatics, Accelerator's voice is practically a purr.]

I told you, I have options. Bodies have all kinds of vectors for me to work with, even unusual ones like yours.

[Because yes, in his analysis of Grimnir's body for how to best torture the information out of him, he's noticing something unique. Vectors are present, typical ones one would expect to find in a normal human body, but... there are other ones. Things he's sensing that his normal calculations aren't able to account for.

It isn't the first time he's come across phenomena like this. The matter the #2 could create, magic both home and in Etraya — things that cannot be explained through scientific laws. Things that require their own unique mathematical system in order for him to fully understand.

For all the power his ability holds, that's just a nice bonus. This, understanding the magic or whatever it is that comprises this person's body, is the true purpose of Accelerator's ability. Particle accelerators were developed to better understand the universe, and this is his true nature as the #1. Almost upon reflex his brain begins altering and adjusting his calculations, dropping in imaginary numbers and piecing together imaginary formulas, until he can understand the body he's working with.]

So let's try this again. Tell me what you know about the fucking anomaly.

[And he promptly sends the formulas he's been building through his Personal Reality, back into Grimnir's body, amplifying his neural pathways and areas of the brain that perceive pain. It's a complex process but he's sure he has it all properly calculated.

Then he reaches down with his other hand and casually bends one of Grimnir's fingers back, as far as it will go, until it snaps.]

[ While the delight might be ever dancing in Sleipnir's eyes still he tries to wrest control back into his limbs, but no, dead, they still feel dead. Which almost registers as intimidating, but even louder is the thrill of something new. Sleipnir has not experienced something quite like this... and here he thought he was done dying in new and creative ways.

Accelerator's purr is admirable and perhaps if the child grows to see adulthood his dialogue could even become something that strikes fear- but Sleipnir is unfamiliar with what a vector is so the line is wasted on him— But quickly after Sleipnir's spark of confusion his own smile turns tense. How? How can this child tell by just looking he is no ordinary man? None have been able to tell save for baby Rosfield and even then there were factors which helped tip him off.

Now it is starting to sink in that perhaps Sleipnir has made a miscalculation. If the boy knows what he is and still looks upon him with such an expression... Normally this is where he would cease fighting with his sword and pull out his lance. Call forth the roiling darkness and gage the enemy then. Still both his body and the darkness are out of reach... He can only sit back and watch.

When next the demand leaves Accelerator's lips Sleipnir's smile turns smug as he thinks he can feel his body coming around, although it's a strange and static like feeling.]

Rude children get nothing—

[ Sleipnir cuts himself off as the boy touches his finger, uncertain as to what he is doing, but it feels strange and not at all like how it should. Wrong. Sensitive, almost... until it snaps.

His own scream is not a sound he has heard in 50 years.]

[Accelerator is an incredibly easy person to overlook, particularly when the multiverse is concerned. He's small, slight, and most people would chalk his aggression up to those factors. His bark is worse than his bite, and they'd leave it at that. It's only when one starts to dig deeper that it becomes apparent what a monster he can be.

Is, right now. As hard as he's tried he's never been able to fully shake the idea that he's a monster. There have been times recently when he's suspected he's going to have to live with those feelings for the rest of his life. Right now is one of those times, though he's bothered less by it than usual. He's doing this for his students after all, and if he can keep them safe then he'll become the worst monster anyone has ever seen.

That he gets to have some enjoyment out of this interrogation is just a bonus. His grin relaxes as Grimnir's sass cuts out, replaced by a scream. There we go, that's the kind of reaction he wants to get out of him. It feels far more satisfying to hear than laughter, and it causes him to slide his hand over to another finger, breaking it, too. It's purely self-indulgent when, after that, he reaches up and taps on Grimnir's forearm, altering the vectors involved in that small bit of physical contact to fracture his radius and ulna.]

Wanna try that again?

[That seems like enough, and he pulls his hand back, looking expectantly at him for an answer.]

[With a second snap pain lances once more, a blinding agony sharply cutting its way through his body. Why? Why now? What is happening? It is a radiating corruption of his senses, bleeding out to engulf his hand in its entirety. He can feel sweat has already broken out on his brow and his mind is scrambling to understand what is causing this torrent or torment. Long before now there was many a time Sleipnir would hear the snap of his own bones, feel its sharp sting, but remember he naught its burn to be this overwhelming. Before Waloed, back in the mud, back when one could not decern whether it be blood or mud one tramped though. Broken fingers did not feel like this hell.

As fire flares so too does pain and once the second break's agony has dipped below its zenith Sleipnir feels upon his arm a tap— and immediately feels another explosion of agony. All encompassing. It ran up his entire arm, through his shoulder, and whited out all sensations. He knows he let forth another scream as so too his throat began to burn in searing white hot misery. How? How how how how how how how? The pain should be gone should be nonexistent shouldn't register shouldn't be—

The child is speaking. Sleipnir's teeth are grit and his chest is rising and falling rapidly as he concentrates on the boy before him.]

Worse has befell me from those far greater than you.

[Who is this boy? From where has he been granted power such as this, the power to overwrite another in nothing but pain?

It is probably for the best Sleipnir cannot move; he is certain if he did then the pain in his arm would ratchet up more, in concert with his fingers, far louder than presently.]

[Accelerator hears the second and third cracks of bone, and it's like hearing a new can of coffee being opened. Refreshing, as much as it can be when he's still having to restrain himself, but refreshing nonetheless. The amorality of this, something he would normally be highly concerned about, slips into the back of his mind and fades away. He's hurting someone, yes, but it's in service of protecting his universe. When he gets the information this man has he'll be able to help deal with the anomaly, he'll find more favour with Echo, and his students will be closer to being saved.

It's sound logic. And it's been a while since he's gotten to crush flesh; even longer that he's allowed him self to enjoy it. Why not, when he's doing it for the greater good?

He lets out a squeaky chuckle as he sits back, letting Grimnir scream it out. The calculations to alter his nociceptors, but he refrains from inflicting any more pain for now. This is an interrogation, after all. He wants that information.]

If you wanna act like resisting is some noble gesture, go for it. But it isn't. All you're doing is prolonging your own suffering, you bastard.

[And just to be a jerk he waggles the fingers of his free hand in Grimnir's face, like he's trying to decide were to touch next.]

[He is sweating in earnest now, breaths coming in harder than they have any right to be. Sleipnir has made it over a crest of pain and his eyes narrow on the boy who still so tenderly holds his throat.

And speak he of suffering... Sleipnir finds this laughable, really, and so he does. It may not be his boisterous normal laugh, but the chuckle yet escapes his lips. That Accelerator should so boldly speak as if pain and suffering were one and the same... A prime example of what a piteous race men truly are.]

Your ignorance unbecomes you. You and your pathetic little laugh will get nothing out of me— I fear no death.

[Accelerator is wrong, resisting is always a noble gesture. To hold fast in opposition to the madness which drives their kind— and all for the sake of His Majesty? Never was there a goal more noble than this. Sleipnir has spent his whole existence in service to the Last King, from the moment of his conception to the moment of each death. He is the Constant Knight and he will not yield to this mere child.]

[It's a combination of schooling and experience that provide Accelerator with the knowledge to alter the human body, and now that he's taking a short break, he takes in Grimnir's physiological reactions. They're in line with that of a normal person despite him not being normal. The ragged breathing, the increased heart rate, the sweating. All things he wants to hear and feel.

Except the laughter. Again, that laugh. It's digging its claws into his brain, irritating him further. If this guy is trying to provoke him, well, it's starting to work.]

Yeah? Then you're an idiot.

[You should is what the look in his eyes says, as he drops his free hand. Breaking more bones is an option, but it isn't getting him the answers he wants so he looks to another method, and he only needs skin on skin contact for that. The calculations in his brain are altered and redirected into the hand around Grimnir's neck, adding another layer to his control over his nervous system. On top of forcing paralysis and amplifying his pain receptors, Accelerator sends the electrical signals in his brain into overdrive, specifically the ones that involve muscle control. Maybe a seizure will help change his mind.]

[In this moment it is a tragedy how well made Sleipnir's body is in replicating a natural born human being. He does not regret it, pain and death are but a temporary thing for him, and to be made into something so close to His Majesty... Well, it is worth it. Although, he had thought he'd conquered pain long ago, yet here Sleipnir is, in another world's dirty discarded man-made filth with someone else from yet another different world, on his back, and feeling excruciating waves rioting within his body, wreaking a havoc he has not known in so many years.

But pain is temporary, so is death, and so too will be this child.

When the insult drops from Accelerator's lips Sleipnir can't help but chuckle again. He so does enjoy driving his enemies to insult; it mattered not the look on the boy's face nor it spelling how the night will go. The other's free hand drops and Sleipnir watches it leave his line of sight and morbidly wonders what new pain will lance through him.

Pain is temporAry, so IS dEATH—

Sleipnir's body convulses on the ground and a new wave of horror rolls through him as his muscles scream at how tight they contrast. This is a new form of pain he has never experienced before— he genuinely knows not what is happening to him, not that he knows how Accelerator has taken control of his body, but this uncontrollable death rattle his body seems intent on doing without his consent, how it rips through him... He knows he isn't screaming, yet a high pitched keening noise does leave his mouth, even as his teeth tear into his tongue.

And that is not even taking into account how the muscle spasms are contracting, moving, and flailing around the broken bones of his arm and fingers. Then he is screaming— or is he? Sleipnir cannot tell. He doesn't remember where he is for a moment or two, all he knows is the ceiling, the taste of blood, and rioting contumacious pain. The left eye is no longer seeing what it is supposed to, only black white, and his hearing has twisted, he hears things which are not present something pressing from the other side of time and space and he doesn't remember where he is but the pain, the pain, the pain—

Pain is ~~TemPer~~ is so is DeATh—

He's in the warehouse, and his heart is racing, he is shaking out of his skin, Sleipnir cannot control his muscles, cannot impress himself upon his being in any meaningful way, and an overwhelming dread is washing over him, but his mind will not tell him why, why, why, he only knows something worse than death, death which is tempor-, pain is temporary! It should only be temporary. It has been for years and years and years and years and he likes pain, pain is good pain, push through the pain, push through for Barnabas, he needs to, needs to not feel pain, he cannot feel pain, for if he does his sweet Barnabas will cry, and he can't stand to see his mast er his majes ty that way—

what is happening? He is Sleipnir of house Harbard and he is GRimNir and he is in a warehouse with with with Accelerator and they are not exchanging information Accelerator is a rat is the reason they must purify mankind so man ccan be blessed by God and taaken to the promised land. He he is should be wiped out killed he should be killed should be killed should be killed—

His vision is coming and going. Sleipnir is on the ground and the pain is screaming he is screaming and he is afraid is scared is scared is scared why why Why whY what why—

Not temporary not anymore, pain is all consuming, he is on fire—

Sleipnir is beneath Accelerator's hand and he is scaredangry and is on the floor of a warehouse, and—

[It's a fine line between causing a myoclonic seizure to inflict temporary pain, and causing one that's going to leave permanent damage. The latter is a lot easier for him, because at the end of the day, human or not, most people's bodies are incredibly fragile when you apply enough force. The former is more difficult, since it requires a level of knowledge of tangential bodily systems and the ability to apply control in an incredibly precise manner. Most people don't have either, but those two things are what Accelerator specializes in; they're why he's the #1. He knows the calculations needed for this, can adjust them in real time as Grimnir's body responds, and bring him to the very edge of the cliff without accidentally pushing him off.

He has a lot of scientists to thank for being such a frightening monster.

His brain registers, analyzes and categorizes each one of Grimnir's responses, substituting a slight alteration in the formulas he's using, dropping in imaginary numbers to account for his inhumanness and he can't help but feel a bursting sense of satisfaction. This is a refinement from his previous attempts at interrogation, and he's feeling confident that he'll get the information he needs out of the guy. Then he can take it back to Harold and John, and they'll be one step closer to dealing with the anomaly. All in all, a good mission.

Plus, it isn't often that he gets to let loose like this against someone else. These days he's usually holding back even more than this, going with efficiently knocking enemies out instead of messing around with them. It's fun, it feels like he's using his ability in the kind of creative way it was meant for, and it doesn't occur to him that he should be bothered by this.

Time, however, is ticking down. In this world his choker is only netting him twenty minutes of ability usage, and he doesn't want to run out when he's all the way out here. That, along with a lack of desire to cause permanent injury (Grimnir can't give him information if all of this is permanent) causes Accelerator to adjust his calculations again. He forces the man's nerves to settle down, still keeping him mostly paralyzed but allowing him a reprieve so that they can talk again.]

Well? I don't have all fucking night, y'know.

[He says that, but he'll be patient and wait for Grimnir to get his head straightened out so that he can respond.]

— and where is he? He is Sleipnir the Constant Knight— constant like the constant pain, no constant, constant, constant like how he will always come back, back from death, back from this? Back from Death, death is temporary, pain is is is constant, pain is—

Pain is receding and the jjolting of his limbs is becoming, becoming, less less less so, lessening, is becoming more of a twitch, a twitch of pain, but pain is temp—

Where is he? This ceiling, Sleipnir knows this ceiling, has stared at this ceiling forever, the piping, the rust, the dripping, dripping like the blood which runs down his throat, which spills out of his lips when he pants, when he coughs—

The cough hurts, his throat hurts, why? Why does— oh, he remembers, he was screaming, screaming and keening and he could not control it, could not control—

Where is— Sleipnir is in a warehouse. He is breathing heavily beneath the hand of Accelerator. The taste of iron in his mouth and his hand and arm feel as if they are ablaze. His back is to the cement. He is scared, but he is also angry. Vison in his left eye still hasn't righted itself, all he sees there is white, but his hearing seems sound, if a little tunneled.

Ha. Sound. Hearing. That was good. Sleipnir's chest seems to convulse, but upon closer inspection he is just silently chuckling. His eyes find Accelerator's.]

y.. .re .ast.ng ...r ti.e [he swallows and runs his tongue along his teeth then winces] Do.t .ave all night? [he sucks on his tongue, then spits blood at Accelerator's face] I do, you little fiend.

[When Grimnir's screaming calms down it leaves the warehouse in an eerily quiet state. There's some old pipe dripping a way's away, and the noise echoes throughout the large space, but otherwise there's only the sound of ragged breathing.

It would be nice and peaceful if Accelerator wasn't realizing he hasn't gotten anywhere since they started. His grin is fading, and it drops when Grimnir spits at him. The blood bounces off of his reflection, hitting that invisible barrier a couple centimetres above his skin, and ricocheting back at Grimnir.]

Yeah? So you're happy to waste my time?

[This entire time he's coordinated off a small part of his brain to time how long he has in esper mode, not wanting to have a repeat of Eos' city. He needs to keep a close eye on it, having less than a half hour to work with, and he still needs enough battery power to get out of here. That presents a complication.

He's inflicted a lot of pain on Grimnir, far more than what most people can handle, and he hasn't budged an inch. Doubt is starting to creep into his mind. Is he going to be able to get the information he needs before his battery runs down? What if he keeps going and it runs down to only a couple minutes then he's screwed: he won't have enough time to leave, and he'll be stuck with an injured mark who can do God-knows-what. He doesn't know and he doesn't want to find out.

All of this means he needs a plan going forward. Gaze hardening, Accelerator starts contemplating his options.]

Maybe you're just a fucking lost cause, then.

[The blood Sleipnir spat splatters on himself instead of the brat. Annoying, but he can tell the message landed even if the blood may not have. Accelerator is no longer smiling and this alone does bring immense satisfaction. However...

Happy? Is he happy? Is Sleipnir happy? He wants to growl, but his throat hurts; he wants to laugh, but his lungs ache. Sleipnir loves to lose in combat— finds thrill and excitement in being overrun, over powered in skill and strength— but this? This is not combat. This is no dance of blades and blood. Nor is this running through the air, immense in size, to dodge and weave and bring His Majesty in alignment to make the perfect cut to stay the dragon. This isn't even scrapping in a back alleyway. Sportsmanship isn't needed for enjoyment either, Sleipnir can fight dirty with the best of them, but this? This is something else.

This feels closer to a child pulling wings off an insect, born not from curiosity, but rather malice. Accelerator is no god— what gives him the right to act so damned high and mighty? Already Sleipnir's mind is turning and turning, he is Lord Commander of His Majesty's army, and before that he was his liege's advisor. He may not be able to move now, but he will be able to move again, whether in this life or the next— and he will not be gone so long as to forget what Accelerator has done, is willing to do, might do again. The boy has some sort of shield of pure force around him— it repelled his blood back at him— but the hand on Sleipnir's throat? Oh, he can feel the warmth and grip of the child's palm pressed into him.

Sleipnir will kill Accelerator.

After swallowing more blood which has pooled in his mouth, Sleipnir will crack another smile. It may be clear he is still in pain, muscles still twitching and sending sharp hurts to mingle with the duller, but no less painful, agony. Fear still claws at his bones, but he knows these things to be temporary, temporary dammit. Sleipnir's smile grows wider, showing blood stained teeth; he is pure predator and he would have Accelerator know he made a mistake in targeting Sleipnir like this.]

Are you ha.ing fun ta.king about yourself? You time-wasting lost cause of a child— funny how one can tell when someone wasn't lov.d by their mother.

[Sleipnir may be scared, but he is no less angry and he spits these words at Accelerator.]

[His battery time is running down. It's running down, he hasn't gathered any useful information, and he has a still living target in his grasp. A person who has done nothing but insult and mock him, and by now is starting to piss him off. It isn't the grin that does it, but that comment.

Funny how one can tell when someone wasn't loved by their mother.

It normally wouldn't get to him. Accelerator doesn't make a point of hiding where he came from, that he knows nothing about his parents. That, as a Child Error, they abandoned him to a miserable life. Grimnir is right, his mother didn't love him. He wouldn't be the person he is today if she did. He knows that, and he's known that for years, so why does it bother him right now? Those words dig into his heart, make his jaw clench and his fingers twitch.

Maybe it's because he's been assigned a family here, and it isn't just a bunch of strangers he's stuck with. His guardians are people he likes, one of whom he can reluctantly admit to himself that he cares about. Harold has been more of a parental figure to him than anyone else in Etraya. Maybe that's it? The act of having a parent here, one who says he cares about him, and the contradictory reminder that his own mother didn't? He's only gotten a tiny hint of what having a normal family has been like, but it's enough to show him what he's missed out for his entire life.

He isn't sure if that is it. But it hurts all the same, and that pain pushes him to make a very immature decision.]

You aren't wrong about one of those things.

[He murmurs that softly, leaning over Grimnir. Not releasing his neck, he settles his free hand on the shoulder wound he had inflicted with the coffee can earlier. And he doesn't just touch it, instead taking his index finger and, after adjusting the pain receptors in the area to make sure he'll feel it, jams the digit into the wound. He's touching flesh, muscle, sinew.

And blood.

The blood is what he needs. Calculations that he came up with months and months ago rise of the surface of his mind, and it's easy as hell to enact them. A formula, specially created by himself, to take hold of and alter the flow of a person's blood through its vectors. Accelerator has only done this once before, in an alleyway of Academy City. The Level 6 Shift Experiment, Trial # 10 031. His aim was to kill her, and he had done so in an unimaginably horrible way. The memory of it, and subsequent memories of the clones, that Level 0, they pull at something in him. It's enough to make him hesitate, but then the reiteration that he's doing this for his students, that their lives matter more than this one person's, bubbles up again, and he runs the calculations.

He had left that girl's body in pieces, and he's going to do the same with this man.]

[Sleipnir's lungs claw at the air, each breath hurts as it gets pulled in and out through his bared teeth and scrapes up and down his throat. His throat which is still held in the other's grasp— Sleipnir can feel this too, the fair passing through under the boy's palm. He normally likes this sensation, but he can feel a taint like rot leeching into him, staining this moment. Feels it come from the clammy concrete beneath him— Sleipnir doesn't know if the puddle was there before him, isn't sure if he is leaking out or if the puddle is seeping in— but it's like mold: it's spores disperse throughout his body in the aftershocks of pain. Cling to his muscles, to his bones, maybe even inside them, clawing through the broken bits in his hand and arm...

The look in Accelerator's eyes show Sleipnir his barb has hit its mark. Good. The mad dog deserves it. It is the tone, however, which tips him off to where this may be heading and fear rakes its sharp nails over his spine. Sleipnir has never been afraid of death before, and it isn't really now, but the fear makes him question— if pain is supposed to be temporary and it isn't— what else can Accelerator do? Death is temporary. Will this last beyond death? Will his body move again? Is he forever changed? Will pain conquer him, pain which is temporary, would it conquer him? Could it? Will it?

The static like sensation is back, but this time Sleipnir feels it localize in his shoulder, the one with— yes, the one with the object Accelerator hit him with. Already the hurt is setting in, his muscles contracting around the foreign material within his body causing another wave of blood to push out through the hole it lodged itself into. A hiss escapes Sleipnir as his eyes narrow in and follow the arc of Accelerator's hand, his index finger, what is he going to do with—

An explosion of pain tears through his shoulder and another scream rips through Sleipnir's bloodied lips. Screaming, screaming, these walls will gorge themselves on his voice, he thinks. The concrete, these pipes, that rust, this warehouse— it's all his mind can focus on outside of the agony ripping through him, his body convulsing— and what if his body does that death rattle again? No, no, no, not again—

Temporary, temporary, temporary— Barnabas, say it is temporary, please, please, Your Majesty, please release me, let it be done, Barnabas, please end me Barnabas please I—

[There's a visceral, bursting noise, the fracturing of bones, and then silence. Only the dripping of some leaky pipe somewhere in the warehouse.

Accelerator remains kneeling there, his hand around a bit of skin and his finger stuck into shredded muscle. What he's sitting in front of is now little more than a mass of flesh and crushed bone, blood and remains splattered all over the floor, old machinery. Some even reached the walls. Accelerator, however, is untouched, completely pristine. His reflection is still up, so everything that could have hit him ricocheted off of it.

He stares down hard at what used to be Grimnir. He had gotten no information whatsoever. There is a part of him that feels good at having crushed flesh again, a part of himself that he's tried hard to shut away in order to be a better person. It's welling up now and he doesn't try to stop it. Ultimately, this was a waste of his time, so he may as well enjoy the feeling while it lasts (and it won't, it never does).

Climbing to his feet, he walks away, waiting until the floor is clean before switching his choker back to normal mode and re-extending his crutch. He leaves the warehouse.

... And when he sees Grimnir out on the street the next day, well. He books it out of there because what the fuck, what happened to the 48 hour rule?]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It takes some interdiction to divide and conquer

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cw: old timey ablism-- not really mean, just ignorant thoughts

cw violence starts here!

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