Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

6

A/N: This chapter contains torture! It starts and ends between the ❌❌❌ if you are particularly squeamish.

❌❌❌

The energy had changed in his cell, Bad noticed.

It was tense and uncomfortable, and the piglin guard he had made conversation with refused to look his way.

He shifts upright, getting more comfortable, and leans as far as he can towards the door, peering towards the hall.
Something in him freezes like a scared rabbit, and he leans back, swallowing heavily.

He should've known it was too good, too easy, for it to last.
He doesn't want to acknowledge what he saw, or what it would mean for him, but soon he's being wrenched from his position, wrists freed only to be chained again, led away.

His eyes are closed tightly, and the guard watches sadly, unable to even get in a reassuring word like 'I'll be here when you're back.'
Bad struggles when he feels himself being pushed down to a table, he fights back, trying to break free, in any way he can.
It only earns him a slap as he's bound down.

"You have skills," the brute's voice rumbles, and he shrinks, "I will ask once. Will you serve us willingly? We will resort to force if we need to."
Bad shakes his head, opening one eye fearfully,

"No! I won't help you after what you did to my home!" He says defiantly, voice trembling. He was scared.
I wish my voice wasn't shaking! I wish I could be scary and powerful so he might let me go!

He realizes how little it mattered in a moment- his realization is accompanied by a scream and pain, somewhere, somehow-

I'm screaming?

The pain dulls, and he looks around with wide, panicked eyes, trying to find the source, to prepare, for something- anything-

Then he's gone again, and he swears he can smell something burning distantly, something is burning for sure.
There's a faint sizzling, and he's breathing heavily. He's heaving in the bitter air, the air that burns his mouth, but it's better than not breathing. His waist, his hip, it's burning-

He sees the brute move this time, sees the glowing red metal, but he can't prepare enough to stop the scream of agony that tears free of his throat when it presses to his skin.
He's babbling by the eighth, begging,

"Please please please no more, no more, I don't- please- no more-"
His begging doesn't seem to sway the brute, but the way he comes close to actually passing out by the tenth does.

He's only vaguely aware of being dragged back, his shirt gone to expose the burns now speckling his side.
His breaths are shallow, and his thoughts are so distant, like he's treating a patient.
Aloe, cold cloth, we need to salve the pain before it gets too much-

❌❌❌

And when his side brushes the bricks, George is the one who screams.

* * *

George jerks awake in bed, the girly, high pitched scream that had just left his mouth ringing in his ears. He glances around the room, confused, uncertain how he got here.
He's confused why he can't stand for a second, until he registers his environment fully by means of the person who has his arms around his waist sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Notfound? Are you okay?" His voice brings it back, brings him back. George nods.

"Uh- mhm, I'm okay Dream. I think. Not a great dream though. Think the pain is what made me scream like that."
He's awkward, and Dream sits up,