Chapter 63 The Boy in his Tomb (1/2)

The answer to Aegin's burning question? Well, only someone with Life Lines could truly answer. You see, after the Doctor had grown bored with digging out bigger and bigger chunks of flesh and watching it heal, even lopping off an arm to watch it reattach as if it had never left, he decided to investigate something even more unique to his little test subject.

His black Life Lines. Did they heal as well as the rest of his flesh? Only one way to find out.

As anyone with Life Lines will tell you, even the act of someone seeing their Life Lines can unnerve the strongest of individuals. As the very essence of an individual's soul and connection to that other Mist-filled plane, touching it was considered taboo to anyone but a trusted companion or life partner. Rassa had neither.

So when Zaroth had approached his Life Lines with a scalpel, Rassa had drawn on a strength he didn't know he could. He'd fought viciously despite the chains that held him down, injuring the guards with his extended claws. Zaroth had not gotten his hands on the sample that day. And Rassa counted that as a small victory. Up until he realised it meant no more blood. Not until he consented.

Rassa would never yield when it came to his Life Lines, no sane person would.

Rather than a victory, it turned into a stale mate. Broken only when Rassa fell into the sub-death Victor had once spoken of.

Zaroth had panicked, and Rassa had drunk more than was necessary just to make sure he'd last longer this time. Why he thought that would matter he was unsure. But it did.

Still, Rassa had refused to cooperate, and his food was withheld once more. Rassa got hungrier and hungrier, and Victor's lessons grew too tiresome for the both of them in their weakened state.

Still, Victor agreed with Rassa on this front. Life Lines were not to be messed with. Scarring them would scar the soul with it, and that could have catastrophic consequences.

Pity the Doctor didn't feel the same way. He got his sample on the day Rassa slipped into the sub-death once more and was unable to do anything but take a burning, gasping breath every few minutes. The pain had been immense. So much worse than anything Rassa had experienced so far. Mostly because he didn't just feel it on his skin, he felt it in his soul. And the pain didn't stop, it continued.

It just kept going, unable to heal or even perceive the world outside the tomb his body had become in every sense of the word. And now, just to add to it all, there was a part of himself that seemed to be missing along with that section of his Life Lines. Rassa could feel the emptiness around it, but couldn't seem to recall what used to be there. Victor could not help him. He had long retreated in order to ensure Rassa's strength for longer. Not that it mattered now. He'd made it clear though. Rassa couldn't die from this. It was in eternal starvation. Rassa couldn't think how it was anything more than torture.

In Victor's last lesson before he retreated into the depths of Rassa's soul, he'd shown Rassa what such a state was used for originally.