[ They come when Steve's sleeping. When he opens his eyes he suddenly doesn't know where he is, blanketed in fog as the acolytes stand over him. He also tries to fight, of course, because that's something that's been baked into him from even before the serum — it doesn't matter if his strength has faded, or if he hasn't had a proper meal in a week now.
Just like when he was taken, though, his struggling means nothing. They're able to subdue him and wrap the thorny restraints around him, binding his wrists from behind. After that he's spurred forward, down a tunnel he's certainly never seen after a week of searching, and into what looks like some sort of horrific ritual chamber. The metallic taste of blood floods his senses, invading his nostrils and his throat like he's entered a butchery.
How many have been sacrificed here?
Worse than that, he's not alone. Sylvain's already here, restrained to the floor by the same vines that have wound themselves around Steve's wrists and arms.
The acolytes force him to his knees right next to Sylvain, and as soon as he's in place the vines start to grow down past his thighs and sink into the floor. He pulls hard against them, but all that does is make the thorns dig in deeper, drawing fresh blood.
He stares up at one of the acolytes, eyes burning with carefully contained anger. ]
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Just like when he was taken, though, his struggling means nothing. They're able to subdue him and wrap the thorny restraints around him, binding his wrists from behind. After that he's spurred forward, down a tunnel he's certainly never seen after a week of searching, and into what looks like some sort of horrific ritual chamber. The metallic taste of blood floods his senses, invading his nostrils and his throat like he's entered a butchery.
How many have been sacrificed here?
Worse than that, he's not alone. Sylvain's already here, restrained to the floor by the same vines that have wound themselves around Steve's wrists and arms.
The acolytes force him to his knees right next to Sylvain, and as soon as he's in place the vines start to grow down past his thighs and sink into the floor. He pulls hard against them, but all that does is make the thorns dig in deeper, drawing fresh blood.
He stares up at one of the acolytes, eyes burning with carefully contained anger. ]
What is this? What do you want?