Grimholt awoke to a cacophonous torrent of noise. His body jerked awake in sharp alarm, and he was dismayed to discover his limbs were restrained.
He ached all over and pain throbbed behind his eyes that struggled to open and focus.
He could not understand the horrible rushing noise that now threatened to deafen him. It was coming from everywhere. The rasping wails of some great machine in terrible agony thrumming through the darkness.
Just as suddenly the sound stopped. The pain ceased, only to be replaced by a new, terrible sensation. A force, like being struck by a bolt of lightning, coursed through his body. He cried out in pain, clenching his teeth as millions of needles of shocking pain pricked his body from within.
He could see the bindings around his wrists and ankles now that chained him against a stiff board: inky black tendrils, like smoke. The ghostly web bore down on Grimholt with magical strength, crushing his arms and making his bones ache. He could feel one just above his throat, waiting.
His beautiful patchwork clothes had been destroyed, his sleeves and pants torn away to expose the marred flesh beneath. Every part of him hurt, a deep agonizing hurt unlike anything he had experienced. Though he had a lifetime of painful experiences behind him, this pain was unbearable and threatened to tear him apart.
He gasped short, choking breaths when the sensation subsided. Left in its place was a terrible, aching soreness all over. As he recovered, he heard strange footsteps. An icy finger of terror creep up his spine. It had been a long time since he had been this scared, and the first time he had ever been stupid enough to be so vulnerable.
His exhausted heart still found energy to beat anew with panic as the shadows cast by the flickering torch grew longer and longer, and a figure emerged.
"Whatareyoudoingtome?" Grimholt tried to ask, but he only managed to croak out a dry and quiet, "what...?"
The darkness materialized into the Sheriff, his gas eyes blazing brighter than ever before. In fact, everything about the Sheriff seemed more. Even in the dimness of this unknown place, the metal enforcer had a new gleam about him.
He also made a new, terrible, noise as he drew closer. It was a low, undulating, clunking sound. Terror bloomed in Grimholt's chest anew.
"Nicobar shall be pleased to learn that we have finally discovered a way to keep your worthless, jabbering mouth shut," rumbled the Sheriff after he had cycled through another awful sound. Grimholt managed the most vicious, hateful glare he could, but his breaths still came in short and anxious.
"Why..?" He croaked.
"Why?" The Sheriff almost sounded affronted. "Why do you and your wretched gang of miscreants continue your asinine pursuits? Why do you insist upon ruining the Prince's rightful reign? To mock him, belittle him, to steal what is his? Why? Because you do not know when you should give up."
The metal man reached down to the inky wisps, ungraspable to human hands. He slipped a claw under the strand, then plunked upward so that it snapped painfully down and bit into Grimholt's skin. Blood prickled to the surface in round, ruby droplets.
"My Creator has been incredibly patient with you, Grimholt. Or perhaps I should call you by your real name, Sylven? To my understanding, you have a bit of a history with the royal family. I was brought into being by The Prince after the death of the royal gardener, but I understand his work was subpar. No great loss."
"Go... to hell..." Each word was a struggle to produce.
"There is no need for such theatrics here, they have no audience with me. No audience to be fooled, no naive princess to be tricked, and no one who cares about the hero. Pity to waste all your talents upon evil deeds and wicked ways. Your greatest accomplishment is poking bears far too big for you with a stick far too small. Do not be surprised that the bear has bitten back."
The Sheriff administer another, harder snap of the tendril that sliced a neat line into Grimholt. He could feel more than see the warm liquid that began to trickle down his arm, and pool under it.
"You know not the countless nights of sleep you have stolen from the Prince," he continued. Grimholt was growing wearier by the minute, in equal measure from the blood loss as the Sheriff's newfound love of monologue. "So many more precious things you have stolen from My Creator, and yet still he shows you clemency. Far be it for someone of your caliber to understand the delicate machinations of the court, but you have been near single handedly jeopardizing years of work and negotiation. Now, with the King's imminent return there is only so much time to-"
"The... King?" Asked Grimholt weakly. Though the Sheriff had never been capable of expressing emotion, did not seem to posses any beyond efficiency, Grimholt swore he could see a shadow of concern pass over his captor.
"I misspoke. I meant, the King's inevitablereturn when he wins the war someday. Regardless, Prince Nicobar has had enough of your thieving ways, and enough of your band of merry mayhem makers. Now it is your turn to be stolen from."
"The letter," the outlaw pressed. Puzzle pieces were being carefully put together, but he had to concentrate deeply to keep them from slipping away behind the pain. "From... Finbar..."
"Is none of your concern." The Sheriff snapped the tendril more viciously this time, and Grimholt made another bark of pain. "I suppose I cannot fault you poor manners, being a bandit, but it is quite rude to interrupt. Where was I? Oh, yes."
He took hold of the switch and threw it down. The rushing noise began again. Grimholt's exhausted body was once again seized with agony, like his soul was being ripped from him. All of the inky tendrils snapped to attention, creating sharp lines directly to the Sheriff. Small beads, like drops of oil, ran along them and away from Grimholt.
"I am going to take every last thing that makes you you. The great secret to magic is that it is just an element of nature. A force, if you will. Able to work on, through, in, or with all other forces. That includes life force. You see, I posses no life force as a constructed being. I am, however, made of pure magical energy enchanted to posses this metal frame; you, oh Sylven, you are rich with life force. Since you refuse to leave the Kingdom, refuse to desist from your wicked ways, and refuse to give up when you know what is good for you, your choice has been made for you." The Sheriff made that horrible, rising and falling noise again. Grimholt's body was growing weaker and weaker, the pain so insurmountable he was certain he would die.
He realized, with deep dread, that the sound the Sheriff was making was laughter. He was laughing.
"Give me three, and I have one!" A new, familiar voice bellowed.
The Sheriff's head snapped in every direction to pinpoint the source through Grimholt's anguished cries. After the voice came the sound of a huge crash, followed by a flare of bright, blinding light and shower of faltering magic residue. The rushing noise stuttered, the pain now being delivered in bursts instead of a steady onslaught.
"Give me two, and I have one!"
Now the Sheriff wasn't laughing. There was another crash and some of the outlaw's restraints grew slack, the oily drops vanishing.
"Give me one? Then I have none!"
A great, final crash came and all of the tendrils holding the bandit withered away, vanishing like a bad dream. The Phantom rounded the corner, her sword at the ready.
"What am I?"
"Wait. I'm confused," said Echo, popping up behind her. Then another, and another. "Yeah, what are you supposed to be?"
"A choice!" Varena set her jaw, and hurtled herself at the Sheriff. She ducked out of the way of his blows, but he seemed more unsteady than usual. Varena used this to her advantage.
Meanwhile the Echos rushed to their leader, who was too weak to do little more than smile at his friend. The real Echo ripped his tunic and wrapped the rough fabric around Grimholt's tortured arm, quickly staining red.
"I don't know why she insists on the riddles. I keep telling her that banter is not a requirement, but she says that every bandit needs 'a smart mouth.'"
"How...? How-"
"Don't talk, Boss, you're pretty banged up. Are you asking how we found you?"
Grimholt nodded. A part of him could not fathom that the pain was over, and seeing a friendly face after so much darkness was almost too much to bare. His once strong sword hand was now able to only just barely grip the other man's arm.
"Pirates came to camp, Redmarrow's crew. They said they saw you being kidnapped by the Sheriff. Everyone was freaking out, Varena had an idea about where you might be. Pays to have an inside expert. We even have a secret way out."
Grimholt's head was swimming as Echo helped him sit up. Crimson had already soaked through the makeshift bandage on his arm. He could just make out two sparring figures as Echo dragged him away.
"Ph-phantom..?"
"You don't know when to stay quiet! Don't worry about Rena. She's been itching for a chance to see the Sheriff again after he stripped her of her rank. This is where she got hauled off to after the contest, you know. It's a sealed off part of the dungeon that Nicobar uses for his 'enchantments.'"
Grimholt appreciated Echo's ability to fill any situation with levity, but his chatter combined with everything else was making black spots appear in his vision. He almost wished Hurricane was here, with his moody and stoic attitude. Or Gristle, who could easily carry him and save his muscles that screamed with effort.
The Sheriff was struggling to keep up with the unrelenting Phantom. His slashes came too late, the ink shadows that danced around him unwilling to cooperate. She ducked and dodged, and jabbed her thin sword into his joints and connection points. Magic fire burned around them as the acrid smoke curled against the stone roof.
The Echos slumped Grimholt against the wall and began to frantically shove aside barrels and boxes piled against the wall. Working in a line, they slowly revealed a narrow door and yanked it open triumphantly. The door opened to a tunnel. At the end there was daylight so brilliant it was almost blinding.
"Varena!" Reynard called, dragging the stumbling Grimholt through the door. "Time to go!"
"Right!" The Phantom reared back and gripped the sparking machine behind her as leverage. With both feet she delivered a final, devastating kick to his metal chest that knocked him to the ground with a resounding CLANG!
She kicked him once more, for good measure, before sprinting away. As she ran she jammed her hands into her coat pocket, withdrew, then made a flicking motion with her wrists behind her. Sweet citrus scent filled the room, and when the orange smoke cleared there was a small army of Phantoms between her and the Sheriff.
"Great job, Varena!" Said Reynard, as she dashed into secret door and slammed her shoulder against it to shut it. "Your first real bandit mission, and breaking into the castle no less."
"Thanks, Rey. I wish I knew how to do anything with your spell other than just let them stand there. At least they shall buy us time."
"That's alright. You just need more practice. Then you'll be better than me, I bet."
She finished securing the door, swooped her wild fly away hair back, and quickly made to pass them to the outer door.
"You flatter me too much." She paused, stopping to press a kiss into Echo's cheek and making him turn cherry red. "I shall make ready the horses. Good to have you back, Captain."
"Thank... you..." Grimholt said weakly. He had made the right decision with her. She saluted, then hurried again down the dimly lit corridor into the waiting daylight. Daylight?
"How long... was..?"
"Boss, seriously, stop talking. You look like you might pass out. You've been missing for two days. It took us a while to get everything together to come get you." Then Echo looked suddenly quite anxious. "We're not out of hot water yet, though. The royal wedding is tomorrow, but don'tworry; we've got a plan!"
Upon hearing those words, Grimholt didlose consciousness.