Royce was falling. Quickly. Although he considered himself to be relatively
logical, and knew he would hit the ground in only a few seconds, the fall
took forever. Through the narrow slits that had become his eyes, the
looming image of the twelfth ghost above him continually got smaller and
smaller, as if it was he who was being sucked up and through the air, and
Royce was stationary.
Before he felt the impact of the fall, he heard it. The noise was like a crack of thunder directly in his ears and in its wake, a wave of pain shot through the Prince. A solitary hiss of agony passed through his shapely lips before his vision dimmed and he found himself wondering if ghosts could die, and IF they could, did they turn mortal again.
The Juggernaut snorted down at Royce from the second story railing and faded from view; he was done with the Torn Prince. Their paths would never cross again. When the pain had subsided enough for Royce to regain some of his composure, he lifted a hand to his face and felt for any new abrasions. There were none, only the familiar sting of his burns were there, along with a couple bruises to mark his pristine left side. He sat up with a groan and clutched his torso with both arms. Everything hurt, inside and out, mental and physical. Royce couldn't decide what hurt worse however, his ego, or body. So far, ego was winning.
After searching through the twisted metal and broken glass, he came upon his weapon of choice which had been the first thing the Juggernaut tossed over the railing and into the destroyed basement. Royce thought about the irony and the impending foreshadowing this painted for him grudgingly, before he shouldered the worn bat and made his way slowly out and away from the house. Well..what was left of it anyway. He needed to be away from that place before he could properly place his thoughts in order, and heal after being practically owned by the twelfth ghosts. Scratch that, Breaker had made Royce his bitch. He felt pathetic.
When he thought that he had stumbled a good distance away from the old Kriticose mansion, the Prince stopped to mend whatever he could of his sore body, leaning heavily on his bat. To think, all this pain was caused by a single comment. Royce considered the irony of that as well; bearing in mind he barely ever spoke a word to any of the imprisoned ghosts during all the time they were held captive. The one time he had to go and be a wise guy was the one time Breaker was in the most foul of moods. "And what the hell for?" Royce wondered bitterly. They were finally free. Cyrus was dead. Dennis was dead. Kalina was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. If anything, the lot of them should have been celebrating and giving one another girlish high fives, but apparently, freedom from eternal slavery wasn't good enough to lift the Juggernauts spirits.
Pausing in his thoughts, Royce placed his palm against his chest to feel for his dead beat. It was there, rapid and strong, just as it had been the night he died, as some things never change. Even through his earlier ordeal his death pulse remained the same. As the ringing in his ears finally eased to a dull roar, Royce sat down heavily and began to organize his scattered thoughts.
~*~ It had all begun after Cyrus was tossed like the garbage he was through the spinning gears of his precious machine; the warmth of his blood splattering on the ghosts' cold faces and bodies was almost comforting. A way to guarantee that he would never rise to torture them again. Royce briefly considered going after Arthur or his children, but was interrupted by the mansion exploding in a fury of glass and sparks. Something he didn't plan on. When he opened his eyes, and brought himself out of the spiritual world, the house was in shambles and the ghosts were standing around daftly as if they were reluctant to leave the grounds, the only thing they've known for innumerable months.
Blindly they wandered the skeletal remains of the house, finally returning to the second floor, as if wanting to stay as far away from that dreadful basement but not to leave entirely. Royce watched with muted interest as Dana almost floated from room to room. Her grace and beauty never faulting, even against her backdrop of carved flesh and smeary make-up. She was something, and every male there - save for maybe Billy, or Harold - knew it.
But Dana had little to nothing to do with Royce's situation, and he scolded himself for letting his mind wander to such matters, although he indulged himself once more for a few moments. He had been dead for a long time, and Dana was nothing like the girls he was used to. Or remembered. Or imagined.
~*~ A sharp pain through his body brought the Prince out of his little reminiscence and to the present.
"Right, the balcony."
~*~
One by one, the ghosts had dissolved and moved on with their afterlives, most likely to pick up where they had left off before their respective captures. Royce had bumped into the seven foot Juggernaut as he prepared to leave the grounds, earning himself a stern look and a grunt from Breaker.
"Watch it punk. I used to break people like you without a second thought." The giant grumbled.
Royce tossed a look back, shouldered his bat cockily and raised an eyebrow. "No way Boss," he began evenly, but with an appropriate hint of sarcasm. "a man like you doesn't need a second thought. After what it must take to get the first thought out..geez. It's a wonder you don't strain yourself."
~*~
Royce closed his eyes tightly and clutched his midsection once more, as if that simple act would erase everything, and the memory would fade away. He cursed himself again for being such an idiot. What as he thinking, anyway? Was he even thinking at all?
~*~
In the split second it had taken Royce to turn his back on the Juggernaut, the massive spirit was upon him. He felt himself being spun around violently and grabbed by the collar. The prince raised his bat defensively in preparation to swing it with the force the came naturally to him, but with one free hand, Breaker had wrenched it free of Royce's seemingly small hands and tossed it haphazardly over the side of the second story balcony. Because all the walls had been blown out, it fell freely through the first floor and into the basement, where it landed in some indeterminable location far from the Torn Princes' grasp.
Although he fought and struggled against the intimidating form that had grabbed hold of him like a rabid pit-bull, Royce was no match for the older ghost. He was shaken fiercely and tripped onto the floor. Before Royce could even register that he had fallen, Breaker had gripped him by the collar once more and he was brutally driven onto the steel support structure on which all twelve ghosts had been standing not moments before. Now, there were two. Royce attempted to keep track of how many times he was lifted into a sitting position before crushed back into the cold steel, but he lost it after the first couple blows.
Between his sharp cries of pain, Royce could hear the Juggernaut yelling at him, calling him things he couldn't even remember, let alone repeat. The pain was terrible, and he knew that the stinging in his eyes was from blood. His. Royce felt sick.
And weightless
Breaker had the satisfaction of pining the Prince to the floor, but he wanted more, he wanted to teach Royce not to talk down to him. He was the Juggernaut, after all, the ghost of one of the most successful serial killers in history. There was no way he was going to let some punk kid treat him like he wasn't anything but dirt. He was so much more.
Lifting Royce to eye level, he crashed his considerably miniature frame into the steel and metal support structures that surrounded the second floor and remained in tact. They dented and groaned under the pressure of the blow each time Royce was rammed into one of them, the weight and the strength of the Juggernaut behind each strike.
Royce had given up on screaming. He figured it wasted too much energy - energy he would need later to heal himself, or, if the opportunity arose, to break free of this monster and disappear. He wished that he was alive so that he could have died already and rid himself of the torment. Again, he had lost count of how many times he had been pounded into the metal frame of the house but could feel the strength leaving Breaker. His hold on Royce's bloody jacket was loosening and the blows became less and less powerful.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity of punishment for one single phrase, Royce felt himself being lifted. His vision had blurred so horrendously at that point that he didn't see anything other than the ground that sky. He knew that he was above the Juggernauts head and was over the railing. His spine felt as though it was cracking in more than one place, his burns stung from being slashed at by the rough support structures and chipped glass, and his head felt like it was splitting open.
Breaker drove his fingers painfully into Royce's shoulder blades. Unnecessarily painful, and Royce knew why. Submitting to everything that was happening around him. Royce gave Breaker the scream of anguish he had been waiting for before the lumbering giant took a step forward and, like he did his weapon, disposed of Royce over the flimsy balcony railing, and into the dark basement.
~*~
The stinging had decreased after the memory had passed, as well as the throbbing in his head, and Royce found himself almost feeling better. In a sick way he was happy for the beating, for the recovery from that made his everyday pain and suffering seem like a walk in the park. He almost felt relaxed. Almost.
The Torn Prince opened his eyes slowly, as though he was seeing moonlight for the very first time. In a way he supposed it was, he had been locked in a basement for god-only-knows how long. Long enough to make him feel like some damsel locked away in some fairy tale. His sister liked fairy tales - that much he remembered.
Taking one last cautious look around, Royce used the last bit of his strength to summon his car from the basement and restore it to its former glory. He had a stretch of highway to haunt, and it had been neglected for a very long time.
DISCLAIMER::I DON'T OWN THIR13EN GHOSTS, OR ANYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH THE MOVIE, CHARACTERS, OR PRODUCTION STAFF.
~LoKi
Before he felt the impact of the fall, he heard it. The noise was like a crack of thunder directly in his ears and in its wake, a wave of pain shot through the Prince. A solitary hiss of agony passed through his shapely lips before his vision dimmed and he found himself wondering if ghosts could die, and IF they could, did they turn mortal again.
The Juggernaut snorted down at Royce from the second story railing and faded from view; he was done with the Torn Prince. Their paths would never cross again. When the pain had subsided enough for Royce to regain some of his composure, he lifted a hand to his face and felt for any new abrasions. There were none, only the familiar sting of his burns were there, along with a couple bruises to mark his pristine left side. He sat up with a groan and clutched his torso with both arms. Everything hurt, inside and out, mental and physical. Royce couldn't decide what hurt worse however, his ego, or body. So far, ego was winning.
After searching through the twisted metal and broken glass, he came upon his weapon of choice which had been the first thing the Juggernaut tossed over the railing and into the destroyed basement. Royce thought about the irony and the impending foreshadowing this painted for him grudgingly, before he shouldered the worn bat and made his way slowly out and away from the house. Well..what was left of it anyway. He needed to be away from that place before he could properly place his thoughts in order, and heal after being practically owned by the twelfth ghosts. Scratch that, Breaker had made Royce his bitch. He felt pathetic.
When he thought that he had stumbled a good distance away from the old Kriticose mansion, the Prince stopped to mend whatever he could of his sore body, leaning heavily on his bat. To think, all this pain was caused by a single comment. Royce considered the irony of that as well; bearing in mind he barely ever spoke a word to any of the imprisoned ghosts during all the time they were held captive. The one time he had to go and be a wise guy was the one time Breaker was in the most foul of moods. "And what the hell for?" Royce wondered bitterly. They were finally free. Cyrus was dead. Dennis was dead. Kalina was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. If anything, the lot of them should have been celebrating and giving one another girlish high fives, but apparently, freedom from eternal slavery wasn't good enough to lift the Juggernauts spirits.
Pausing in his thoughts, Royce placed his palm against his chest to feel for his dead beat. It was there, rapid and strong, just as it had been the night he died, as some things never change. Even through his earlier ordeal his death pulse remained the same. As the ringing in his ears finally eased to a dull roar, Royce sat down heavily and began to organize his scattered thoughts.
~*~ It had all begun after Cyrus was tossed like the garbage he was through the spinning gears of his precious machine; the warmth of his blood splattering on the ghosts' cold faces and bodies was almost comforting. A way to guarantee that he would never rise to torture them again. Royce briefly considered going after Arthur or his children, but was interrupted by the mansion exploding in a fury of glass and sparks. Something he didn't plan on. When he opened his eyes, and brought himself out of the spiritual world, the house was in shambles and the ghosts were standing around daftly as if they were reluctant to leave the grounds, the only thing they've known for innumerable months.
Blindly they wandered the skeletal remains of the house, finally returning to the second floor, as if wanting to stay as far away from that dreadful basement but not to leave entirely. Royce watched with muted interest as Dana almost floated from room to room. Her grace and beauty never faulting, even against her backdrop of carved flesh and smeary make-up. She was something, and every male there - save for maybe Billy, or Harold - knew it.
But Dana had little to nothing to do with Royce's situation, and he scolded himself for letting his mind wander to such matters, although he indulged himself once more for a few moments. He had been dead for a long time, and Dana was nothing like the girls he was used to. Or remembered. Or imagined.
~*~ A sharp pain through his body brought the Prince out of his little reminiscence and to the present.
"Right, the balcony."
~*~
One by one, the ghosts had dissolved and moved on with their afterlives, most likely to pick up where they had left off before their respective captures. Royce had bumped into the seven foot Juggernaut as he prepared to leave the grounds, earning himself a stern look and a grunt from Breaker.
"Watch it punk. I used to break people like you without a second thought." The giant grumbled.
Royce tossed a look back, shouldered his bat cockily and raised an eyebrow. "No way Boss," he began evenly, but with an appropriate hint of sarcasm. "a man like you doesn't need a second thought. After what it must take to get the first thought out..geez. It's a wonder you don't strain yourself."
~*~
Royce closed his eyes tightly and clutched his midsection once more, as if that simple act would erase everything, and the memory would fade away. He cursed himself again for being such an idiot. What as he thinking, anyway? Was he even thinking at all?
~*~
In the split second it had taken Royce to turn his back on the Juggernaut, the massive spirit was upon him. He felt himself being spun around violently and grabbed by the collar. The prince raised his bat defensively in preparation to swing it with the force the came naturally to him, but with one free hand, Breaker had wrenched it free of Royce's seemingly small hands and tossed it haphazardly over the side of the second story balcony. Because all the walls had been blown out, it fell freely through the first floor and into the basement, where it landed in some indeterminable location far from the Torn Princes' grasp.
Although he fought and struggled against the intimidating form that had grabbed hold of him like a rabid pit-bull, Royce was no match for the older ghost. He was shaken fiercely and tripped onto the floor. Before Royce could even register that he had fallen, Breaker had gripped him by the collar once more and he was brutally driven onto the steel support structure on which all twelve ghosts had been standing not moments before. Now, there were two. Royce attempted to keep track of how many times he was lifted into a sitting position before crushed back into the cold steel, but he lost it after the first couple blows.
Between his sharp cries of pain, Royce could hear the Juggernaut yelling at him, calling him things he couldn't even remember, let alone repeat. The pain was terrible, and he knew that the stinging in his eyes was from blood. His. Royce felt sick.
And weightless
Breaker had the satisfaction of pining the Prince to the floor, but he wanted more, he wanted to teach Royce not to talk down to him. He was the Juggernaut, after all, the ghost of one of the most successful serial killers in history. There was no way he was going to let some punk kid treat him like he wasn't anything but dirt. He was so much more.
Lifting Royce to eye level, he crashed his considerably miniature frame into the steel and metal support structures that surrounded the second floor and remained in tact. They dented and groaned under the pressure of the blow each time Royce was rammed into one of them, the weight and the strength of the Juggernaut behind each strike.
Royce had given up on screaming. He figured it wasted too much energy - energy he would need later to heal himself, or, if the opportunity arose, to break free of this monster and disappear. He wished that he was alive so that he could have died already and rid himself of the torment. Again, he had lost count of how many times he had been pounded into the metal frame of the house but could feel the strength leaving Breaker. His hold on Royce's bloody jacket was loosening and the blows became less and less powerful.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity of punishment for one single phrase, Royce felt himself being lifted. His vision had blurred so horrendously at that point that he didn't see anything other than the ground that sky. He knew that he was above the Juggernauts head and was over the railing. His spine felt as though it was cracking in more than one place, his burns stung from being slashed at by the rough support structures and chipped glass, and his head felt like it was splitting open.
Breaker drove his fingers painfully into Royce's shoulder blades. Unnecessarily painful, and Royce knew why. Submitting to everything that was happening around him. Royce gave Breaker the scream of anguish he had been waiting for before the lumbering giant took a step forward and, like he did his weapon, disposed of Royce over the flimsy balcony railing, and into the dark basement.
~*~
The stinging had decreased after the memory had passed, as well as the throbbing in his head, and Royce found himself almost feeling better. In a sick way he was happy for the beating, for the recovery from that made his everyday pain and suffering seem like a walk in the park. He almost felt relaxed. Almost.
The Torn Prince opened his eyes slowly, as though he was seeing moonlight for the very first time. In a way he supposed it was, he had been locked in a basement for god-only-knows how long. Long enough to make him feel like some damsel locked away in some fairy tale. His sister liked fairy tales - that much he remembered.
Taking one last cautious look around, Royce used the last bit of his strength to summon his car from the basement and restore it to its former glory. He had a stretch of highway to haunt, and it had been neglected for a very long time.
DISCLAIMER::I DON'T OWN THIR13EN GHOSTS, OR ANYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH THE MOVIE, CHARACTERS, OR PRODUCTION STAFF.
~LoKi