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Violently her form would shudder with the strain as she gripped the window frame, using what little consciousness she had left to hoist heavy form up onto the ledge, her hands smearing blood in their wake along the pristine white window frames as her jutsu faded leaving her vulnerable to the descent towards the ground should she have lost her grip. Her form would lean forwards, her head hung enough for her snow-white strands to hang away from her face, a cold sweat thick enough to grip not only from the tip of her nose but from her chin and hair. Against her form would shudder and with her laboured inhale she would sway yet this time she would fall forwards upon her exhale, her consciousness slipping like a breath from her. Her form would collide with the floor of her hospital room splaying her there, leaving blood smeared along the window frame and the curtain from her messy entrance to the room.  as she lay there her breathing heaved as she attempted to cling to consciousness yet unable to move. Though more blood would seep from her left hand, pooling upon the ground, her complexion ghostly with what little colour it held having been drained away. Yet warmth enveloped her as the early morning sun broke through the blanket of darkness provided by the night. Her eyes would close, slipping into a dangerous sleep.

With her arms outstretched, anchored in place not only by the embedded bindings but the chakra strings then ensured her movement was to a minimum and that her body sat and adjusted to where they chose without having to physically touch her themselves. The cold blood encrusted concrete slab in which her arm had been laid out upon easily sent the sensation of striking ice like pins and needles right along her arm to the wounds of her ribs on the left side. Hypersensitive had become apparent when so much torture had been given in such a short period of time, switching from one method to another until reaching the final straw, theirs not her's it would seem. A cold sweat coating along her form. “Tell us. Or we’ll take your finger this time.” the threat that had given a few times before now, yet this time there was a desperate conviction lacing the voice. And still the same dead stare would move from her hand and arm to the owner of the voice, a man who’s skin glew with the warmth of the sun, the colour of milk chocolate and the subtle scent to match, his eyes a subtle pale brown though he held conviction for his words, his voice still shook. Her gaze empty of all emotion as she regardless him with indifference watching him give the order as he realized she would yield nothing or nor to him, his head would turn to the larger male beside her before nodding and with such order the male himself would turn away from the sight and she would notice how tight his eyes had shut as though he might be able to block out not only the sight but the sound without physically cupping his hands over his ears. Her gaze would return to her left hand. A twang of the chakra strings would draw her index middle and ring finger out of the way for the most part, at a sharp enough angle to break the ring finger, the action itself sending an involuntary shudder through her form, choking back a small sound that threatened to leave her throat, the sound filling the air, left to go stagnant in her ears before the rise of a carving knife. Gods she had wished that it was sharper when her gaze was drawn to the blade itself, able to see in that moment that had seemed to last a lifetime just how blunt it seemed to be before falling to her had to watch …  

Her orbs would flicker a few times as her from rose from the ground, held tightly in a rough grip and for a moment only darkness held her vision and a streak of instinctual fear would hand her lash out in an attempt to struggle free of the hold. Yet her form would seem weightless for but a moment as the hold upon her was relinquished, yet the connection with a soft landing would confuse her as her blurred vision rest upon a familiar image before going dark once more as consciousness escaped her once again.

The doctor, her doctor had found her sprawled out before the window, her blood pooled tick enough to cause immediate worry. Having hoisted her into his arms, keeping a tight grip and bracing himself for any pain or images she could have sent as she had unwillingly done so, so many times before. Rushing he would carefully place her on the bed before diving over the bed to her left side, quickly he would drag the sanitized metal rolling desk over, resizing its height before placing the breaks on so that it wouldn’t shift before reaching for her left hand.

Her gaze would follow the arch of the blade before leaving it to rest her gaze upon her already damaged left hand, missing multiple fingernails save for the nail of her thumb, her fingers bent one way at an extreme angle as her ring finger broken, snapped enough that the bone threatened to break through the flesh if it were tugged any further away from its rightful place. The cold sweat would blanket her yet her features would hold no emotion save for the twinges of involuntary pain that would crease her brow or quirk her lip. Still the calving knife would swing with just not enough force, still, the initial hit would cause a choked cry to reverberate within her chest and throat causing her to splutter, her body would have swayed with the pressure of her reaction if she weren't so bound in place. The mutterered word “Fuck” would barely register, completely phasing out the words and sounds that followed as white noise buzzed within her ears, drowning out all other sounds, yet her gaze would remain trained upon her hand watching the calving knife raise once again though it had tore through some skin, only just enough to expose bone the blunt force had cracked the bone enough for it to poke through the flesh itself. It would take the male a further two strikes with the blade, the second missing original mark causing only more of the same pain and unsightly picture before them causing the male to pause, covering his mouth as he heaved before giving the final strike and with that a flow of her own chakra would flood down into the finger just before its departure. The pinky finger dropping to the floor would leave her hand a mess as where the digit had been now remained the torn flesh and jagged shard of bone that protruded from it, not quite a stump as the group had expected, only churning stomach enough for the chakra strings to slack allowing for her to curl forwards enough for her head to hang and her hair to graze the ground, shielding her weakened features for a moment allowing her to gather herself before sitting upright again. And though pain rippled through her forcing her breath to labour yet her features would remain emotionless as she stared up at the male giving the orders as he turned to look at her face, avoiding altogether her hand and the finger that lay as evidence upon the ground. These clearly had weaker stomachs than some of the others, was there so little trust about them? Yet the vision before her would fade away into a buzz quite like white noise before the sound of a beep began to draw her back to consciousness...

Beep...beep...beep... Her eyes would flutter open only for her right hand to shift to cover her eyes, protecting her from the glair of the white room, a prickle of pain would shuttle through her right hand and arm enough to make her twitch. Her sight would adjust before looking to her arm finding that a total of two canula’s had been placed, one to the back of her hand and the other close to the bend of her arm. “I thought that we might lose you this time, you had lost so much blood...” and sure enough one of the drips she were hooked up too was a bag of blood. Her gaze would shift to the owner of the voice, allowing her attention to rest upon her doctor before flickering to her left hand. What a mess. Chewing at her bottom lip hard enough to discolour the flesh as she assessed the damage. The doctors gaze would follow hers, his gloves bloody along with his overcoat. With a sigh he would continue to speak, “I’ve been trying to clean the mess up but..." He would pause before putting the utensils down to turn his form to face her. “Look, the amount of damage you have sustained... I can not reverse it.” He would use his own pinky to indicate along her hand effectively pointing out her fifth metacarpal, “I need to operate to remove this bone and hopefully bind the flesh back over, but some of the nerves are damaged... I don't know how much I will be able to salvage... maybe even your ring finger... I have to run some tests, it will be painful and everyone has refused to assist me with the operation-” as her mouth opened to interrupt he would simply hold a hand up to stop her. “You will listen to me and you will do as you are told for a change. I understand why you continue to push but in this, you will listen or would you rather you lose the abilities of the hand entirely?” swallowing her words she would rest back against the pillows again. “You did the last operation alone, you can do it again.” This being her way of accepting his diagnosis without a fight, she trusted him and his abilities.  

With another sigh he would carefully cover her left forearm and hand drawing forth a subtle whimper of discomfort from her before he continued to speak, the sound of his voice dry. “I can not do this alone,  therefore you will have to help me to help you. You will be awake whilst I would have preferred you to be asleep. You will have to administer the correct flow of chakra to aid me in healing the wound and administering pain relief whilst the operation is in progress.” the shock evident upon her face would only give him the opportunity to continue even when she snorted through lack of anything else to give. “You remember when you assisted to move the wounded in Kaze no Kuni... You assisted me in healing I am she you will recall. it will be similar at first yet you will then need to hold onto that and continue as I make the incisions, remove the bone and stitch you back up.”  

She did indeed recall the event in question yet, doubt littered her mind of her own ability, such becoming evident upon her features. Pursuing his lips for a moment the doctor would raise his rump, hovering it over his seat before leaning over from, careful not to even brush past her left arm as he did so before reaching to brush aside stray strands of her snow-like hair from her face, grazing his thumb over her high cheekbone through the fabric of her veil. His other hand would reach to remove the veil, his hands careful and precise as he spoke, “You are more capable than you believe.” He would lean back to settle his rump once again, fixing her with a stern stare, his feature a touch harder. “If you do not and you lose your hand or worse, how will you find him. Do you not have an apology to make?”  

Words cut far deeper than any blade and the pain etched its way along her features further distorting the mutilated left side of her face, lasting only a flicker of a moment before her features returned to their usual stern setting. A simple rigid nod was all it would take and the doctor would draw over the rolling metallic desk once again, his tools and bundles of fresh towels ready and waiting. Though it felt cruel upon his tongue to speak such words he knew that nothing would deter her if such were mentioned and he was by all accounts correct.  The venom within her, however, was not directed for him but against herself entirely. She did not have permission to fall yet, not yet.  

Shifting her position she would prop herself up against the pillows layered up beside her, opting to sit rather than lay. And at the command of the doctor she would place her right hand at an angle towards her hand, the static like charge within the air becoming heavy as her chakra fizzled to the surface of her right hands palm and fingers and the familiar wave of her chakra would slowly seep into the room drawing forth the sensation of a creeping sickness, her sickly sweet scent already thick within the room, the scent of a slow rotting death, her scent in its truest form. “Once I start to cut, you will need to concentrate on not healing but numbing the sensation, just as we did before. If you begin to heal the wound starting off you will feel all of the pain and gain no benefit, stunting the operation itself. Do you understand?”  

She would give a firm nod, her ever dull voice commanding, “Do it.” the air would flood with a mix of their chakra’s the soothing warmth of his a twist against the damning sickness of her own. And together the sensation of peaceful death seemed to emerge, in sensation at least, lasting just a moment yet she failed. And as the blade slipped into her flesh to relieve her of the mutilated tissue she had enforced upon herself, the world. struggle and small sections would knit back together beneath her hand. With such, the doctor would pull away and they would repeat until she either pass out or succeed. Again and again. How many times had she lost consciousness? Was it the pain? Or the lack of blood as it littered not only the bedding but his clothes and even the floor, pooling there in a mass of a testament to their attempts and failures.  

Sucking in a shaky breath her head would bow, sweat sick, dripping strands would both hover before her face and stick there, ‘Just one more... this time… please.’ Her mind a fog and her voice dry just as her lips, no colour to her as she whispered, “Jashin Sama...” another shaky breath, “Te rog ... Nu mai cer nimic altceva de la tine și de slava ta, să mă ajuți, pentru totdeauna copilul tău, ca și cum ai fi fost cu vechile, ridică-mă și c, Så, förtäring, skall jag, efter din vilja, förbruka köttet och rita sina själar för dig, min herre.” A not so silent prayer uttered in her native tongue, her tone no longer dull as her voice coiled within the familiar twists and turns, she almost sounded musically sweet if it were not for her sorrow leaking within, showing forth her broken tremor of a soul trapped. And again she would repeat her prayer yet this time the flow of her chakra would flit and swim gently through the air from her right hand before sinking into the wounds of her left hand, so fine a spider might even envy the precision and with such the doctor would continue, his own hand steady where a shake had for a time consumed him. Slicing away flesh and gristle leaving a neat path along his way, right down to the fifth metacarpal, Pisiform, Triquetrum and trapezium bones, exposing them. Delicately he would remove the fifth metacarpal, every now and again peering up at her before turning his gaze back to his work as she remained uttering her prayers yet now her gaze sat upon her hands and their work, a strength given like a phantom. Following the removal he would proceed to shave down a small section away from the other exposed sections of bone, smoothing the area and for a time exposing the marrow in places before placing his own hand above the area to heal the small section, a prayer of his own uttered in silence to seal the new shape of bone he had created before taking the time to be meticulous as he carefully stitched back the flesh, leaving a new wound. Faltering her form would waver and yet the touch of his hand against her right hand would steady her for a few moments longer. The healing pulse of his chakra would caress against the wound sealing it into a crusted scab. The appearance of her hand now, though heavily scarred would look as though a pinky finger had never held a place upon the hand.  

With the walls of the room closing in her tired gaze would settle upon the table, shrapnel of bone and flesh settling in pools of her essence, her last sight as darkness swallowed her, whisking her into the land of dreams and terror. Again she would revisit the room yet this time, His voice would call out to her, proud and cunning yet his words were lost. The doctor would reset her drip and the blood transfusion before standing. With a step away from her bed his balance would waver, falling against the wall he would lower slipping into an exhausted sleep, bloody just as the room was, not so different in appearance to a room of torture one might say, yet, the start of something stronger had been collected and crafted within this room, where science and faith met.

Exit thread

Word count: 3049.

Training: Learning Iryojutsu 1500/1500
Training: 1500/1500 word count towards more training of Iryojutsu.


Taeru's Theme.
The fifth metacarpal and faith. [Training | Private] Taeru
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo
~Oderint Dum Metuant~
Completed Missions: D-4 C-4 B-6 A-2 S-0

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