And here is the Euthymenes short novel! It's ~4275 words! Enjoy, I suppose! Haha...
Short Novel; Now Operating
Euthymenes Theophron/The Medic, age 12
Damasos Theophron/The General (twin brother), age 12
Nikomedes/Nick/The Strategist, age 16
Hesiodos/The Siren, age 14
Gunnr Cattell/The Valkyrie, age 20
Reign Cobalt, age unknown (38)
Chapel Cobalt, age unknown (37)
This one definitely needs a TW. Quite a bit happens, oops. Like, seriously, take care while reading. TW includes implied conditioning, dehumanization, emotional/mental abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse, implied past abuse, implied past csa, forced drug use, and uh… Probably some other stuff. Again, be careful. Also warning for some, uh, good brother behavior?
*~*~*~*
One, exhale. Two, inhale. Three, exhale.
-
Euthymenes counted his steps out of the ring besides Damasos, trying his best to fall into a rhythmic pattern. Listening carefully to the sound each footfall made, breathing in time with each step counted. Ignoring the announcer, ignoring the audience.
-
One, inhale. Two, exhale. Three, inhale.
-
The ground was rough beneath his feet, and each step echoing far too loudly. Too piercing. He could almost forget the crowd cheering underneath the footsteps. The cheering would end soon, or he’d at least be far enough away for it to be completely inaudible. He was beyond lucky that Damasos always made sure the fight ended with a straight path to the way out. His brother providing angles, providing the information he couldn’t see during a match was fine. No one could hear it except their opponents, and they’d be dead by the end.
-
One, exhale. Two, inhale. Three, exhale.
-
As soon as they were out of the area, he could fix it. But they weren’t out. They weren’t out and he wasn’t sure if they had any other fights for today. No one told them. He had half a mind to be annoyed. To demand a schedule. To… To do something. He’d rather know. He’d rather be prepared. But he wasn’t allowed to know. Damasos wasn’t allowed to know.
-
One, inhale. Two, exhale. Three, inhale.
-
He wasn’t sure if he was blinking. He wasn’t sure how close they were to the way out. His eyes felt dry. He kept his back straight, head up and leveled, hands stiff at his sides, and tried to add blinking to his small rhythm.
-
One, exhale. Two, inhale. Three, blink, exhale.
-
His hands felt cold despite his gloves. If anything, they felt colder than they did without them. But the air in here was heavy, thick and no doubt some of the worst air to be breathing in. Not to mention every surface in here was nowhere clean enough to be making direct contact with, or that there was always the chance of blood getting on the gloves and he’d much rather it on the gloves than his bare hands. The ground shifting to be smoother under each step was the first warning that they were out of the ring. The door would close soon and the crowd would be silenced.
-
One, inhale. Two, exhale. Three, blink, in—
-
The second after the door closed a hand was wrapped around his upper arm. He flinched back in response, losing his place. He blinked once, twice, three times, feet planted in place. It was Damasos, he knew this was Damasos. He shouldn’t– He needed to breathe. He needed to– He clenched his fingers, unclenched them, and clenched them again. He started over, counting the seconds instead as he did.
-
Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale.
-
Damasos was staring at him, he knew that. Another three seconds passed, he exhaled again. The grip on his arm was lighter than it’d been initially. His brothers’ voice was uncharacteristically soft when he spoke. “Euth?”
-
He blinked once, twice, three times again. He breathed in at the third second. He forced himself to nod at the same time, collecting himself and continuing the rhythm he’d given himself once more before trusting himself to speak. “...I’m alright, Damasos.”
-
The hand holding his arm tightened, and nothing was said for another moment. Then, Euthymenes heard his brother exhale. “Okay, good… Good. We should get moving, we don’t want to get into any trouble, yeah?”
-
On reflex, he answered quickly, barely taking any time at all to actually process what his brother had said. “Yes.”
-
There was pause, and after a few seconds, he cringed at himself. Then, he heard the first footsteps of his brother moving again. He moved in time with him, allowing the hand at his arm to help guide his path, counting his steps again and falling back into the familiar pattern from before. It helped, just a bit, to keep him calm without his sight allowing him to assure himself that way. He’d count aloud if it weren’t such a risky idea.
-
One, exhale. Two, inhale. Three, blink, exhale.
-
He heard the door open, heard as Damasos stopped, felt as his upper arm was gripped tighter and tried not to panic as he felt himself pulled closer— But more behind his brother than beside him. He tensed, and tried to focus on the repetitive numbers to keep himself breathing, switching to counting the seconds again.
-
One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One—
-
“Mrs. Cobalt requires the Medic in the infirmary.” The Valkyrie’s voice was recognizable. Strained in that way her voice always was whenever she came to get either of them, or any of the younger fighters in general. His brothers’ hand tightened around his arm again.
-
—Two, three. Inhale. One, two—
-
“Tell her no. Not today. We’re busy.” Damasos was lying. They weren’t busy. They didn’t have anything planned. They weren’t supposed to lie here. Lying was dangerous here. He couldn’t quite get the words out to correct him.
-
—Three. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale. One—
-
“You know I can’t do that, General. It’s already getting harder to convince her to let me bring other fighters to her.” The Valkyrie paused, the grip at his arm was only continuing to tighten. She continued, slowly, quietly. “…I’m supposed to let Nick out of his room. If you can go do that for me, little man, I won’t have to leave the two of them alone.”
-
—Two, three. Exhale.
-
“…You promise?” It wouldn’t change anything, all three of them knew that. He hoped that all three of them knew that. But it was something, and it meant Damasos wouldn’t be alone until he came back. Besides, it had been a few days since either of them had any interaction with Nikomedes. A few days since he’d been taken to where he was now, bloody and beaten unconscious if Hesiodos was to be believed.
-
One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.
-
“…Yeah. I promise.” It wouldn’t change anything, but it was better than nothing. It was better than being alone, trapped and alone in that room with her. The grip on his arm loosened, he still almost wished it hadn’t.
-
One, two, three. Inhale.
-
“Fine.” A pause as his brother stepped away from him, no longer holding his arm. He stayed frozen in place, counting the seconds and just trying to focus on breathing. “If you’re lying, I’ll…” Another pause. There wasn’t actually much that Damasos could threaten her with, they all knew that. “I’ll, uh… I’ll do something.”
-
One, two, three. Exhale.
-
“I’m sure you will, boss man. You won’t have to though.” It was the thought that counts, probably. Hopefully. Nothing was said for a moment, and he just tried to stay focused on his breathing before the Valkyrie spoke again. “Right, well. Time to go then.”
-
Immediately, the sound of her turning and beginning to walk away broke his focus. He wished, for a split hopeless moment, that Damasos hadn’t let go of his arm. Hadn’t agreed. But the moment passed and he was forcing himself to follow behind the Valkyrie, back to counting his steps, the halls silent if not for the footsteps.
---
The walk passed without any words between either of them. Which, if Euthymenes were being honest, he was glad for. It gave him time to focus on his breathing, on his counting, and on managing to keep calm. To prepare for whatever was going to happen this time around.
-
The sound of the door to the infirmary opening almost made him freeze up and lose track of his pattern. Even with the silence, the time he was given, he didn’t want to be in there with her. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her. He wasn’t ready. He still walked in behind the Valkyrie, stiff and tense and trying his hardest not to lose track of where he was with his rhythm. He stopped in time with the Valkyrie.
-
“Ah, good. It’s the Medic. Wait near the door, Valkyrie. I might require assistance at some point.” Her voice chilled his blood, and he felt himself tense further. He’d rather be fighting in the ring. But complaining didn’t help anything, thinking of complaints didn’t help anything. So he stayed where he was, and tried to focus on counting the seconds and breathing. Tried not to focus on the sound of the Valkyrie walking further away from him.
-
One, two, three. Inhale.
-
“Medic, come sit down.” For a moment, a split second, he hesitated, unsure if he could even move with how rigid he felt. But the next second passed and he forced his feet to move. He stopped quickly, taking a moment to remember that he wasn’t sure where the seat she wanted him at even was. Standing where he was, frozen in place, he tried to remember what the layout was the last time he’d been able to see the infirmary. Tried to keep his breathing under control so as to not show his growing panic as he did.
-
One, two, three. Ex—
-
The voice of Mrs. Cobalt cut through his thoughts with ease, disappointment lacing her words with a slight lilt. “Don’t tell me the young doctor’s forgotten where to go. I thought we were over that by now. Do I need to fix its memory again?”
-
He flinched back, and answered quickly, not taking the time to notice the sudden ache at his hands. He ignored the choked sound that came with his answer as he struggled to correct his breathing at the same time. “The Medic’s memory doesn’t need any fixing, Mrs. Cobalt.”
-
The sound of footsteps, her footsteps, coming closer to him was enough to mess up his breathing again. He tried not to shrink away, tried not to hunch over. He wanted to hide. He didn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere else, he didn’t care. He’d rather be locked in the small closet back at home, he’d rather be in the ring fighting, he’d rather be taking his chances back at home with his mom, he’d rather be taking chances back at home with his dad. He’d rather—
-
The footsteps stopping and a soft hand grabbing him by the chin made him flinch away violently, his thoughts shattering to bits as goosebumps crawled along his skin. Her voice only proved to worsen the feeling. “I’m afraid I don’t quite believe that. Unfortunately, that’ll have to be dealt with later. There are more important things to be doing.”
-
Her hand fell away and, after the initial relief of not having her holding his face, he tensed further in an attempt to be prepared for whatever she was going to do that he couldn’t see. The less he reacted, the better. But he couldn’t really tell just how much he was actually reacting at the moment anyways. He couldn’t see, so he wasn’t even sure what he was going to be trying to not react to. The hands suddenly on either of his shoulders would have been enough of a reminder of that if he’d needed it. He didn’t, but the hands weren’t there to remind him anyways. He tried not to flinch, tried to stay right where he was, tried not to lean away from the contact, and tried to listen as she spoke again.
-
“I would say to just fix your sight for now but I’ll need your focus for that later. So, I suppose leading you to where I need you will do at the moment. Come along now.” At the same time as she spoke, he tried to keep up with her pushing him, apparently to lead him. He wished she wouldn’t touch him at all, he didn’t even want her close enough for that to be a possibility. Admittedly, while the mention of him needing to fix his sight for her later was interesting, it was only in the way that made him not want to find out why.
-
The seat wasn’t all that far, and he really should’ve known where it was already. But he hadn’t, and Mrs. Cobalt’s hands stopping him without warning was still enough to mess up the pattern he’d been trying to use for his breathing again. He was turned and pushed down to sit on what seemed to be a stool, and he tried to make sure he was sitting up straight. That he wasn’t going to break any rules there might be. He wished he knew what the rules were, what he should be doing at any given moment. He wasn’t sure why no one ever told them all the rules, he wasn’t sure if anyone but the Cobalt’s knew what all of the rules were.
-
“I would’ve had you sit on one of the tables but given this situation, the stool will work fine for my purposes. If anything, you might just need to be a bit more careful to keep focused. Understood?”
-
Despite the way her voice alone made his skin crawl, his answer was immediate. He nodded, curtly, quickly. He couldn’t risk not answering in time, he couldn’t risk giving her more reason to believe his memory was faulty. “The Medic understands, yes.”
-
The sound of her footsteps walking away from him almost made him relax some of the tension he was holding. He forced himself not to though, the distance wouldn’t stay for long. It never did when he was in the infirmary with her. When anyone was in the infirmary with her, probably. He wasn’t sure if he’d prefer that to be true or not. He focused on fixing his breathing while waiting for her to walk back over, falling back into the comfortable pattern of counting the seconds to help guide him.
-
One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale.
-
He wished there was a clock in here to help him make sure he was counting accurately. He wasn’t sure why Mrs. Cobalt didn’t have a clock in here, as crucial as time was when she worked on memory with him. He listened carefully as someone, presumably Mrs. Cobalt, began to move things around somewhere. He didn’t know how she kept track of anything if the infirmary was as disorganized as it seemed to be, as it had been the last time he’d been able to see it. He would’ve thought that she would want it clean, it would be easier to work in then.
-
One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.
-
He wasn’t even sure what she was planning on doing though, so maybe he was wrong about that. He doubted she wanted his opinion on the matter either way. She’d mentioned something about his sight too though, so he wasn’t sure if it was something she needed his help to do. If so then organization was probably more important. She still wouldn’t want to hear that though. Him trying to correct anyone here was never a good idea. But especially her, that could only end painfully.
-
One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale.
-
He kept himself still as well as he could, careful not to accidentally tap his foot as he counted. He didn’t want her to think he was being impatient. It wouldn’t end well. Patience was a virtue, and it was supposed to be something he already had. It was supposed to be something he’d had his entire life. Tapping his foot, regardless of the reason, would be seen as impatient. He didn’t want to have that conversation with her again.
-
One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.
-
He was plenty patient. He didn’t need to have that conversation with her again, especially when she wouldn’t listen to his explanations. So, he just made sure he didn’t tap his foot. It was easier to just go along with her than to try and explain himself anyways.
-
One–
-
The sounds of her footsteps told him that she was walking back towards him again, interrupting his counting and stopping him short. He’d rather her listen to her own apparent rules. He wasn’t sure why she was so adamant about them if she didn’t hold herself to the same standard. He wasn’t going to risk trying to find out. It wasn’t truly worth it anyways. Besides, his counting could’ve been off from hers, so maybe she did hold herself to it. There wasn’t any real way for him to know. He just had to move past it. Ignore that either his counting was wrong or that she didn’t follow her own rules. No matter which it was, it wouldn’t do him any good to focus on it. Forcing his focus away from it was harder than he would’ve liked, mind still reeling from being cut off and trying to make sense of it. Her voice was more than enough to make it an easier task as she hummed slightly, as if thinking, and then spoke.
-
“Valkyrie, I do believe it might react poorly and because it isn’t at one of the tables… Come over here.” A second passed, and then the sound of the Valkyrie’s footsteps coming closer to him as well. He had the distinct feeling that whatever was going to happen was a new idea for Mrs. Cobalt, and that it was one that he wasn’t going to like.
-
“Medic, I need its eyes fixed now.”
-
For a split second, he hesitated, not really wanting to see the state of the infirmary if it was as disorganized as his hearing made it out to be. But the second passed and he was nothing if not good at listening. Getting into trouble was more for Nikomedes or Hesiodos or even Damasos on occasion, when he couldn’t stop his brother from doing so. He focused on his eyes quickly, tapping into his ability and forcing his sight to come back.
-
The third second struck just as the bright light of the infirmary flooded his vision, and he blinked several times, half-mindedly counting as he did, to try and adjust faster. He landed on eight by the time his eyes had adjusted, so he blinked a final time before deciding his vision had cleared enough that he didn’t need to count them anymore. Then, he took in the appearance of the infirmary, more on accident than on purpose. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t, the state worse than what he’d been expecting. Or it was just as bad as he’d been expecting but wasn’t used to being able to actually see it. He wasn’t sure which. Still, it was bad. Worse than bad. He bit his tongue as subtly as possible, trying to keep from reacting to it all in the few seconds he was given to see it before Mrs. Cobalt was continuing.
-
There were various tools left strewn around the room, most at least on counters at random but a few had strayed to ground, tables, or stools and seemed as though they wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. There were papers in a similar state as the tools, though the condition of the paper varied considerably as well, some crumpled, some wrinkled, and a blessed few smooth. The exam tables were in just as much disarray, restraints not where they should be while not being used and in less than ideal conditions, with some of the leather ones fraying and the metal ones either having blood or rust coating them. Other than the stool he was currently sitting on, a few of the other ones were toppled over. Some of the cabinets were open as well, and the entire area just seemed to be one big mess. As if it had been ransacked, as if no one in the arena understood basic order. It made his skin crawl just as easily as the older woman in front of him did.
-
Mrs. Cobalt herself was holding two filled syringes in one hand, though he wasn’t given the time to try and figure out what either of them contained. The liquid in them both were red, and that was all he managed to really take in. She crouched down to his level quickly, and he tried to make sure he didn’t look her in the eyes, tried not to look at her at all. Her free hand found his chin again though, and he tried to keep his breath from catching, trying to keep the crawling goosebumps from becoming too noticeable. She hummed again, sickly sweet. “Valkyrie, restrain its arms for me.”
-
A second of what seemed like hesitation, and then he felt the firm grasp on either arm. He tried not to react, to simply stay focused on keeping his vision intact for Mrs. Cobalt. His head was tilted, and suddenly her eyes were right in his line of sight. He flinched, and averted his eyes quickly. The hand left his chin, he didn’t move his head from where she had moved it to. It was there for a reason. Probably. It was there for a reason.
-
Her free hand was right next to his right eye. It was— His breath hitched. The skin stretched, keeping that eye open. He didn’t— He tried to blink, once, twice, three times. Nothing happened. He stared forward, his quickly growing panic making it hard to focus. And then—
-
There was a needle in his right eye. A syringe, really. It hardly mattered though, as whatever was in the syringe was emptied into his eye and he tried, tried beyond tried, not to scream. Not to react. Not to lose focus on his sight. Not to fight back because fighting back would only make things worse and— And he mostly failed. His vision gave out, he flinched violently, pulled at his arms, pulled, pulled, pulled, trying to get away. He managed not to scream, though he had the sneaking suspicion that was only because he wasn’t breathing enough to be able to scream, his eyes watering.
-
The needle was taken out, and he pulled his head away, chest heaving and eyes watering and counting. Trying to count, fall into a rhythmic pattern of threes that would help calm him down. He kept tripping over the numbers. He wished he was able to count aloud, wished that was allowed, wished he wouldn’t be breaking a rule if he did so. A hand, her hand, grabbed his face firmly, pulling it back to where it had been. Lost in his panic, he shook his head, beyond desperate to get away.
-
Her voice cut through the panic, angry and disappointed and raised. “Stop moving, Medic! I swear— This is uncalled for! If it doesn’t stop this- this absolute nonsense, then the next time I have it visit I’ll be calling down Mr. Cobalt to come help me! Does it, ugh, ‘want’ that? Does it? Instead of only me down here? He doesn’t like helping me out with those corrections. It knows that, doesn’t it? It knows that only makes those corrections harder to get through, doesn’t it?”
-
A second passed by where he couldn’t breathe well enough to answer, before reflex took over and he was answering through choked breaths and panic and crawling skin. At the same time, he tried to force himself to stop moving, to listen. He didn’t- He didn’t want both of them down here again. She was bad enough on her own. “The Medic isn’t— Isn’t capable of wanting anything. The Medic knows— Yes.”
-
The grip on his face tightened, her nails digging into his skin and pulling him what he assumed was closer towards her. His breath hitched, and then… Nothing. His face was let go.
-
“I’ll decide on what to do about that later. Fix its other eye, now. And I swear, if it makes me mess up at all, that decision will be made then and there.”
-
He forced his vision back at his left eye, still far too aware of the warm liquid making its way down from his right eye. A moment later, his left eye was being forced to stay open, and he tried not to panic again. Tried not to do anything that would mess her up. Instead of managing that, he saw the second needle coming close quickly, right towards where his pupil was and—
-
His eye moved reflexively out of the way, the needle landing off to the side of the iris, somewhere in the sclera. His vision blacked out again, and he heard Mrs. Cobalt curse as the syringe emptied within the sclera instead of the pupil like the first one had. He flinched, hearing beginning to fail as panic bloomed far too quickly, and felt as the Valkyrie moved away more than he heard it.
-
He landed on the ground of the infirmary with pain blossoming at his cheek, the warmth of blood running down, which was probably what was actually coming from his eyes as well. He felt dust move on the ground as he struggled to breathe there, unsure if he should be trying to get up or not. A resounding kick knocking the air out of his lungs made him decide to simply lay there and wait. She’d stopped when she was done, and fighting back never helped anything. Maybe she’d change her mind about bringing Mr. Cobalt down next time if he behaved well enough now… He squashed the hope before it could grow enough to cause more pain later on.
Spring 
Day Weather: 
