To hell with prophecy's!
Actually — to hell with all of you!
All the thoughts and anger such a person could muster were spilling out with no end, Wein twitched and fiddled under the minimal space his captor has given him
Though his eyes were red and glossed, he surely was able to see the few figures slowly vanishing to the distance, and though his mind not at the right place, he surely knew those figures were his comrade's.
"And evil are the ones who defy with violence, and the more evil are the ones who do such but hide among the good"
Such is but a mere play of words! I have nothing to do with it! You insolent fools—I am a devote beliver! I sing you praises and fear your blazes, yet you frame me of a friend— of the devil, now I am sent; to ammend for what I have not done!!
The captor spoke, spoke with not a mouth but a mere folk "The emperor cried— for betrayal from his kingdom, yet never unsheathied his sword and died from its dull edge."
To hell with your poetry!
Shook and swung went his hands, dripple and splash his blood. Shards from the veins that locked him, locked him to his captor — it which felt not solid, not liquid, but not gas; a blurry shadow with no face but head much larger than his space
Then turn Wein's head, he saw his shoulder, turn it up he saw his captor "stare and seeth, cry and sob, however — nonetheless — the chains you may call veins are stuck in its place"
"Begone with your voice! Begone— begone!"
Violence laced words, yet ant sized volume. Wein who had not spoken till now was confident of his chime, yet maybe his throat had been a little sore from his previous screams a while moment back.
…
He will stick to cursing in his mind for now
Though even if he did, it seems the captor has an innate skill to probe Wein's thoughts, and another skill to make him feel lesser of it.