Arrant Nonsense

"Do not lose consciousness. That would be…unfortunate."

"Disastrous," the one at his head rumbled.

"Stay awake during the massive panic attack and through the pain. Gotcha."

The knife went deeper this time, and fire grasped his bones and twisted as the goblins chanted something in their language. He couldn't even get enough air to scream. No need for them to hold him down; he was paralyzed. The goblin carved intricate patterns into his chest while he ran an internal monologue of Don't pass out, don't pass out, this will be so much worse if I pass out, but he wasn't sure he could stay awake through this because his brain had other ideas.

Name, rank, social. That served to ground him. The goblins were helping, not hurting, although it hurt like a motherfucker. He'd been through worse. He had. He made a list of things that were worse…

And then discovered that he was wrong. The goblin with the knife ground its fingers together, and fine powder sifted into the wounds. Ben's shadow-self sank into him, and he could feel its malevolence seeping through his marrow. Darkness filled him, suffusing into his very being, out to his fingertips. "No," he gasped. That wasn't him. He didn't want it to be him. He couldn't face Janni ever again if that was him.