Warrant Officer Schrödinger, of the National Socialist organization known as Millennium, was at something of a loss. A very furious loss, actually. Normally this would be something to amusingly stroke his chin in contemplation, but that was hindered by the fact that he didn't have much of a chin anymore. Or a neck, or half his jaw, or vocal cords, or any way to express the mounting rage and hatred that he could feel welling up in his guts.
Oh sure, he could jump up and down, and shake his fists, or brutally stab a child to death, but he found that it made him feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum instead of a noble soldier of the Reich expressing his berserk fury. Still, he had to wonder about the validity of the plan now. Shure he could just stab himself in the heart and achieve the same effect, but it wasn't as assured as it was before. Afterall, he could feel bits of himself just… straying away at times. Like he wasn't everywhere because he wasn't all of him. It was disconcerting to say the least.
He still needed to report to the Major, after all. He doubted the Major would be very mad about the situation. After all, he loved losing just as much as winning. But he couldn't help but feel that it was because the Major knew, in the end, that he would get his goal. Would he really be okay with the fact that the victory he had spent fifty years preparing for, might not happen? And it was that uncertainty that had kept him from reporting back since that Jap bitch had done this to him. Even if the Major couldn't hurt him per se, nothing was scarier than reporting failure in what should have been a simple task to a superior officer.
Of course, he was everywhere, so he knew all about how Zorin Blitz had stolen power from a jap fire god, and that the fire god in question was chasing after her to reclaim it. And so, he found himself sharpening his knife in preparation. An unnecessary motion perhaps, but a calming one. The sun goddess from Japan had hurt him, but perhaps a weakened one could be killed? And if he killed the jap, then Zorin would have the power of a god. And that could make up for his failure to the other goddess! Surely the Major couldn't be angry with him if that happened.
And so, as he watched the fire god pursue with the fox by his side, he stood from his perch on the roof and did his best to smile irreverently like he used to. It hurt, something he hadn't had to deal with for a very long time, but that didn't matter. He was going to make it up to the Major, right now.
Suddenly, something appeared. Something that wasn't there before. He looked down to see a woman walking on the street. No, skipping. Even from here, she looked incredibly strange. Her hair was a dull bone white, and all she wore was a skin tight bodysuit, like something a gymnast would wear. Except hers was covered in patterns like a jester, and the pathetically drooping hat on her head seemed to reflect that, cheap bells tinkling discordantly. Her feet were bare, and her hands were a burnt and scarred mess. And hanging from her hands was a length of chain, with a large nail, a stigmata perhaps, attached to the end.
"Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade." She was singing, he realised. Her voice was beautiful, but she seemed to choke up the more she sung. Suddenly, her head snapped up to look at him, and he saw why. She had no lips, and her mouth stretched from ear to ear in a grin that sent blood spilling over her teeth as she sung.
"Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown --Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown." With a sudden snap that broke the night like a clap of thunder, the stigmata at the end of her chain was buried in his ankle. He stared at it in confusion for a moment, before the chain went taut and pulled him off the roof with inhuman strength. He slammed into the ground like a ragdoll, and desperately tried to be nowhere. Instead, he realized, he was only here. He couldn't be anywhere else, ever since the stigmata struck him. Terrified, he stared at the woman still singing as she approached him slowly.
"Crowns are for the valiant -- sceptres for the bold! Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold." She sung, and Schrödinger could only try to scream in pain as another stigmata appeared out of nowhere to slam into the base of his spine and another in his shoulder. The burning pain that the stigmatas emanated never ceased, seeming only to increase in burning as more were plunged into his body. Slowly, he was flipped over onto his back, which only sent the stigmatas plunging deeper into him. By now he could barely form a coherent thought through the pain, and only barely focused enough to make sense of the grinning woman's face as she stroked his hair.
""But Iron -- Cold Iron! -- must be master of men all." She bubbled out. The blood from her ruined mouth fell onto Schrödinger's face, and with that, the pain doubled, and he was lost. The woman only smiled gently at his spasming form, and leaned forward to lay a tender kiss onto his forehead. If she noticed his tortured and insensate mannerisms, she didn't give any indication. Instead she simply gathered her chains in her hand and began to walk, dragging Schrödinger's body behind her as if it was an errant dog.
Only twenty miles later, well on her way back to the land of the Fay, did the Jester turn back to notice her new friend's breath had finally, and mercifully, left his body. She frowned, shrugged, and continued on her way with the body still in tow.
"As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small, For Iron -- Cold Iron -- must be master of men all."
AN: On retrospect, I uh, really hope this doesn't count as torture porn. I was rereading it and kinda thought "yeesh, did I overdo it a bit?"
