Damon laughed despite himself.
"Hahahah hahah."
His teeth had shattered. His tongue and gums had no sense of taste or feeling left. There was only the ache and the overwhelming flavor of blood, tal and torn flesh.
"My sin has been punished. If only it was that easy."
The Archivist tilted its head. It did not understand Damon’s laughter. There was a strange, unhinged madness in his tone.
"You have eaten millions in gold coins until your stomach swelled with tals and ores of the earth. Why do you still laugh."
Damon shook his head and stared at the Archivist.
"If this agony is ant to absolve of my sins then you have failed. If your intentions are to break then you will fail. We will be here today, tomorrow and a thousand years from now. No anguish you imagine will cause to crumble. I will continue to laugh at your futile attempts to break ."
The Archivist slowly shook its head.
"I do not seek to break you. I intend to free you from your cage. Guilt is a terrible prison. Once you break free from it you will walk free."
Damon scoffed. Blood dripped from his mouth as he spat. He felt his heart pounding inside his chest. He felt the familiar sensation of being in his own body again. It had been returned only so it could be torn apart.
The sound of the quill striking the pages continued. Each sharp tap marked another word written about him.
The Archivist paused. It scanned the book once more. Damon ntally braced himself. The chains around him rattled as if anticipating what would co.
"You have committed many sins. Vile and unforgivable. Yet your heart lingers in this one the most."
Damon felt his stomach drop. His heart sank as if thrown into glacial waters.
"Pray tell," he whispered. He tried to mask the unease in his voice. He needed to know which sin this was.
He understood the trial only in fragnts. The rules were based on distortions of reality. That ant the trial had a structure. If he could just figure it out before he went insane again...
’I need to understand the pattern. I need to stay sane long enough to break the cycle.’
"Do not fear. Your insanity will not save you from your guilt." The Archivist answered Damon’s thoughts with a cold hiss. Nothing escaped him in this place.
"This sin is the start of your wretched path. A path that hard many."
There was a brief pause.
"The cri of desertion."
When the words struck his ears Damon realized which mory the trial would attack. Desertion was the cri of abandoning responsibility. It was betrayal born from selfish retreat. It left others in fear and pain.
The scene ford in front of him. A young girl with white hair and grey eyes sat outside a small house. Night had fallen. She should have gone inside but she had not. She only cried silently. She waited with fragile hope for her brother to return.
Every second magnified her anxiety. She imagined him mauled by monsters in the woods. She imagined him bleeding out under a tree. Her fear grew until her voice cracked.
"He will co back."
She repeated the words at first but they weakened with every repetition. Eventually she whispered.
"Damon, please co back. I am scared."
Damon rembered this day. It was the day he had gone into the woods planning to kill himself.
"Do not go big brother." The young girl had trembled because she feared the worst.
"Your sister was your responsibility. For a little hardship you deserted her. This is the sin of sloth."
Damon’s chest tightened. This was the guilt he carried. This was the sha he buried. He never told Luna what he had intended to do in the woods. Yet she had always been intuitive. She saw the hollow look in his eyes.
"I... I..." He fought to speak.
"I ca back. I am alive. I took my sister out of that place. I saved her. I am always there for her when she needs ."
The Archivist pointed its quill at him.
"Have you never thought she was a burden. If not for her you would not have endured humiliation at the Aether Academy. If not for her you would be free and unfettered. You may not have deserted her physically but in your mind she was an obstacle."
Damon’s lips quivered. His chains rattled as he shook his head.
"That is not true. That is not true."
"For the cri of desertion and the sin of sloth Damon the demon, I sentence you to the bed of needles. May this ordeal absolve you of your guilt and set you free. We are all prisoners of our guilt."
The ground opened beneath him. The chains pulled him downward into a massive chamber.
Thud.
His body crashed into the floor. When he lifted his head he saw the surface in front of him. A field of glittering tips. Needles. Thousands of them. Thinner than strands of hair. Sharper than sword points. Each one rose and fell with chanical rhythm.
As he stared at them an overwhelming desire filled his chest. A desire to lie down on them. A desire to rest.
Damon clenched his teeth and shook his head.
"This is my true body. I am immune to ntal domination."
He forced himself upright. Before he could take a step the chains tightened around him. They constricted his chest and limbs. They twisted violently.
Damon groaned as he tried to resist. The chains lifted him into the air. They dragged him forward until he was suspended over the bed of needles.
His body dropped.
He watched himself fall toward the glittering field. He hit the needles with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed in every direction as his flesh was torn open.
Every muscle and organ was pierced. Soft tissue shredded. Bones were gouged by countless needle points. His eyes were punctured. His vision went dark and bleeding.
"Rest slothful sinner on the bed of needles."
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