In his pocket, Tenebrae's fist was clenched. Not against the screaming; no, he'd been expecting that. It certainly wasn't pleasant to listen to, but at least he'd predicted it. Predicted it, and could therefore ignore it with some effort. He found himself unable to look directly at the operation either, not without feeling a little queasy and... well. Not without second-guessing himself once again. But they were far past that now, and the feelings were another thing Tenebrae had predicted. Another thing he could ignore, this time by avoiding it completely. Those feelings weren't why he could feel his nails digging little pinpricks into the palm of his hand.
He knew why. What he didn't know was why on earth it bothered him at all.
"Please don't."
Cirurgue responded exactly how he was supposed to, and the operation continued on exactly the way it should have, and the predicted screaming began right on cue. And Tenebrae couldn't quite uncurl his fist. Why? Not for any of the obvious reasons, he knew that. Tenebrae was a big believer in being involved in every aspect of the Temple's daily dealings, which meant he'd seen torture and punishment worse than this. He knew how to handle it.
Tenebrae slowly took a deep breath and released it. The words were bothering him, he realised, because they were so unlike Solomon Wreath that it was mentally jarring. Pleading made sense. Admittedly, Wreath didn't see this as much of a gift, so he wouldn't see the benefit of what they were trying to do. Wouldn't believe the sacrifice was worth it. Again, Tenebrae knew all that. But it was still not like him. Solomon Wreath was a rational man. Even groggy, even half-dead, he could argue. Argue with a sense of humour, even. That was what Tenebrae had been expecting, not...
Not a simple plea, made openly and genuinely. Made as if Solomon truly believed it was his last option, maybe even halfway believed it would work.
Not something so clearly helpless.
Tenebrae's fist was clenched because otherwise he knew he would leave the room. He didn't want to leave the room. He hadn't been there to see Skulduggery Pleasant come back to life, but he was going to be there to see what Solomon Wreath would become.
The man trembled in the chair, blood drying on his cheeks, one eye now completely missing from the socket, and the sight hardened Tenebrae's resolve. He was no longer the terrified apprentice forced to try and trick such a powerful, ruthless man as Serpine. Now, he was High Priest, and he himself had ordered this to happen. Terrified apprentices looked to him for leadership now.
Tenebrae stepped forward to face what he'd ordered to happen. "Wreath? Cleric Wreath, can you hear me?"
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He knew why. What he didn't know was why on earth it bothered him at all.
"Please don't."
Cirurgue responded exactly how he was supposed to, and the operation continued on exactly the way it should have, and the predicted screaming began right on cue. And Tenebrae couldn't quite uncurl his fist. Why? Not for any of the obvious reasons, he knew that. Tenebrae was a big believer in being involved in every aspect of the Temple's daily dealings, which meant he'd seen torture and punishment worse than this. He knew how to handle it.
Tenebrae slowly took a deep breath and released it. The words were bothering him, he realised, because they were so unlike Solomon Wreath that it was mentally jarring. Pleading made sense. Admittedly, Wreath didn't see this as much of a gift, so he wouldn't see the benefit of what they were trying to do. Wouldn't believe the sacrifice was worth it. Again, Tenebrae knew all that. But it was still not like him. Solomon Wreath was a rational man. Even groggy, even half-dead, he could argue. Argue with a sense of humour, even. That was what Tenebrae had been expecting, not...
Not a simple plea, made openly and genuinely. Made as if Solomon truly believed it was his last option, maybe even halfway believed it would work.
Not something so clearly helpless.
Tenebrae's fist was clenched because otherwise he knew he would leave the room. He didn't want to leave the room. He hadn't been there to see Skulduggery Pleasant come back to life, but he was going to be there to see what Solomon Wreath would become.
The man trembled in the chair, blood drying on his cheeks, one eye now completely missing from the socket, and the sight hardened Tenebrae's resolve. He was no longer the terrified apprentice forced to try and trick such a powerful, ruthless man as Serpine. Now, he was High Priest, and he himself had ordered this to happen. Terrified apprentices looked to him for leadership now.
Tenebrae stepped forward to face what he'd ordered to happen. "Wreath? Cleric Wreath, can you hear me?"