#and THEN capped it off with 'he started doing YouTube to cope with the grief of losing his sister who was his card game buddy'

[justabookworm39]

Price of Knowledge (Whumpay fanfic)

@whumpay Day 4: Gore

Inscryption,  Luke Carder-centric

Warnings: EYE TRAUMA HOLY SHIT. Eye trauma, gross sensory stuff relating to eye trauma (bone scraping and squishy stuff, etc.), torture, sensory overload (mainly that Thing where you’re in so much pain you can’t talk or think), non-graphic vomiting at the end. Also spoilers for the main game of Inscryption.

Notes: The uh. Eyeball sequence in Act 1. That’s all I have to say.

(I haven’t started Kaycee’s Mod yet so don’t spoiler it I swear to god-)

---

Everything went red.

His body curled in around itself, as if trying to get away from the pain. He wasn’t even able to scream, just barely able to force himself to breathe. The smell of copper flooded his nose, the stream barely touching the side of his mouth and a few tiny disgusting drops crossing his lips. The hand clenching the knife trembled, and he faintly heard something hit the floor with a wet *plop*.

“Good.” The phantom shape of a person stood on the other side of the table, speaking to him with a calm and airy voice. “Now the other one.”

“…What?” He struggled to lift his head, could barely make his eye focus in the darkness.

“The other eye.”

For a long moment, he just stared up at her, trying to form a coherent response, or even a coherent thought, through the pain. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t need to– where was he even, this wasn’t the cabin, what was going on–

“Mr. Carder, please don’t make this difficult.”

Something about hearing his own name jolted him awake, and he knew he wasn’t just trapped in the game, this was something else. The knife fell from his grip, clattering against the table. That seemed to draw her focus.

As it did, he swiped his hand, throwing the knife aside and forcing himself to his feet as fast as he could, even as it made his head spin. He stumbled backwards a step and a half before a hand grabbed at his scalp, nails digging into skin. Glaring at the figure leaning over the table, he just barely spat out, “Go fuck y–”

The side of his head slammed into the table, rattling the empty socket and making him bite his tongue. No matter how he pushed against the tabletop, he couldn’t pry himself from under her grip as she lifted the knife–it looked to be the same knife, which made no sense because she never bent down to get it–

It hurt so much worse the second time.

The first time, it hadn’t felt real. It had felt like when he’d gotten his wisdom teeth removed, where it was just the shifting movement and the pressure but none of the pain. The pain hadn’t kicked in until it was over, and at that point it was a simple all-encompassing pain.

This wasn’t like that.

He felt the blade being shoved past the skin and bone at the edge of his eye, scratching against the inside of his skull. It cut the eyeball itself as it did, slicing into the soft tissue by complete accident and sending another trickle of blood down his nose.

He felt the pressure as the knife made its way to the back and was pushed, attempting to pry the eyeball from the socket. The hand on the top of his head pressed down, holding his skull as still as it could.

(And again, he couldn’t scream. He could just gasp and whimper, one hand briefly clawing at the arm of his attacker and trying to throw it off of him.)

He felt the tugging. He hadn’t even noticed the nerve the first time, but he did now, felt the last thing connecting his eye and his face being pulled taut. The pressure on the eye and his head let up, but only long enough for a hand to reach for his face and–

He felt a slight squeeze on his eyeball. He felt the briefest cutting sensation.

His body was carelessly tossed to the floor. He let out a tiny yelp of pain, hands instinctively reaching to cover and protect the open sockets. The mix of blood and jelly-like fluid smeared on his palms, and his head being forced sideways meant that it now coated two-thirds of his face. Every time he tried to scream his throat seemed to close up, what little noise he made probably going unheard by the figure standing over him.

“Let that serve as a lesson.” Another *plop*, this one right next to his head, and he recoiled away from it. It was followed by the sound of metal hitting the floor, probably a few feet away. “Don’t go looking where you’re told not to.”

---

The feeling of cold metal on his forehead did little to ground him.

Luke heaved again, but nothing came out this time. His arms trembled as he braced himself against the bathroom counter, and he’d resorted to resting his head against the running faucet. He hadn’t been sleeping well for a few nights, and he didn’t really have waking up from a nightmare needing to puke in him.

One hand traveled up his face, gently pressing at the dark bag under his eye. He could still feel the curve of something round beneath the skin, something resisting the light pressure he put on it. It was still there. Not that he should’ve needed to check, it should’ve been pretty damn obvious if it was gone. But instinct was instinct, he supposed.

He really needed to quit digging into that game. It seemed to be messing with his head.

Luke finally raised his head and saw his own half-asleep reflection. He stared at it for a while, holding his breath. Then, he slammed one hand on the counter and screamed.

He screamed the way he’d tried to in the nightmare. He screamed to let out the stress of the past several days, of countless rabbit holes and dead ends. He screamed for everything that sat in his chest, every minor annoyance at his day job and every loose shred of grief that you could argue led him to this point.

When he was done–when it finally died in his chest–he slammed his hand against the counter a second time, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck… fuck.” He gagged, and he doubled over the sink again as he spat up a mouthful of bile. A cough rattled his chest, and he wiped his forehead.

He’d revisit this again in the morning. Maybe he’d throw that game out, maybe he’d decide that whatever this was would just continue until he reached the end. But for now, he needed to sleep.