Erza Lost [M]

[Erza Scarlet]

Continued from Claraina Arrives (Open).

It was pitch black. The only audible noises were the crunch of feet on gravel and Erza's body, slowly pitching back and forth in the darkness, colliding with the walls of her prison. She opened her eyes. Nope, still nothing. Whoever had put her here, whoever had snuck up on her in her addled state and trapped her in this bothersome box, had certainly done a good job making said box. No idle voices traversed its thick walls, and her cries for help had, so far, gone completely ignored. There had to be an air hole, somewhere, because she was still alive after all this time. But it was small, and Erza couldn't retain consciousness for more than a few minutes at a time before passing out again for who knew how long. Each time was the same futile cycle - Wake up, verify the blackness, verify that nobody was coming to help, verify that her limbs were bound tightly enough so as not to let her get at her Dataverse unit for a light source, or requip into anything useful. Verify that she was stark naked, and didn't have her dataverse unit on her anymore anyway. Realize some pervert must have undressed her in the middle of the nexus, for all to see, for this to come about. Faint again.

That same pervert that had been carrying her, sloshing her back and forth in this box for so long now. What had it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? Erza had no way to tell, for sure. There seemed to be some sort of waste removal system in place, but Erza knew now how it functioned and the stench of human excrement was still overwhelming. Perhaps that was what was keeping her awake longer each time - a sort of natural smelling salts. But ultimately, not worth the sensation of utter defilement.

She had spent quite a while in this box - Longer, she imagined, than in the rest of the Omniverse combined, or at least it felt that way - but there was still no end in sight. Not once had she seem the dimmest light, or heard the slightest peep of a human voice. Not once had the box stopped moving, onward and outward. She imagined her "travel party," as it were, must have been quite small, moving slowly and making sure not to damage the box. It was certainly an unpleasant way to travel; Erza would have much preferred to simply take the magic-powered carriage. More fun, less passing out amidst the sickly sweet, honeyed and perpetually staling scent of human piss.

She'd tried, on a few occasions, to simply focus all of her magic power on pushing the walls of the box away at all angles and bursting out upon her kidnappers. It never worked, and in retrospect, that was probably a good thing; She'd have been out of stamina to actually fight with.

Damn. Damn, what did I do to deserve this?

She began to focus her attention on those few parts of her body she could move - Her fingers, ankles, neck and abdomen. The smooth, polished granite texture of the box's floor was as well-ingrained in her mind by now as it was into her skin. She organized her movement with the swaying of the box, letting herself be pushed a bit to the side before pushing herself even further. It seemed her only recourse was to find that air hole and dig through it. She twisted, yanking her whole body as far left as the constraints would allow, feeling with every finger, every toe and every inch of her lower back for any existing instance of roughness.

And, in the darkness, it appeared. Right in the corner, on the floor by her right foot, there was a tiny, tiny scratch in the otherwise perfect walls. A sharp breath pierced her lungs, a short moment of invigoration before she gagged, coughing up what little somehow remained in her stomach. It sat there, half covering her lips and half still in her mouth, as she dry heaved for a moment longer.

Regaining what remained of her composure, she spit what she could out into the box to the side of her head. It would slosh with the box, too, and eventually she'd be laying in it, and it would quickly become caked in her hair, and THAT was unlikely to be detected by that ineffective waste removal system.

Better get to work on that crack, then, or I'll REALLY give up...

She waited for another leftwards turn of the box, then swept left herself, using her sweaty skin to stick to the floor in the only convolution of her body that would allow her pinkie toenail access to that minuscule imperfection. And, with a newfound determination, she breathed as slowly as she could make herself, scratching at the crack with the sharpest thing she had at the moment, before inevitable passing out again.

Waking again, she immediately twisted into position and began picking at the box again. Her nail was encroaching on becoming a useless stub, and the vomit was encroaching on her face. But, it would have to do; There really was no other way out.

She continued to scratch, and the box continued to sway.