He hissed for air, on his back, vulnerable. Edward felt his body writhe with instinct, and that impulse billed him for screaming nerve endings. The heel in his throat -- a cold horror. The potential chilled. The kicks and stomps to his sides, his diaphragm, his split skin -- burning agony, blistering.

Aching.

It was always a game of hot and cold with Eridan Ampora.

When the onslaught subsided to vague buzzing agony, he rolled upwards his eyes. The positioning and the light nearly whitewashed away the visual scene before him, but it wasn't the balm he sought. Edward hissed out again, working his throat muscles, curling his tongue.

"Won't change what I did to you," he said. "Won't erase a damn thing -- you'll still remember."

His eyes flickered downcast, shooting Eridan a look while Eddie lay strapped on his back.

"Did I not brainwash you correctly, Eridan? Isn't this behavior the sort of thing I wanted from you? Calculating, scheming, patient. You've fought your natural, self-destructive emotions to get this far, to get to this night. You're using your talents."

Albeit, talents directed at the wrong target.