Eliot and Open
He wasn't sure if it was still day one or several days had passed. The pain that Alastair inflicted was the worst he'd ever been put through in his life. Somewhere his mind had shut down to keep from giving his torturer what he wanted. He could hear the screams of others taken, wondering who the demons had managed to snatch up along with him. He would've bet they were more like him, not where they were supposed to be. That had piqued the demon's interest.
It had gotten hard not to scream. He was worn down, physically and mentally, from fighting and getting nowhere. Eliot's training had prepared him to take the pain he'd come up against but everyone had a limit on what they could take. It looked like he was finally going to see what his was.
Other voices pushed through the mental fog that had settled in, the haze that blurred the pain and made it more bearable until he started in again. As they became sharper, clearer, Eliot realized it wasn't just talking. Devil's traps, salt lines, exorcisms, fighting.
His body protested as he turned his head, trying to get a better look. At least one of the wounds reopened with the movement, mixing with dried blood, but it was worth it. It looked like the calvary had arrived.