It is crap and has a lot of plot flaws...

I haven't written anything new in such a long time. That may be an issue for me. This rage and this desire to just give up are killing me. Perhaps I have had the power to drive them away before. I need to feel like I am doing something. My hate will consume me in the end.

06-17-10
"Would that I can release you. I am no longer in control. There was a distinct change after the 46th ritual. I noticed that what I had been experiencing was no longer real. They trapped me in a dream world and now they are free to do as they please, with all my power at their disposal...."

He could barely focus. The incantation was buzzing around inside his head. The words lit up his thoughts like beacons of light, they blinded him. Somewhere underneath of all the power and energy flowing around and through him he could hear the sharp and terrifying screams. Someone was being tortured right next to him.
Somehow he was disconnected from it. This was unusual. Power still flowed into him, but he did not feel the pain. What was wrong? Where was the linkage? The light in his head permeated his sense of self and made it difficult to locate his query.
In the deeper recesses of his mind he could feel it. The link was heavy, it was as if a thousand cords of magic had been wrapped together and nestled into his brain. He knew if he followed them he would be led to the man who sat screaming next to him. Why couldn't he feel him though?
The mass of cords were whole and unmolested. There was no true end to the cords, they were inside him and therefore connected. Somehow though he was not at the fore of himself.
Slowly he let himself drift back up into the light. They seared through him and caused pain of their own, but nothing compared to the torture he usually endured. The link should have been sending all of the man's pain to him. He did not prevent the man from feeling it, but shared it. If he were aware of himself he would have shivered.
Watching as men were mutilated and beaten, their screams pulsing through him, had scarred him. When he first was placed in that chair and noticed the man next to him tied and gagged he could not fathom what was to happen. When the incantation started he began to feel things. First he noticed a great weariness, the man was exhausted. A gnawing hunger settled into his stomach and his wrists began to burn.
The sensations almost overtook him. He soon began yelling that he did not belong there. The Wizards of Alak'Nor would never stand for this. Screaming to be released a heavy hand came down and smacked his face. Realization came to him as the man sitting next to him recoiled in pain with him. Then they had brought out the knives.
Returning to his current situation he started watching the light pulsing through his mind. He had only had this introspective view once before. One of the victims, they had pushed him here. Perhaps they hoped he could disrupt the magic. If he tried to get to near the words and the light he was burned and blown backward. There was no stopping them.
The victim who had done this was dead though. It was his previous one. Did he somehow linger somewhere inside himself? Did the victim force him here again?
He had to get back, he had to see what was happening. He could still hear the man screaming, but only faintly. Perhaps if he could get to the source he could retake himself. Only it seemed as if the sound was coming from above the spell. How would he get through it?
The lights pulsed and between each pulse there was darkness, a stillness that he could see or feel something beyond. Chiding himself for thinking of things in a physical sense he waited and expelled himself through between the next pulse.
Pain ripped through him. Agony was coming out of him as sound in raw screams. The cuts were everywhere. Small gouges that wept blood covered him. They burned and ached with such a ferocity that he was certain he would go into shock.
Remembering in a small moment that it was not actually happening to him he dared look over. There was not a man who sat next to him but a bloody mess. His skin was so punctuated by the small incisions that it was a marvel that his innards did not spill out.
Tearing his eyes away he began to go through the motions of ignoring the pain. It never truly worked but it helped some. He believed because he was not actually physically receiving the torture he should be able to shut off his mind from feeling it. But he never truly succeeded .
Reciting entire books in his mind, listing the names of all the people he had murdered, mapping out the city in his head all worked fairly well. Even so his thoughts would usually turn to Srothe. Somehow he felt that in the man he could bastion himself away.