Stiles is changing. His humour fading, the light in his eyes turning darker with everyday, he was becoming more and more like the dark spirit they just defeated. His friends notice it. His dad notices it. Stiles knew this.
But what he didn't know...
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Stiles focused on the steady rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic pattern of his breathing began to work to soothe the teen as he tried to block out his surroundings. He was chained to the floor of an old warehouse, the large metals loops carved with ancient sigils dug into his neck, wrists and ankles bringing new fresh pain with every movement.
His head pounded. He could barely open his eyes with what little energy he had left. He was getting depleted, with every hour he felt himself getting more and more drained. It was like his life force was getting sucked out of him.
Stiles felt his eyelids close, and the sharp familiar tingling sensation began creeping up his body again causing his thoughts to run wild with alarm.
"Not again, please not again." The teen croaked out as he tried to fight the building itch in his body, but it was too late to stop it. Clenching his teeth he felt the pressure building in his core, like a nuclear reactor about to reach melting point.
Suddenly the pressure exploded outwards and Stiles screamed. Power emitted from his body in a large shockwave of pure energy that broke out into the world around him. The teen felt as if he was being ripped apart, every cell in his body being destroyed and rebuilt again. This had been going on for days now. It will never stop. The teen thought to himself hopelessly. I'm dead, no one can help me now.
Stiles heard the door to the warehouse creak open sending shivers of fear down his spine. His eyes still glued shut, he merely shook in terror waiting to face the wrath of one of the horsemen once more.
"Stiles?"
Stiles froze, not immediately recognising the voice. This wasn't Sierra, or Lysandra or him. This was someone different. Someone familiar.
"Stiles!"
The teen opened his eyes to be greeted with the familiar red mask of his friend's alter ego. Peter Parker pulled off the Spider-Man mask, his mousy brown eyes filled with concern as he studied the teen. Not long after the room was filled with agents, some he recognised, others he didn't.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked his friend as one of the agents came over to study the chains. Stiles nodded, his vision clouded with tears as he bit his lip through the pain. He was going to be saved.
"Can someone please get Strange in here?" The agent who was next to them barked. "There's some sorta hoodoo crap that I can't work out." The woman has dark raven hair and a stern expression, her thoughts masked as she traced her fingers carefully over the runes on the teen's chains.
