She drifted in and out of consciousness.

Moments of lucidity came in hard fought fits as she clawed her way out of the soupy darkness that clogged her mind. Yet every time she broke the surface, she felt her head forced right back under against her own powerful will. She contemplated sinking into the deep fog and letting it wash over her, consume her, but hiding deep inside of that tempting oblivion, she felt The Malice patiently waiting for her to give in. Patiently waiting to take over and wreak the havoc it so craved.

So she fought, with everything she had.

Eventually the fog burned off. It was such a subtle and slow process that she barely noticed it until Witch found herself laying on something hard and staring up at a grey, stone ceiling. She didn't recognize it. Not a single crack or cobweb.

For a time, she just laid there without moving. She could feel the walls around her even without seeing them. She could sense each brick and each stone closing in on her and threatening to crush her. Immediately panic began to well within the dark depths of her mind. Long forgotten memories of being confined, experimented on, tortured and left to see if she would live or die began to resurface. She tried to swallow them. They stuck in her throat like bread and her without anything to drink. Her lungs felt restricted and tight and no matter how many deep breaths of air she drew in, it wasn't enough. Just when she thought she couldn't handle it anymore, she felt something shift around her.

Turning her head slightly, Witchblade looked across her cell and watched a man appear before the bars that held her. He appeared only slightly taller than her, though from her prone position it was hard to tell. His blue eyes locked gazes with hers as he looked at her with curiosity and than incredulity. The most prevalent thing about him though, was the mop of bright orange hair sitting stop his head, strands of it falling onto his bland face. A face perhaps she should have recognized, but didn't, for he seemed to know who she was. The voice within her head barely made her flinch, she merely raised her mental guards a little higher in case he had the capabilities to go snooping.

She said nothing to him. Slowly, Witch rolled onto her stomach, feeling the dry crust of ocean blue blood around her cracking and releasing her from it's macabre embrace. Her clothes were caked in it and felt irritating against her skin, scratching along the surface as she moved.

Pulling herself up onto her hands and knees, Witch locked eyes with the stranger beyond her cage, then launched herself at the bars. In the span of a heartbeat her body slammed into the metal as she reached through to grasp at him. The metal vibrated from the hard impact as her hand shot out, but the redheaded human was far more nimble than she anticipated and he jumped back just out of her grasp.

She growled in frustration and wrapped her fingers around the thick pieces of metal, oblivious to the still healing wounds in her back and chest and head that were re-opening and allowing a fresh torrent of blood to leak out. Flexing, Witchblade pulled on the bars. The muscles in her arms bulged and protested, but so did the metal. She felt it begin to give and groan as she pulled it apart.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!" She screamed at him. She didn't even bother using her telepathy, the words filled the prison as the stitches holding her lips together pulled and ripped into flesh.

The bars cried out more and then stopped moving, the space between them several inches bigger but still not enough to let her through. Breathing heavily, she released the bars and then threw herself at them again. And again. And again. Bones cracked and broke and still she continued.

"Stop it."

She ignored him and threw herself against the bars again, feeling ribs in her chest crack and break. Each time she did it, she grew weaker and weaker as the blood flowed from her body and her formidable healing abilities were unable to keep up with the myriad of wounds.

"Stop it!"

"RELEASE ME!"

She threw herself at the stretched bars trying to squeeze herself through to escape.

"Dammit, Witchblade! Stop!"

Her head began to swim and her vision darkened at the edges and slowly spread inward. Shaking her head to clear it, Witch reached out towards the blurry looking human, her chest heaving with her desperate attempt to draw in air. Realizing she would be unable to fit through, Witchblade let out an anguished cry and reached out. A telekinetic forced wrapped around the human's neck and began to squeeze. Even through the growing darkness of her vision she could see his eyes widen in surprise, fingers instinctively rising to grasp at nothing.

She tightened the hold as her vision blackened. When it cleared, she found herself slumped against the bars.

”Witchblade...”

Witch raised her head and glared at the man in front of her. Shifting her weight, the whole room spun uncontrollably. The orange haired man went from the ground to the ceiling and then back again. She reached for the bars to steady herself, only they weren't there anymore. Unable to catch her balance, she fell to her knees with a jarring crack. The vibration travelling through her whole body, but the pain doing little to clear her mind. As the darkness crept up on her vision again, she felt herself fall to the side, but lost consciousness before her body hit the floor.