Despair

He had thought that he had given up hope and despaired. He'd accepted the truth: he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to escape that inevitable fate. There were others, his friends, who were more than willing to try to rescue him, but they did not know the insurmountable barriers they would face in their attempt. They would certainly die, and he had not been willing to sacrifice their lives in a futile gesture of defiance against those who even now were coming to take him to his death.
The Inquisitor hovered nearby, her red robes somehow unstained by the filth that coated the floor of the cramped cell. Her painted lips still curved in a perfectly sadistic smile.
Her voice still echoed in his head. 'You know, I could set you free.'
His knees wobbled and he fell to the stone floor. It was impossible, yet for an instant he had dared to believe her. He had hoped that there was a way for not only him to live, but also for his friends to be spared from dying in their search to rescue him. She could order the guards away, take him to the warren passages below the dungeons and set him loose to find his friends and stop them.
He breathed the rank air in ragged gasps. Of course it had been a lie! How could it have been anything else? She had dangled that tiny thread of hope in front of him, just long enough for it to infect him. It had been just real enough for him to believe that life and freedom could be possible for all of them, in spite of everything he knew to be true. And then she had snatched it away before he could even think to reach for it.
Tears fell from eyes he had long thought beyond crying ever again. He had thought he knew despair before, but now would not even be allowed to accept his iminent death with dignity. His calm resolve had been shattered in an instant, abandoned at the slightest chance that hope existed.
He screamed. It came unbidden from somewhere deep within, forcing itself out. His back arched and he strained against he manacles that chained him to the stone wall. Mourning the loss of all hope, it was a scream of final despair. The scream contintinued until it filled his ears, until he was aware of nothing else. It was a scream filled with despair, and filling the despair was something else.
Cold, empty rage flowed through the despair and hopelessness. Rage at the world, at the inquisitor, at himself. Rage born of despair poured into his soul. His freedom had been stolen, his life would be taken, and even the ability to surrender and depart willingly had been denied to him. A dark emptiness coursed through him, following behind the crumbling despair and forcibly lifting up what had fallen.
The scream ended. He slumped back and sat against the wall, his arms held limply above his head by the manacles. His lungs burned, empty, but he felt no need to draw breath. He was empty, and the emptiness sustained him.
"That was impressive," the inquisitor said. He looked at her dully, with empty eyes. She was still smiling, enjoying her game as she stepped closer. "You know, fire and knives are such clumsy instruments of torture," she said, eyes dancing. "They can never wound the soul as deeply as words."
His expression did not change as he kicked out his legs. There was a crunch as his right foot connected with her knee. He hooked the toes of his left foot in her fine red robes and pulled them so that she fell toward him.
Yelling out for the guards, she glared at him with murder in her eyes. "I'll cut off the rest of your fingers for that," she snarled, pulling herself up against the wall.
He didn't bother to draw breath to reply, only waited until she had raised herself high enough. Then he lunged forward and his teeth sank into the soft flesh of her neck. He did not feel triumph or even grim satisfaction to taste her hot blood as it filled his mouth and ran down his chin. Only the rage of despair. There was no hope for his life, no hope even of being allowed to accept his fate or striking a final blow against the inquisition.
The guards opened the door to his cell and rushed in as the inquisitor cried out feebly, clawing at his face. On her ruined knee she could not pull away, and was fighting not to fall again while he still held her in his teeth. He looked at the two armed men with empty eyes, even as the inquisitor thrashed against him. They would probably kill him for this.
If they didn't, he would make them wish they had.