You can't keep me here. Let me out let me out let me out. The voice was screaming now. Its patience, along with its host's was wearing thin. It wanted freedom from this self inflicted prison; to kill and maim as he himself knew he desired to do. What separated one from the other was restraint. The Voice was malice incarnate and all in his view were a target. Turpis wanted no such thing. The djinn just wanted peace.
But peace would not come to one who had caused such misery in his youth. Karma had come to collect on his sins, and he was paying for every grievance he had caused. As he sat upon a throne leaden with irony, he could only blame himself for the position he was in. He caused his own problems, and was now rightfully deeming himself the solution. If he opened the gates that allowed for such malice to enter the world, he would seal it away from the public.
Large tubes were rigged to the back of the throne, and ultimately Turpis' spine. This was the central mass of the djinn, the puppeteer for all of his puppets that roamed the land. It was his essence that fueled the seals that kept him locked safely from the outside world. For one who is composed of sand this was but a painless procedure, and yet it was not so simple. He was forced to maintain a state of flesh and blood so as to properly extract the energy.
For a being in constant pain, sleep and death were the only reprieve that he could forsee. Yet that incessant voice continued to fill his mind with its screeches and jabbering. There were times in which it spoke in the voice of his mind, muddling his thoughts with its words. Other times it sought to provoke him, whispering unto him.
The Voice was going to take its freedom. The Voice will be free.
