The first cry was a small one, feeble and slight, hardly more than a grunt pushed out through tightly clenched teeth. Each pain-fueled shout that came after that first one was louder, the jaw letting go of its tension in pursuit of something less restrained, less focused. Over still more time the screams turned from something recognizable, turned away from something human, and slowly began to stretch and twist into something that no longer had a name. It started as just the sound of rage, the grunts and breathing of a mind fighting back at the growing pain, and as the cries continued they became something that collapsed under the weight of his torment. It took almost no time at all before the grunts and cries became the sounds of madness, the sounds of a mind that had been freed from the walls erected around consciousness and existed only to feel. That was when the cries became the sounds of unrelenting experience, just pain, distilled and pure, unending and unsympathetic.