Strength. What's it even mean?

The rusty pliers wrapped snugly around Mazael's canine, a sharp and tugging sensation centered at the gripped enamel. He knew it would only worsen.

Is it just your ability to dish out punishment? To fuck others up? Is it your presence, your ability to project the image of power?

The pliers clamped down tighter and tighter; cracks began to form in the tooth and pain shot through the nerves in his jaw like lightning bolts.

Is it your magic? Your supernatural powers? Your ability to conjure forces from beyond?

He tensed his jaw, knowing the pain that was about to shake his world.

No. It's none of these things.

He wrenched the pliers to the side, a wet pop sounded off like a gunshot through the bathroom. That was the easy part; his vision swam with pain and shock as his mouth filled with blood. Gasping for air, he leaned over the bathroom sink with tears now pouring down his cheeks. He stared up at his reflection to only see matted hair and bloodshot eyes.

Most Strength was an illusion, the rest of it was temporary.

With no time to spare, he began to yank at the nerves that attached the tooth to his jaw, every pluck and pull was excruciating beyond measure, and the exposed nerve suffocated in the air, twitching and pulsating in spurts of blood. Mazael couldn't care, his arm worked with a mind of its own as it yanked and pulled until eventually with a sickening pop, the tooth nerves were severed from his mouth. Blood poured down his jaw and he now actively choked and sobbed as he stared into the mirror.

There was some small share of strength, however, that was True Strength.

His blood made his grip on the pliers tenuous at best. There were still three more incredibly sharp canines; the bastard teeth that denoted his infernality and difference, the teeth he hated most. With shaky hands, he moved to make quick work of the other three in a shocked frenzy.

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True strength is something that is not natural. More supernatural than anything the strongest mages could conjure, and rarer than the most refined diamonds. It doesn't naturally occur, nor is it found randomly.

The second tooth went quicker, not easier; The pliers nearly fell from his grip multiple times, every reoccurring slip would send the pliers flailing wildly in his mouth, chipping the surrounding teeth, sounding like marbles rolling around in his head. however the adrenaline was in full effect and he was able to make quick work of the second canine and its attached nerves.

True Strength had to be deliberately sought after through obscure rituals.

The third tooth was a bitch; the blood now poured freely out of his mouth, the bleeding of the first tooth had slowed to a dribble but the second tooth's hole was freely giving of the crimson. He thought for a moment to put the pliers down and take a break to steel himself- but he knew that if he put them down, he might not be able to pick them back up.

And those obscure rituals were fucked.

Mazael yanked, and yanked, and yanked, the plier's grip was auspicious against his strong teeth, now coated in blood and saliva. He pulled, and pulled, and eventually, it popped. He began to scream; someone banged on the bathroom door behind him, voices that he couldn't discern through his adrenaline-clogged hearing. He had tunnel vision, focused only on his blood-covered face and the pliers that held the jagged stalactite of enamel that was held to his jaw with only a set of exposed pulp and nerves that burned like fire. His face and jaw began to go numb. He knew unconsciousness was coming soon.

As soon as the third tooth was out, he knew he couldn't keep a grip on the pliers anymore, choosing instead to throw them across the room, cracking the bathroom tiled wall. He knew the castle-guard would be in on him soon, and he had to act quickly.

If you had asked me four months ago if I'd be doing something like this, I would have said you were off your fucking rocker.

He wiped his fingers on his shirt, then reached up and grabbed a hold of the sharp canine, the fourth one, the last one, and held it tight, fighting for a grip. He took a deep breath, stilled himself as best he could, then yanked it with an acute and violent twist, following through by grabbing his wrist with his free hand and using his full body to twist his head away and pull the tooth out in one horrible, fluid motion.

But I wasn't this strong four months ago.

By the time the door had been knocked down, Mazael was on his side, unconscious on the floor, blood pooled out of his mouth, and a resolute yet gapful smile filled his face.

Dentistry wasn't so hard afterall...