The pain returned, twisted and wrenching not just on his physical body but on whatever tattered remnants of his soul that he had left. He arced from the gurney that they strapped him to, all semblance of pride broken, as he screamed. He didn’t scream for it to end, it wouldn’t kill him, and he had things worth living for, namely tearing about the witches that thought that this was a good idea. He screamed for Rebekah, who he knew was being steadily poisoned through the bites of the werewolves (he’d slaughter all of them for that, carve the bones from their bodies, catch their blood in bowls, and hang the witches with the intestines of the wolves who had chosen the wrong side). He screamed for Elijah who he knew was looking for Rebekah and perhaps for him, if Elijah wasn’t in the mood to teach his younger brother a lesson - though, Klaus thought that he’d behaved well for the few days prior to the abduction. His back bowed, twisted to the left til it felt like he’d nearly snap in two. He screamed while he laughed. They thought that he’d be driven mad from the pain. Mikael taught him pain. Taught him fear and Loneliness. This was a pinprick over the course of centuries , thousands of years of Mikael hunting him. He’d survive it.
He always did.