One thought kept him from giving up, one thought kept him fighting even when he knew it was futile-- his brothers needed him.
He could feel another presence in his mind– one that relished the chaos and the pain it brought. It wasn't him and yet– it was becoming him. He could feel it toying with him. Part of him would live to see what the curse would do to him-- but the rest would be subjugated, controlled. He would become a part of the wrongness.
It did not care about his brothers, it only cared about the one who had done this to him, the one who now held his brothers.
And so he fought.
There were brief moments of clarity– ones where he felt relief, but they poison in his system was winning.
It was only a matter of time.