| [Jun. 3rd, 2009|07:53 pm] |
Ginta broke the surface of consciousness like a blister bursting: slack muscles went taut in an instant, red-rimmed eyes wide and fierce. He sucked in a ragged gasp, shoved himself back and up, brought his hands together in the ram seal, and tried to call up chakra for a defensive jutsu.
Then the pain hit him. Urgent, desperate signals that neither of his legs were functional. Burned skin and scorched airways added to the misery, and he gagged, coughing deeply, choking up sooty mucus until his vision failed and he slumped forward.
Coughs gave way to exhausted pants, and he found himself leaning against a steadying hand. If this had been an enemy, Ginta thought distantly, he'd be dead. He'd have had his head hacked off while he struggled for air. He could smell smoke and chemicals, sulfur and black powder, and blood. And he could sense chakra, blue-white, threaded through the hand on his shoulder.
It was hard to think through the pain. His legs--gods his legs. Staring down at them, seeing the left grossly swollen, and his right foot turned all the way in like a broken puppet's... There was blood and black soot seared across the sheets, and all he could think was, that's wrong. It's not supposed to go like that.
The hand on his shoulder tightened, shook him a little, and he lifted his head. Kakashi. It was Kakashi, right there, face smeared with grime, and mostly covered in that familiar black mask. His Sharingan eye was hidden, the grey one red all around, and glassy from the smoke.
What the hell was Kakashi doing here?
Ginta gave him a look half agony, half disbelief. "Gen...ius?" It came out a guttural sound, rasped and raw. And wrong. And nothing made sense at all. |
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