мollyмaυĸ (eyesnevershut) wrote in wtnvic, @ 2018-07-14 23:17:00 |
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Molly knew what he had to do. Caleb had been knocked to the ground, Nott was too focused on breaking into the cages, and Beau was too close to Lorenzo for his comfort. This was his family and he couldn't just let this monster of a man hurt them. They should have run. They should have run the second he unleashed that spell. They should have thought this through and done things differently and not been so reckless. But they hadn't and now it was too late for that and there was only one thing he could do. He vaulted over the cart, stumbling slightly, and threw himself at Lorenzo. The first slash of his sword connected, but the next two missed. And then the slaver was bearing down on him and he knew that he had to do something. He reached for that part of himself, the thing in his blood that afflicted enemies and made their eyes go black. Immediately he knew there was something wrong. There was nothing to draw on. He had nothing left. He'd barely been on his feet and he'd pulled too much. He swayed on his feet, almost falling before something grabbed him. And then pain. So much pain. He could barely see. He couldn't think. And there was a sharp, piercing agony in his chest. He heard Lorenzo's voice, something about an example, and he forced himself to remain conscious even as the slaver shoved the blade deeper, provoking a fresh wave of agonizing pain. He felt cold and he couldn't feel his legs. Everything was dark and too quiet. But he wasn't afraid. Death had never been something that scared him. Death had already come to him and he had come out the other side of it. Everything after that was borrowed time. These two years had been something he had never expected to have and they were more than he ever could have hoped for. He had lived and he had lived well and he had found two families. It was more than most people could hope for. "-last words?" He hadn't caught everything the man said, but he got the gist of it. This was it, no getting out of it. No witty quips or clever words were going to save him. And maybe that was okay. Because he had done all that he could to save this strange, terrible little family that he had built for himself. And he didn't have any fear or any regrets. Well, some regrets, but they were the soft kind. Gentle regrets. He wanted to stay, of course he wanted to stay, but this wasn't up to him. There were things he wanted to say, of course. He wanted to tell Beau to be strong, but also that he had done this for her and so she could never get a one-up on him. He wanted to tell Nott to look after the others and to let go of her need to be someone else. He wanted to tell Caleb...so much. But none of that was for now. Instead, he spit blood into Lorenzo's face. "Respect." As if he cared for the respect of a monster. Fuck you, too. And then the blade twisted sharply and everything went black and quiet and cold. He breathed, wet and ragged, and then he didn't. And then he fell to his knees, breath coming sudden and painful and he dropped down to all fours on the ground, head hanging down, confused and shaking. His chest ached, but when he looked down, there was no wound. Just a ragged scar and too much blood on his clothes. There was no snow around him, no wagons or people. None of the Nein were there. He was alone, his only company the grass and trees and the dark night sky. It was better than the weight of the earth and the taste of dirt in his mouth, the feeling of digging his way out of his own grave, but only just. He felt a familiar emptiness, a feeling of being stretched too thin. He dug his claws into the ground beneath him and shook as he struggled to breathe through an all too familiar panic. He had a name. He had a name and a life and people who needed him but he couldn't quite grasp at any of it. It was there. It wasn't gone like before. But in his muddled and shaken state, still caught in the knowledge and awareness of his own death, it felt entirely lost to him. Empty. Empty. Empty empty empty empty empty. He coughed, spitting blood to the ground. The sight of it caught his attention and he stared at the liquid for a long moment, captivated. There was something about it. Something about his blood. Something about who he was. Everything was too much. The world was too loud and too bright, even in the night's darkness, and just...too much. He shook on the ground and looked up at the sky and the moon, usually comforting...it was supposed to be comforting though he couldn't quite say why...but somehow unsettling in the sky, and gave a ragged, choked scream. |