“Survived the fall straight to hell, did you? A pity.” -empressofnight, to any of the boys
The world stopped for a second. Eastwood had landed a punch to Isolde’s chest that made the Navigator fall to one knee and spit out some saliva, most would end the fight there, but the Elite Navigator was way more resilient than the average perfil displayed by those in the same position. He pulled himself together and was up again in no time, ready to continue, until the commentary echoed and his head turned to the Fighter.
“What do you think you know of hell?” Isolde’s voice was usually distant, but warm and welcoming, the kind that gave a sense of safety to those around him, soft, loud enough to be heard, yet never so loud everyone else could hear it; however, the question came out quite different from the usual one… it was menancing.
Before Eastwood could stop him, the sikvery haired man jumped down to the same level as Nyx, steps light as feather, but his posture was one he never showed around, he was rigid, ready for combat, lilac colored eyes detached of any emotion, the eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, fists clenched at the sides of his body. That wasn’t the man who usually went around with smiles and more often than not looking quite lost in his own thoughts, who needed to be called back to reality by his teammates.
“What do you think… is hell?” He asked again and sprinted to her, punching the metal wall by the side of Nyx head and not even flinching due to pain or discomfort, his knuckles marking a small dent on the metal. “Do you think it’s this? To be fighting ‘Terons? Perhaps the harsh conditions of the colonies? Maybe to be starving or so thirsty your throat can’t let anything in or out? To be forced into combat in a chance of getting rid of prison or execution?” To each question a new punch was given to the metal and he even bled, but still no sign of pain showed on his face, instead, only the ever roaring storm that grew inside came to his eyes.
Rage. No, that wasn’t rage. That was cholera. Bottled up cholera ready to break at any moment and being held back maybe by his team’s support and a couple of other small good things. The worst kind of wrath, that was a man who’d kill without thinking twice or measuring the consequences.
“You have no idea of what hell is like.” Isolde’s gaze pierced through the Fighter’s, his pupils were no more than a dot, shrank to their limit, unwavering on their focus, and he took a hold of her neck, fingers closing around it and constraining the muscles around the respiratory tract, slowly making it hard for her to breathe, but not enough to kill or lose conscience, only to feel the pain and dispair.
Suddenly the Elite Navigator was pulled back and away from Nyx though, right before he could do any serious damage. It was Virgil who was called by Eastwood to take a hold of the situation and locked Isolde in an embrace, burying Isolde’s face in his hair when he lowered his head, pinning him to where they were and keeping the struggle to a minimum while slowly calming him down.
The mute Elite Fighter looked at the blond Fighter serious, he wasn’t happy with what happened.
“Get out of here, Nyx. You’ve caused enough commotion for a whole week.” Eastwood finally voiced his order once he checked on the Elite Navigator’s situation and pointed both him and Virgil to go to the bench and take a break. “And we’ll have a talk later. A very serious talk. Because this… this is unacceptable.”
