The feeling of long steel spikes digging into your gut should probably be more painful... though to be honest he’d lost much of the feeling in his body at this point.
Wolfwood grit his teeth against the cry of pain as he was pinned to the dirt like a bug, too full of bullets already to struggle free. The fight had been going on for almost an hour now, the ‘priest’ having been jumped by several members of the Eye of Michael. Ordinarily he was among their strongest, but the numerous wounds from Razlo and being tag-teamed was wearing him down. He’d lost too much blood...
“You really have a thick skull, Nicholas.” His Master leaned down, digging the spikes in even further. “When will you learn to stop. Fighting. Me.”
The young man’s response was thorough enough; he glared up at the old bastard and spat a mouthful of blood at his face. The immediate punishment was the Punisher in his gut being twisted cruelly, tearing open another grievous wound, but it had been worth it.
“Doublefang, break his arms and legs. We’re bringing him home.”
Nicholas felt panic rising as the larger assassin approached obediently, his struggles doing nothing other than aiding in gutting himself. They were going to take him back... He wasn’t going back!!
The power of the Plant in his core activated in response to his distress, lashing out on instinct as she felt her host’s body giving out. The energy-filled wings unfurled from his arms and back, knocking Chapel off of him and keeping Doublefang at bay as Nicholas struggled to rise again.
He couldn’t. He’d lost too much blood, suffered too many wounds.
The assassin was acting on raw instinct at this point, feeling the energy spike again as Doublefang lunged for him, his vision growing white... And that was the last he knew.
The first thing he’d registered when he regained consciousness was the pain. His nerves had started reconnecting, it seemed, the priest choking back a strangled scream as he writhed helplessly on whatever ground he’d landed on.
His wings were still out, too weak to retract them and far too on edge otherwise. They furled over him, the iridescent white feathers tinged with red from the quickly growing puddle of blood underneath him. He didn’t recognize where he was, what blood was left in his body far too diluted with adrenaline to process what had happened.
And when he heard approaching footsteps, he immediately reacted defensively, snarling at the perceived threat in preparation for another attack.
