SHE WAS STILL AS A DEER, fearful as one too. it’s terrible to know what’s coming, even if you hope that fate will have mercy and turn around. not that elle would show it any moment soon, her face stern at max. the wardrobe of a man kept pushing and pulling at her arms as if to remind her that he was there. that he got her. it did, it screamed of a devastating hunger. all she could to was try to ignore it, pay attention to the gang’s leader instead. careful ———
❛ try not to ruin her pretty little face. ❜ eyes squinted at the man in front of her, who was now smiling. but she didn’t have much time to try and bargain with him. the bodyguard forced her upper body down, against his knee projecting forward. whatever she had in mind to speak out got replaced by a groan. this was what you call being breathless, she felt. and god, it hurt. enough for her to forget concealing it in front of irial, enough to forget where he was.
BEFORE SHE COULD EVEN reach the ground on her own, she was thrown away at an awkward angle. what happened to her combat lessons? they could barely help to get up now. and still she tried, brain working slower than she imagined. it only made it worse. there was a kick to her side, another one at her shoulder. don’t let them hear your helplessness, she told herself. not now, not now, not now. and still, the gasps of pain come without effort from her battered form.
STARTER FOR @XNTHESHADOWS.
AS YEARS passed by, he had discovered the masochistic part of himself. The one who did not whimper when bones broke, when blood flowed, when his limbs ached till they almost went numb. It was the part which made him smile and laugh through pain, always reckless, always insolent - the wolf pretending to be wounded. It was only a prelude to his fury. Eventually he would open his eyes, stare at his attacker with hues as crimson as his blood, then the roles would be reversed. He would be the one in charge and return all the blows he had been given and add some more. Adrenaline would run in his veins and make him stand. He would be victorious. He would always be.
Said victorious boy was now lying on the ground, face and hair dirt with dust and blood. The man towering over him kicked him in his stomach, making Irial curl and groan. Not good. He would have to do something as soon as possible, or he would barely have the strength to get back on his feet. Behind him, he heard Elle’s painful gasps and decided the time had come. He looked up at the man and grinned between sweat and dirt. A second - a blink of an eye - then darkness rose from the ground, from a spot where no shadows lied under the lamppost pale light. The man gasped in surprise, but his scream died in his throat. A shadow pierced through his chest, making a hole in it. He looked down at it, confused, then fell on the ground with a heavy, satisfying thud. Irial grinned. One down. Slowly he knelt down, steadying himself with one hand. His sight was a bit dizzy, but he could work with it.
A, unexpected kick in his back shoved him on the ground. His eyes widened and he hissed, and when he abruptly rolled on his back to face the new aggressor, a second kick in his side emptied his lungs from all oxygen. Fantastic.
This would be a long night.
