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06-22-2015, 12:17 PM
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Staring into the eyes of your nightmare is the most horrible experience of living. (But I’ve been doing it so often lately—) The voice was morphing—changing into something all its own, and that wasn’t much of an improvement, cuz now it fell from nonexistent lips like drops of heavy, chilling black water oozing from the deepest pit in the coldest circle of hell. My whole being tightened; my eyes, my chest, my spirit and my quickly-fraying mind, as though all of me were trying to keep it together in the face of an evil that had haunted me for so long. The world shrieked as she tore herself into existence, as though everything about her was wrong for this plane. The ice around us shifted and warped itself into teeth and the sky erupted with falling shards of ice-cold death. I didn’t have time to think of how shitty this situation was; I ducked my head, grasping the ruined hilt of a ruined sword between my teeth while you were forced to flap away from me, your tiny wings beating too hard and fast to get anywhere far. You zpsnck!ed into something larger but I couldn’t see; I was too busy backpedaling, my mouth full of ruined metal and the world’s jaws clamping down on me, no matter how fast I tried to move. A few of them managed to fall on me, into me—three fat pieces of ice falling passed me, scraping my left hip, my right shoulder, the left side of my poll. Whizzing past much too fast to lodge themselves into me—but the teeth scraped my skin just hard enough for blood to peak through, wondering if it should start bleeding or not. My pained, frustrated cries were muffled, caught into the grip of the blade. I stumbled—I backed a few steps more, but she was here now and I looked up and into the face of my nightmare. Red eyes. She stood before me—nothing but shadow and asshole and other things cold. Her eyes darted around, fiery and flashing, and I was already doing battle—with you, cuz your fool ass still wasn’t listening to me. Chico, you have to go-- I was saying furiously in my head, and you were fighting me just as savagely, just in time for those red eyes to find mine Time’s— —up. The words had barely finished echoing in all my dark places when I shot my lightning at her; it burst from me, bubbling hot and urgent, something itching in me to attack her and get her out of my face as fast as possible. But she was also attacking, reaching out and wielding the wrongness that permeated her presence, her air and her very breath; she molded it with her fingers, caressing it into a weapon and firing it from her fingertips straight for me—for my heart. It sailed in the air at an impossible speed and I was lost with a mouth full of useless metal. I dodged left—but it was too fast for me to clear away from. It socked me in my right hip, the blast pounding me so hard I felt the reverb of it rattle my bones, my muscle, my sanity. My right hind leg jerked underneath me, weak with the dull-muscle pain racing through my nerves like a muffled alarm; as soon as my hoof touched the ground, I knew it wasn’t gonna bear my weight. The fight had barely begun and I was already getting fucked. I wasn’t even sure if the lightning I had thrown at her would have any effect. The image of my Pa wielding the bitchin’ Sparkmarrow was burned in my eye, but I didn’t have that same sword. I had its shadow lodged in my mouth, dangling uselessly like a frail, old gentlemen at a strip joint, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it. There was no glorious lightning, no obvious, graceful power--nothing. I would’ve panicked but I was already in the thick of a fight. My mind raced as fast as it could with a throbbing leg; I figured and wondered and pondered and came to a garbled realization. ”If that's what the sword looked like when it came through .. I can only imagine how she looks."My Pa’s voice echoed in my head—and I wondered if this sword would still be effective against her. Something decrepit against something else decrepit—I mean, there was a logic in there, right? (that blast sure as hell didn’t feel like anything decrepit--) I tested my leg again and it shook a little as I forced my weight on it and there would be a limp soon but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Sword-bits rattled as I turned to face her again. With a snort, I charged for her—my gait painful, but getting steadier and steadier as I fought against the ache of it. I got as close to her as I dared before wrenching my head to one side—and then flinging the sword toward her, letting the grip sail out of my jaws as the weight of so many dangling pieces flailed in the air, the whole of the apparatus sailing straight for her as I willed those jagged, rusted pieces to pierce into her and give that bitch tetanus. |
