Vaunivor
Tlazolteotl
Syrenrei
AHeartlessNobody
nachonacho
VampiretwilightAs soon as the pressure was removed from Crow’s chest, he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. He lifted a hand to his chest and forced himself to inhale slowly so he could check the severity of his injury. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like the mercenary had broken any of his ribs, but he would definitely feel bruised once the adrenaline wore off. He shuddered. That was a little too close for comfort. The mercenary had only needed to stab upward once, and the short sword would have pierced his heart. He was thankful Penelope had reacted to the situation so quickly, or he would have died.
He looked up dizzily as Penelope moved to put herself between him and the other man. If their lives weren’t on the line, he might have found their size difference laughable. However, even though Penelope was much smaller than the mercenary, Crow knew she was skilled enough to hold her ground—at least long enough to buy them some time.
As the two began to fight, Crow rose unsteadily to his feet, slowly coming back to himself. He watched the skirmish from a distance, feeling a pang of anger as he saw Penelope get beat down by the enormous man. Even more frustrating was that he wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t strong enough to overpower the mercenary, and he doubted a professional killer like that would fall for his usual tricks of escape.
His eyes shifted to the attacker’s sword, which laid on the ground not too far away, and he swallowed. It looked like weapons were the only chance he and Penelope had against such a powerful opponent, but he didn’t think he could bring himself to use one. Sure, he had brandished a dagger before, but he had only used it to fool his enemies into surrendering peacefully. He had never even cut a man before, let alone tried to inflict a mortal wound.
Your life isn’t the only one at stake right now, he reminded himself. If not to save yourself, at least do it for her.
Crow edged towards the fight, fighting the instinct to turn and run. By this point, both Penelope and the mercenary had disarmed each other, their weapons lying scattered on the ground. He heard her cry out, telling him to take the dagger before the other man could get to it. She held the mercenary back, trying to slow him down, but there still wasn’t much time.
Without thinking, he sprinted towards the blade and dove for it, snatching it just before the burly man’s fingers could wrap around the hilt. He rolled aside and jumped back up to his feet, grimacing painfully. In his haste, he hadn’t paid attention to which part of the dagger he had grabbed. His hand stung as the blade bit into his skin.
He could already feel the panic setting in. His breathing became shallow and his head grew foggy. Don’t look at it, he closed his eyes, shakily turning the small weapon around so the hilt was in his hand. There’s nothing there. It’s fine. I’m fine. He felt warm liquid seep between his fingers, and he staggered. Oh gods.
Crow’s eyes snapped open again as he heard the sound of a booming howl. The mercenary had finally managed to tear himself away from Penelope’s grasp and was charging towards him. In a surge of energy driven purely by the instinct to survive, Crow lunged out of the way. He turned around to face the man, who was now grinning at him savagely. It took him a moment to realize that the man had reclaimed his short sword when he had barreled past him.
This was why Crow hated mercenaries. Nothing was ever a mistake when it came to the way they hunted their prey. They were always one step ahead, calculating exactly how they were going to kill their targets. He took a step back, glancing at Penelope. In her condition, he doubted she would be able to run, or even fight much longer for that matter. He felt helpless. A battered knight and a thief with a fear of blood against a man who murdered people for a living. It wasn’t much of a fair fight.
“Ahhh, e thiall vith nessau. Hov tailvins,” the mercenary walked towards him slowly.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Crow took another step back, uncomfortable with how close the man was coming to him. He raised the dagger in his hands, but the gesture only made the man laugh.
“Navkord tuu,” the mercenary stopped, just out of Crow’s reach. He cleared his throat and spoke again, “Elā ippuḍu gurin̄ci.”
“Okay, I understood that,” Crow stared at him in surprise. The man had switched to Gorman, a language Crow knew well. He eyed the mercenary suspiciously, switching to the other language to communicate, “Nēnu ī viṣayānni mīku telusā?”
“Idi nāku telusu nā pani,” the mercenary examined the blade of his sword, as if the conversation was uninteresting. His crystalline eyes flicked up to meet Crow’s gaze, “Nā āhāraṁ gurin̄ci nēnu telusukuṇṭānu.”
“Enduku mīru nannu ceptunnāvu?” Crow asked warily. “Nannu campaḍāniki mī pani kādu?”
“Idi,” the mercenary pointed his sword at Crow’s chest. “Kānī nēnu dānini mugin̄cēmundu nā vēṭanu bhayapeṭṭaḍāniki marinta ānandin̄cēdi.” He showed his rotting teeth in a brutal grin. “Mīru bhayapaḍarā?”
“Hmm,” Crow stood up slightly straighter, attempting to bluff. “Nēnu ninnu tīsukeḷtānu.”
The mercenary let out a braying laugh, “Evarikainā takkuvagā unna bōlḍ padālu.” He reached out to grab Crow’s wrist, pressing the thief’s dagger against his own sternum. His eyes glinted in amusement as the color drained from Crow’s face. “Nēnu kōrukuṇṭē mīru nannu campalēdani nāku telusu.” He leaned forward, causing the blade to cut into his chest. Dark red blood oozed from the wound.
Crow’s eyelids fluttered at the sight, and he felt his legs giving out beneath him. However, just as he began to collapse, the mercenary held him up by his wrist.
“Cūḍaṇḍi?” the man eyed him sadistically. “Idi cālā saradāgā uṇṭundi.” He lifted his sword to Crow’s arm, using the blade to pull back his sleeve and expose the skin underneath. “Miśramāniki mī raktānni elā kalapāli? Nēnu mīru konni kōtalu ivvālani kālēdu... Lēdā mottaṁ viṣayaṁ āph, mīru kāvālanukuṇṭē.”
He looked up dizzily as Penelope moved to put herself between him and the other man. If their lives weren’t on the line, he might have found their size difference laughable. However, even though Penelope was much smaller than the mercenary, Crow knew she was skilled enough to hold her ground—at least long enough to buy them some time.
As the two began to fight, Crow rose unsteadily to his feet, slowly coming back to himself. He watched the skirmish from a distance, feeling a pang of anger as he saw Penelope get beat down by the enormous man. Even more frustrating was that he wanted to help, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t strong enough to overpower the mercenary, and he doubted a professional killer like that would fall for his usual tricks of escape.
His eyes shifted to the attacker’s sword, which laid on the ground not too far away, and he swallowed. It looked like weapons were the only chance he and Penelope had against such a powerful opponent, but he didn’t think he could bring himself to use one. Sure, he had brandished a dagger before, but he had only used it to fool his enemies into surrendering peacefully. He had never even cut a man before, let alone tried to inflict a mortal wound.
Your life isn’t the only one at stake right now, he reminded himself. If not to save yourself, at least do it for her.
Crow edged towards the fight, fighting the instinct to turn and run. By this point, both Penelope and the mercenary had disarmed each other, their weapons lying scattered on the ground. He heard her cry out, telling him to take the dagger before the other man could get to it. She held the mercenary back, trying to slow him down, but there still wasn’t much time.
Without thinking, he sprinted towards the blade and dove for it, snatching it just before the burly man’s fingers could wrap around the hilt. He rolled aside and jumped back up to his feet, grimacing painfully. In his haste, he hadn’t paid attention to which part of the dagger he had grabbed. His hand stung as the blade bit into his skin.
He could already feel the panic setting in. His breathing became shallow and his head grew foggy. Don’t look at it, he closed his eyes, shakily turning the small weapon around so the hilt was in his hand. There’s nothing there. It’s fine. I’m fine. He felt warm liquid seep between his fingers, and he staggered. Oh gods.
Crow’s eyes snapped open again as he heard the sound of a booming howl. The mercenary had finally managed to tear himself away from Penelope’s grasp and was charging towards him. In a surge of energy driven purely by the instinct to survive, Crow lunged out of the way. He turned around to face the man, who was now grinning at him savagely. It took him a moment to realize that the man had reclaimed his short sword when he had barreled past him.
This was why Crow hated mercenaries. Nothing was ever a mistake when it came to the way they hunted their prey. They were always one step ahead, calculating exactly how they were going to kill their targets. He took a step back, glancing at Penelope. In her condition, he doubted she would be able to run, or even fight much longer for that matter. He felt helpless. A battered knight and a thief with a fear of blood against a man who murdered people for a living. It wasn’t much of a fair fight.
“Ahhh, e thiall vith nessau. Hov tailvins,” the mercenary walked towards him slowly.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Crow took another step back, uncomfortable with how close the man was coming to him. He raised the dagger in his hands, but the gesture only made the man laugh.
“Navkord tuu,” the mercenary stopped, just out of Crow’s reach. He cleared his throat and spoke again, “Elā ippuḍu gurin̄ci.”
“Okay, I understood that,” Crow stared at him in surprise. The man had switched to Gorman, a language Crow knew well. He eyed the mercenary suspiciously, switching to the other language to communicate, “Nēnu ī viṣayānni mīku telusā?”
“Idi nāku telusu nā pani,” the mercenary examined the blade of his sword, as if the conversation was uninteresting. His crystalline eyes flicked up to meet Crow’s gaze, “Nā āhāraṁ gurin̄ci nēnu telusukuṇṭānu.”
“Enduku mīru nannu ceptunnāvu?” Crow asked warily. “Nannu campaḍāniki mī pani kādu?”
“Idi,” the mercenary pointed his sword at Crow’s chest. “Kānī nēnu dānini mugin̄cēmundu nā vēṭanu bhayapeṭṭaḍāniki marinta ānandin̄cēdi.” He showed his rotting teeth in a brutal grin. “Mīru bhayapaḍarā?”
“Hmm,” Crow stood up slightly straighter, attempting to bluff. “Nēnu ninnu tīsukeḷtānu.”
The mercenary let out a braying laugh, “Evarikainā takkuvagā unna bōlḍ padālu.” He reached out to grab Crow’s wrist, pressing the thief’s dagger against his own sternum. His eyes glinted in amusement as the color drained from Crow’s face. “Nēnu kōrukuṇṭē mīru nannu campalēdani nāku telusu.” He leaned forward, causing the blade to cut into his chest. Dark red blood oozed from the wound.
Crow’s eyelids fluttered at the sight, and he felt his legs giving out beneath him. However, just as he began to collapse, the mercenary held him up by his wrist.
“Cūḍaṇḍi?” the man eyed him sadistically. “Idi cālā saradāgā uṇṭundi.” He lifted his sword to Crow’s arm, using the blade to pull back his sleeve and expose the skin underneath. “Miśramāniki mī raktānni elā kalapāli? Nēnu mīru konni kōtalu ivvālani kālēdu... Lēdā mottaṁ viṣayaṁ āph, mīru kāvālanukuṇṭē.”