#Vincent King | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deans-writing · 3 months

Text

Clawed Out

Character: (Red Dead Redemption) Vincent King, Rock, Florence Shaw, Rusty Caldwell

Warnings: Attempted scalping, general violence/death

Notes: None

The night, the very one which Vincent so often found himself staring at, had turned into something that worked against him. A cruel twist of the knife that fate held. Light only illuminated his situation once his body had been slammed into the ground.

Vincent couldn't help but think about the hours previous while he jerked his arms to the side, trying so hard to free them from the grip of his tormentor. A cold steel turned warm with his blood against his hairline and made him fight harder.

He sat around the campfire at camp with the other members of Rusty's gang. To break the silence that clouded the area, he spoke. "Gonna head up Roanoke." He'd said. The stares he got told him something was wrong, but no one actually spoke. Vincent explained it would be for collecting a bit of cash. He'd found a treasure map on a rival gang members corpse, and it certainly caught his attention.

“The land you’ll dare to walk is filled with red warm sand." Rock cut in, stopping Vincent from going on. "Those who own it will believe you their property as well. Your body as the toll." She stared dead at him while she spoke. Her eyes were cold, sending a violent shiver throughout his figure. He'd never heard one just so demented as she was. He only scoffed, waved his hand away and said it would be fine.

He found some humor in the fact that Rock of all people had actually been trying to warn him, and he wished he'd listened.

Travelling up the side of the river on Constantine, the sun began to set. Vincent set his lantern upon his hip, looping it on his belt while his hands took hold of his horses reins. He'd spent too many nights in pitch black to have any real fear of the dark. He'd fought and killed in the darkness of nature what felt like a thousand times over.

Then, he could hear wailing. It wasn't an animal. It was a person, calling out for help to whoever would listen. His heart started to thump harshly against his chest then. He pulled off to the side of the trail he'd been walking and hitched Constantine to the nearby stump of a tree. A part of him was still glad he'd left his animal out there, but the rest of him cursed himself for not grabbing onto his shotgun before going deeper in.

He'd seen the entrance to a cave while he broke through the treeline. He narrowed his eyes upon seeing lights die out by the person who had been crying out. By the time he'd gotten close enough to realize the person hadn't even been injured, it was far too late. He'd drawn a gun and aimed it at Vincent, who raised his hands. Then, his head cracked.

In an instant, the world had grown painful and dreary. Vincent hit the ground with his gun falling just out of his reach. Hands locked around his wrists and pinned them on his back, and his head was yanked up. He felt someone tear his hat off. And then the knife came.

Thinking about how he got in his dire situation had left him right back to where he started. On the ground with someone trying to scalp him, with the rest of his friends coming out of their hiding places to laugh manically. He could feel something start to boil inside of him.

Rage. The very rage that drove him to go on a homicidal rampage against those who'd murdered his father a world away. It burned bright, setting fire to his veins and making his brain swell inside of his skull. He began to growl. His hands trembled erratically. His jaw clenched.

Vincent leaned down. The man on top of him let out a grunt of confusion, right before Vincent snapped his head back up. The back of his head smashed into the front of the others and he fell back with a yell, dropping his knife in the process. "SHIT!" He cried. Vincent grabbed onto the knife.

He looked up through his hazy sight and saw a leg. It had been shot up in an attempt to kick him in the head. Vincent grabbed onto the man by the ankle and raised the knife high up before stabbing down into his knee. He screamed and tried to move back, only to collapse. Vincent quickly clambered ahead of himself, pushing himself up with one hand.

His other grabbed onto his Schofield while he made it to his feet. Things became clear through his anger. He was surrounded. Standing and fighting would be a dead man's effort. Vincent fired once blindly, he could hear the sounds of men scattering away from the general direction of his aim. After a few quick steps back, they began to move closer again. He fired in their vicinity, turning his head after his hand had already made it there.

"VAFFANCULO!" He roared. They were far enough away from him to feel confident in making a break for it. Vincent turned and ran, his arms took a moment to make it in front of him while he darted for the cave. Gunshots didn't follow him, not even arrows. That meant they were going to do everything in their power to close in for the kill. Fucking animals, Vincent thought to himself.

Past the initial darkness of the entrance, he found himself bathed in light. Torches were slammed crudely into the dirt to keep their area illuminated. Vincent ran further inwards, before throwing himself behind a wagon. Stolen for certain, but it'd serve its purpose in giving him a moment to regain his composure.

The blood had rushed from his wound as if it were escaping the flames of a house fire. It ran down his forehead and over his eye, partially blinding him. Vincent grit his teeth and snarled as he wiped at the cut. The attacker hadn't managed to carve the blade too deep into his flesh. The pain wasn't the part that bothered him.

Footsteps hit the ground harshly as the group approached the Sicilians choice of cover, calling out all the while. He gripped his gun tight and began to count in his head. He had fired twice while he ran away, giving himself the space he desperately needed in order to get to a semi-safe spot. Four shots. He prayed silently that it would be enough. Their numbers and weaponry up close would prove to be far too much if he wasn't able to send enough to hell.

Taking a deep breath in, Vincent stepped out from behind the wagon. His revolver was levelled in the direction of his attackers. He fired the moment he got sight of them.

The first shot hit one of the men in the stomach. A loud groan and he fell forward, clutching at his stomach. The men around him scattered like cockroaches seeing light. He cocked the hammer shot again. It zipped by the hand of another. It clearly didn't stop him though. Vincent raised his gun before slamming the hammer down and taking another shot. It went through the deformed skull of another. His legs gave out and his body crumpled on them, leaving his husk curled up.

Vincent took a step forward, trying to take back the distance he'd given so much of to the animals that chased him down. Their numbers had thinned. He could only assume they were taking position near the entrance of the cave, preparing themselves to either capture, torture or murder King. Possibly all three.

He pulled down the hammer to his revolver and shot again. The lead found a throat, soft and easy to slide its way through and out of. Two dead, one wounded and likely not getting back up to fight. Two still stood and were actively rushing him. Vincent spun his revolver so he'd be holding onto the barrel, which still held the heat from his previous shots. He took a step towards one of the men.

Vincent lowered the gun to his side while he got close. The attacker held a machete, he spotted. He'd only heard of the weapon through Camilia in passing, though he didn't pay much attention then. He understood why she seemed to speak of it so highly in that moment. A long sharp blade with a thick wooden handle. It was just his luck that he was about to go into melee combat with one.

He shot the gun upwards, aiming the handle of it at an angle. The enemy hadn't seen the strike coming, letting it break his jaw with one hard hit upwards. He staggered back before Vincent hit him again. The wooden grip bashed the top of his head. An incoherent cry was let out while he continued to stumble away from Vincent.

The other had gotten close while he was busy dealing with the first. Vincent felt a slash at his shoulder, and he growled upon the cut. "HMPH!" He bit his lip to stop himself from making too much more noise. His empty hand grabbed onto the man's hand, and he forced it against him. Vincent raised his own knife up and swiftly drove it deep into his throat.

"Hngh..." Vincent sighed as he pushed the man's corpse down before standing back up to his full height. He turned to the first one he'd been beating on, who was pressed against the stone wall that made up the confines of the cave with both hands on his head. He quickly drew bullets from his gunbelt and loaded up his revolver with one bullet before taking aim.

With one quick squeeze of the trigger, the man was dead in an instant. His brain matter splattered onto the stone behind him and he sunk to the ground. Vincent was finally able to breathe a little easier as the reality of what he'd gotten himself into got the opportunity to get deep into his mind.

Trapped. He'd gotten himself trapped in a cave, with at least five more of the animals outside. They'd be waiting for him. Vincent grimaced as he stared off to the distant entrance. There was no one else to help, he was on his own and was being forced to fight his way out. It was that, or he'd die in the process.

"Okay." He murmured. Vincent loaded his revolver up once more before he walked to the man he'd killed only a moment prior. His machete would be used against his own friends. Vincent grinned at the thought while he held the machete tight in his left hand, his gun in the other. He didn't consider it quite enough to take on the small band, but it would have to do.

Vincent ignored the fear in his mind, and instead focused on stoking that heat in his chest. That would be the thing that got him through alive.

The next minute or so was a blur.

He'd rushed up, gun raised with the machete not too far behind. The first man that stepped out of cover caught two shots to the chest, before Vincent buried the length of the machete into his face. Two more began to approach after the first one had become a corpse stuck on a blade. Vincent spun the body to be facing his friends, and he ripped the machete out while simultaneously kicking him back.

The body got sent backwards, crashing into the others. One stayed standing tall while the other got knocked back. Vincent took aim at the first. He too was pumped full of lead, being treated like a bottle for target practice as Vincent fired off three shots into him. Two had hit the upper half of his chest, and the third stuck him in the sternum. He fell back just as the second one had gotten up.

Vincent saved his bullet, taking a step forward and swinging the machete down from overhead. It struck his skull, but didn't fully go through. The man had already begun to yell and try to push Vincent away, but it was too late. What followed next was violent, repeated and enraged attacks.

The man's body fell while Vincent continued to strike his head with the blade. Grunts and growls turned into screams of fury while he attacked. The pain on his hairline seemed more intense as his heart pumped faster, and the rush of blood only grew heavier.

He stopped once his arm grew tired. Vincent stood back up and turned to the entrance of the cave. He raised the revolver in preparation for something to jump out at him while he walked through.

"Bastard..." One man groaned. It was the one he'd stabbed at the start of it all. Vincent lowered the barrel of the gun to aim at his head. "BASTAR-" He fired. The man's head snapped back and he laid on the dirt. Vincent looked around, sliding his revolver back into its home in its holster. Someone was missing, he was certain. Though he didn't have the time to sit there and hunt for the one that got away.

Without any time wasted, Vincent ran back through the treeline and to Constantine. He took the reins off of the stump he'd left it to prior, and he rode off. Back down the trail, through the forest, and all the way back to camp.

In only an hour, he'd made it back. The lights caught his eyes, and he snapped the reins down onto the back of his steed. It rushed forward. "Me! 'S just me!" He called as he approached the current lookout, one hand raised to show peace. Florence turned, lowering the repeater that went to every person who took guard. "God." She mumbled, getting a good look at Vincent.

His front half was dirtied and bloodied, his shoulder actively ran red and half of his face was still covered in his own blood. "What-" Florence paused, watching as Vincent rode past her. The question of what happened didn't seem important. She glanced to the trail he'd ran up, before turning and making her way to where he stopped his horse.

"Follow me." Florence said, slinging the Lancaster around her shoulder as she got next to Vincent, who was dismounting his horse. "How does it feel?" She asked, resting a hand on the males back as they walked to the nearby table. "Hurts." He admitted sheepishly. "Didn't expect so many of them." Vincent added, looking down.

She grimaced at that. Florence had heard of Murfree Broods territory, and had she been there when he discussed going past it, she would've warned him. It was clearly too late for that though. "If I'm being honest, I'm surprised you made it out at all, King. The choice to go was... Kind of stupid." She patted his back once they reached the table. He took a seat and looked up at Florence, allowing her to assess the damage.

Both turned their heads to stare at the two pairs of footsteps as they approached. Rusty and Rock. One looked concerned, hand on his hip. The other looked... Well, it was hard to tell. Rock never showed much emotion outside of pure mania in any situation. "How was the walk on bloodied ground with hollow bones inside?" Rock asked.

Vincent glared as Rusty looked at her in confusion. "Fuck you." He snarled. Rock simply grinned at that before turning and walking back off. "Jesus Christ." Rusty sighed, standing next to Florence. "What happened?" He asked, making her give a quick glance. "Lunatici got hold of me." He pointed to his hairline, which Florence had begun to push his hair away from to look at how deep he'd been cut. "Cut me there, tried to go across my head."

Rusty's eyes widened. "You went up Roanoke?" He said with an exhale of disbelief. "Lord above." Rusty put a hand to his own forehead, rubbing the sides. "They tried to scalp you, kid. If they had... Well... You would've had a lot more issues than some cut." Florence hummed in agreement. "You're lucky. They stopped before it got too bad." Vincent hummed lowly. "Only one held me down. Slammed my head into his and ran. I killed an entire goddamn group of them."

There was a pause as the other two took that in. "There was someone crying in the forest. I went in and tried to help." Rusty frowned, that's what he'd taught the Sicilian. He couldn't help but feel partially responsible because of that. Vincent continued. "Got hit with... Something. I was on the ground, they started that. I had to use a machete and a revolver to fight them off." He explained. Rusty nodded. "Well- hey, at least now you got a damn impressive story to tell when you talk about that scar."

Vincent chuckled. "Kinda wish I'd listened to Rock." He admitted. "Jesus. Never thought I'd hear you say that." Rusty added. "Apologies, but, if I can address the wounds?" Florence cut in. Vincent nodded while she stepped back. "Like I said, you got lucky. This cut on your head, it's nothing severe. It'll scar, but it'll be fine. I'll put bandages on it. As for your shoulder?" She pointed to it. "Shallow. They'll both hurt, but at least you'll be okay." She assured him, giving a comforting smile.

He nodded again. "Thanks, Ms." He mumbled. Florence patted his healthy shoulder. "I'll go get bandages. Wait here." She told him, turning around and walking off to her tent. Vincent turned to Rusty. "...is it actually a good story to tell?" He asked quietly. "Well, most armed groups die to an ambush of them." Rusty gave a shrug. "Yeah, I think it's a pretty good goddamn story."

Vincent leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and pulling it back. He hadn't found the treasure he set out for, all he'd found was trouble and pain. He already knew he'd go back there, but next time he'd bring others. Strength in numbers. That's what kept him safe with the gang after all.

#vincent king #rusty caldwell #red dead online #writing

6 notes · View notes