#on her way to direct sprays of boiling blood from her stab wounds

[ultimate-snek]

Hebichi, her blood literally boiling, about to stab herself: this’ll hurt you more then it hurts me :))

The guy she’s fighting: D:

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse of kidnapping. Again, details of murder/crime scenes, curse words.

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! So, again, I find myself having to cut this in half. I originally planned on the team getting to you at this point in the story but I got a little carried away. I’ve been thinking about this series so much that it’s ridiculous. Low-key wish I’d been able to direct a CM episode like this. The things I could do with a camera... solely focused on Matthew for a 45 minute episode. Heh. Anyways, remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and basically do the job of producing serotonin for me like my brain is supposed to do naturally. Thank you so much for sticking around and I’ll be sure to get the next part out to you ASAP!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]

It was hours later before Spencer felt the incessant buzzing of his phone against his thigh.

Immediately annoyed and already tired of the day, he didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before sending it straight to voicemail. Blindly, he rummaged around in the bottom of his satchel for his keys. Spots danced across the back of his left eyelid as he tried to rub the exhaustion away.

Everything about today had been awful. From finding out the girl of his dreams, who he had only known for three weeks, mind you, could be a serial killer to the fact that, without you, nothing made any sense in this case. Even if you weren’t the unsub, you were an integral piece to finding out who was.

After you had left the office earlier this afternoon, Spencer had made it his mission to investigate every other person connected to you. He’d even gone so far as to track down your father to the other side of the globe, having somehow made his way to Europe in order to stay out of you and your mother’s lives.

Try as he might, every possible lead led to a brick wall spray painted to say, ‘She’s the killer.’ Having spent most of the day trying to convince himself that you were the unsub, he was tired of fighting his instincts for fear of compromising himself. Something wasn’t right in this investigation and he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When his phone started to buzz again as he pushed the key into the key hole, he couldn’t help the sudden surge of anger that seemed to take over his body. Hastily yanking one hand from the door, he reaches into his pocket and presses the answering button.

“Hello, this is Dr. Reid.” His tone is harsh and mechanically echoes back into his ear. Whoever is on the other side of the line is quiet for one second, then two. For five seconds no one responds and Spencer has the time to balance the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so that he could go about removing his bag and shuffling into his car.

“You really thought it was her, didn’t you, Dr. Reid?” Although the natural pitch of the voice suggests a woman, or maybe even a young boy, there is an underlying tone that suggests that it’s a man. Spencer is frozen in place, his bag sitting in the passenger seat of his car, one hand on the inside of the door and the other on the steering wheel.

Slowly, he reaches up to relieve his shoulder from the duty of holding his phone, his long fingers curling around the device. His eyes squinted, the way they usually did when he was thinking. With his other hand, nervously, he reaches up to push away a curl that has escaped from behind his ear.

“Who is this?” He regrets the question the moment it falls from his lips. Someone who has gone the painstaking lengths that this man has gone through to keep himself out of the investigation would not simply reveal his identity when no one even had a suspicion of him.

“Wrong question, Doctor. Try again.” Swallowing past the lump that has started to form in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, Spencer stretches back across the driver seat of his car to grab his bag. The leather strap digs into the palm of his hand and he drags it toward him, feeling like he was stuck on rewind as he goes about undoing everything he’d just done.

“What do you want?” The click of the door lock is the only sound for three seconds before the man responds again, a sadistic excitement escalating the pitch of his voice.

“Out of life? From a specific restaurant? Be specific in your questioning, Doctor.” He laughs a little breathlessly. In the moments where he doesn’t talk, Spencer strains to hear anything that could help him, but he can’t even hear the guy breathe let alone identify background noise.

“What is your purpose in calling me?” Getting back into the building is a hassle while on the phone, but he manages it nonetheless. There would be no sleeping tonight after a call like this. The elevator button glows a pale yellow as Spencer stabs it with one of his long fingers. For now they are steady, his hands that is, but the full effect of what is happening and what it means hasn’t actually hit him full force yet.

“To inform you of two things; the first being that you are wrong. I killed all those people and I killed them because of you.” The breath in his throat hitches. All of his worst dreams and nightmares have come crawling out of the woodworking and across his skin like thousands of tiny spiders.

“The second being that I’ll be hanging out with our mutual friend for a while, so you may not see her for a little bit.” There is a creaking of a door before he hears you. Your voice is already hoarse from screaming and the sound of restraints clacking against a concrete flooring puts the picture of you in a dungeon deep into his head.

“Spencer?! Spencer his name i-” The sound of a hand making contact with skin makes Spencer’ blood boil with rage.

Curling into the corner of the elevator, hunching his shoulders into himself and covering an ear with the palm of his opposite hand, Spencer speaks slowly and deliberately into the speaker.

“Do not touch her.” The man on the line chuckles, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of your jawline. You snatch your head away, your slapped cheek already turning pink, and push back against the wall.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Happy hunting.” The doors of the elevator open as soon as the line goes dead. Everything in Spencer kicks into overdrive, his mind flying so fast that he could barely manage to keep up with it himself.

Hotch, ready to leave for the day, stands in the opening. The tired look in eyes only grows when he sees the young profiler standing in his way, his face drained of blood and his phone still desperately clutched to his ear.

“What’s happened?”

Not so far away, the door to the empty, concrete basement shuts you in by yourself. Around your ankle is a handcuff attached to a car chain that is anchored to the floor. If you crawl to it, dragging your injured leg behind you, you can see the shoddy soldering done to create this makeshift dungeon.

In the corner is a mattress with a thin cotton blanket probably from dollar general or somewhere equally as cheap. A lamp sits beside it, the wooden bottom nailed into the floor to keep you from using it as a weapon. The only other thing is a wooden chair that is planced just below a high rectangle window. A couple of desperate shakes against the leg confirms that it is also nailed to the floor.

With nothing of use, save maybe the blanket, you go about taking a collection of your injuries.

The top of your head is leaking a steady stream of blood that drips down the side of your face and sticks your hair to your cheek. The sight of so much blood coming from your head is alarming at first, but just as quickly as you started to panic, you remember that head wounds can bleed quite a lot. No matter how small.

On the opposite side as your head injury is a deep cut on your cheekbone. It has stopped bleeding, dry blood clogged around the torn skin and flaking along your cheek when you run your finger over it.

Your thigh is a different issue all together, the knife wound throbbing with pain no matter how you shift or apply pressure. You’ve coated your hands in gloves made of your own blood trying to staunch the bleeding, hissing and whimpering the whole time.

All three injuries had happened in a matter of minutes, starting with the knife to your thigh.

You drove for an hour and a half toward nowhere in particular, only pulling off the road when the gun jammed into your neck and Harvey snapped at you from the back.

“Turn right on the dirt road.” The tiny car bumped and bounced around the dirt and gravel, driving straight for another fifteen minutes. You were surrounded by nothing but trees and hills and although you’d been familiar with the area where you’d pulled off the road, you weren’t sure where you were.

When the gun jammed back into your neck and Harvey screamed for you to stop, you slammed so hard on the brakes that he rocked forward and hit his head on the back of the passenger seat. The crunch of his breaking nose was sickening to your ears, but the bite of the seat belt digging into your collarbone and neck was enough to keep you from vomiting.

“You bitch!” He cried, the hand not holding a gun to your neck flew up to catch the blood that fell from his nose. Despite his attempts, a drop or two still managed to fall to the floor and soak into the fabric. His DNA would be on this car, you could only hope that he was in some sort of system. Even now, after everything you’d been through today, you still trusted the team of FBI Agents to find you before it was too late.

The safety on the gun made a clicking noise, your entire body freezing in place as you looked at everything around you. You were in a big dirt field, trees surrounding a patch of land that may have once been the grounds for a home. Now, only your car, a red SUV, and red soil were the only things there to see.

Harvey moved around in the back seat, you could see him in your rear view mirror as he pulled tissues from his pocket and shoved them into his broken nose. When he was finished he pulled out a pocket knife. His eyes were two beady slits of black as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“We’re going to get out of this car, and get into that car right over there. I’ll get in the driver’s seat, and you get in the trunk. Understood?” Sweat slicked your hair to your temples as you shook your head, your grip on the steering wheel so tight that your fingertips had started to tingle.

“You aren’t a good shot, Harvey. The moment we get out of this car, I’ll run.” The knife in his hand popped to attention at your words, gleaming in the sunlight. Somehow, it was only four o’clock in the afternoon and you had already been through hell.

“You won’t be able to.” He said, his hand shooting forward and sinking into your leg. Through the shock of it all, you’d barely felt it even after he pulled the bloody knife back and flipped it shut. You gaped at the wound, watching as the blood seeped out, soaked into your pants, and smeared onto the leather covering of your seat.

The back door opened, the car still alive and thrumming underneath you as he hurried over to your side of the car. You didn’t think, you just acted, throwing the car out of park and letting the adrenaline pumping through your veins mask the pain it caused you to slam on the gas.

Maybe you would have made it, drove out of here and been able to make it to a hospital before you bled out in your own car, but it had been raining nearly nonstop for three weeks and your car was not made to go fast in mud. Your tires spun long enough for Harvey to throw your door open and slam the butt of his gun into your head, causing your face to slam into the steering wheel and render you unconscious.

By the time you came back to yourself, Harvey had been carrying you down the steps and into a basement or cellar of some kind. You had no idea where you were or how long you had been out, only that your entire body was sore and cold.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to apologize about earlier, you just made me a little angry. But we’re better now. I even took those bloody clothes off you. I’ve got your room made up for you and if you’re good, I might let you talk to a friend of ours.” His tone is cheerful, his dark eyes complimenting the dark bags underneath them.

Harvey had been in several of your classes when you went to Georgetown, a friendly face amongst all the older kids who used to sneer at you when you tried to do anything. You wouldn’t actually say you were friends, just two people who were kind to each other. Later, once you parted ways after graduation, he became the personal assistant of your agent. He told you he was just trying to make ends meet while he was going back to school for his masters. It was such a surprise to see you again!

Then last month he quit after the death of his mother, thanking your agent for the experience and moving back to whatever town it was he used to lived in that you never bothered to ask about. Agents have multiple clients, yours was no exception, so you thought nothing of the change in personal assistants based solely on the fact that you barely noticed. Her life didn’t revolve around you and yours didn’t revolve around her.

But now, locked in a basement wearing nothing but your underwear and a tank top, blood soaking through a bandage around your thigh, with the really cute man you’d based a character on believing that you were a serial killer, you wish you’d noticed him more.

...

Garcia was the one to suggest looking at the security footage of the parking lot. She’d been clacking away on her tablet and trying to not seem disappointed about being dragged back to the BAU so quickly, when someone asked where you would have gone from here.

“What if he took her from here?” Everyone had looked at her with varying degrees of peculiar looks. Someone being kidnapped from the parking lot of a building full of FBI Agents? It would be comical if kidnappings weren’t a serious issue. Ironic. That’s the word Penelope was looking for. It was ironic.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at the security footage but her lawyer walked her to her car, it was broad daylight. What are the-” Prentiss’ mouth snaps shut and her lips purse just a little when Penelope brings up the video on the big screen.

Just thirty minutes before you walk outside, a small and stocky figure jimmies open your back door and slides in. He must slide to the passenger side of the backseat because he disappears from view. While he isn’t dressed in an extremely unusual manner, the hat and the black hoodie he is wearing help to hide his identity from the camera hanging over him.

Fast forward thirty minutes and all eyes trained to you as you drop your keys and bend to pick them up. Guilt hits every single member on the team, Spencer probably more than the rest, when they watch your head drop into your hands once you’re in the confines of your car.

An arm extends across the backseat, coming into view of the camera as the unsub presses a gun into your neck. In a matter of fourty-five seconds, you start the car and pull out of the parking spot.

“So we can rule out Jeremy.” Spencer says plainly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he thinks. Across the table Hotch nods his head in agreement. Jeremy was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Spencer, and he while he had an athletic build it was more lean muscle than the wide and stocky build the unsub had.

Penelope is quick to gather her things and head for her office, already planning on trying to follow your path through traffic cameras. It would be a grueling process, but it was the least she could do after digging through your life to, unintentionally, frame you for eight murders you didn’t commit.

“We interviewed everyone she has a connection to, in state or not. She’s an extremely low-risk victim, her circles don’t run that big.” Morgan has his own tablet pulled into his lap and he tilts his chair this way and that. A coin weaves in and out of his fingers and his forehead wrinkles as he goes over the list in his mind.

“Then we’ve already talked to our unsub, we just have to figure out which one it was.”

The first names to go are those out of state; your mother, your father, your best friend, and a handful of people you were connected to through the publishing firm. While the remaining names are few in numbers, it still puts Spencer on edge. They didn’t have the kind of time to be wasting energy of persons of interest, they needed one name identifying their unsub.

Nevertheless, the names are split amongst the group of profilers who work tirelessly through the night. The sun soon rises and glares through the window of the BAU conference room, putting Spencer Reid right into it’s spotlight.

There are bags under his eyes, eyes that take longer to open every time he blinks. He’s read the same paragraph eight different times, his cheek perched against the heel of his palm and his elbow propped on the tabletop. When he pushes back from the table, taking the file with him as he tries to walk away the exhaustion, it isn’t for the first time that night.

All he can think about is that final look you gave him as you walked out the door. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, like you’d been trying to convince yourself that he was somehow oblivious in your being accused of the murders and seeing him there had been a punch of truth in the gut. He’d gone forward when you stumbled, reflexively reaching out to steady you on your feet before his mind could process the action.

Spencer has been doing that since he met you, trying to protect you like he was a giant ball of bubble wrap around you. He’d done it that day in the bookstore, throwing all precautions to the wind when he held the back of your head to keep you from hitting that bookshelf. He’s done it several times at a coffee shop you both enjoy visiting on his days off, physically maneuvering your body when he realizes that your current trajectory will cause you to ram your hip into a table corner.

One time, he’d been walking with you across the street when a man on a bicycle had come flying out of nowhere. You’d been just a step in front of him, your head tilted over your shoulder and your hands flying around with animation as you told him a story. Truly, he wasn’t sure how he knew to reach out and grab your shoulders, you have a way of telling stories that makes the entire world fall away. Yet, as if he was Spider-Man or something, every cell in his body suddenly cried out and he didn’t hesitate in pulling you back.

The force Spencer used to pull your body into his chest had sent you both tumbling to the sidewalk behind you.

“Are you okay?” You’d said, turning so that you were hovering over him with the sun framing you like a halo around your head. Surely you could feel the rapid escalation of his heartbeat with the way you tenderly place one of your small hands over his chest.

In the end he had to pull you to the side of the busy street to put a band-aid on your elbow where it had hit the concrete. It had been in the bottom of your bag and it had Scooby-Doo on it.

Despite his eidetic memory, some moments always manage to fade a little more than others. Some moments stick out more, like when you had reached out to smooth a stray curl away from his face. Your fingers were featherlight against his temple, your head tilted just a little to the side, and a soft smile stretched your lips.

“You’re my guardian angel.”

Some guardian angel he was, accusing you of murder on eight accounts and then letting you be kidnapped by someone who had no qualms about slapping you. God only knows what else he was comfortable with.

“I’ve got a lead!” Garcia burst into the room, her chest heaving as she sent videos and pictures to the screen for everyone to see. Spencer couldn’t see her face as she bent over her tablet, punching in information and instructions, but he nearly peppered it with kisses when she started to explain what they were all seeing.

“I managed to track (Y/N) to a little town about and hour and a half away when she, probably on purpose, ran a red light just in front of a gas station.” The video of your car creeping through a four-way traffic light until it turned red and captured you on camera was time stamped for yesterday afternoon around four o’clock.

“If you look closely, she turns onto a dirt road just a few seconds later,” Sure enough, every eye in the room watches as your car disappears behind a cluster of trees across from the BP on the left side of the video. “Satellite pictures show that little dirt road leads to one house that burned down a year ago.”

Mouths open, cogs turns, but Penelope Garcia once again proves her intelligence when she merely waves one hand in their direction and uses the other hand to pull up several documents and articles.

“Don’t sweat it. There’s no connection at all. Belonged to a Martin and Elisa Lewis back in the fifties before it was abandoned in the seventies. It was a local haunt where teenagers went to smoke, get drunk, have parties, and do the crazy and reckless things teenagers love to do. One of these reckless things led to a fire and burned the place down. But what’s important is what leaves this place fourty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after (Y/N)’s car enters.”

The video jumps forward in time, resuming as a red SUV pulls off the road and comes back for the stoplight. They can’t manage to get a license plate, the car being recently purchased by the unsub and the paper temporary being stuck to the inside of a tinted window, and they don’t manage to get a good image of the unsub driving. It feels, for a quarter of a second, as if there is no lead at all, until Spencer jumps to his feet.

“We need to see if her car is still there.”

The hour and a half drive takes fifty minutes with their lights on, mud kicking up beneath their tires as they pull into the empty lot. Your car sits abandoned in the middle, your back tires sunk into a pile of mud. The mass collection of blood on your driver’s seat makes Spencer nauseas. Rossi gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

It does nothing for Spencer’s nerves. He is truly the worst guardian angel ever.

[btsinwonderland]

Fire & Ashes - Ch 2

A Cable Story!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

[Length - 4-5 chapters - on going]

[General advisories - violence, swearing, sexual content. Rated - Explicit]

[Chapter advisories - violence, fighting, and blood]

My notes at the end of the chapter.

-----------------------------------------

We arrived in the outskirts of Anaheim, where the dirt of the city met the barren dust of the desert. The morning sun was high in the sky and the temperature was beyond boiling. The air tasted of metal from the various manufacturing facilities around us and the thick stench of burning coal.

Colossus and Negasonic brought the cars over to the small warehouse where we hid the jet and ushered us to meet them for a review.

“Do we understand plan? We must keep the adamantium safe, away from the bad men. Easy squeeze,” said Colossus in his heavy Russian accent.

“Holy God Colossus, how many times do I have to tell you, it’s easy peasy lemon squeezy, we’re never going to get ready for Hairspray at this rate,” said Wade. He sat atop the hood of one of the jeeps with his legs swinging off the side humming ‘Good Morning Baltimore’.

“Do we know how many of them will come?” I asked. I heard a clank of metal and turned to see Cable enter the open area, his dark cape was rippling behind him as he walked. His eyes met everyone’s but mine.

Colossus replied, “Professor only say where, not how many. We will defend as much as we can, and if it goes bad, then we assume code red.”

“What’s a code red?” I said.

“It’s what happens when the strap on is too big, or is that a code brown? I always mix them up.” Wade looked up, the brows of his mask knitted in thought.

“Code red is this,” said Colossus as he put down a disc shaped object on the table in front of him. It was just larger than a frisbee. “This is bomb that is made with mutant acid and shrapnel, it will cause many damages and corrode the adamantium. We do not want to use this.” He put the disk into a bag where there were about a dozen more of the acid bombs and clasped it shut. “Now, we will divide into three teams, one for above, and two for the ground. Negasonic, Yukio, and I will be on the ground, Wade and Domino you take the roof, Cable and Nina you take the other side of the building on the ground.”

[ Interesting team up...almost too convenient wouldn’t ya say?

Nah I’m just kidding, hope you guys fuck! Cheers!

-DP ]

I heard Cable give a grunting sigh as he dismantled a part of his gun and reassembled it. The clang of the metal once it magnetically locked on his back echoed through the warehouse.

We took the jeeps to the metalworks factory and parked them beside a vestigial building, what once might have been a shed or garage. The factory looked old and decrepit, pillars of white and grey smoke rose from the cooling towers and the air was thick with burning metal.

Cable and I walked to the east side of the factory, we had several large concrete blocks for cover as we made our approach.

“Don’t do anything stupid, remember I can’t take care of you and fight,” Cable said under his breath. It came out raspy and disapproving.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” I said.

He turned to look at me for a moment and his gaze bore into me, the intensity was astounding and I was unprepared.

We heard the ground shake suddenly as a giant explosion went off on the south side of the building. Chunks of concrete fell from the sky and before I could create a wooden shield, Cable grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close to him as he enabled his forcefield above us. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, not quite panting not quite even, and his thick arm around me. Before I could turn my head he rose up and ran toward the explosion. I followed closely behind him.

There were four of them, they had black suits on with silver neck braces. Colossus was fighting a large one that produced spires from his body while Negasonic and Yukio were fighting two with elemental powers, fire and air. They generated a flaming tornado together. The fourth one saw Cable and I approaching, he raised his hands in a gun shape and clicked, the air around us exploded as Cable shielded me once again as I fell against him. His hard body blocking my impact with the ground. He glared at me and pushed me aside, running towards the explosive man.

I heard loud noises coming from the roof but had no time to check what was going on up there when Cable was knocked over by another surprise explosion. I summoned my power and shot several sharp branches at the man, he dodged them all save for one that knicked him across the face. He looked at me with scornful hatred in his eyes and snapped his fingers, I was prepared this time and generated a wooden shield just as his explosion shattered it around me. Cable yelled out my name and shot at the man as I was knocked over from the force.

The man fell over, dead I presumed. I then saw a number of bodies falling from the roof, some heads and limbs came through separately and I assumed that Wade and Domino were doing alright.

It was then a van screeched to a stop in front of us and a group of armed men emerged, pointing their guns and shooting. Cable fired one of his special guns which he dialed up and shot at the van. It exploded and pieces of metal and tire shot out in all directions. I put up my shields and blocked a serrated edge of the van from impaling Cable. He looked at me briefly with his eyebrows partially raised.

We then took to those left. They wore no masks and I actually recognized a few of them as the guys that herded me and the girls into our cages. My blood boiled at the sight of them so I summoned all my powers and threw wooden stakes which emerged from my arms at great speed. I screamed as I ran for the blonde blue haired man. He had a coldness to his eyes that I remembered. He was the one that was overly touchy. The one that liked to beat his so-called favourite girls.

He saw me coming with no recognition, I was just another mutant. Just another mutant who drove a ten inch long stake up his jaw. The bloodied tip popped out from his head and his eyes sagged.

I panted as the noise around me settled. There was an unrest within me that wanted to keep stabbing. To mangle his body and tear him to shreds for all the girls I would no longer be able to talk to, for our pain and for our suffering.

A hand gripped my shoulder and I screamed, pouncing onto the body and growling like a feral animal. I had Cable pinned between my legs and a pointed wooden stake at his jaw. He looked at me with an intensity I had grown to be familiar with, but which never ceased to unsettle me.

“You gonna kill me?” He said, his voice husky.

I put a hand on his chest and lingered for just a second longer than I should have. Then I jumped up and muttered an apology. “Don’t sneak up on me in a fight.”

“Duly noted.”

NTW and Yukio took care of the elemental mutants who were now laying either dead or unconscious on the ground. There was blood splatter here and there which was mostly due to the two on the roof, a head landed just beside Cable and blood sprayed on his pants. He looked up at the roof and said in a low voice, “I’m gonna kill that oversized dildo.”

The one that shot spires ran to an abandoned Jeep and threw out his dead colleague. He put the car into drive and escaped. Colossus ran after him but stopped once the car was too far away.

“That man will come back. We must take the adamantium and leave now,” Colossus said, he had a finger to his earpiece. Then he grimaced and said, “no Wade we are not going to Disneyland. They do not have condoms in the bathrooms. No. Wade!”

There was a shot fired, which pinged off of Colossus and made Cable grunt. He got down on a knee, and managed to whip out his gun and shoot the one attacker who had gained consciousness. The man slumped over. I ran to Cable and asked him if he was okay. He kept trying to shrug me off but clearly needed help standing.

“Will you stop being such a dick and let me help you!”

Cable stopped moving and allowed me to help him up. He tried his best to keep his weight off of me but I guided him back to our vehicles. Colossus went into the building to retrieve the adamantium while NTW and Yukio got in the drivers side of the van. I opened the back doors and helped Cable into the van, he tried not to make a sound but I heard the tiniest grunt escape his lips as he put pressure on the leg he was shot in. The wound must have been in his thigh. I sat down beside him and looked for a towel, anything.

There was a small first aid kit beside Cable, who had his eyes closed and head tilted back. I leaned over him to grab the kit, my breasts brushed against his stomach and I thought I heard him groan.

“What are you doing?” He said. When I sat back I saw that his eyes were on me with a strained expression.

I flashed the first aid kit and took out some towels to stop the bleeding.

“The bullet’s still in there,” he said.

“We’re gonna have to take care of that back at the house,” I told him as I gently compressed the wound.

“Not we, I’ll take care of it,” he said, glaring at me.

“No way, you can barely reach it, it’s the back of your thigh. Unless you enjoy scratching around for a bullet wound while staring at a mirror, you’re gonna let me do this.”

The back of the van depressed a little and the rest of the crew came in.

“I’d listen to her Cable, it’s only fair she finger you first,” Wade sat across from us in the back with Domino who winked at me.

Cable grimaced at Wade while I concealed a small laugh.

Colossus brought a heavy metal crate and got into the back. “This is not over, they will want this.”

---------------------------------

My personal note:

First of all. Yes. This is an update after three fucking years. I AM SO SORRY. Life got in the way and much more complicated.

I made this Tumblr so long ago. I love fan fictions and not finishing this one haunted me all these years. I left so many people unsatisfied and who knows if they'll all see this again. But I'm trying to make up for my sins by completing this fanfic. I'll be posting chapter updates this week and don't worry the next chapter is already written, I'm just going to post it tomorrow.

To anyone who came back from that first chapter I wrote three fucking years ago. Wow. You are amazing. And I ask you for forgiveness. I hope that I this will make up for ghosting.

Love ya xoxo.

[irlaimsaaralath]

Drawn By Sorrow - Part 4 - Abelas/Lavellan

Part 1 here.

Part 2 here.

Part 3 here.

This one is mildly NSFW for some fantasy violence and blood.  A daring rescue.  Some hurt/comfort.  And a kitty cat.

Echoing footfalls spiraled through the tower, startling the ravens in the rookery, who unleashed a cacophony of angry squawks.  The sound preceded Abelas’s arrival by only a handful of moments, and Leliana could tell instantly that there was something amiss.  “What has happened?” she asked as she crossed around her desk to stand before him.  “The Inquisitor has encountered trouble.  We must send a detachment to the Western Approach immediately,” he forced between his harried breaths.  When he’d felt the recoil of the energy from the crystal he’d given her, he was on the other side of the compound and ran all the way.  “How do you know this?” she asked, ever suspicious, as she folded her arms tightly.  “I sent her with an enchanted crystal.  Breaking it would alert me, and it has been broken,” he explained, and the Spymaster nodded.  “I’ll alert Cassandra, the mages, and Cullen’s recruits.  You round up Varric, Krem, and the rest of the Chargers” she directed as she headed down the stairs, the elf following close behind.  “We need someone to take command,” she said, and Abelas responded, “I can take the lead.”  Leliana spared only the briefest glance over her shoulder before she nodded her consent, “I’ll leave it to you and Cassandra, then.”  As they left the hall, they broke in different directions to organize the force.

The moment their bodies left the world and entered the Fade, everything changed.  Gravity was no longer a law, and physics had no meaning.  In a tangle of arms and legs, weightlessness arrested their fall, and he was still roaring in her ear, breath hot and dank on her skin as she struggled to get her arms from around him.  The momentary daze from the impact of her charge was fading quickly, and his enflamed crimson eyes focused on her face.  He caught her forearms in his hands, and she snarled as yanked and pulled on her arms, but his grip was solid.  Instead, she threw her weight into turning their bodies until he was positioned beneath her.  She folded in on herself, bracing her knees against his chest, and when she stopped resisting his pull on her arms, the heft of his efforts slammed her weight down on his throat.  At the same time, she threw a fist of force magic behind it to impel his body straight down.  Their landing was so fraught with momentum that when they hit solid ground, dust lifted into hazy clouds around them, the stone beneath them cracked, and her knees crushed a goodly portion of his rib cage.  

The reverberations of the landing shook her from the outside in, and the battering her knees and body took made her groan and collapse inward.  A white hot burning suffused her thigh, and looking down, she found one of the fractured ribs had stabbed through Stroud’s chest and into her thigh.  Beneath her, blood, dark with rot and festering, bubbled from the body’s lips, a sickly wet sound that soon turned into a soul-chilling gurgle of a laugh.  Easing off the bone that pierced her leg, she shakily stood and hobbled back from Corypheus.  She tried to steady herself, but tremors shook her from the inside, making her legs wobble and her hands tremble.  Across from her, Corypheus rose with the loud crunch and grind of broken bones as putrid blood seeped from his mouth and gushed from where his ribs bit through skin and muscle.  A twitch of her fingers summoned a shroud of pale green around her, and the barrier swiftly sank into her skin as she shuffled to the side, mirroring his moves as they circled each other.  “You only delay the inevitable,” he choked out before spitting out a mouthful of black blood.  “Banal nadas,” was her answer, her voice hoarse with dirt and grit making sand paper of her throat.  

The laugh that crawled from his throat was wholly inhuman, a composition of discordant vibrations forced over ruined vocal cords.  The sound of it simultaneously made her skin crawl and her blood boil.  “At least the elf taught his whore something before he abandoned you,” he taunted, the flare of red that streaked across his eyes manifesting on his fingertips.  Without conscious thought, she raised her hands, and the mark flared to life in one palm, while the other collected violet strands of electricity.  The Warden’s discolored lips pulled back from his smile, teeth smeared with the viscous syrup the magister had made of his blood, and she couldn’t help but grimace.  She had known Stroud for what seemed like only a handful of moments, but she had judged him a good man that did not deserve a fate such as this.  With no warning, Corypheus thrust his hands toward her, arcs of energy forking out only to be met with that of the mark, the red on green clash causing the air to distort and sizzle.  She sheared a gesture at him with her other hand, unfurling a coil of lightning that whipped across his chest and over his shoulder.  Skin and muscle were flayed, burned away, and the bone beneath was blackened.  The blow set him off balance, and his power veered wildly, crashing into a massive boulder at her shoulder.  She tried to turn out of the blast, but she was a moment too late as the rock exploded outward in a thousand tiny shards that pelted the side of her face.

Her scream was ragged and brief as the slivers of stone sliced into her skin, and she felt the warmth of her blood washing down her face.  The burn of it in her eye made her effectively blind on that side, and she fumbled with the effort to meet his renewed assault.  The surge of his power bullied past her off-center shield, though she was able to avoid a center mass hit.  Instead, the crimson arc of energy slammed into her side and pitched her into the air.  She was stopped by the craggy rise of a fractured spike of rock that jutted up from the ground before she limply fell to the dirt.  The taint of the magic skittered through her veins like a myriad tiny spiders, and she couldn’t help the way the sensation tied her body into fitful knots.  Her back bowed, and she cried out, the movement tearing at the fresh rend in her side.  It was only when the dregs of the energy was drained out of her that rigidity in her muscles relaxed, and she slumped against the rock.  By now, Corypheus was truly beginning to suffer the weight of his wounds, his vessel’s blood loss and broken bones turning him into something more like a ragdoll than a man.  He staggered onward, drawing nearer, a sad marionette on cut strings compelled by pure rage alone.  “You ruin everything you touch,” he spat, the words more wheezing than actual speech, and his feet tangled and caused him to lurch forward unsteadily.  “You’ve stolen a destiny you could never understand!”  She craned her head to look at him out of her good eye, and reaching deep into the quiet of her core, she summoned the fractured remains of her power.  

Violet sparks spilled from the corners of her eyes as she slung a hand out at him, and a forked bolt of lightning caught him at the center of his shattered chest and blew out his back in a spray of ruddy blood, bits of flesh, and shards of bone.  “Creators, I hope so,” she snarled out, wrapping an arm across her side as she began to crawl toward him.  He was little more than a shuddering heap of ruined flesh now, a soul trapped in a body that was drawing its last breaths.  When she’d finally drug herself to his side, she leaned over him; she wanted to watch the light in his eyes grow dim.  Hands that were more scorched bone than skin and muscle pawed at her jerkin, trying to grab hold, and finally managing a feeble grasp.  “Y-you could...never...understand it...the power.  It is...b-beyond you,” he hissed, ichor painting the breath and leaking from the corners of his mouth.  Shaky with the effort to support herself, she leaned down close enough to touch and growled at him from between her teeth, “I don’t have to understand it to know it works,” with her mark flaring violently to life.  Her words had barely faded from the air when the red glow bled out of his eyes, and as she watched, the broken remains of the Warden’s body began to writhe as if something was trying to crawl out from the inside.  

As the first trickle of grey-tinged incarnadine mist began to coil from the body’s nose and mouth, she clamped her marked hand down forcefully over Stroud’s face and unleashed its power.  Instead of opening a rift, the energy roiled like virid acid, swirling and turning inside and out again and again as it sucked the crimson remains of the magister into its maw and devoured it.  As the vortex coiled in and in and in on itself, a world-shattering screech echoed around her as the collapsing void consumed itself.  From the epicenter, concussive shockwaves shot violently outward across the Fade, leaving nothing unscathed.

They’d fought their way to the rift chamber and left a prolific trail of red templar blood in their wake.  Cassandra’s sword cleaved into a templar, splitting him from neck to sternum, before she whirled to face the next.  Only a few steps away, Abelas’s halberd swept another from his feet before the crescent blade was planted into his head.  At the heart of the fray churned the rift itself, and all around it, chaos reigned.  It was only when the energy encasing the portal flared up, firing off gnarled fingers of lightning, that the lot of them took notice, and even then, there were only a spare few moments before an explosion of force tore through the chamber.  The impact bore every single body to the ground and sent a tremor through the stone floor before the rift snapped closed with an ear-splitting *POP*.  The Seeker and the Sentinel were the first to regain their footing, and taking advantage of the situation, the remainder of the templars fell before or as they were standing.  Rising no further than his knees, the red-haired mage slung a barrage of crimson spikes toward the pair as they advanced on him, but the magic shattered as Abelas’s glimmering barrier fell in a shield around them.  Before he could manage another spell, it was choked off by Cassandra’s gauntleted fist on his throat.  

“Where is she!?” the Seeker demanded, punctuating her question with violent shake.  When no answer was produced, Abelas snatched handfuls of the man’s shirt and hauled him to his feet.  “Answer, swine,” the elf sneered, his golden eyes flashing with a sharpness no less dangerous than the edge of his blade.  Coughing past the roughness of his throat, the red-haired man managed to choke out, “The Fade.  The rift.”  The Seeker and the Sentinel shared a glance before Cassandra called for the anti-magic collar.  It had no sooner been snapped around the man’s neck than a syllabant whisper scratched throughout the chamber and was followed by the scent of ozone.  Abelas could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he turned toward the direction from which the power emanated.  As quickly and as violently as a lightning strike from a cloudless sky, virid threads of energy grew from nothingness and split the air as a rift tore open before their eyes.  The Sentinel squinted against the intense illumination, and when his vision adjusted, he found Niyera limping toward them.  Her hair and skin were stained red, and blood freely flowed from between the fingers of the hand closed over her side.  And her eyes...her eyes were radiant with the energy of the mark, fully consumed and glowing.  Wisps of green crept from their corners, and Abelas could feel the man in his grasp shaking.  Before she was in arm’s reach of them, she snapped out her hands, and the rift at her back closed with an echoing thunderclap, and but an instant later, she fisted the marked hand on empty air.  The red-haired mage was possessed by a convulsive seizure, and when the Sentinel looked back at him, blood was foaming on his lips and dribbling down his like drool.  

Both Cassandra and Abelas leaned away from Niyera, respectfully, as she came to stand before the man.  The Inquisitor caught his chin between her still-manacled hands and leaned in, setting her mouth near his ear.  I hope you enjoy the taste of your own blood...you’re going to die choking on it, she had told him.  Her voice was possessed of an otherworldly thrumming when she asked, “How does it taste?”  His wild eyes widened impossibly before they rolled back in his head, and his last breath expelled a mist of blood into the air as he expired.  With no further need to support him, Abelas released the man’s body and turned his attention to his companion.  “Inquisitor?” he ventured, lifting a hesitant hand toward her face.  When she gave no acknowledgement, he tried again, “Niyera?”  Her head turned toward him, the illumination in her eyes flickering fitfully as her head tilted.  The Sentinel cupped the side of her face as he whispered, “Garas, lethallan.”  A shuddering breath tumbled over her lips, and she blinked once, twice, and the third time found the glow dispelled from her eyes.  With the light went whatever power it was that held her upright, and her legs folded under her weight.  

Both Abelas and Cassandra caught her before she collapsed, and they lowered her to lay her on the floor.  The Seeker shouted for a healer and started to rise, but Niyera caught the woman’s gauntlet.  “Cullen?  We...can’t leave Dorian.  ...have to take him home,” she said, her words long and drawn with the effort to speak.  Cassandra’s brow furrowed as she frowned at the elf, “Cullen is alive and safe.  And, yes, of course.  Dorian’s already with the healers.”  Seemingly unsatisfied, the Inquisitor fumbled for a better grip on the Seeker, “...can’t...don’t leave his body.”  Niyera’s eyes fluttered, and her fingers went slack as her head fell limply back against the Sentinel’s arm.  Abelas shook his head at Cassandra, murmuring, “She’s delirious.  We have to get her back.  Now.”  The woman’s expression turned grim, and she only nodded before she stood to lead the way to the portal standing by.  Hooking an arm beneath her knees and another behind her shoulders, Abelas lifted the unconscious Inquisitor easily and followed after the Seeker.  

The pungent scent of medicinal herbs filled the air, a mixture of poultices and incense that left behind an acrid sillage.  A young healer sat at the head of Niyera’s cot and was busy about plucking shards of stone from her cheek and brow with tweezers as Abelas tended to the cracked and bleeding skin of her marked hand and arm.  Still another surgeon stood opposite him, concentrating on the wound that bit deeply into her side.  She had yet to wake since leaving the Approach, and her only stirring was the faint rise and fall of her chest.  A few feet away, Dorian lay under the care of his own team of healers, though he fell into and out of consciousness at irregular intervals.  On the opposite side of her cot was Cullen.  He had been so fitful while his wounds were being tended that he had to be sedated.  At the foot of the cots, Cassandra stood, arms folded and strong jawline squared as she compulsively ground her teeth.  Abelas spared a brief glance up to her, asking, “Have you recalled the Qunari and his companion?  A swift rider should be able to catch up with them in less than a day’s time.”  Snapped from the dungeon of her thoughts, the Seeker promptly stopped grinding her teeth to reply, “Yes, I sent them as soon as we returned.  Bull would be furious if we did not do so.”  The Sentinel nodded, turning Niyera’s arm over in his hands to inspect his work.  “You should take some rest, Seeker.  I will stay,” the elf offered, and stubbornly, Cassandra shook her head.  Golden eyes fell aside to the dwarf that stood just behind the woman, and as always, Varric was quick to catch on.  “C’mon, Seeker.  There’s nothing to kill here.  Let the healers work,” the storyteller nudged, earning a himself a disgusted noise from the Seeker.  “I know.  I’ll pay for this later, put it on my tab.  Now, let’s go,” the dwarf continued, ushering her gently, but firmly out of the infirmary.

Abelas rested the back of Niyera’s hand on his knee as he retrieved a bulbous pot of salve from the side table, something of his own creation, and scooped out a healthy dollop.  Rubbing it out between his hands, he started at her elbow and gingerly massaged his way down to her fingertips until it was fully absorbed by her skin.  He was silent in his work, singularly focused on the task at hand.  His thumbs swept broad strokes over the back of her knuckles, then her palm, and it was only when he meshed his fingers with hers that he truly realized how much smaller her hand was.  His brow knitted as he wondered at the turn of his thoughts before he quickly tamped them down and took a roll of gauze in hand.  Layer over layer, he bound the length of her forearm down to her palm, leaving only her fingers bare.  When finished, he folded the arm gently over her stomach to rest with the other, then slid his eyes to her face.  Her naturally fair skin was exceptionally pale, and small holes and gashes puckered the skin on the left side of her face.  The bits of stone had been removed, but had yet to be healed.  Across from him, the healer working on her flank wound had a thin sheen of sweat on his brow; the wound was so severe, it required being healed a piece at a time from the inside out.  It would scar, but the rest should fade to invisibility in time.

Pushing up from his stool, he crossed over to the cot where Dorian lay.  He hadn’t before, but he understood now why Niyera had been so insistent that they not leave the Tevinter behind.  The scouts that remained to sort through the carnage they’d left found a demon that had taken his form and feigned death until it was discovered.  Without doubt, they’d used the double to persuade or torture her -- perhaps both.  The man himself had been beaten severely -- arm broken, skull fractured, lung punctured, but thankfully none of the other atrocities he’d heard were so common among mages and templars.  It would take time, but he would heal.  They all would.  Skin and muscle and bone were easy to mend in comparison to the rest, but having seen all of them in action in the temple, having lived with them now and come to know them, he had no doubts that they would all recover.  He laid a hand lightly on the shoulder of the nearest healer attending to Dorian and handed her a small, leather-bound bundle.  “Make a poultice of these, administer three times daily for the arm.  It should greatly reduce the pain and swelling,” he explained, and the woman nodded, accepting the offering with a smile.  Without anything further, he returned to Niyera’s side, and there he remained.

In favor of caring for her himself, Abelas had disdained the nurse assigned to stay with Niyera once she was well enough to be moved to her quarters.  There were likely to be concerns that regular Inquisition attendants would be ill-equipped to deal with:  the mark, the Well’s influence.  It would, in the end, be simpler and better this way, so he’d moved his meager belongings to her chambers.  Her desk chair was pulled to the fireside, cocked at an angle to face the bed, and there is where he spent most of his time.  Her only other caregiver was a well-fed grey feline who, from time to time, would stand on the spare pillow to inspect Niyera’s face before rubbing her face against the elf’s cheek.  Then, she would saunter down the length of the bed and snuggle up in a ball against her mistress’s leg.  The first two days after, the Inquisitor had not woken at all nor stirred except for her breathing.  Twice a day or more, as was sometimes needed, he cleaned her wounds, reapplied salves and poultices, and rebandaged, all with no response from her at all.  Not even in pain.  The only response came from the cat, who would alternately observe him with a casual, but profound interest or hiss.  He found it mildly concerning that Niyera had no pain reaction, even in sleep, but it was not wholly unexpected, especially given all that had likely gone on while she was in the Fade.  It would be impossible to know specifics until she woke, but the state he’d seen her in when she returned to them would have been a great expenditure of power.

He tucked the loose end of the bandage on her hand beneath the layers on her palm and carefully replaced the arm back at her side.  The spray of wounds on her face was little more now than pale pink scars that would fade to invisibility with time, except for the larger gash above her brow, which very well may leave a hair-thin mark.  The natural blush was beginning to return to her cheeks, and he frequently found himself staring for long intervals at her face.  He had no explanation as to why or perhaps it was merely uncomfortable to think too hard on the possibilities.  All the same, he felt compelled.  She bore the faintest scar on her right cheek, a line that cut under the high tilt of the bone, and the slope of her jawline was gentle.  Above her pointed chin was a generous mouth, full lips that fell most often into a thin line of concentration or a smirk.  When open, her eyes were gold-haloed viridian, a shade of blue-green found only in hidden lagoons kissed by the sun.  He pressed a hand against her forehead; his fingers were cool, and her skin was warm, but not fevered.  And while there, he used the touch as an excuse to push a lock of white hair back from her brow and tuck it behind her ear.  His fingers brushed along the tip and down the slope, lingering just a bit too long when he smoothed his rough thumb over the lobe.  He instantly felt ashamed of the liberty he’d taken and the absence of thought with which he’d done it and stood.  Striding over to the balcony doors, he rotated his neck and rolled his shoulders before he clasped his hands behind his back, a faint burn suffusing his cheeks as he gazed out at the mountains.  The distraction of his thoughts abruptly shifted as his brow fell low, and he turned his gaze down to find the cat rubbing against his shins before twining in and out between his legs.

He had no sooner bent to give the cat a scratch when the creature’s ears perked, and it bounded away and up onto the bed.  His brow knitted as his eyes followed the feline and found it standing on Niyera’s neighboring pillow, face pressed into her hair as if trying to whisper in her ear.  In response, her eyes fluttered, and she reached a weak hand up as if to paw at the disturbance.  A few brisk steps brought Abelas to her side again, and he sat on the edge of the bed.  “Inquisitor?” he ventured quietly before pressing his cool hand to her forehead again, then the backs of his fingers to her cheek.  Her lids had stilled over her eyes once more, and her breath was slow and even.  A frown traced his lips as he withdrew his hand; she had woken, however briefly, and he had missed it.  His shoulders sagged as he passed a hand over his face, then he heard her voice, “H-how many times must I ask you...not to call me that?”  Relief flooded his chest and tugged a smile onto his lips.  When he looked to her face, he found her eyes open, and he turned to rest a hand on hers.  “Several more at the very least, I am certain,” he answered as he studied her; heavier than the weariness, sorrow haunted her features and hooded her eyes, while leaving her lips to fall into a frown.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked, but she ignored the question and answered instead with one of her own, “How’s Cullen?”  The Sentinel took a deep breath and nodded, “He will recover.  His injuries were severe, but once we managed to sedate him, the healers were able to tend to him.”  Her head dipped into a half-nod before turning aside, allowing her eyes to stray as she spoke with a voice choked by emotion, “And Dorian’s b-...tell me we were able to bring him back to Skyhold.”  Even from this angle, he could see the tears that had begun to well in her eyes, and a gentle finger on her jawline was all it took to turn her face back to him.  “He is alive, Niyera,” Abelas said softly, and he felt the lurch the hitching of her breath caused in her body.  Her eyes widened a fraction as her volume fell to a whisper, “But, I saw his-,” and he silenced her with a shake of his head.  “It was a demon.  It had assumed his form.  Dorian is alive,” he assured her, and as he watched his words sink in, the tears dammed in her eyes fell down her cheeks.  “Ah, lethallan, shhh,” he murmured as he cupped her cheek in his palm, and she raised her good hand to cover the other half of her face as she wept.  No further words passed between them; there was only her soft sobs of relief and his murmured efforts to calm her, and they only stopped when she had cried herself back to sleep.

[kenzieam]

Embers and Ash - Chapter 4 (Eric X OC)

Rating: M (violence/torture/swearing/smut:p)

Notes/Warnings: Upcoming Trigger Warnings

Genre: Drama/Angst

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!  

Please enjoy more of Eric and Fox!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85 @frecklefaceb @mom2reesie @elaacreditava @badassbaker

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"Deal with that." Max threw back over his shoulder at Zeke. Zeke nodded to his three men and they moved into the room.

"C'mon, Tris." Four pulled gently at Tris' arm. Tris craned her neck to see what Eric had left behind and instantly regretted it. Swallowing hard, she moved to Four's side, noting detachedly that he hadn't looked into the room once.

Eric was already raising hell by time Four and Tris made it back to central security and soldiers ran in all directions to gather equipment and carry out orders. Between bellowed commands, Eric consulted with Max at a table lit up by a 3D map. Four and Tris moved to stand on the other side of the table and listened as Eric and Max began formulating a plan. 

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Four squadrons of soldiers slunk quietly down the streets. One hundred twenty Dauntless; Eric, Tris, Four, Will, Uriah, Christina and Zeke among them. Max led the mission from the compound, organizing multiple factions in the background, while Eric was in charge on the ground. The air around him fairly crackled with tension and Four and Zeke made sure to stick close to him as they slunk along. Once at the old jail site, they would split into three large groups. One group would enter via the northwest corner, another to the west, while the third patrolled above-ground to catch anyone trying to either get in to help or get out to escape. The unspoken agreement throughout was that Eric was going directly for Fox, leaving the others to take down the factionless.

Reaching the site, they divided. Will and Christina would lead the patrol above ground, while Four and Tris led to the west. Zeke and Uriah had the northwest corner and Eric would go in with them, leaving the brothers to handle any resistance while he searched.

Eric hunkered down behind a large hunk of concrete as he waited for the word from the other teams that they were in position and ready to go. His eyes blazed with concentration, with banked rage, with anxiety. He was desperate to find Fox and at the same time scared of what he would find. If that fuck Tom had hurt her, he'd kill him; tear him apart and scatter the pieces.

"In position." Four's voice came over the radio.

"Above team ready." Came Will's voice.

"On my mark, give 'em hell..... MARK!" Zeke barked.

Eric leapt up and ran to the hidden entrance. Uriah yanked the door open and threw in a concussion grenade. After the shock-wave dissipated Eric sprinted forward and disappeared inside. He heard surprised shouts and scrambling; they'd preserved the element of surprise. Eric fired at three factionless men, running past their downed bodies and kept going; he had four levels to descend.

"We're right behind you, go!" Zeke yelled.

Eric's thoughts narrowed to one single point. Find Fox. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tom's face appeared in the window again.

Fox struggled to her feet as Tom threw the door open. The sounds of gunshots and shouting reached her ears and Fox's heart began to race. Had Eric found her?

Tom slammed into her, his fist pistoning into her jaw. “You BITCH!” He roared. “How did they find us?”

So Eric was here. Fox threw back her head and laughed, making Tom sputter with rage and stumble a step back.

Fox lowered her head and glared coldly at Tom. “You’re dead now.”

Tom’s lips drew back from broken teeth. “Not without you.” He growled. Raising his fist, he slammed Fox in the side of the head and she staggered.

Fox was too disoriented to fight when Tom suddenly freed her wrists and pushed her to the ground. Her senses were slow to return as he lay his body on top of her and began to paw at her clothes. But, as his hand ripped the remains of her shirt off, Fox exploded.

“You FUCK!” She roared, finding new energy to struggle beneath him. Tom gripped her chin roughly, hard enough to force her teeth through her bottom lip and clawed at her breasts. Fox, her arms weighted and numb, struggled to punch and tear at him, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. As his hand left her chin, she head butted him. Tom groaned and his body sagged on hers for a moment. Fox tried to buck him off, but the only limbs she had control of right now where her legs, and they were slow to respond, Tom’s legs pinning them down.

“Take this you miserable bitch.” Tom growled and something flashed at Fox’s side. She felt instant pain, followed by instant breathlessness. Fox watched in dawning horror as Tom pulled a large knife from her side, he’d stabbed between her ribs and into her lung. Her chest locked down, her side grew hot with blood. Pain and shock slowed her movements.

Fox felt rough hands at her waist, dimly heard the sounds of a belt buckle. Harshly Tom ripped at her clothes, reaching and yanking his pants down. His cock pressed roughly against her thigh and Fox moaned, barely able to draw breath, her vision wavering at the edges. He forced her legs apart and Fox felt him at her core. His breath panted harsh in her ear as he crushed down on her. He was going to rape her as she died, take her here on this bloodstained floor; and Eric was going to find her like this, dead and violated. NO! You took my life, but you will NOT take my body! Fox screamed in her head, her vision sharpening again. A snarl ripped from her throat as she felt him begin to penetrate her and she retaliated the only way she could.

Snaking her head forward, Fox sunk her teeth into his throat. Hot blood exploded in her mouth, spraying her face and she closed her eyes, clamping down. Tom began to scream, his voice wavering, gargling blood and began to struggle on top of her. Fox bit down harder, something crunching between her teeth. His blood was threatening to drown Fox, choking down her throat already so tight with pain from her stab wound. The hot, coppery shower slowed, Tom’s struggles on top of Fox hastening his blood loss. With one last effort, Tom reared backwards and he came free from Fox, leaving a large chunk of his throat between her teeth. Fox spat it out and snapped her head from side to side, struggling to escape the shower of red.

With a final gargle, Tom collapsed on top of Fox, his last breath rasping in her ear. Fox gasped, trying to breath, the dead weight on top of her only adding to the struggle of her locked down chest. Her body was cold, and Fox realized that she’d fulfilled her vow. She was dying too, but Tom had breathed his last breath first.

Faintly, Fox heard her name. Someone was screaming her name, getting closer. Tom’s dead weight was pulled off of her and Eric’s face appeared. Fox’s vision narrowed to a tunnel, her chest a solid knot of agony. Eric’s face was flushed and his eyes were wild, frantic. His mouth worked but Fox couldn’t hear what he was saying over the increasing buzzing in her ears. Her vision began to grow darker, and it was hard to stay awake. The pain on Eric’s face cleaved at her heart.

I’m sorry Eric. I’m so sorry. I’m so tired now......don’t cry please.....I’ll take care of our baby......goodbye.

Her eyes stayed locked on Eric's as everything slowly went black.

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Eric raced down the corridor, searching frantically for Fox. The factionless that got in his way were mere insects to be cut down, he barely looked at them as he fired, scrambled over their bodies. Turning a corner, he saw an open door and bodies laying on the floor inside. His heart lurched.

"Fox! FOX!" He screamed, sprinting towards the cell. He threw the door fully open and stumbled to a stop. Blood painted the walls, the air was thick with it's coppery smell. Fox lay on the ground, pinned beneath an unmoving body, her features almost unrecognizable under a thick layer of red blood. Eric grabbed the body and yanked it off of her, realizing with horror that it's pants were down, that he'd been trying to force himself on Fox, perhaps had managed to rape her before he died. The rage that boiled in his veins was quickly overshadowed by his fear for Fox. She was gasping weakly for breath; he couldn't tell if any of the blood was hers, then he saw it. On her left side, partway down, blood bubbled out of a grievous stab wound and Eric saw the large blood-stained knife on the floor a few feet away. "Fox? Baby? Baby, Baby! Breathe, breathe, breathe! Please, Fox! Don't leave me!" Eric was frantic, his words running together as he begged. Desperately he wiped the blood from her face.

Turning his head he screamed. "I need a medic! Now!"

He heard someone yell back, feet pounding.

He turned back to Fox. Her eyes were half-open, hazy with pain; watching him. He cupped her face as tears ran down his cheeks.

"Please, baby.....don't go." He pleaded.

Fox's lip moved to speak but nothing came out. The light faded from her eyes and she relaxed in Eric's hands.

"Fox? FOX! NO!" Eric cried, pulling Fox against his chest, crushing her to him. A soul-wrenching, heart-breaking, blood-chilling cry ripped from his throat as he rocked Fox against him, his fingers curling against her back and into her hair.

Rough hands grabbed at him and more grabbed at Fox and Eric screamed a snarl, lashing out as Fox was taken from him. Strong arms banded his biceps and yanked him backwards. Someone slammed him back against a wall and Eric lunged forwards. More hands joined in pushing him back.

"Eric! ERIC! STOP!" Four's voice pierced Eric's mind and he slowed his struggle.

"It's okay, big guy. Calm down." Zeke's voice joined Four's and Eric focussed on them, his tunnel vision for Fox widening to include the two men holding him against the wall.

"Jesus Eric. It's us, stop fighting." Zeke's voice was unsteady.

"Fox." Eric gasped.

Still gripping his tactical vest, Four pulled to the side to let Eric see. Medics swarmed Fox, shouting and calling instructions to each other. They were pulling her onto a backboard, completely ignoring Tom's body crumpled in the corner where Eric had thrown him. They lifted her and began to leave the cell. They'd attached a defibrillator to her chest and one of the medics pawed at the buttons as they ran. Another had an oxygen mask on Fox's face. Four held Eric against the wall as he tried to follow and Eric fought back, growling, desperate to stay with her. Zeke leapt back into the fray and Will and Uriah joined too.

"Just wait! Give them a chance to get her out!" Four panted, winded. Eric was fighting like a wildcat, his eyes blazing, unreachable in his rage.

Suddenly Tris pushed between the men and reached up. Her hand cupped Eric's face and it seemed to break the spell. He stopped struggling and looked down at her, the rage in his eyes disappeared; misery, anxiety and anguish replacing it.

"Fox." He whispered.

"We'll take you to her, just calm down now." Tris' voice was soft and Four watched in amazement. It was like watching a child walk up to a thrashing stallion and the stallion dropping its head for the child to stroke.

Tris nodded to Four and they began to follow the medics down the corridor. Zeke, Uriah, Will and Christina stayed back to begin the cleanup. The agreement before they'd left Dauntless was to loot the sub-basement for supplies and information, then plant charges and destroy it.  

Max, anticipating something along these lines, had ordered an Erudite ambulance to be on standby, and it was just screaming away as Four, Tris and Eric emerged from the sub-basement. Soldiers roared up in trucks and began unloading supplies, preparing to help loot and destroy the jail.

"C'mon." Four jerked his chin to the nearest personnel truck and Eric followed, stumbling in sudden exhaustion. Tris stayed at his other side and, seeing the pain on Eric's face as he looked ahead, reached over and gently took his hand. Eric glanced at her, his eyes wet and lost and Tris squeezed gently, the touch of a friend comforting a friend. Eric swallowed hard and squeezed back, turning his attention back to the truck as Four reached it and opened the passenger door.

Eric didn't let go of Tris' hand as Four drove, hung on like a drowning man to a life raft. Four glanced down at their clasped hands and sent Tris a grateful, approving look. They both knew that Tris' comforting touch was probably the only thing keeping Eric from crawling the truck cab walls like a lunatic. His reaction was so unlike anything Four had ever seen from Eric; he had always been so cold and collected before Fox had jumped second behind Tris into the net and come into his life. She had woken something powerful in him, startled awake a fierce, blazing love and devotion that Four hadn't thought Eric to be capable of; that Four wasn't even sure he himself was capable of for Tris. Four's love for Tris, and hers for him, strong as it was; looked weak in comparison to the animalistic possession Fox and Eric shared. He would kill without hesitation for her, would die in a heartbeat to save her, and the thought of her leaving him alone, going where he couldn't follow would surely drive him insane before it killed him.

Four took a deep breath and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. He had no idea what they would find when they reached the Erudite hospital, had no idea just what in the fuck he would do if the doctors hadn't been able to save Fox and Eric lost the fragile hold he currently had on himself. A non-lethal gunshot wound would probably be the only thing that would stop the big man before he hurt himself or anyone else. A quick glance at Tris told him she was thinking the same thing. Eric remained silent, staring forwards out the windshield.

Eric didn't let go of Tris' hand until they'd been shown up to the fourth floor of the Erudite hospital, where the surgical suites and intensive care unit where located. The doctor was waiting by the main desk, his uniform splattered with blood and Eric walked directly up to him.

The doctor turned tired eyes to him. "Fox LaRue?"

Eric nodded, his muscles coiled tightly. Four and Tris stepped to either side of him, prepared to act.

"She's alive.....you Dauntless are tough." The doctor's exhaustion was muting the typical Erudite decorum.

Eric sagged in relief, his shoulder bumping Four's before he straightened and asked. "Can I see her?"

The doctor nodded. "You're her boyfriend?"

"Fiancé." Eric clarified, a slight edge in his voice that made the doctor stand up straight.

The doctor cleared his throat and nodded. He held out his right arm. "This way."

Eric glanced once over his shoulder at Tris and Four before walking away.

Reaching a set of doors marked 'Intensive Care' the doctor pushed them open for Eric to enter first. Eric stopped at the foot of Fox's bed, his eyes roaming over her. Her skin was an unhealthy grey, her bottom lip split and eyes blackened. She'd lost muscle, her collarbones more prominent. The nurses had cleaned her so she didn’t look like she‘d bathed in blood anymore. As the doctor approached, he pulled a chair close, sat down and hesitantly took Fox's hand, gingerly avoiding the bandages that covered her wrists and half-way up her forearms. The doctor took a seat on Fox's opposite side with a groan. Resting his hands on his knees, he began to speak.

"She has been beaten severely and more than once. She's suffering from a severe concussion and has extensive wounds to her wrists that look like they are from some type of shackle or restraint. The stab wound is her most serious injury, it collapsed her lung and filled her chest cavity with blood; we've repaired it and she is breathing on her own now." He hesitated now, but Eric's stare made him continue. "There are signs of attempted rape, but not a complete assault."

Exhaling hard, Eric dropped his head. Raising it again after a moment, he asked, his voice low. "She was pregnant, eight weeks....is the baby okay?"

The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry......no. The fetus is dead.....There are indications of blunt force trauma to her lower abdomen, consistent with a hard kick, that appear to have caused a miscarriage."

Eric stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, his forehead furrowed as he asked. "A miscarriage...the baby's dead?"

At the doctor's reluctant nod, Eric groaned. Drawing a shuddering breath, he turned to look at Fox and gently raised her hand to his mouth. He pressed her knuckles to his trembling lips and closed his eyes.

The doctor continued. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but it was only a partial miscarriage. Fox retained most of it and now is suffering from a rather serious infection. We've removed the necrotic tissue and have her on heavy antibiotics to fight it."

Eric opened his eyes again, and the doctor pretended they weren't shiny with unshed tears. "Will she be able to get pregnant again?"

The doctor stopped a grimace. "We'll have to see how she responds to the antibiotics."

Eric groaned again, then reached out tentatively to touch Fox's cheek. "Oh, baby." He murmured. Without looking away from her, he asked. "Why does she need bandages? Didn't you give her healing serum? Is she sedated?"

"No, the serum and antibiotics are incompatible together; unfortunately, with all our medical advances here in Erudite, we still have to resort to rather archaic treatments for infections; it is a thorn in the side of our medical research teams but I digress. The antibiotics are more critical right now so we have to wait. After a few days, if she responds, we can look at giving her the serum."

"Is she in pain?"

"We've administered painkillers."

"Is she in pain?" Eric voice went low and dark and the doctor couldn't stop a small shiver as he turned his cold glare to him.

"Most likely, yes. A little bit. Without her conscious to tell us, we can't say for sure."

"Will she wake up soon?"

"She's drifts in and out, it's common with a concussion, the level of trauma she's been through, and the fact that we are unable to administer the serum as of yet."

"I'm staying here with her."

"I doubt very much I could make you leave." The doctor said quietly. Pushing on his knees, he stood. "The nurses are available if you have anymore questions and can find me if you need me again."

Eric nodded, his eyes back on Fox.

"Would you allow your friends in to see her?"

Eric nodded again and the doctor left.

Reaching out, Eric brushed Fox's cheek with his knuckles. "You'll be okay, baby. I love you."

Fox's lips parted and she moaned faintly.

"Fox?" Eric asked hopefully, but Fox didn't respond again.

Eric looked up again as Four and Tris approached. Slowly Tris sat in the chair the doctor had just vacated and Four stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

"How is she?" Tris asked hesitantly.

"She lost the baby." Eric murmured.

Tris sighed sadly and Four massaged her shoulders a moment before saying. "We're sorry, Eric."

Eric nodded, his eyes locked on Fox. "I.....I just want her to get better......we can try for a baby again later."

Tris nodded while Four dropped his head.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, all of Eric's attention on Fox.

Four cleared his throat. "Eric, do you want us to stay with Fox while you go shower, get changed? Max sent some clothes over for us. There's a shower down the hall......you can stay with her all you want after."

Eric paused before nodding. He stood, then leaned down and kissed Fox's forehead, murmured softly to her. Looking up at Four, he gave a small nod and left.

Four left Tris' side and sat heavily in the chair Eric had just vacated. He met Tris' eye and managed only a half-smile before a tear trickled down his cheek. He shook his head and wiped it away. "The whole thing just sucks."

Tris nodded in understanding.

"I mean, everything that happened to Fox back in Amity....she got over, she came to Dauntless and was making a real life for herself....and then all that shit comes back to get her......and takes her future."

Tris looked up at Four. "She has a future still, her and Eric will try again, this isn't the end."

Four nodded, lowered his head and scrubbed at his eyes, gave a weak laugh. "I know, I'm just tired, and....thinking about what Fox went through.....she's like my sister now."

"Mine too." Tris murmured.

They sat in broody silence after that, with nothing really more to say. Eric returned, hair still wet and ungelled, pulling a tight black t-shirt down his torso as he walked, with black jeans and combat boots. A hooded sweatshirt hung over his arm.

“Did she wake up?” He asked.

Four shook his head then stood. Tris mirrored him.

“We have to go back to Dauntless, help finish some things, unless you want us to stay?” Four said quietly.

Eric shook his head. “I’ll be okay. I’m not leaving her here, so Max will probably give you my shit to deal with-”

Four shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll come by later and see how it’s going.”

Eric nodded and Four clapped him on the shoulder.

Tris couldn’t stop a tiny smile. She still remembered the tension and competition between these two men when she and Fox had first come to Dauntless as initiates. They were almost like brothers now and she and Fox had marveled at that together before, shaking their heads and giggling. Fuck, Fox. I miss you. Tris thought suddenly. Please wake up soon.  

Tris gave Eric a hug, something else I never thought I’d do as an initiate, Tris thought with a small giggle and followed Four out.

Eric watched them leave then turned back to Fox. He couldn’t sit there and just hold her hand, that was too far away. His heart had been racing unsteadily since he’d left to shower, in reality, for the last week it had been; and he needed to hold Fox right now to calm it. Kicking off his boots, Eric maneuvered himself carefully onto the bed beside Fox, lay on his side facing her. Even unconscious, Fox reacted instantly to his proximity, squirming closer with a breathy sigh. Eric reached up and traced her cheek gently.

“Eric...” Fox sighed.

“I’m here, baby.” Eric whispered.  

[thealfanator]

The Steel that Warmed Us in the Night-Time ~ Chapter 6

Yennefer and Triss stared at each other from across the room.  The daytime sun leaked ferociously through the windows whilst also being remarkably soothing.  The innkeeper gazed upon the room with a casual boredom; it was ‘just another day’ after all.  The smell of beer stimulated the air like a bitter electric shock.  For what had seemed like days, the tavern was still noticeably empty – with people staying clear from it since the moment Geralt had arrived a few days earlier.

“I wonder how long they’ll be.” Triss brought up.  She felt awkward with Yennefer’s piercing, crystal-like eyes which failed to blink.  She merely nodded her head or grumbled a tiny sign of approval, then sighed.  Triss sighed too; trying to solve the everlasting grudge but failing miserably. Hunter watched from a distance, fondling over his own, large cup of ale.  His tired eyes dragged their way from Triss, then to Yennefer, then back again – constantly watching a competitive game of conversation.  Yennefer sighed again.

“They won’t be long, I hope.” She pointed out, “A couple of days?  It’s Toussaint, we’re talking about – as far as I know, Geralt loves fighting monsters in White Orchard rather than getting dressed up in a luxurious city…”

“He’ll want to escape the place as soon as they have the amulet.” Triss finished.

“Exactly.” Yennefer almost cracked a smile.  She looked at the floor with tired eyes, clutching her almost healed stomach wound.  From time to time, she prodded it with unsatisfying effect, exerting her frustration of not being able to mount a horse on an exceptionally thick, white bandage. She sighed again.

Geralt and Cirilla stood at the edge of the lively city of Toussaint, feet sinking slightly in the dancing, brightly coloured sand which slowly merged into a blinding pale green grass which coated the city’s structure.  Ciri laughed and enjoyed the bliss atmosphere whilst she looked around at the people who worked their day, carrying clothes, picking fruit or travelling along the cobblestone intestines of the city.  On the other hand, Geralt studied the layout once again, in a curious fashion.  He had been here before, but not in quite some time. They both shared a fascinated expression; green splodges of life dissolved into the red and white structures of the roofed tiles and infrastructure.  The air was crisp and Geralt could almost smell the delightful mood of the inhabitants here.  Flowers bounced around, overjoyed at every passer-by.  Geralt looked to Ciri.

“As much as you love it here, you know we have a business to do?” he prodded.

“Absolutely.” Ciri stared back, eyes still voluntarily open, drinking in the charm of Toussaint.

“Right…” Geralt, amusingly, did not look convinced. “I got good news and bad news. Good news first, we have large city to look for an amulet.  Bad news is exactly that! We have a WHOLE city to explore for an amulet, and further – we have no leads to follow.”  He sighed, “You ready to do some exploring?”

“You kidding?” Ciri chuckled, “I’d explore this town for days! Just say the word.”  They moved forward, deeper into the city.

           Geralt and Ciri decided to split up and take different roles so that they could expand their search for the amulet.  Geralt agreed he would delve deeper into Toussaint’s mazes and pathways whilst Ciri headed to a shoreline which surrounded a large, beautiful lake just off the side of the city.  Ciri continued to absorb the amazing nature of the place.  Her eyes as wide as a tiger’s, constantly observing the liveliness. People bustled around their business. She noticed that there were no true monsters here like in Velen; she hadn’t seen such purity and happiness to extents like this!  She walked up to a woman who, just outside her small cottage door, was picking some berries then washing them in a sweet-smelling bowl of water.

“Hello, Miss?” she poked politely, trying not to invade her business.  Luckily, the woman turned around without angry eyes but instead greeting her with immediate happiness.

“Yes, my love?” she croaked.  She was an older woman, with cloth-like clothing which seemed worn out from kneeling so much.  Ciri asked her about an amulet in the area – trying not to sound too desperate for an answer. The woman looked down at a wet patch of sand, but she was clearly in thought.  She stood silently, puzzled like a wise wizard in his tower.  After a few, awkward moments she replied.

“There was one… A man, a knight to be precise, who thought it would be funny to make a beast swallow it.  ‘Twas a peculiar beast; shaped like a bird – has feathers ‘n all that but it mostly stays underneath the lake there.” She pointed; Ciri followed her arm, “Every now and then, not often – mind you, does it burst out of the lake in rage, scaring all the people including me!  The rather expensive looking item as you said is clearly in its stomach. It looks too beautiful to ignore…” she trailed again into thought.  “Unfortunately, the rather arrogant man who forced it down its throat was also eaten. He may’ve deserved it, but I won’t wish death ‘un anybody!  It was a tragic day.”  Ciri looked down at the sand again.  It was almost like they were both sharing each other’s thoughts if only for a moment.

“Thank you so much.” Ciri said eagerly.  Just as she turned to leave, the woman called her again.

“Please, do me a favour and pick some of these gooseberries? I’d be ever so grateful.”

*

Meanwhile, Geralt stumbled into the city’s depths, wandering aimlessly and hoping for something to latch onto.  He randomly started asking people about an amulet in the area but found no immediate luck as they would usually keep their head down and slowly shy away.  He sighed again.  He sat by a bench, deep in thought.  The afternoon sun scorched his forehead and brought small entities of sweat to the surface like a father dragging his disobedient child.

“Hey, Witcher!” someone whispered.  Ears peeked up towards the sky.  The Witcher turned.  “I know somethin’ ‘bout that amulet you been askin’ about.” He cupped his hands round his mouth, trying to encourage his whispers.  He went across the busy street to meet the stealthily looking man who bent down into a crouch inside a doorway.  He was evidently one of the townsfolk and not a city guard, which was noticeable due to Geralt’s perceptive nature, and the fact he could see his ‘not incredibly expensive’ clothing.  “Let’s make a deal.”  They both leaned into the warm, wooden building and increased their whispers into a normal-sounding chat.  Geralt nodded, expecting more information.  “Look, I had a bottle ‘o wine which was stolen from me.  It was dear and I need it back.  I saw you, Witcher, ‘cause your kind ‘ave those swords! Please, fetch it for me and I’ll give you information about this task you’re pursuing.”  Geralt looked reluctantly at the man, but was forced to take on the quest.  He sniffed the area, picking up the trail.  For what seemed like eternities later, he returned from this mundane task with a frustrated look on his face and a bottle of half-drunk wine.

“I have it.  Now tell me about the amulet.” Geralt said as he passed the bottle back to the man.  Geralt had a headache from the frustration and had a rumbling sound and sensation in his head.  Trying to ignore it, he put his forefinger and thumb on his temple whilst leaning on a table.  It wasn’t until the wine bottle Geralt had just retrieved smashed on the floor after it fell off a shelf, that he realised the rumbling wasn’t in his head.  Books and ornaments shook, chairs wobbled. There was a vivid vibration through the floor.  The Witcher heard screams coming from outside.

“What the hell is that?” The man in the room screamed. Geralt used his hand to restrain the man from running wild.

“Wait here!” Geralt shouted above the chaos of sound, adjusting his swords in the process – ready for a potential fight.

           Geralt ran through the chaotic streets of Toussaint.  High pitched screams of women and children stabbed at his brain. He pushed passed in the opposite direction to the bolting people.  He cursed to himself, hoping that Cirilla was not caught in the mess.  Stalls were pushed over followed by the sprawling of food items which became bludgeoned with the feet of others.  After minutes of panicked breaths and the wish to move faster, Geralt came to a clearing.  Below him, past a few banisters and intestine-like pathways, he saw a large lake in the distance bubble and shake like boiling water.  He stood in shock, paralysed to the strange matter.  Decades of suspension and expectation passed before a griffin-looking creature burst out of the water, producing a storm of water which spread for what seemed like miles.  Shielding his eyes, Geralt noticed that this wasn’t a pure hybrid of a griffin, but instead a peculiar beast of a creature which he had not seen before.  It had jet-black feathers with a red-stained beak and large, evil eyes.  It zoomed into the air, screeching all around before diving towards the ground.

*

Ciri urgently shouts to the woman she was just talking to and others which crowded in awe around the beast.

“Get out of here!  Now!” She warned as she drew her sword.  The beast dived down towards the ashen-haired figure.  Ciri deflected its attack with a swipe of her weapon.  It was incredibly strong.  It continued to dip and dive around buildings and over the lake it had emerged from moments before.  Ciri continued to prick the creature.  Not long passed before she gave a powerful attack to it which caused it to spray blood, turning the sand to a stale copper-like colour.  It involuntarily smashed to the ground. Amongst the blood-spilling stomach, conveniently oozed the amulet.  The colour was coated with blood so much that Ciri couldn’t even see the glistening greens and blues of the gemstones which were embedded into it.  Geralt continued to look at the situation whilst desperately trying to reach her.  It proved quite difficult due to the high amounts of obstacles and great quantities of idling bystanders.  He looked a few dozen seconds later to see that he had made almost no progress at reaching her.  Ciri snatched the amulet immediately, breathing heavily at her achievement. Despite the situation, Ciri couldn’t help but grow a small smile.  They had retrieved their fifth amulet.  That counts six now; she almost forgot that the contractor already has one out of the ten they had to gather.  She continued to breath heavily, restoring the oxygen in her lungs.  The corpse of the bird lie a few feet ahead of her.  Geralt saw a bunch of city guards approach her with spears drawn.  They looked puzzled at the scene and, with their narrow minds, immediately grabbed Cirilla by the arms and dragged her like a cat held by its neck away from the situation.

“What are you doing?  I killed this creature!” Ciri yelled.

“Aye, you might say so, but let’s see what the queen says about the matter!  You could’ve meddled with other people with a bloody-stained sword like that!” one of the soldiers replied.

“Are you kidding?  You think I’d idly stand there and watch that monster bite away at the people of this city?” Ciri countered in shock whilst being continually dragged.

“We don’t know.” They blindly said from within their helmets. “For now, a holding cell is in order for you, missus, even if you are innocent!”  Ciri could almost sense their stupidity through their empty, iron suits. She failed to resist their physical prods as she helplessly flailed with them towards a jail cell far inside the large castle in the middle of Toussaint.  Geralt shouted at them and tried to push his way towards her, but he couldn’t make it and they couldn’t hear him.  He grew angry as he fell to the cold, hard floor, unable to keep himself upright in his shock.  After he came to his bearings, he stomped back into the alleyways of Toussaint in search for a better plan.

This is the start of ‘the Toussaint Trilogy’!  I hope you still enjoy the series.  It is very action packed!  Please feel free to leave me some feedback; direct message me or anything you like!  In the meantime, please - if anything - reblog because my mission is to expose my series to as many people as possible and increase recognition!  Nevertheless, have a great week :)

Link to Chapter 1: https://thealfanator.tumblr.com/post/161443706234/the-steel-that-warmed-us-in-the-night-time