TᕼE ᑕᕼᖇOᑎIᑕᒪEᔕ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

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TᕼE ᑕᕼᖇOᑎIᑕᒪEᔕ;

[𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤

𝙁𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙏𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙨

& 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨...]

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:.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆ 　¸. ● .　　★　　★ ° . ☆ ¸. ¸ 　★　 :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.    •   °.        :   .　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆ 　¸. ● .　　★　　★ ° . ☆ ¸. ¸ 　★　 :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.    :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ •    . :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆

:warning: [Warning: Please be advised that there is mention of death, blood, and slight gore. Yee have been warned.] :warning:

:.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆ 　¸. ● .　　★　　★ ° . ☆ ¸. ¸ 　★　 :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.    •   °.        :   .　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆ 　¸. ● .　　★　　★ ° . ☆ ¸. ¸ 　★　 :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.    :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ •    . :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆

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| ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ |

| вєтяαує∂ |

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Crimson. The color was everywhere, smearing the ground in a sticky Picasso painting and poking through the brown and green textures of the woodland surroundings. It was spread across Mother Nature’s floor in a messy array, splattered here and there within the sodden soil and luscious leaves. The battlefield was set in stone, marked deep into the Earth with that very liquid. It was always a fearful sign, an indication of weakness to those who feel it and triumph for those who dealt the blow. This scenario, exacted to pure perfection of riddled treason and utter betrayal. A promise was broken, a traitorous deed was committed. And the fighting soul, who still clings onto life, was feeling the sting of something more than a blade through the chest.

He was dying. Lying there like a limp rag doll tossed aside by an unamused child. The front of his body pressed into the dirt, one arm tucked at his side, hand close to his face. His other limb stretched farther ahead of himself, reaching out in a vain attempt. Fingers weakly caressing the dirt, trying to search for some purchase in the terrain he was forced upon. It hurt, the pain rippling through every nerve and tendon, electrifying his body into something beyond the category of such a simplistic word that would describe his predicament. The figure groaned, mouth parting and closing in a repetitive manner. No words escaped his lips, rather that same red liquid dribbled out and wetted his chin and neck, staining the dirt beneath as well.

He gargled, pearly white teeth gritting as he fanned his fingers out, glossy eyes locking onto his possible salvation. The weapon that once poised so delicately in his hand, also laid upon the ground, inches from the man’s grasp. So close to a bittersweet revenge, the flavor whispering it’s false truths on his tongue. Yet, another taste punched through, having a similar experience too. The blood that slithered like hundreds of reddened snakes, left a coppery tone in his mouth. The vulgar scent as well from the gaping wounds pounded upon his form, striking a ghastly appearance. He felt so vulnerable, the liquid oozing further from the slices and penetration of steel biting through the leathery weakness of flesh, and crunching gladly through the hardened structure of bone.

The man was losing his fight, every small movement that would bring him a centimeter closer to his weapon would rip his insides to pieces. Letting more of that crimson river run free and soak deeper into the ground. He wanted to fight. He wanted to live. He wanted to see his enemy fall beneath his own blade, with victory glittering in his eyes. But, now his gaze was becoming dull, a filmy color washing over the once bluish grey eyes. His world, the once tall trees, having their distinctive features of bark and leaf moldings now blurred together. The darkness was slowly swallowing the edges of his vision, consuming them with white and black dots.

Sound, too, was becoming something of the past, fading away even though he screamed for it to stop. The inward plead that wouldn’t into the fruition of words. It wasn’t his time. He wanted to continue on. To live and fight. But, the soft footsteps of his foe lingered, whispering through the subtle vibrations in the dirt. They were there, waiting to see the light finally extinguish and burn it’s last dying embers. He couldn’t submit. He couldn’t die. Not like this.

Then, he grew still. The last exhale parted from his mouth, eyes losing that white glint, staring into the emptiness of the beyond. His last gaze was set upon the figure in front of him. Crouched before the figure with a vexing smile that crawled along their face in a villainous way. Dead eyes, shaded a bright yellow with dark rims, they bored into the dead figure. The deed was done. His friend lying lifeless at his feet. And... he smiled.

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:.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆ 　¸. ● .　　★　　★ ° . ☆ ¸. ¸ 　★　 :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.    •   °.        :   .　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆ 　¸. ● .　　★　　★ ° . ☆ ¸. ¸ 　★　 :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.    :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ •    . :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　.　　¸ .　　 ° 　¸. * ● ¸ .　　　　° •  . ° 　¸. ● ¸ .★ ° . .　　　　.　 °☆ 　. * ● ¸ .　　　★　° :.　 . • ○ ° ★　 .　 *　.　　　　　. 　 ° 　. ● .　　　　°  °☆

Edit: THANK YOU FOR THE FEATURE!^^