( fatui harbingers x gn! reader )
─── 𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙀𝙉𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙀 𝙇𝘼𝙔 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙆 𝙊𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙇𝙄𝙋𝙎. lies reign aplenty in the realm of the tsaritsa, yet your shred of truth may captivate those deprived of the light.
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C H A P T E R XIII . ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ'ˢ ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳˢ
【✧】
THE BLOOD ON YOUR LIPS TASTED ACRID. Metallic, like iron the color of coal, yet salty like the depths of the cerulean ocean. You spat out the ferric liquid that had accumulated on your tongue, leaving a splatter of crimson against the dirt ground.
"Again."
You let out a shaky breath. Unable to cease the trembling in your legs, you forced yourself to rise to your feet, ignoring the sharp stab of pain that accosted your thighs as you did so. You were beginning to get used to the routine agony. There were days where you were in much worse shape -- broken bones, shattered ribs, bruises mottling your skin in ugly shades of black and blue. A little bit of blood was practically nothing.
"Again."
There was the voice again. An impatient lilt had overtaken it, indicating that you had little time before the speaker struck first. You positioned yourself into an offensive stance, flipping the dagger in your left hand in a graceful arc before grounding it with a firm grip.
You felt the wind slap at your face as you darted forwards, the space between you and your opponent narrowing at an alarming pace. A sharp clang rattled in your ears, followed by another, and another, and another. Sparks, bright and vibrant and reminiscent of Inazuma's fireworks, flew when your weapon clashed with his, enveloping his stoic features in a fiery glow.
He aimed for your side. You parried his attack, watching his blade bounce harmlessly off of yours. He tried for your neck. The same results were met as you deflected his sword, almost as easily as you did the first time.
His actions were too predictable. Anxiety gnawed at the insides of your stomach, filling you with a sense of unadulterated dread and horror. Something felt terribly, terribly wrong, but you hardly had enough time to ponder on the topic as you defended against his incessant attacks.
He moved to the left. You followed him, unaware of how you were so foolishly led like a lamb to the slaughter. You could barely react in time to dodge the edged tip of his weapon from behind you, forcing you to fall unceremoniously on your rear. In mere seconds, his blade was to your throat, ready to slice into your jugular if the situation allowed.
Your laugh was light and breathy, tinged with the somber fog of defeat. "You win again, Konstantin. I can never seem to outsmart you."
The corners of Konstantin's eyes crinkled as he lowered his sword and offered you a hand, which you grasped tightly as he pulled you from your place on the ground. He patted your shoulder -- a show of sympathy, yet you could also feel something akin to pride. "You did well, _____. You have become more agile, and your movements and attacks are precise and clever. I believe that you could take down a Skirmisher easily if you are so inclined to."
