Dead By Daylight [OneShots]

Vittorio Toscano X Reader X The Knight [P3]

My limbs ached as I frantically ran through the dark hallways, wanting to get away from the prison cell as soon as possible.

Kovács was not going to let me go easily, or maybe if I wasn't fighting, he wasn't letting me go at all. I had expected his guards to jump on me right away, yet they ardently held onto me, dragging me along with them to their fraction, towards the prison cell. A vision painfully crashed into my head, before my eyes, a faint apparition I could see lingering in the corner of the darkened hallways. Soon, this faint apparition began to develop some sensible shape, and hues.

A streak of familiar silvery gray hair peaked through the darkness, and soon the pallor of the decaying shape had paleness of his skin and hues of the ancient attire he had once adorned. He just sat there, chained to the wall, in that rotting, dark corner as the ravenous rodents and rats circled around the place, pacing back and forth, impatient, as he cowered in fear, crawling to the darkest corner, trying to fight the prying eyes of the beasts.

How ironic, both the sides were starving. One was a horde of beasts, living merely for the sake of pleasing their parched throats and gluttonous bellies, the other was a man who arduously clung to his sanity till his last breath.

Vittorio Toscano...he was a prisoner here.

So old...so ancient...so lost.

But I was not going to be there, anytime soon.

Adrenaline kicked in at the frightening sight of that illusionary vision. The Assassin was having a good time tormenting me, easing his wounded ego, pulling me by the arm, although he couldn't fight off his urge to inflict more pain. The instinct driving him ahead was to satiate his sadism. So often, his prying hands made his way towards my scrawny back, trying to scratch at it as I tried to resist the pull, or his fingers curled into tight fist around the tuft of my hair that he would have gleefully ripped off my scalp if given the chance.

Vaguely enough, The Knight refused to let his guards abuse me anyway...he himself was going to take his time draining me of my life for dispensing ignominious pain upon him.

Twisted he was, I couldn't find a dint of sympathy, or mercy in him. His soul was devoid of his former senses, it merely reeked of pain and terror...and I could only envisage what despicable things he was going to do to me if I was allowing him to let me be thrown in the cell.

Unarmed, vulnerable...I was already on the edge. And he was quite experienced in the art of war. War waged against rivalling battalions, war waged against the needless ones, the unsuspecting, the weaker...the innocent...the children...the women.

Aware that I was soon about to lose my strength, the least I had left within me, I put my last prayers and summoned it. The Assassin was still my target. His bulging eyes where the skin was rotting in the face slightly, he stared at me, aghast, as I kicked the Jailer, sending him tumbling ahead and crashing right into the burly Carnifex, who stood there stunned. The Knight's proud marching came to a halt as he turned around to face the disturbance I had caused.

My face truly spoke of fury, fury entangled with terror. Fury born out of fear, out of misery, the knowledge of knowing that I might not last long...everything I had achieved, I had done...no, it was never enough.

Stricken with the element of surprise my rebellion had brought, The Assassin just didn't know what to do, or maybe he was trying to comprehend my actions. I deliberately snatched the long, rusty dagger from him, only after which he snapped back to the reality. Indeed, he was just too late, and I was too furious to let go. I jabbed the blade right into his throat, causing him to shake as he had the taste of his own medicine. He shook, but he didn't fall down as I had hoped, only to briefly hold the blade, his grip eventually loosening as he attempted to pull it out of his throat and the effect of stun wearing out, him losing his tension to the revelation. However, it had some affect on him, for as I retrieved the blade from him, painfully and slowly pulling it away from his throat, he stumbled backward, holding the gaping open wound at his throat, analyzing the sensation that coursed through his cold, decaying veins.