Ideas and drabbles

Suffer, just like they did.

TW - blood, death, depictions of dead bodies, violence, etc. 

It's more scattered than I'd like, because there was only one thing I really wanted to get to, and I didn't even entirely get to it, lol. T-T

Our blades clash, and I let out a growl. This fight has been going on for such a long time, but I don't even care anymore. All I'm aware of is the bodies surrounding us and the burning rage within my bones.

The burning rage. It's red, red-hot and searing through any logic I could maintain. I want this man to suffer. I want to cleave my sword through his body and tear his torso in two, rip him apart. I want his blood to drip to the ground. I want it to spray. 

I want him to die. 

I lunge forward again, this time using my dagger to aim at his throat. My other hand holds my sword with a shaking grip as it pushes against the force of his own. I'm so close. I could kill him. My dagger will slit his throat, slash his airways, make his blood spatter-

The dagger goes flying out of my grip as sharp pain erupts through my wrist. Something surely breaks as the man before me flips himself over, striking my arm with his shoe. The force being applied on my sword is gone, causing me to almost stumble as he lands a few feet away, sword still in his hand.

Red clouds my vision. I want him to die. I need him do die. I can't drop my sword--I can't let it go. I don't care if my other wrist is broken, already swelling as I clutch it to my chest. I don't care for the agony within my body. All I care is his pain. He deserves to suffer. I don't care if he looks fearful and regretful now. He had been smiling. He had murdered so many of them. He had taken so much. He has to die.

Somebody calls my name, as I stand there, panting. For a moment, the haze breaks. My eyes dart to the side, and I see her. She's propping another Morphi up against her, the head of the being limp against her shoulder. 

She's alive. Out of everyone that was slaughtered, she was alive.

I take a stumbling step forward, eyes wide. She's alive. My grip slips on my sword. I forget about him. She's only maybe fifty yards away. I could reach her. So close. 

Something crunches under my foot. It's followed by a squelch, something that makes my stomach churn. It's enough for me to glance down, breath catching in my throat again.

A body. I just stepped in the marred stomach of a body. One where the flesh has been broken in so many ways, the dark red and pink color of flesh ripped and torn. The skin swallows around my boot, blood and broken bones surrounding it. 

My eyes dilate.

It's the body of a child.

 A child. Just a young boy or girl, still learning how to live. Caught in this crossfire. Broken beyond repair. They probably felt so much pain. They were another body in the numbers being stacked in this massacre. 

I'm aware of my sword in hand again. The raw anger returns, tenfold, staring at this disfigured corpse.

When I glance up, my eyes are hardened. When I look at her again, I don't just notice that she's alive. Her hair is red at the roots, and her left eye is covered in blood. While one of her hands holds the soldier, the other clutches at her abdomen. She's too far away, but I know what she's putting pressure on. A wound.

I couldn't let go of my sword. Not after this. 

Her lips form some word, a sentence. I can't hear. All I can hear is my heartbeat throbbing in my ears, my blood pumping through my veins. I feel hatred. Hatred so strong I didn't know was possible. She was hurt. There was the body of a child under my foot. I was surrounded by carnage. Dozens of humans and Morphi and who knew what other kinds were killed. All because of one man.