Battlescars [Tord X Reader]

Chapter 6

     Snow flurried around the dark figure, cutting into him like a thousand knives. The howling wind whipped up more flakes, cutting at his bare skin. He was wearing no clothes. His feet screamed at him as he stood in the blank world. Where was he?

     As he inspected himself and the area around him, he noticed something crucial. His right arm. It was still a part of him.

     He could not seem to budge from his spot in the snow. It felt like hours as the snow piled and piled upon his exposed body. His voice was torn apart by the guttural cries of the wind. No one could hear him. All but his shoulders and up were covered with snow. Everything ached, tingling sensations travelled through his body. It was as if he were on fire, every inch of his skin melting from his flesh.

     He begged for the snow to stop. Tears ran down his face and fell into the blinding purity of the snow. He was terrified. Suddenly, it all stopped. Though he was still half buried alive, the whipping winds stopped. But now he could no longer speak. Any word he attempted to utter was as silent as the world around him. The man pleaded for his limbs to move; to dig his way out of the snow.

     On the horizon, someone was approaching him. Then one turned into three. Three turned into ten. Ten turned into twenty. He was completely surrounded. Men, women, children. And each face, one he had killed.

     His face turned back to its natural, unfeeling look. He dared not look any of them in their soulless black eyes. But he could feel their eyes soaking in his image; as if they could see through the snow and see how vulnerable he truly was. He wanted to snarl at them, to claw apart the memory of them. To obliterate any trace left of them.

     A small,  strawberry-haired girl approached him. Her rosy cheeks once filled with color were now as white as a fish belly. And her eyes, black and empty. She whispered to him. Her voice was not heard, yet at the same time, it rang like a bell in his mind. It echoed throughout his being. Her freckles dotted her skin as she stepped backward.

     Each one of them had such a blank look on their faces. He writhed back in pure terror. The snow enclosed around him, trapping him, pressing him tighter against the sharp flakes of snow. His chest grew heavy like his lungs were shrinking by the second. All he had was one last gasp until...

     Tord's eye opened briskly. The first thing that hit him like a semi-truck was a seething pain in his head. He could feel that his face was somewhat swollen on his left side just by sliding his fingers across an open gash. Seemed deep. And not only that, but the slight taste of blood still lingered in his mouth. He scanned the room, dimly lit by the kitchen light.

     Firstly, he noted that he was barefooted but his whole body was layered in warm and soft wool. His hoodie was off as well, so he only had on his obscure punk rock shirt that he had swiped from one of his used-to-be-trusted-colleagues. It was black and had some stupid, gothic styled text that he had never bother to read.

     The small bit of what was left of his right arm was exposed, yet still masked by the cozy woolen blanket laid over him. How did he get here? He was in a living room, with his shoes and his hoodie taken. Had someone shown him hospitality?