It was a silver paintbrush, dipped gingerly in red, flashing across my skin in quick lashes. The feeling of a masterpiece of ivory and rubies was apparent, cold and unrelenting. I tried jerking back to no avail, fighting back tears against the hurt blossoming from my ribs. Finally mustering the strength, I hauled the heavy iron sword against my chest, finally managing to shove back my attacker with a push. Ripped chain mail against my stomach weighed a million pounds, my helmet long-since torn off my skull and thrown to the side.
I pushed forward, landing a blow to their unprotected elbow, their left arm now unusable against the severed muscle. There was a soft gasp, but I took no heed, finally working forward in pursuit. I kicked the helmet from their head, pale mocha hair, freckles, and olive eyes glaring back at me.
Just below my breasts, the burning sensation was ruthless, getting stronger each time I twisted my torso to move forward. It finally burst, the final blow to knock my opponent to the floor knocking the tears from my eyes.
The blow had cracked their brain, or at least their skull. Cherry pooled around the creamy hair, staining spotted ginger. They were out.
I collapsed.
The peasants cheered.
But at what cost?
YOU ARE READING
Actually becomes a shitpost at one point
Randomstarts out with fetus me- slowly becomes shitpost me. skip to like. chapter 50. no hate or triggering stuff pretty much mostly just me being a child and then me being a meme
