Sciamachy

Prolouge: Two? Oh... Uh, one now! I think... This is confusing!

Warnings: gore and suffering.

(I think that's all)

Edit, 2021/2/16 and 2024/4/4: Small fix on grammar and added writers note at the end

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No. NO!

Out of all the years of his wretched existence, why now?!

He had someone—he had people depending on him! He couldn't—he can't—he won't die like this!

Desperation turned into determination, and he continued the battle as if it were the difference between the life and death of the multiverse, which, if things continued as they were, it kind of would.

But he was already so wounded, every small movement sent jagged, painful spikes of agony through his scarred and beaten frame. Every step tested his determination in an excruciating method, one that even the cruel minds of the Sciencefell sanses would never even think of, much less use. It left him fighting two impossible battles at once, one of will, the other of strength. And he was losing both.

And yet, he persevered.

Parry, dodge, step back.

He repeated the basic terms of survival in his mind.

Parry, dodge, step back.

Sparing a glance past his current opponents, he quickly analyzed the situation of his closest friend before quickly returning his attention to the battle.

Parry, dodge, step back.

His quick check-up lightened his spirits slightly, though it only seemed to anger his strongest opponent.

Parry, dodge, side-step.

There were two reasons for his extra boost of determination. Reason 1: his friend was looking to be in a much better condition than the beginning of the battle, the enemy having their strongest healer fixing him up.

Parry, dodge, step back.

Reason 2—

Crack

A strangled cry of agony was ripped from his throat as an axe hit his right ribcage, no doubt shattering a few of his already-mangled ribs.

It kind of sounded like a tree falling over, albeit quieter and much, much more sickening to hear.

—their best healer was also a pretty strong opponent, and he couldn't deal with another opening to defend.

He had been barely scraping by before, but now...

The destroyer took an instinctive step backwards, only to have his scarred soul drop into his stomach (figuratively) as he lost his footing, and the suffocating and staticky sound of the VOID filled his senses.

Everything seemed to slow tenfold, an experience he's unfortunately experienced quite a few times before, as he tried shifting his weight forward in a desperate attempt at survival, only to continue his backwards decent into the nothingness below him. Just slightly closer to the edge than he would have been.

However, that slight distance was all he needed to clutch onto the side of the sharp ledge like the lifeline it was.

As his cracked legs hung off the edge and and his clawed, multi-colored hands scraped uselessly to pull himself over the ledge, he saw one of his softer opponents wincing in sympathy from the corner of his eye-sockets.