Delmechia
You stop in your tracks, pull out your dagger, and turn to face the three people coming toward you.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" you shout.
The three halt, surprised. You can't quite tell from this distance, but they seem to be humans wearing black cloaks much like your own.
"Come over here," you say.
They seem uncertain, with two of them turning to the tall one in the center. Suddenly the middle figure starts to reach into his cloak, but before his hands do much more than twitch, your dagger is spinning through the air; deadly fast and deadly accurate. The blade twists somewhere into his upper arm or shoulder and you hear a thumping noise like a hammer on raw meat as you turn to run.
A couple pistol shots go off as you reach an alley ahead and as you round the corner a bullet sinks into your ankle.
"Fuck!"
You will away the burning sensation and try to keep running, but the bones in your foot grind and after a few steps your wounded heel comes down on the asphalt and there's a sickening snapping sound. Suddenly your Achilles' tendon is lower than it should be and your Calcaneus no more than a shattered mess. Big enough bullets to destroy your foot.
You fall backward onto the ground, and almost instinctively swing your arms out; catching yourself and letting your limbs take the some of the impact as you were trained.
You roll around and crawl up behind a nearby dumpster, desperately searching for some kind of weapon.
"Shit," you pant, wishing you had brought a gun yourself, or at least another dagger. The elementals have their own branch of magic, but they aren't spell casters by nature. For anything to be effective, you'd need more time.
The only thing you can find is a crumbly brick from the building and you grudgingly snatch it up as you hear footsteps round the corner.
The come closer; louder. Once they seem about in place, you let out a roar that burns out of your throat like smoke through a chimney and lean out from behind the dumpster.
Temporarily shocked by the almighty yell emanating from directly in front of them, both figures have stopped moving and you have time to whip the brick into the face of one of the pursuits. It smashes directly into his face and he goes down onto his knees, grabbing wildly at his eyes and busted nose.
You try to get back behind the dumpster, but a well-aimed bullet from his partner grazes your shoulder as you go back. It's enough to take a sizable piece of meat with it.
Again, you will away the pain and focus on what is now inevitable. The last guy comes around the dumpster staying as far back from it as he can, and you charge up from the ground with scary speed, but it's not enough: the gun goes off before you reach the shooter and as you tackle him to the ground you can feel your chest cave in and almost all of your energy evaporates.
The guy struggles under your for a second before he realizes that you're limp and then he rolls you off so that you're facing the sky. He spits and catches his breath and then goes to his crying friend on the ground.
"My fucking face is fucked!"
"Shut up, we need to get out of here. Cobbs is going to kill us if he finds out we fucked up."
"Fuck! He ruined my nose! I don't have nose! I can't see!"
"Shut your ass up and get up or I'll shoot you, too. We have to go check on Mike."
Your life slowly drains away as you listen to him help his partner get back on his feet. It's now or never.
You twist around and reach out with the last of your strength and grasp one leg on each of them and yank as quick and hard as possible. They both come down on the ground and you pull on the guy who shot you. He flails, but you manage to get him close and lay an elbow on his chest to expose his neck and you bring your head forward and devour the soft meat, your teeth digging for a carotid artery or jugular. He screams, but before he can manage to break your weakening grip, his throat is torn apart and he stops moving; a jet of blood squiting from somewhere in his neck. You've managed to kill one of the three, at least.
By the time you hear the click of the other guy's gun from behind you, you don't even have the strength to face him. The best you can hope for is that someone else will find out who he is and finish him off later.
The taste and smell of rusty blood fills your mouth and nostrils. You close your eyes and prepare for whatever comes next.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" you shout.
The three halt, surprised. You can't quite tell from this distance, but they seem to be humans wearing black cloaks much like your own.
"Come over here," you say.
They seem uncertain, with two of them turning to the tall one in the center. Suddenly the middle figure starts to reach into his cloak, but before his hands do much more than twitch, your dagger is spinning through the air; deadly fast and deadly accurate. The blade twists somewhere into his upper arm or shoulder and you hear a thumping noise like a hammer on raw meat as you turn to run.
A couple pistol shots go off as you reach an alley ahead and as you round the corner a bullet sinks into your ankle.
"Fuck!"
You will away the burning sensation and try to keep running, but the bones in your foot grind and after a few steps your wounded heel comes down on the asphalt and there's a sickening snapping sound. Suddenly your Achilles' tendon is lower than it should be and your Calcaneus no more than a shattered mess. Big enough bullets to destroy your foot.
You fall backward onto the ground, and almost instinctively swing your arms out; catching yourself and letting your limbs take the some of the impact as you were trained.
You roll around and crawl up behind a nearby dumpster, desperately searching for some kind of weapon.
"Shit," you pant, wishing you had brought a gun yourself, or at least another dagger. The elementals have their own branch of magic, but they aren't spell casters by nature. For anything to be effective, you'd need more time.
The only thing you can find is a crumbly brick from the building and you grudgingly snatch it up as you hear footsteps round the corner.
The come closer; louder. Once they seem about in place, you let out a roar that burns out of your throat like smoke through a chimney and lean out from behind the dumpster.
Temporarily shocked by the almighty yell emanating from directly in front of them, both figures have stopped moving and you have time to whip the brick into the face of one of the pursuits. It smashes directly into his face and he goes down onto his knees, grabbing wildly at his eyes and busted nose.
You try to get back behind the dumpster, but a well-aimed bullet from his partner grazes your shoulder as you go back. It's enough to take a sizable piece of meat with it.
Again, you will away the pain and focus on what is now inevitable. The last guy comes around the dumpster staying as far back from it as he can, and you charge up from the ground with scary speed, but it's not enough: the gun goes off before you reach the shooter and as you tackle him to the ground you can feel your chest cave in and almost all of your energy evaporates.
The guy struggles under your for a second before he realizes that you're limp and then he rolls you off so that you're facing the sky. He spits and catches his breath and then goes to his crying friend on the ground.
"My fucking face is fucked!"
"Shut up, we need to get out of here. Cobbs is going to kill us if he finds out we fucked up."
"Fuck! He ruined my nose! I don't have nose! I can't see!"
"Shut your ass up and get up or I'll shoot you, too. We have to go check on Mike."
Your life slowly drains away as you listen to him help his partner get back on his feet. It's now or never.
You twist around and reach out with the last of your strength and grasp one leg on each of them and yank as quick and hard as possible. They both come down on the ground and you pull on the guy who shot you. He flails, but you manage to get him close and lay an elbow on his chest to expose his neck and you bring your head forward and devour the soft meat, your teeth digging for a carotid artery or jugular. He screams, but before he can manage to break your weakening grip, his throat is torn apart and he stops moving; a jet of blood squiting from somewhere in his neck. You've managed to kill one of the three, at least.
By the time you hear the click of the other guy's gun from behind you, you don't even have the strength to face him. The best you can hope for is that someone else will find out who he is and finish him off later.
The taste and smell of rusty blood fills your mouth and nostrils. You close your eyes and prepare for whatever comes next.
