[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]ooc. my muse is uuhhhhh Shitty td :pensive: gore tw!!!!!!
The knife cleaves his skin like butter and all he can think at first is hell, it must’ve hurt to been Bai Shi when he landed that one good hit on them before. Then he begins to feel it, the screaming agony that blossoms across his torso, and his mind goes to pure static. The jagged edge of the blade rips through the sinew, catching those thin strings of muscle in each tooth and shredding them as Jervis plunged deeper. The sound that escapes Red starts as a shout, but weakens to a useless, keening groan as the air rushes out of his lungs. He slumps into the blow, watching Jervis claw up his body with a hazy stare.
The shock is already starting to set in with the drop of his blood pressure. Warm blood is gushing from the wound, seeping out around the metal of his own blade; with every shallow breath comes a sickly sucking noise from the open wound. He can’t think straight, but between the shocks of pain comes the reminder that he’s doing this for Beck, for Sam. He could hold out a little longer.
“I th-” His syllables slur together like a drunkard’s, blood bubbling up in his throat and burning his tongue with the taste of metal. Red chokes on it, a thin, wheezing breath catching in his lungs, and the blood runs out from the rim of his lip as a string of saliva.
“I think. You’re going… To have to be more clear,” he wheezes, halfheartedly crooking his upper lip in a grin that could just as easily count as a grimace. There’s no audience anymore - it’s just the two of them. He’d strain against his bonds if he could, but the ache in his chest says otherwise; for now, he only watches, expression wrought with inconceivable pain. (Perhaps, though, not enough to stop him from being a cocky bastard. He'd take that to the grave.)
The knife cleaves his skin like butter and all he can think at first is hell, it must’ve hurt to been Bai Shi when he landed that one good hit on them before. Then he begins to feel it, the screaming agony that blossoms across his torso, and his mind goes to pure static. The jagged edge of the blade rips through the sinew, catching those thin strings of muscle in each tooth and shredding them as Jervis plunged deeper. The sound that escapes Red starts as a shout, but weakens to a useless, keening groan as the air rushes out of his lungs. He slumps into the blow, watching Jervis claw up his body with a hazy stare.
The shock is already starting to set in with the drop of his blood pressure. Warm blood is gushing from the wound, seeping out around the metal of his own blade; with every shallow breath comes a sickly sucking noise from the open wound. He can’t think straight, but between the shocks of pain comes the reminder that he’s doing this for Beck, for Sam. He could hold out a little longer.
“I th-” His syllables slur together like a drunkard’s, blood bubbling up in his throat and burning his tongue with the taste of metal. Red chokes on it, a thin, wheezing breath catching in his lungs, and the blood runs out from the rim of his lip as a string of saliva.
“I think. You’re going… To have to be more clear,” he wheezes, halfheartedly crooking his upper lip in a grin that could just as easily count as a grimace. There’s no audience anymore - it’s just the two of them. He’d strain against his bonds if he could, but the ache in his chest says otherwise; for now, he only watches, expression wrought with inconceivable pain. (Perhaps, though, not enough to stop him from being a cocky bastard. He'd take that to the grave.)
[div style="text-align:center;font-size:10pt;line-height:9pt;color:black;font-weight:bold;font-family:verdana;"]IF YOUR FORTRESS IS UNDER SIEGE,
YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN TO ME
YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN TO ME