07-09-2016, 05:08 PM
Hands hooked from behind her, wrapping around her shoulders and making her yelp out of fright. The device somehow ended up falling into her sling, causing an ounce of pain while Christa was thrown on her back. With a thick Thud! her head parted the tall blades of grass, while her knife was tossed just out of reach, inches away from her fingers. Wide eyes caught the glimpse of the ferocious man who was covered in tribal paint, smeared with brown sprays of blood, and a bright red tan that told of his skin crisping in the sun too long.
He was wearing no clothing. Only a loincloth that covered about half of what she didn’t want to see, but that wasn’t the worst of her problems. On his neck was a single threaded human skull hanging down and nearly brushing against her nose, she glared into the hollow sockets and saw her own foreboding fate if she was not able to escape the bloodthirsty savage pinning her down. This one in particular had hesitated to kill the woman, his eyes caught on the golden wisps of her hair with a fondness that suggested his mother’s hair might’ve been this color. Christa punched the jerk in the throat weakly and then clawed downward, feeling the slime of his skin peel beneath her fingernails. Before she could manage to get away, the fiend’s ogling eyes screwed back into his head, realizing what pain she had returned to him and then protruding in the picture of his mud-caked face towering over her, framed in a million miles of blue sky, was a rusted, jagged knife.
Shit. Let me tell you, fighting cannibals with only one hand wasn’t something you’d really want to do in your free time. Christa’s good arm had, in the meantime, attempted to reach out and grasp her blade, but somehow the grass had eaten it away, and she was left nearly defenseless against the ground. The abysmal revelation went off like fireworks.
I’m going to die here.
Crooked rows of yellowed teeth were sharpened by heathen’s habits of ripping the flesh straight from the bone, “Kiwa, wa shiii!” He released his battle cry, his breath was ripe and leaked into the air above her, nearly making her cringe. His attention had flickered and that was all it took for Christa to turn his own knife on him. The female fighter applied pressure to the sweet spot of his wrist, and twisted the bone before directing the tetanus-ridden blade straight into his Adam’s apple.
The uneven grit of the blade snagged like a hinge against his jugular, now rived from the savage pressure the gunslinger had applied. Pieces of bone broke off within the split of flesh her plunge had caused, while his face twisted in the throes of his demise. Scarlet gushed all around her, painting her with the color of murder. She spat the iron taste out of her mouth–Ew, right?– and heaved him off to the side. Quickly reaching for her army blade just in time for the next one.
“Nika! Nika di shi!” the cretin’s voice had hints of desperation as her ravenous eyes flicked down to the dead that lay beside Christa. Her sable hair was coiled up in messy tangles and she was wearing less than the previous one had been. Instantly, Christa felt a tingle of pity. Especially when she tossed the blade straight into the woman’s eye. Sploosh! The she-cannibal’s jaw gaped open while Christa followed through with as much push as her running body would give her and drove the second rusted stake into the woman’s heart.
“Midana!!! Fo or neegashi!” the next one chanted, called to her location by both the last slain and the incessant beeping that kept chiming in her ears like a drum beat to a savage’s war song.
The grass had broken between them. “Orga. Ke ga shi!”
“Not today you won’t,” Christa snarled at the troglodyte’s challenge, on some level, understanding that this face-off was a duel to the death. So they danced. This one had a scar slicing across his face, long from the top corner of his face to his chin and its pinkness erased by time. Another cannibal had trained its arrow on her, but seemed to wait, held by some obscure code of honor even these disgusting monsters lived by. “I have too much to live for to die at your hands, fucker.”
Christa tossed off her sash, the device -lightly- and the rusted, blood splattered knife she’d pulled from that woman’s rib cage. All, including her sniper fell to the ground, her newly freed wrist caused the Prime to scowl with pain, meanwhile sweat and blood melted together over her eyelids and stung.
There was no time to blink, for already, her scarred enemy had thwarted her. Exploiting the weakness in her wrist, he grasped it ruthlessly and with all the strength in his hands gave it a squeeze which followed by her bone going CRACK!
Christa’s knees nearly gave out, bowing from the pain while her mind threw her from landing the next punch. Wham! A kick collided with the side of her ribs, the blow, knocking every ounce of air from her body. Shaken and stumbling all too close to the ground, the huntress finally felt something akin to fear. There was no logic in her opponents eyes. No reason. Only a beastly hatred haunting the corners of her foe’s expression. The cretin would kill her, just as she'd killed his two friends. To die here would mean her efforts, her pain, up until this moment meant nothing.
A greedy growl escaped her lips, there was no telling how long she could sustain herself against such a burly man with such buff shoulders and a perfectly sculpted physique. The mud-coated warrior grunted an amused laugh as he released her, egging the sniper on, “Yeah, well I killed your girlfriend you sick jerk, and if you come any closer, I’ll show you just what else I’m made of.”
He was twice her size, so she psyched him out, her sudden burst of speed was just enough to catch him off guard, she was just a hair faster. Kicking off the ground, she propelled herself into the air, her leg forming a kick that aimed square at his kneecap. There was a crash as he went down, grabbing her broken wrist again and dragging her down with him. Here, he’d have the upper hand with pure strength, his hands were already tightening around her neck. She tried to turn his cheek up with her good hand, gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, but his arms were longer than hers and time was slowing. The sniper’s face turned blue while the air was choked out of her.
Scarface was still throttling her neck when a tangle of weeds looped into the pin of her smoke grenade and drowned out the air her wrestling-partner was breathing. A funnel swirled upwards, billowing against his chest in fluffy plumes of darkness while his cheeks swelled like a cherry’s and he was force to relinquish his hold on her, meanwhile, the freed Christa counted the stars swirling from behind her eyelids.
After allowing a few gulps of air to expand in her lungs, she felt a jab of one of her ribs poking inwards. Well, at least I’m lucky to be alive. Weakly, she rolled over. Immediately, she felt the fragility of her arm and didn’t dare look down, for that would confirm the reality of her injury. To be frank, she couldn't afford to think about reality right now. Salvaging her items just a few feet away, her eyes had already begun to sting from the smoke.
Instead, the Prime opted to mount her quick-kill machine on her shoulder after popping out the empty shell and clicking in the next one. Blinded by blackness, Nanaki was out of sight. Shit. Her watering eyes closed, maybe she could hear him.
Snap! The iron snout trained on the figure a few yards away. “Stay where you are or I’ll put a bullet in your skull,” the warning had been enough, the human froze. Christa opened her eyes as a gust of wind blew their cover away. Standing in the grass was a man with tribal patterns on his face, grasped in his hand, a giant club that his unused muscles weren’t familiar with swinging. He’d come in with the cannibals, but he was wearing civilized clothes.
“Wait! I’m not like them! Please, don’t kill me.” Christa’s patience had run out, her jaw clenched at the test. In her ears, louder than that terrible Bewoop! from the radar, was the sound of Karl Jak’s giggling as he declared.
“Limp.”
He was wearing no clothing. Only a loincloth that covered about half of what she didn’t want to see, but that wasn’t the worst of her problems. On his neck was a single threaded human skull hanging down and nearly brushing against her nose, she glared into the hollow sockets and saw her own foreboding fate if she was not able to escape the bloodthirsty savage pinning her down. This one in particular had hesitated to kill the woman, his eyes caught on the golden wisps of her hair with a fondness that suggested his mother’s hair might’ve been this color. Christa punched the jerk in the throat weakly and then clawed downward, feeling the slime of his skin peel beneath her fingernails. Before she could manage to get away, the fiend’s ogling eyes screwed back into his head, realizing what pain she had returned to him and then protruding in the picture of his mud-caked face towering over her, framed in a million miles of blue sky, was a rusted, jagged knife.
Shit. Let me tell you, fighting cannibals with only one hand wasn’t something you’d really want to do in your free time. Christa’s good arm had, in the meantime, attempted to reach out and grasp her blade, but somehow the grass had eaten it away, and she was left nearly defenseless against the ground. The abysmal revelation went off like fireworks.
I’m going to die here.
Crooked rows of yellowed teeth were sharpened by heathen’s habits of ripping the flesh straight from the bone, “Kiwa, wa shiii!” He released his battle cry, his breath was ripe and leaked into the air above her, nearly making her cringe. His attention had flickered and that was all it took for Christa to turn his own knife on him. The female fighter applied pressure to the sweet spot of his wrist, and twisted the bone before directing the tetanus-ridden blade straight into his Adam’s apple.
The uneven grit of the blade snagged like a hinge against his jugular, now rived from the savage pressure the gunslinger had applied. Pieces of bone broke off within the split of flesh her plunge had caused, while his face twisted in the throes of his demise. Scarlet gushed all around her, painting her with the color of murder. She spat the iron taste out of her mouth–Ew, right?– and heaved him off to the side. Quickly reaching for her army blade just in time for the next one.
“Nika! Nika di shi!” the cretin’s voice had hints of desperation as her ravenous eyes flicked down to the dead that lay beside Christa. Her sable hair was coiled up in messy tangles and she was wearing less than the previous one had been. Instantly, Christa felt a tingle of pity. Especially when she tossed the blade straight into the woman’s eye. Sploosh! The she-cannibal’s jaw gaped open while Christa followed through with as much push as her running body would give her and drove the second rusted stake into the woman’s heart.
“Midana!!! Fo or neegashi!” the next one chanted, called to her location by both the last slain and the incessant beeping that kept chiming in her ears like a drum beat to a savage’s war song.
The grass had broken between them. “Orga. Ke ga shi!”
“Not today you won’t,” Christa snarled at the troglodyte’s challenge, on some level, understanding that this face-off was a duel to the death. So they danced. This one had a scar slicing across his face, long from the top corner of his face to his chin and its pinkness erased by time. Another cannibal had trained its arrow on her, but seemed to wait, held by some obscure code of honor even these disgusting monsters lived by. “I have too much to live for to die at your hands, fucker.”
Christa tossed off her sash, the device -lightly- and the rusted, blood splattered knife she’d pulled from that woman’s rib cage. All, including her sniper fell to the ground, her newly freed wrist caused the Prime to scowl with pain, meanwhile sweat and blood melted together over her eyelids and stung.
There was no time to blink, for already, her scarred enemy had thwarted her. Exploiting the weakness in her wrist, he grasped it ruthlessly and with all the strength in his hands gave it a squeeze which followed by her bone going CRACK!
Christa’s knees nearly gave out, bowing from the pain while her mind threw her from landing the next punch. Wham! A kick collided with the side of her ribs, the blow, knocking every ounce of air from her body. Shaken and stumbling all too close to the ground, the huntress finally felt something akin to fear. There was no logic in her opponents eyes. No reason. Only a beastly hatred haunting the corners of her foe’s expression. The cretin would kill her, just as she'd killed his two friends. To die here would mean her efforts, her pain, up until this moment meant nothing.
A greedy growl escaped her lips, there was no telling how long she could sustain herself against such a burly man with such buff shoulders and a perfectly sculpted physique. The mud-coated warrior grunted an amused laugh as he released her, egging the sniper on, “Yeah, well I killed your girlfriend you sick jerk, and if you come any closer, I’ll show you just what else I’m made of.”
He was twice her size, so she psyched him out, her sudden burst of speed was just enough to catch him off guard, she was just a hair faster. Kicking off the ground, she propelled herself into the air, her leg forming a kick that aimed square at his kneecap. There was a crash as he went down, grabbing her broken wrist again and dragging her down with him. Here, he’d have the upper hand with pure strength, his hands were already tightening around her neck. She tried to turn his cheek up with her good hand, gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, but his arms were longer than hers and time was slowing. The sniper’s face turned blue while the air was choked out of her.
Scarface was still throttling her neck when a tangle of weeds looped into the pin of her smoke grenade and drowned out the air her wrestling-partner was breathing. A funnel swirled upwards, billowing against his chest in fluffy plumes of darkness while his cheeks swelled like a cherry’s and he was force to relinquish his hold on her, meanwhile, the freed Christa counted the stars swirling from behind her eyelids.
After allowing a few gulps of air to expand in her lungs, she felt a jab of one of her ribs poking inwards. Well, at least I’m lucky to be alive. Weakly, she rolled over. Immediately, she felt the fragility of her arm and didn’t dare look down, for that would confirm the reality of her injury. To be frank, she couldn't afford to think about reality right now. Salvaging her items just a few feet away, her eyes had already begun to sting from the smoke.
Instead, the Prime opted to mount her quick-kill machine on her shoulder after popping out the empty shell and clicking in the next one. Blinded by blackness, Nanaki was out of sight. Shit. Her watering eyes closed, maybe she could hear him.
Snap! The iron snout trained on the figure a few yards away. “Stay where you are or I’ll put a bullet in your skull,” the warning had been enough, the human froze. Christa opened her eyes as a gust of wind blew their cover away. Standing in the grass was a man with tribal patterns on his face, grasped in his hand, a giant club that his unused muscles weren’t familiar with swinging. He’d come in with the cannibals, but he was wearing civilized clothes.
“Wait! I’m not like them! Please, don’t kill me.” Christa’s patience had run out, her jaw clenched at the test. In her ears, louder than that terrible Bewoop! from the radar, was the sound of Karl Jak’s giggling as he declared.
“Limp.”
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus