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shadowknight2008-03-02 02:13 am
sl_walker) wrote in shadowknight2008-03-02 02:13 am
Entry tags:
Fic - Sacrifice
Title: Sacrifice
Rating: PG-13/R for violence
Universe: Home
Timeline: December 28, 2005
Written: December 28, 2005
Summary: During the ambush by the Marauders, Mike faces off against Sabretooth one on one. Time to stop running, and kill the monster that makes you run in your nightmares. Dark, gritty, very fragmented. Character death.
To be perfectly honest... Mike was lucky to even be alive, let alone on his feet. But it was part determination, and part willpower, and still a healthy dose of rage. This monster was the only one left. The only thing to haunt him.
The only persistent nightmare. The only demon. He had run that path in Alaska too many times in the night; hundreds, over and over, again and again.
And he was done running.
They were done running.
He tried to fight defensively; to keep out of the way of those claws. He did better than he'd hoped, but it wasn't enough to spare some real pain, and it wasn't enough to win. Creed could heal -- every sword strike faded in minutes, no matter how deep.
Sabretooth grinned, and Mike snarled back.
"...I will never let anything happen to you again..."
This battle was a long time coming. Too long. They didn't talk about it; no one talked about it. No one dared to. It was just too deep a wound.
It was time for that to heal.
"...not so long as I draw breath."
They were practically dancing; striking and retreating, trying to do the most amount of damage and take the least. Needless to say, Mike had gotten damn good with his sword. In part, training for this.
But Creed kept healing.
Mike wasn't done yet, though. He was bleeding and exhausted and he knew he was in trouble. But he wasn't done. This had to end. He had sworn to himself, a long time ago, that if this chance ever came up again, one of them wouldn't come out of it alive. It had to come to an end, once and for all.
It had to.
"...hunted and hissed from the center..."
Creed was arrogant, though as the fight wore on, he was becoming less so. More direct in his attacks. More serious in his intents. Mike wondered if he was starting to get it -- to understand that this was for real. That this wasn't a game.
The fact that it had ever even been a game just pissed Mike off even more.
Sabretooth paused as they both took a moment to regroup their thoughts, pacing each other in opposing circles. They had gotten fairly far from the semi, and the fog was beginning to rise off of the still cold ground. "Gotten better at this."
Mike didn't answer. He hadn't spoken a word yet and he wasn't going to start having a conversation now. He just bared his teeth again in contempt, holding his sword at ready.
"...in contempt of muddle and defeat..."
Creed peered at him through the fog. And finally, something inside of his head must have clicked -- his entire demeanor changed. Became more wary. Not afraid... but far less certain.
"You were the wolf."
"I was," Mike thought. He wished he still was. This battle would have been over in seconds. But he was plain old Mike again, and plain old Mike was going to end this either with Creed's head, or in his own body bag.
He had to. He couldn't keep running. He had to get to the destination eventually.
"...heard the air though not the undersong..."
Creed didn't comment anymore, and took a leap. He was fast, there wasn't any denying it. And in far better shape right now. Mike tried to get out of the way, but he couldn't; he slammed down onto the pavement, breath knocked out of him, trying to get his sword around.
Sabretooth wasn't playing anymore. At all.
Creed kicked the sword out of his hand, sending it sparking a few yards away, then picked Mike up by the neck.
"...the fierceness and resolve..."
Somewhere in the near distance, an explosion went off.
Creed turned his head. And Mike, choking,
(blood in his nose)
managed to get his trank gun out.
(blood in his throat)
And fired.
Twelve darts was enough to stagger even Sabretooth.
Creed fell back, stumbling drunkenly, but his healing factor was already combating the effects. Mike hit the pavement again and crawled for his sword.
"...a bar of steel..."
He felt Sabretooth's meaty hand grab his ankle, but kept reaching.
"...it is only smoke at the heart of it..."
The claws dug in, but he didn't cry out. Almost there...
"...smoke and the blood of a man."
He managed to get his hand around the leather, slippery with blood, and tightened his grip.
"...always dark in the heart and through it..."
When he came around, he gripped with the other hand as well, twisted his body, threw all of his weight, every ounce of power into the swing.
Threw behind it five years of nightmares and running the same track in his mind, over and over. Threw behind it the desperation of being left for dead, helpless to save his best friend.
Threw behind it the promise he made.
"...smoke and the blood of a man."
He would never look back and regret it.
The sword sliced through Sabretooth's throat for the second time, cutting deep, sending blood flying everywhere. He gurgled, choked, let go of Mike's ankle in order to clutch the giant wound.
It was justice. But even more importantly, it was destroying that dark, cold space Mike had lived with since then. He was never going to have to wake up in fear again. Never going to have to know that the monster was still out there, waiting, again.
"We're never running again," he finally said, as he crawled to his feet and rallied his strength to raise the sword.
The last thing Sabretooth saw was the sword coming back down.
...
"...tell me what I dreamed last night.”
Rating: PG-13/R for violence
Universe: Home
Timeline: December 28, 2005
Written: December 28, 2005
Summary: During the ambush by the Marauders, Mike faces off against Sabretooth one on one. Time to stop running, and kill the monster that makes you run in your nightmares. Dark, gritty, very fragmented. Character death.
To be perfectly honest... Mike was lucky to even be alive, let alone on his feet. But it was part determination, and part willpower, and still a healthy dose of rage. This monster was the only one left. The only thing to haunt him.
The only persistent nightmare. The only demon. He had run that path in Alaska too many times in the night; hundreds, over and over, again and again.
And he was done running.
They were done running.
He tried to fight defensively; to keep out of the way of those claws. He did better than he'd hoped, but it wasn't enough to spare some real pain, and it wasn't enough to win. Creed could heal -- every sword strike faded in minutes, no matter how deep.
Sabretooth grinned, and Mike snarled back.
"...I will never let anything happen to you again..."
This battle was a long time coming. Too long. They didn't talk about it; no one talked about it. No one dared to. It was just too deep a wound.
It was time for that to heal.
"...not so long as I draw breath."
They were practically dancing; striking and retreating, trying to do the most amount of damage and take the least. Needless to say, Mike had gotten damn good with his sword. In part, training for this.
But Creed kept healing.
Mike wasn't done yet, though. He was bleeding and exhausted and he knew he was in trouble. But he wasn't done. This had to end. He had sworn to himself, a long time ago, that if this chance ever came up again, one of them wouldn't come out of it alive. It had to come to an end, once and for all.
It had to.
"...hunted and hissed from the center..."
Creed was arrogant, though as the fight wore on, he was becoming less so. More direct in his attacks. More serious in his intents. Mike wondered if he was starting to get it -- to understand that this was for real. That this wasn't a game.
The fact that it had ever even been a game just pissed Mike off even more.
Sabretooth paused as they both took a moment to regroup their thoughts, pacing each other in opposing circles. They had gotten fairly far from the semi, and the fog was beginning to rise off of the still cold ground. "Gotten better at this."
Mike didn't answer. He hadn't spoken a word yet and he wasn't going to start having a conversation now. He just bared his teeth again in contempt, holding his sword at ready.
"...in contempt of muddle and defeat..."
Creed peered at him through the fog. And finally, something inside of his head must have clicked -- his entire demeanor changed. Became more wary. Not afraid... but far less certain.
"You were the wolf."
"I was," Mike thought. He wished he still was. This battle would have been over in seconds. But he was plain old Mike again, and plain old Mike was going to end this either with Creed's head, or in his own body bag.
He had to. He couldn't keep running. He had to get to the destination eventually.
"...heard the air though not the undersong..."
Creed didn't comment anymore, and took a leap. He was fast, there wasn't any denying it. And in far better shape right now. Mike tried to get out of the way, but he couldn't; he slammed down onto the pavement, breath knocked out of him, trying to get his sword around.
Sabretooth wasn't playing anymore. At all.
Creed kicked the sword out of his hand, sending it sparking a few yards away, then picked Mike up by the neck.
"...the fierceness and resolve..."
Somewhere in the near distance, an explosion went off.
Creed turned his head. And Mike, choking,
(blood in his nose)
managed to get his trank gun out.
(blood in his throat)
And fired.
Twelve darts was enough to stagger even Sabretooth.
Creed fell back, stumbling drunkenly, but his healing factor was already combating the effects. Mike hit the pavement again and crawled for his sword.
"...a bar of steel..."
He felt Sabretooth's meaty hand grab his ankle, but kept reaching.
"...it is only smoke at the heart of it..."
The claws dug in, but he didn't cry out. Almost there...
"...smoke and the blood of a man."
He managed to get his hand around the leather, slippery with blood, and tightened his grip.
"...always dark in the heart and through it..."
When he came around, he gripped with the other hand as well, twisted his body, threw all of his weight, every ounce of power into the swing.
Threw behind it five years of nightmares and running the same track in his mind, over and over. Threw behind it the desperation of being left for dead, helpless to save his best friend.
Threw behind it the promise he made.
"...smoke and the blood of a man."
He would never look back and regret it.
The sword sliced through Sabretooth's throat for the second time, cutting deep, sending blood flying everywhere. He gurgled, choked, let go of Mike's ankle in order to clutch the giant wound.
It was justice. But even more importantly, it was destroying that dark, cold space Mike had lived with since then. He was never going to have to wake up in fear again. Never going to have to know that the monster was still out there, waiting, again.
"We're never running again," he finally said, as he crawled to his feet and rallied his strength to raise the sword.
The last thing Sabretooth saw was the sword coming back down.
...
"...tell me what I dreamed last night.”