He couldn't focus. There were so many things trying to grab his attention, his line of vision wasn't enough to accommodate all of them.
He wishes he could be in several places at once, be several people and find the time to fill in those other roles. But he couldn't. And a little bit of him started to crumble at his uselessness as his partner takes the damage like an iron bullet, battered at the end of the ricochet.
He wants to scream but he knows there's no time for that. Instead he wills her to hear him despite the numbness, mouthing his words of apology as he raises his sword above his head, his enemy now near the finality of his next attack.
Terith felt like he was capable of many other things. And in the same prospect, he also knew he couldn't be many other things. The fine line between those two boundaries had often stretched far beyond his pale fingers, but if there was a greater method of thinning the wall, there was nothing greater than sheer belief. And sometimes, if he could only push himself farther than from what he expects of himself, the brick wall crumbles, not so often, but when it did, it was no thicker than a transient spread of spider thread.
The threads hum a song when he draws near, urging him to cut away his expectations and lose sight of volition and just fight. Nothing too complicated, just keep fighting is what they murmur.
And fight, surely he was no man of that, but he was many other things, but somehow in just one unsightly moment where he took the risk, he flung his sword at point blank rage, and everything just seemed to pound in his head, the cogs in his head were spinning and funnily, cursing him, for his crazy ideas.
But the enemy took to it as if with lesser focus, flecking it with a smaller wave because surely now, why would he waste what was left of his magic on a flimsy sword?
That was the drawback, though, because the sword had a deftly tied string at the end of its hilt, and Terith had it carefully woven through his shaking fingers, tightening it into a shaking fist as he sunk and smoothly slid across the pavement bellow, avoiding the obstinate range that his opponent had thrown off listlessly. The sword was thrown off, but not too far enough as he tugged on the string, stalwart and hasty. Perhaps Reisha's pain did not go in vain, since his focus had clearly encumbered and narrowed to a simple circle, and he no longer held a defense of what appeared from beneath.
His knee found its way into what he left unguarded, striking it as efficiently and as harshly as he possibly could, much to the grimace of the enemy that had opted for a scream that sounded primal and guttural.
'Spider thread...' he thought, briefly, the sword landing in his hand in a burst of momentum.
In his attempt to counter, his enemy forced a downward wave, snaring Terith in his vibrations. He was pushing it, Terith noticed, as sweat beaded across his temple and below his jaw. The pavement cracked and cratered beneath him, and the pain was intensely belittling as it made his nerves prickle and singe. He knew he was taking a direct hit, his body may not be able to stand when tomorrow rolls around the corner but he compelled himself to cut all the spider threads that hindered his entrance into what he could potentially be.
The blade's curve molded into his skin like it cut through a card board box, the sound was none the pleasant for Terith, neither was the sensation of having his lower leg impaled by a sword welcomed for his opponent. He cursed in a higher baritone that a usual groan, and he immediately made a move with a raised arm, perhaps attempting to blow another wave but he is perpetually stopped short, small vibrations winging out of his hands as the curve met his flesh for another time. Yamanbagiri's tip shone as it hit lamp light from behind the enemy's wrist.
There was a short millisecond of silence that was nothing but the sound of a sword being drawn out from a person's skin, slippery and leaking with the sound of gore, there was a patter of blood across the area, acutely resembling rain if it had not been the shade of scarlet.
The man could no longer mouth his pain as his other hand clung to his open wound, feebly trying to close it as he pushed to make the ends meet. A leg is lifted, as if to stomp on him, but Terith rolled to the other side, albeit a little slower than before, but they were both at the edges of pain's threshold, so there was no disadvantage.
Bruises were scattered across the entire length of his arm, his dressing shirt was in nothing but white shreds of garment, his pants were lacking patches as cuts seared across his skin there, the scars were red and blurred by the dirt of rolling around.
He could care less now. He approached the man that was on his knees. His back was left defenseless and it received an ungrateful amount of scars as Terith drew his sword in a rotation. Up, down, across, horizontal, vertical -it kept going until his arms could no longer bare the savagery of slashing his sword back and forth.
His hazy eyes caught wind of the open scars that sprawled across a layer of skin, now sore, cut, red. And as if he slipped from his trance, he opened his eyes wide, closely resembling the first time he drew blood with his own hands. The young man gulped a lungful of air, his throat cracking with the sudden jolt of movement.
The air was metallic in both texture and scent, and a foreign sense of regret nearly stopped him from lifting his sword again. But the battle was not won yet, he thought, so his sword sat at the base of his enemy's chin, close to his pulse. The uninvited metal was cold and too near for breathing comfort.
"....Just give up already." Terith murmured, tugging at the man's messy scrawl of hair so his face met the light.
He said nothing, only breathed in and out, puffing slow and deliberate. Terith's hand shook visibly as he pulled his sword closer, dragging a small line of blood across the man's jaw. "...We'll save you the shame of your ex seeing you like this." he urged, his teeth a gritted bundle of white. "Goddammit, just give up!"
His smile was unguarded, yet forced against his circumstance. His voice cracks in what sounded like a dry chuckle. "Kill me. You know better. Why're you sparing me?" his arms laid limp at either side, as if signing his consent to his death. "If you don't kill me, you'll regret it!"
He laughed. He really laughed at the end of it, sealing in the cold hard truth that he wanted to die and it was shameful to watch. There were so many selfish and foolish reasons for why he wanted to call out at this man, to show just how pitiful to see him so readily accept a death that wasn't even guaranteed -but he didn't have the heart to. His jaw stiffened in frustration as his expression all but hardened at that smile. It's as if he was mocking him.
Without really leaning towards to any other option, Terith denied him of what he wanted and deftly dug his elbow into the crook of the man's neck, where it met curbed into a shoulder, making sure he put every remaining ounce of strength in him in that one impact. It was sheer luck that he must've bust a nerve as the man, once a smiling fool, collapsed on his chest with a sound of disapproval, and his eyes rolling towards the back of his head in a faint.
"No, many could care less if you died. But you'll regret your death more than we ever can."
He just got lucky, he realized. No way could he have hit the right pressure point, but there was little room for argument as he was thoroughly enclosed by pain and rest. He brought himself to a stand, roughly wobbling a bit, but nevertheless ending on his two feet, sore to the even ends of nirvana, maybe.
His smile is barely there from where he stood as he limped towards Reisha, dragging his feet like they were dead weights. "Are you alright?" he asked, weakly, his voice cracking a little from the attacks of fatigue, all trying to hit him in the wrong places. "You took too much damage there, I'll say..."
Terith narrowed his eyes as he saw his blade lathered generously in blood. He sheathed it in hesitance. "Sorry...looks like I ended up overdoing it." he tried to form a laugh, but what came out was a breath of air that varied over their timbre, each one lower and slower than the next 'ha'.
"Bastard wanted to die." he muttered, willing the sentiment to be carried off into the wind, "He doesn't understand just how much he'll lose. But then, he's only human, guess you fall off your rocker sometimes."
He grinned, pitiful for the man who slept, joyous for the newly weds as he eyed the cathedral, the uproar of bells signaling that yes, two hearts have been happily joined in matrimony. Then he eyed the state of the grounds and thought...well...at least there were still roses lining the bushes.
It was a mess, though mess was clearly an understatement. Some of the men still gathered in a heap of jumbled bodies over to one side, while the cobblestone was broken to portions and there were tree branches littering the sidewalks. He mewled over the thought if Mrs. Goldstar would deduct it from their pay, but chuckled it off as he threw the issue over his shoulder, thinking it was far better than having them thrashing the ceremony.
All's well that ends well.
"I guess we can't salvage the grounds...but at least we can wave off to our newly weds." he gave his chest a thump, coughing lightly before he let the word banzai stir from his throat, the warm feeling coating their bruises and scars as if it were the moonlight, refreshing at every angle. Though he may not have healed much of the damage taken, he could at least lighten the numbing pain to a certain extent.
"It's not much...but I hope it's enough." he said. With a light pat to Reisha's shoulder, he sauntered over to the entrance with a small stagger in his steps. He hunched over a bit as he caught a small handful of blood gushing from the inside of his mouth. A crease formed over his brow as he hid his hand in a neat bind behind him.
Souji has been quite. It was unsettling. And how much blood he managed to throw up was even more uncanny when he realized that it was never this much back then.
![Senior [500]](https://i.imgur.com/Nmfn8cD.png)
