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The force knocks Vi off her feet, slamming her into a rock wall with enough force that her vision blurs and she can’t hear past the ringing in her ears. Agony radiates from the back of her skull, the world so quickly spinning that she can barely orient herself in the haze.
Slowly, the world comes back to her. When the ringing begins to fade, she makes out the roars, clinks of vials against weapon paraphernalia, the explosions, the screams–-distorted mirrors of more than a decade ago. Again on her land, again of her people.
Gritting her teeth against the pain radiating to her bones, she fights through the fog in her head, searching for her limbs.
She must move. She must fight.
Eventually, she manages to adopt a defensive stance, swaying on her feet as the world continues to spin. Blood drips down the back of her neck, round her mouth, off her jaw, down her legs. She’s hurt, but there’s no time for rest. Vi's people need her.
Baring her teeth, she takes a step forward, ignoring the incessant throbbing of her legs, her head. She takes another step, but is stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She blinks, disoriented. She can’t turn her head to the side—fuck, she's not even sure if her head's on right at this point—but she doesn't need to wait long till Little Man is at her right. He looks resolute and steeled, and there’s a characteristic glint in his eyes, unfazed even in this situation.
“Stay here, Vi. You’re too hurt. Let us fight,” he says, his voice echoing through the fog in Vi’s brain. It’s hard to translate the sounds into meaning.
“Yeah, we got this.” The skeleton mask of a dog with bared teeth and red bat-winged ears is at her left all of a sudden, its owner towering over her. He spares Vi a nod and soft shoulder bump before zooming after Ekko into the green flames with two more of Firelights in tow. She watches as they zig zag on their hoverboards like fireflies through smoke and bullets, each gadget they toss hitting its mark and trapping a rogue in yellow crystalline structures.
She needs to fight, needs to help.
Preparing herself for another step, she lets out a breath, willing the nausea away. Before she can step forward, two gloved arms are wrapping around her shoulders and across her chest, effectively locking her in place. Vi’s too battered to struggle.
She leans her head back slightly and looks into steely blue, startlingly clear amidst the haze.
Caitlyn.
Caitlyn as usual, with a grim set to her jaw, her lips downturned, eyebrows nearly stitched together. Blood is pouring from somewhere in her head that Vi can’t make out from her dark locks, and she looks paler than usual. She looks as bad as Vi feels, both in no condition to fight. Desperately, Vi wants to break free of her partner's hold and throw herself into the fray, so she could take care of things.
The things she started, the person she created–take care of it, take care of her, so they could all just go.
But she doesn't. Caitlyn sighs, letting a little of her weight rest on Vi’s shoulders. They stand there together, still amidst chaos. Even though they aren't in the safest of spots, Vi isn't sure they could drag themselves out of here.
“You did enough,” Caitlyn whispers into Vi’s hair, sounding every bit exhausted as she felt. “Let us protect you for once.”