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“So that’s it then? You’re really giving up?”
“Shut up.”
The beast, with its jaw full of jagged teeth hanging loose against its neck, flings its head back to let out another ear-piercing shriek. It might’ve bothered him if it hadn’t already ruptured his eardrums towards the beginning of this.. he could hardly call it a fight. More of a desperate scramble to keep his guts on the proper side of his skin.
The beast circles him, far too long limbs clicking against each other as it slinks slowly closer. Without his hearing, he fights to keep his eyes on it through the darkness.
“Jesus, this is painful to watch. Just say it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Quit being stubborn. I can help you.”
A quick flurry of movement. Lark dives to the side. Hot pain rips through his shoulder down to his elbow. He lands in a crumpled heap on the ground, ribs smarting in protest. Then it’s looming over him.
Hot droplets of blood plip plip against his face. Lark can fucking see his dagger still embedded in its gut. He just needs to get to it.
There’s a garbled shout off to the side. He can’t make sense of it in his current state, but the beast’s head snaps around to follow the sound, and Lark follows it. There, illuminated by torchlight, is his brother.
How the fuck did he even find him? After he’d been so careful, too!
The beast crouches low, coils its body like a spring, and Sparrow is just standing there.
Lark would never make it in time.
“Clock’s ticking.”
He’s going to regret this, isn’t he?
“I give in.”
“That’s more like it,” he hears, and then he’s falling, falling, falling.
Perhaps he should be scared. He just feels relieved.
“Alright, asshole. My turn.”