Work Text:
Again, the rod came down. Again, a sickening crunch.
Through ringing ears, Matt heard his own bones crack.
Warmth trickled down his back, landing on the rooftop where he lay in a fetal position, paying the price for being unattentive.
Matt breathed between groans, his attempt at defying unconsciousness. The air tasted pungently of iron and copper.
Anyone else would’ve fought back or begged for mercy, but Matt took it in typical Murdock fashion: take it until the assailant dropped first.
By God’s grace, the man finally grew bored.
Matt wheezed in a final breath and let sleep overcome him.