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The thing that fucked with his head the most, that first time, was that he hadn't even meant to do it. It was a fast, dirty fight in close quarters, all teeth and knees and flailing fists, his own blood and someone else's spit in his eyes, shoving at the weight on top of him until it suddenly gave way and there was a dull, wrong thump of a head hitting a wall too hard followed by an even wronger silence.
Izzy took up the sword as soon as he could steal one; with a sword, you always have a chance to see death coming.