[ he'd wanted to watch her in a real fight ever since he saw her piece together that axe in a machine, her selection hinting of something a little more experienced than just anyone who's learning a few moves on how to fight. even in the battle arena, she'd stepped out with little injury, like they didn't even touch her, while he'd been nearly mashed to pieces by steel-laced knuckles.
the way she moves, it's like a warrior, almost like the grace and flow of a well-practiced envoy, and if he didn't know better, he might've thought she was one of them resleeved into a new body. even here, while he brings up his gun, pulling the trigger on a few guards, tossing his fist to knock down the ones that come his way, he can still see her move in the corner of his eye.
it's why he sees the moment it happens, maybe even before, as his envoy instincts catch the movement of the guard that swerves to to toss the dagger. he sees it happening but he's too far across the room to stop it, the scream still in his throat before the blade pierces right into her neck. ]
No! [ he roars it out, knocking out the guard he's been wrestling down with a hard, bone-breaking punch to the face, scrambling back to his feet as he picks up his gun and shoots the dagger-tossing guard in the head without a second thought.
he races across, heart pounding in his chest as his knees slide to the ground beside her, his clothes instantly staining with the blood that flows from her neck, catching those last moments of her choking before she stills completely. bringing a hand behind her head, he lifts her up, cradling her against his arm as his other fingers pull carefully at the dagger. his first thought is that there's no point in saving the sleeve, not with this damage, but he remembers how she hadn't even known about stacks, and realizing there might not have been one in her neck to be destroyed. even if there had been, with where the knife had pierced, it'd have been sliced through. ]
... Fuck. [ it's a whisper, breathless from the fighting, his fingers still pressing firm to the wound like he could undo it somehow. but she isn't breathing, her eyes wide and open, and he stares down to her, memories of that hopelessness in losing his people at the battle of stronghold flowing back in. it's not like he hasn't seen death a million times, plenty of it caused by his own hands, but no matter how much he's witnessed it, lived through it, it still grips him like an ever consuming disease, eating away at his soul until eventually there'll be nothing left.
swallowing, he closes his eyes, taking a moment to mourn yet another to add to the ever-rising number in his lifetime. ]
level 20-23;
the way she moves, it's like a warrior, almost like the grace and flow of a well-practiced envoy, and if he didn't know better, he might've thought she was one of them resleeved into a new body. even here, while he brings up his gun, pulling the trigger on a few guards, tossing his fist to knock down the ones that come his way, he can still see her move in the corner of his eye.
it's why he sees the moment it happens, maybe even before, as his envoy instincts catch the movement of the guard that swerves to to toss the dagger. he sees it happening but he's too far across the room to stop it, the scream still in his throat before the blade pierces right into her neck. ]
No! [ he roars it out, knocking out the guard he's been wrestling down with a hard, bone-breaking punch to the face, scrambling back to his feet as he picks up his gun and shoots the dagger-tossing guard in the head without a second thought.
he races across, heart pounding in his chest as his knees slide to the ground beside her, his clothes instantly staining with the blood that flows from her neck, catching those last moments of her choking before she stills completely. bringing a hand behind her head, he lifts her up, cradling her against his arm as his other fingers pull carefully at the dagger. his first thought is that there's no point in saving the sleeve, not with this damage, but he remembers how she hadn't even known about stacks, and realizing there might not have been one in her neck to be destroyed. even if there had been, with where the knife had pierced, it'd have been sliced through. ]
... Fuck. [ it's a whisper, breathless from the fighting, his fingers still pressing firm to the wound like he could undo it somehow. but she isn't breathing, her eyes wide and open, and he stares down to her, memories of that hopelessness in losing his people at the battle of stronghold flowing back in. it's not like he hasn't seen death a million times, plenty of it caused by his own hands, but no matter how much he's witnessed it, lived through it, it still grips him like an ever consuming disease, eating away at his soul until eventually there'll be nothing left.
swallowing, he closes his eyes, taking a moment to mourn yet another to add to the ever-rising number in his lifetime. ]