Iskra
This world is a wasteland, nothing can grow
The difference between them is stark. Is this how Mel had felt back then? Full of want, her heart in it, but the body failing what the mind commands? Try as he might, Sah is not the bloody mess beneath him Iskra craves, in fact, he doesn't even land a single blow this time. It's so reminiscent of his failed match with Vesper, that beneath the furnace of this anger something slick and oily slips free, winding around him. Weak, it croons, wickedly sweet, as if it pains the voice to say so, to deem him such. It's why she's only around because she has to be, it affirms, the venom of Vesper's voice still trickling like water over a stone, the repetition wearing a hole in him.
"IT WAS A FUCKING TOURNAMENT SAH!" Iskra bellows, unsure if it's him or Ludo's curse screaming at this point. He can't seem to untangle one fucked up voice from another, each one insidious in their own way as they prick against his fear and his wrath, the pair a knot lodged in his throat.
Sah's elbow glances off his side as Iskra shoves his hands against the moving arm, trying to get Sah more off balance. He winces, one eye squinting shut as the graze still promises a bruise, the area sensitive and less padded than other regions of the body. Still, it's a testament that Sah continues to hold back, to defend, when by all rights Iskra is nothing but wildly uncontrolled at this point. That realization hasn't hit Iskra yet though, the indignation still alight, akin to Snowcloak. "YOU DON'T GO ALL OUT IN A TOURNAMENT. YOU MEANT TO KILL HER!" Iskra ducks in, an uppercut aimed at Sah's jaw.
3/4
"IT WAS A FUCKING TOURNAMENT SAH!" Iskra bellows, unsure if it's him or Ludo's curse screaming at this point. He can't seem to untangle one fucked up voice from another, each one insidious in their own way as they prick against his fear and his wrath, the pair a knot lodged in his throat.
Sah's elbow glances off his side as Iskra shoves his hands against the moving arm, trying to get Sah more off balance. He winces, one eye squinting shut as the graze still promises a bruise, the area sensitive and less padded than other regions of the body. Still, it's a testament that Sah continues to hold back, to defend, when by all rights Iskra is nothing but wildly uncontrolled at this point. That realization hasn't hit Iskra yet though, the indignation still alight, akin to Snowcloak. "YOU DON'T GO ALL OUT IN A TOURNAMENT. YOU MEANT TO KILL HER!" Iskra ducks in, an uppercut aimed at Sah's jaw.
3/4
I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope
