KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
It didn't help. Fighting never helped, it just added to the depth of self-loathing he felt whenever he gave in to impulse, to emotion, to whatever instincts that raged in him at the time. It was a loss of control, this. Every spewed word, every shaking breath, from the crack of contact as his fist connected with Sunjata's jaw, to the flash of pain that cut through his knuckles on impact.
He had lost the moment he lashed out with his emotions down the bond, and this was just further evidence of his unworthiness. Weaver would not have lost her temper. Wouldn't have gotten into a stupid fight at all.
But now he was in it, and didn't see a way out. Sunjata snapped a comment at him but Korbin didn't answer, wasn't cool-headed enough to throw banter around - the ringing in his ears was too loud, the film of red before his eyes too dark.
He saw the fist coming and knew it would land before it did. Korbin was too close, too used to being the sandbag for his sister and their brother before that. When the fist connected he tried to roll with it, but fuck, it hit hard enough to make white flashes dance before his eyes. There was a shap stab of pain in his lip, and the taste of warm blood filled his mouth.
Korbin had been trained to fight. Wasn't fond of it, wasn't as good at it as his sister, but he knew how to take punches. He swallowed the blood - don't waste resources, boy - and sidestepped with the momentum, turned back and launched into a counter, aiming a quick punch to the man's gut while the other went for the throat.
It wasn't boxing, what Korbin was doing. It was the Halo style of fighting, a different kind of hand to hand where the goal was to take the opponent down quickly and efficiently.
No mercy - or so it was supposed to be.
He had lost the moment he lashed out with his emotions down the bond, and this was just further evidence of his unworthiness. Weaver would not have lost her temper. Wouldn't have gotten into a stupid fight at all.
But now he was in it, and didn't see a way out. Sunjata snapped a comment at him but Korbin didn't answer, wasn't cool-headed enough to throw banter around - the ringing in his ears was too loud, the film of red before his eyes too dark.
He saw the fist coming and knew it would land before it did. Korbin was too close, too used to being the sandbag for his sister and their brother before that. When the fist connected he tried to roll with it, but fuck, it hit hard enough to make white flashes dance before his eyes. There was a shap stab of pain in his lip, and the taste of warm blood filled his mouth.
Korbin had been trained to fight. Wasn't fond of it, wasn't as good at it as his sister, but he knew how to take punches. He swallowed the blood - don't waste resources, boy - and sidestepped with the momentum, turned back and launched into a counter, aiming a quick punch to the man's gut while the other went for the throat.
It wasn't boxing, what Korbin was doing. It was the Halo style of fighting, a different kind of hand to hand where the goal was to take the opponent down quickly and efficiently.
No mercy - or so it was supposed to be.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
