and weapons don't weep
The pounding of blood in her ears and adrenalin in her veins had long since died down and now only a faint buzzing and the unsteady sound of her breathing occupied Castalla’s hearing. Midnight had been and gone, the darkness insurmountable as the deepest depths of night began their slow wane. Very few souls wandered the Sun City streets, the silence as unbreakable as the wall of shadow that ensconced Solterra. For that, Castalla was glad, as she stumbled a little upon shaking legs, glad that there was no one around to witness the ungainly way with which she navigated the streets.
The past few weeks were a blur of patrols, training and sleepless nights spend pounding it out in the ring of various underground fighting tournaments. The Wolf couldn’t remember the last time she’d rested and it was beginning to show. Her concentration had been poor in these last few fights, her energy not as high as it should be, which had led to some costly mistakes. Castalla had grown too reliant upon her immortality, upon that never ending well of power and energy that fuelled her reckless tendencies. And now, her body was a tapestry of mishaps and near-misses, the bruises and injuries fading slower than she had hoped. She had been reckless, foolish perhaps in her pursuit something, anything, to chase away her nightmares, but these days fighting was the only thing that made her feel truly alive.
A bought of dizziness consumed her vision for a moment, lights dancing in front of her oculars as her head swam. Legs shaking the Wolf leant against a nearby sandstone wall, spitting colourful curses in her mother tongue. Perhaps I overdid it this time, she mused silently, breathing in deeply and mustering her strength. The sharp tang of blood coated her tongue as she clamped her mouth shut to keep from groaning. Pain, dull and aching, lanced through her muscles as she straightened, the bruises and injuries from the past few nights. Ordinarily she might relish that reminder of her mortality, the grounding twinge of over-exertion, a hint that she was more than a weapon. But tonight it was a hindrance she did not need, though perhaps one she deserved. The latest fight had been brutal and the blood had only just dried on her shoulder and neck. It had driven the crowds wild, watching the pair duke it out until Castalla arose the bloody victor. It was the closest she’d come to losing and the furthest she fallen into that cold sense of self where it was nothing but the battle that mattered. Battle was freedom but it was also a cage of its own kind, the jaws of the monster trapped deep within, ready to consume her humanity and make her its slave. The Wolf might have delved too deep into the killing calm that night, but her exhaustion was beginning to show as she wandered the Solterran streets, stumbling in places and hoping the shadows might be enough to hide her from prying eyes.
@August c:
