@afierosii said:
he’s already bloodied and bruised when yor takes the front of his cloak in a fist, eyes half lidded and glazed over despite the bloody, toothy grin he sends up toward the larger man. hands hang loose by his sides as tevis watches yor the best he can. “y’ done–yet? i ain’t–even–feelin’ it–yet–” a splutter of blood and spittle paints the hunter’s lips as he quirks a brow at the monster above him. the static of the void is distant now, though incessant as ever. he needs more.
Yor’s never found himself quite so pleased to have met someone with a Ghost, that little gnat of Light that’d bring someone back from just about anything. There is an aspect of desire here that sits low in his gut and an itch waiting to be scratched, though not one he is willing to sate with Tevis. The whispers want that final death and he isn’t going to let them have it, not yet, perhaps not ever if Tevis wanted to keep playing this game.
“Just have to kill you then,” he answers back. The Human body can only take so much before it breaks, even when it came to Guardians, more so without a Ghost healing those wounds. He wonders just briefly what they think about the whole situation, before reeling his fist back and letting it connect with the bridge of Tevis’ nose. That follow through forces broken bone deep into the wound and he knows well enough that the damage will lead to death, soon enough.
The grasp on Tevis goes slack and he lets the Hunter crumple down to the floor, reaching back to take his own cloak and wipe red into its fabric off plated knuckles. Without much care for the violence he has dealt out Yor goes to sit down nearby, patient as ever for everything that comes after.
Maybe the man will take that other approach to the problem, if he isn’t satisfied with this one, again.
tevis feels himself hit the ground only distantly as his body repeats the sensation of yor’s fist connecting with his face - like an echo. his eyes roll back and expression shifts, though he doesn’t notice the way he rolls onto his back as the blood starts to pool in his throat. he doesn’t fight it. no more than his body does instinctively. ever human, he supposes. no amount of void running through his veins will change that. no amount of desperation for something outside of his self imposed blanket of static will change the way his body twitches and spasms in desperation.
maybe he prefers it that way? there’s nothing more real than dying. nothing more grounding than feeling that last breath eek out from tattered lungs behind broken ribs. a fist clenches in his own cloak, hard and unforgiving even as breath slows to a gurgling wheeze and the last strings of his energy are lost to a bloodied cough. the life leaves him in a slow, drawn out breath and tevis goes still there on the ground.
it isn’t long before his ghost, shaded deep purple and as twitchy as the hunter himself, materialises above the prone figure. it watches yor for a long moment, suspicious and eye narrowed before buzz pulls the lingering light from around them and works it through his guardian’s frame. it always takes longer with tevis, the two of them pinned it on the void interference. tevis never minded, though. always felt more alive the longer he spends this close to death. only a few moments pass before the hunter’s frame is lurching upright with an agonising gasp, eyes wide and chest heaving as the light surges through him. the coughing and the spluttering doesn’t stop even as tevis drinks down air and finds himself hunched over on hands and knees staring hard at the ground.
“reckon--y’ live up--- t’ that reputation---y’know?” his voice is distant, the echo is back in his mind and there’s a curse under his breath. not enough. slowly, head turns to rake his gaze over the larger man. “got--got anymore ideas? whatever y’ want--go t’ town--”
