@sabotajuu / prompt : 38. crack my muse’s head against a wall.
he’d put up a GOOD FIGHT ( he always did ),
but even with his best efforts, they weren’t enough
———— not against HIM.
the saboteur had built a reputation with him. always one to use his surroundings to his advantage, to use basic items as leverage in a fight against seemingly UNSTOPPABLE force that was the shape. always one step ahead of silent stalker when USUALLY it was the other way around ( and it often were when it came to the rest of them ). never one to enjoy the tradition of RUNNING AWAY from danger, but rather preferring to face it head on. he was a challenge unlike most, a survivalist – as raw and savage as the rest of those whom played the role of a killer in this realm. how unfortunate that they weren’t on the same side.
breathing laboured ( the taste of copper against his tongue // the SCENT of it flooding space within mask ), body is SORE from survivor’s brutal attempts to fight back ( blood that was BOOGEYMAN’S own stained navy coveralls – crimson appearing as a SHIMMERING BLACK under false moonlight ), and if one were to peek beneath clothing, surely would pale skin be discoloured by sickly bruises and adorned with JAGGED CUTS ( jagged stab wounds ); a showcasing of his fight for LIFE and freedom from the realm they currently occupied —— a display of aggression that rivaled shape’s own towards him. was it all for nothing? no. not necessarily ( he’d nearly escaped! the whistling of hatch door taunting saboteur in the distance a sign of that enough ) – but it wasn’t enough to secure his safety this time.
always one step ahead of silent stalker,
———— not this time.
callused palm held survivor’s shoulder, forearm wrapped around his neck like a vise ( keeping him pinned against his person ); threatening to CRUSH the bone and airway that lie beneath the surface of skin ( to tear the muscle from its place should HE make one false move ). gunmetal shards, cloaked by the shadows cast by false eye sockets, peer out before them – THE BOOGEYMAN’S expression as emotionless and blank as the stark-white visage he adorned to hide true identity. there was a feeling of CONFLICTION for him: a part of him wishing to show wrath towards survivor’s previous attacks, and a part of him almost feeling pride towards them. to let him go seemed almost FAIR given the fight he’d made ( michael suddenly aware of open hatch once again breaking through the silence like a WHITE NOISE ) —————— and yet? the longer he waited to make final move, the louder ( and more persistent ) did voices grow in his head ( silencing even the ENTITY’S own with their uproar ): kill him, kill him, kill him, KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!
it would be so EASY to drive sharpened steel into the flesh of his stomach;
tearing it open and letting the entrails SEEP out–
repeating the action until he was a LIFELESS corpse
in BOOGEYMAN’S arms.
instead, however, his movements come with a swiftness jake had surely grown accustomed to by now ( for how often they occurred – the suddenness of them after long pauses of unsettling stillness ); the once-headlock michael had on him exchanged for a harsh grasp on raven locks instead. hand adorned with infamous knife comes up to grab survivor’s shoulder ( the blade held haphazardly in his grasp in return ), and in one HARSH kick does boot-clad foot kick boy’s own out from under him; both hands SHOVING him, FORCING HIM, down to his knees ————————— this wasn’t a form of payback. there was no resentment in his next actions. they were simply a means of IMPULSIVENESS. a DESIRE to silence an overactive mind.
there’s no warning as hand forces saboteur’s head against jagged stone, the force not nearly enough to do more than leave him with a headache and some minor cuts; nor is the second time he repeats said action. it’s on the third attempt that the sound of bone connecting with stone breaks through the chattering in shape’s mind, and on the FOURTH that a sticky warmth meets the skin of his fingers as force is increased. momentary pause is given as he gazes downward, eyes catching glimpse of a glimmering RED upon stone’s surface; his head tilting aside as he watches it seep betwixt lithe digits —— though pause is short lived as prior actions are repeated. again, and again, and again, and AGAIN! until there’s a sudden WARMTH encasing boogeyman’s knee, and a SICKENING CRACK breaking through the uproar in his head ( and bringing forth a much needed SILENCE in its wake )..
