#fallen moon

Fallen moon

Created with Midjourney AI

A little more with shooter games. Well, shooter games are also because of they are very spectacular genre, as idea. And, I for hundred years have never seen modern games. I like retro shooters. Today, it is a genre. And, also, it is nice to try something unusual. And we are, already, getting closer to end 2024 year as result of the year. To the prize of tv watchers sympathy. So, I played these games. But not so a lot.

Johnson Ting

| AAA Concept Artist, Art Director & Collectible Designer |

artstation instagram facebook behance twitter linkedin youtube deviantart

@intoxicatingxminds continued from here

“This is for the best,” he grunts as he throws her into the nearest cell. “When they come for you. Be smart. Tell them I trapped you here… that you couldn’t escape."

He’s about to leave it at that. But instead grabs her by the forearms and rests his forehead against her own. His eyes squint closed and his breaths come in pants. Her scent, her eyes, the way her skin feels against his own. The sound of her voice when she’s angry and the shiver to her touch when she cries. He tries with all his might to remember every detail, but its over too soon.

There isn’t enough time.

Dust sinks down from the ceiling and he knows they’ve found a way in. With a heavy heart, he takes one last look at Tehra and pushes her back into the cage. He accepts this. Everything between then and now has been a waiting game and now, for the final crescendo he will die.

Fifty or so men stand in the foyer, their eyes squinting into the darkness. For a moment or two, Zane allows himself to watch them, hidden in the shadows.  Most are blind drunk and no doubt that is what led them here tonight; bottled bravery for the weak of heart. Some– the older men who hang at the back of the crowd, have quiet rage simmering across their features. They are the farmers. The ones who have lost the most during Zane’s curse. And then there are the show runners. Smarmy, well-dressed men with glints to their eyes and pearly white teeth goading on the rest of the crowd. It was these men, years ago that had cost him his life. His family. His home.

Fire burned behind Zane’s eyes and he charged.

He broke apart the crowd. Men scattered, crying and wailing. Some dropped their weapons and ran, but not all. Zane found himself in the middle of a closing circle, turning this way and that whenever the men fell out of view. He snarled. Waiting. With an awkward cry a short, chubby villager dove forward with his spear. This was all the group needed. Bolstered by their comrades bravado, the rest attacked. Kicking, pulling, shooting.

A spear ripped itself through Zane’s chest and he keeled over, catching himself with one clawed hand before he hit the floor. But a boot between his shoulder blades sent him down the rest of the way, and the spear made a wet crack as it popped through his ribs and out the other side. Still the assault continued. Knives appeared from pockets as the men began to slash and hack at any exposed flesh and fur they could find. It felt like hours but was more likely minutes until the attack was over and the few remaining men stood above his dying body.

She had no intention of listening to him. He may have been stronger than her and able to man handle her into the cell, but Tehra had no intentions of staying there. She was just about to protest when his hands wrapped around her forearms and he brought his forehead to hers. 

The huntress gasped ever so slightly then closed her eyes, breathing in what she was going to make sure wasn’t their last moment together. Tehra hadn’t yet figured out what this was between them, but she was going to ensure they both had time to find out. The huntress was hell bent on it. He let go of her too soon and she watched him leave, reaching after him to no avail.

The moment he was out of sight she began trying to pick her way out of the cell. The footsteps stormed above her, and every sound she heard from the battle quickened her heart rate. She knew Zane wouldn’t - couldn’t - kill. There was no way this battle was going to go well for the vampire. Fingers moved swiftly, picking the lock. Tehra let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding when she finally heard the lock click and open. Wasting no time, she bolted out of the cell. 

A while back she’d stashed a few weapons in various spots around the castle - if she recalled correctly, the dungeon had a very nice dagger. She snatched it and made her way to the source of the fighting. All at once Tehra heard the battle pick up in intensity and she knew it was near the end. Terror gripped at her chest but she paused, making sure she was hidden. She wasn’t certain how she felt about killing the villagers, but it seemed they were leaving anyways.

Of course, they’d never even attempted to look for her. This wasn’t a rescue - it was a murder.

Once she was certain they were gone, Tehra rushed to Zane’s crumpled form. She was certain her heart stopped at the sight of him. No - she wasn’t going to allow this to be his end. The wounds were too numerous to count, and he was so covered in blood that she couldn’t tell which wound was causing the most damage. For a moment she considered immediately starting to wrap the wounds but there was no time for that. 

Instead Tehra moved towards his head, picking it up with great effort and resting it in her lap. She could barely recognize this dying thing in her arms, the dynamic, passionate, tortured soul she knew was hardly visible in his eyes. Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks. Instead of letting them, Tehra purposefully took the dagger and opened a vein. If anything could save him now it was her blood. 

Wordlessly she lifted his head with her uninjured arm and forced her bleeding forearm between his lips. Desperately she angled him so as to ease swallowing - Tehra could only hope that his instincts would kick in the moment blood touched his lips.