you lie on the ground, panting and sore. your throat burns. snow has soaked your clothes, and your muscles are beginning to protest. more than anything, though, you're tired. the adrenaline has worn off. you're tired and sore and stuck.
gepard towers over you, but his eyes aren't necessarily unkind. to a bystander, you're sure his eyes would inspire warmth, even safety. he looks at you with sympathy, with pity. all it brings forth is fear.
"see?" his voice is gentle, but the words sting. "you're not stronger than me. you'll never be stronger than me. your naivety will get you killed- but don't worry. i'll protect you."
hate bubbles inside of you. if looks could kill, this man would be long dead, but he'd be especially dead at the moment. you'd scream about how you DON'T NEED HIS HELP OR PROTECTION, but there's no point. there's nobody around, and your protests would go in one ear and out the other.
you're freezing. belobog native you may be, but you're not used to fighting in the cold. the temperature certainly isn't helping your current state, and you're far too tired to ignite your weapon with fire once again.
"go fuck yourself," you manage out. gepard only smiles. aeons above, you detest this man. something should come out of nowhere and kill you, because qlipoth knows you don't have the guts to do it yourself.
"oh, darling." he kneels down to pick you up, one hand under your knees and the other supporting your back. you notice that he adjusts his right arm so that you don't have a cold metal gauntlet sticking into your skin. you'd kind of prefer that. maybe it would kill you, somehow. then you could live life as a ghost and watch him break down over the fact that he'd killed the love of his life instead of any other imagined threats. that would be interesting. "let me take care of you."
you don't need to be "taken care of". you can fight just fine on your own. you try to grab your weapon, which now lies impossibly out of reach, still on the ground. he chastises you: you don't need that anymore with me here.
there's a taste of bitterness on your tongue. maybe he might be right after all? you'd never admit it to his face, but the reality is right there in front of you: you trained for years on different planets and come back for revenge, just to fail at the first hurdle. now you're right back where you started. maybe you are naive. if you'd gone up across any other foe, would you also have lost? would you be in a much worse state than this?
is there a possibility that you genuinely are pathetically weak?
as you mull over this, you look up at gepard, who meets your eyes and smiles warmly. it brings you no such feeling.
"you'll be safe with me. promise." you don't say it, opting instead to close your eyes and block out the world around you, but you certainly think it.
filthy fucking liar.
