A Life in Intervals

viii.
you were thirty-three when you had to fight like hell.

you were surrounded by grinning subujaters. this wasn't even the second time you've fought one and walked away alive--something not many could say, but it was the first that you were alone, and you've only ever fought one at a time.

they had no strategy, no plan. you remember this made it hard to predict where they would strike but easy to turn their strengths against each other. you would dodge a blow and let it become the downfall of another of your enemies. no matter where you slashed, you would, without fail, hit flesh.

you went into an animalistic corner of your mind that lacked pain and pleasure. you fought senselessly, only trying to survive, without regard for cleanliness or your own injuries. you don't know how long you were like this, but you eventually realized that your strikes no longer hit flesh. you emerged from the corner and saw that you were surrounded by lilac corpses. there was not an inch of you that did not hurt. you were utterly exhausted.

then, from the gory mess, two subjugaters rose, injured but able to fight. and your stomach dropped. you remember thinking there was no way you were not going to die.

then, two gunshots from behind.

the two members of caste nine dropped, and, behind him, holding a smoking gun, was remina. you really think that i would leave you all the fun? she asked. you grinned at her, then collapsed.

you would not awake for two and half nights.