A Log To the Face

"Wow, you really are immortal, you survived a log to the face… barely but impressive nonetheless."

Mahon's body wriggled on the ground, the huge gap in his body sending writhing pain through his bones, burning his skin and pulling the energy from his movements. As he struggled and inched through the blood, the pool of deep red, his head spinning, feeling like he could be sick at any moment. His gasping breaths breach the muffled sounds around him.

"To think such a god given gift could be used to kill my brother, you fucking monster."

Another kick slashed through his stomach. The pain rippling through the log shaped hole in his lungs forcing more and more blood through his lungs, Mahon's weak and trembling hand reaching for the flask. Its cool blood taunting him, the open-top sloshing the remaining drops of life. As his fingers tapped the thick leather, brushing desperately across the flask, the man pulled him up, the light brown hair pulled raggedly across his young face, the hatred piercing through his face. Throwing him to the ground… all became silent. Mahon's body slumping to the ground, his limp body sprawled over the street, slouching against a building. Paris picked up the flask, pushing the red liquid down Mahon's neck. The hole in his chest reformed slowly filling over, but as he tried to move Paris pushed four arrows through his body, the pain forcing cries from Mahon's mouth.

"Seems like that's your weakness, you… you," Paris' fist flew into Mahon's face, the soft hand bashing into him over and over, "WHY HIM!! This was me! So why was he killed? Why would anyone kill him?? How could anyone kill him? You died over and over to him, so why you? Why are you immortal, not him?" His cries echoed through the city, it seemed like they would travel across the globe, his rage, and pain hit through Mahon's heart harder than any punch.

Paris' hand curled around a dagger, his fists red and bruised, the delicate fingers soiled with blood and pain. Tears rolling down his soft cheeks and flooding down his roaring mouth, the burning screams rippling from his mouth, veins popping and smashing and ripping through his body.

The small blade crashed down again and again, the pain seemed meaningless compared to Paris' anger.

The knife smashing into Mahon over and over again, ripping through his organs and slicing through his lungs, gashing across his scarred chest and impaling his heart, blood pouring across his massacred chest, his body red. The messed red tipped hair floating across Mahon's face, the blooded drops splashed across Mahon's face.

The world seemed silent, even as Mahon saw the blurred screams, his eyes dipping in and out of the blackness, closing and burning in and out of death, being revived and killed again and again. The death filling his body, the cold feeling rushing back again and again. As his body faded in and out, he saw the knife shimmering in the flames, still bringing it down again and again as the houses burnt… and then all was black.