Black City (1)

I lie sprawled on the ground, my body heavy and unresponsive. My eyes flutter open, and through my blurred vision, I see Viena. She, too, is on the ground, motionless. Yet, slowly, we both rise—eyes meeting eyes, flesh exposed to flesh. The cool air bites at my skin, and my body feels rigid, aching in ways I cannot describe. I glance down at myself. My arms are battered, useless, yet there are no external wounds, save for the broken mess of my right arm, which remains clumsily hanging like dead weight.

I push myself up, relying on my knees, but my strength falters. I collapse forward, my half arm—barely healed—hits the ground, and a guttural scream escapes my throat. Viena stands over me, her shadow long and dark against the faint light. I hear the soft patter of her bare feet approaching, the earth tasting the dust kicked up by her steps. My face presses into the cold dirt. My breath comes out in shallow, strained gasps.