First Blood

A smash followed the other without pause. Ilyas was losing all his senses, hopelessly watching Ben ravage him like a frenzied bear. 

Clang!

Clang! 

"You... have to die!" Ben growled. "You have to die! That's the only way!"

Then there was a crack, and Ben was finally about to strike flesh.

But before he could do so, Ilyas's trembling, bloodied fingers finally reached the rock he lost earlier.

The rock he chose was an especially sharp one. He had his eye on it before he even wrestled the man to the ground. When he tackled Ben, he made sure they'd roll in its direction, and when he finally grasped it, they hit the damned tree trunk, causing him to drop it upon impact. 

Now, he could finally feel its rough, coarse surface, and it was the most beautiful feeling in the world. 

Once it was in his grasp, Ilyas gathered all the strength he could muster and, having pretended to grow completely limp for the past few seconds, caught Ben by surprise and struck his exposed ribs. It wasn't a strong strike, barely grazing him. But still, Ben faltered and reeled back momentarily, giving Ilyas a chance-

'You fight like a coward, too, you bastard.'

Ilyas's left arm escaped the man's knee, allowing him the mobility to free his other arm, which carried the rock. He didn't waste any time and smashed the sharp edge at the same spot in the man's ribs. 

Crack!

He felt something that made his blood shiver. Something hard and resolute, cracking and succumbing to the force.

A warm, fresh gush of liquid wet his hand.

But he hadn't the time to feel anything. In fact, this only lessened the pain in his mauled head and gave heat to his overwhelming rage, blinding him. He wanted to commit to it. He needed to hurt him. This coward. This bastard. He wanted more of it. He wanted him to bleed and grow limp.

Thwak!

But Ben had already recovered and swung his arm at Ilyas's exposed temple. The familiar pain washed over him, but not by surprise. 

His adrenaline was pumping, and it muted everything. Everything except for that anger. For that hatred. His hatred for the bastard who represented everything he loathed. Everyone who wronged him.

He couldn't contain anything anymore.

"ARGHHH!"

Ilyas didn't even recoil; instead, he lunged at Ben with bestial fury and repeatedly smashed the sharp edge of his rock at the same spot in his ribs. More blood tainted his arm.

He didn't care. And Ben didn't seem to either.

This time, Ilyas found himself straddling Ben instead. But he wasn't about to repeat the bastard's mistake. He immediately brought the rock down on the man's wrist, forcing Ben's rock to fall from his hand. 

'Here you are, you Bastard! Facing the goddamn consequences!'

Ilyas didn't waste a second and smashed the rock on the man's forehead. It collided with the man's gas mask, but instead of breaking it, the rock broke. His thinner and sharper rock had its drawbacks. 

But that didn't matter now. In fact, Ilyas wasn't even aware of it.

He was blind.

Blind to everything except quenching his rage.

Nothing mattered. 

Nothing existed, except for this vile thing before him.

Ilyas was growling, and his blood-drenched eyes behind his mask remained unblinking and seething. With one hand, he swatted away the cheap gas mask from the man's face. It wasn't as loyal as his, it seemed.

With his other hand, he clenched his fist until his bloody knuckles turned white, and then-

Thwamp!

His knuckles struck the man's nose. It hurt like hell. But his head hurt more. And he didn't care about either.

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

With the adrenaline numbing him and his blood charging him, Ilyas brought all his body's strength behind each punch. Ben's nose was adamant. 

Thwamp!

It finally gave. But Ilyas's fist gave in as well. His knuckles were broken.

Ben was still growling at him despite it all, resisting and seething. 

It's not enough!'

The sound of heavy breathing and the pounding of flesh echoed in the ominous silence of the night. Alone. It was a horrible thing.

Ilyas switched the trajectory of his strikes and went for the bastard's forehead. 

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

His knuckles shattered, but damn it all. He needed more.

His strikes grew more ferocious, and his vision grew more blurry. It was hot. Everything was hot.

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

The man's adamantium forehead grew brittle, and something cracked beneath Ilyas's knuckles. The feeling fed the insatiable fire in his chest, and he struck faster.

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

Blood was swelling on his victim's head, and finally-

Crack!

Ben's forehead caved, and his body grew limp.

Ilyas felt it.

He felt the furious resistance wane. He felt Ben's body convulse for a few seconds before slowly growing still.

But that was also what Ilyas did.

He couldn't trust it 

So he needed more!

"This is it!" Ilyas growled in a disturbing, wet voice. He didn't slow his aggression despite the man's unresponsive state. He struck that same spot on his forehead again and again. 

"Does it feel good?! This is the consequence, you bastard! This was your only remaining choice! To die like the coward you are!"

Thwamp!

Thwamp!

Squish!

Something soft and spongy met his knuckles now. His fist scraped against sharp bone before reaching something squishy with each strike. 

Viscous blood started foaming on the man's hair. The lather slowly oozed to cover Ben's frozen, still face. 

"How dare you even think to try! You people think I exist to be sacrificed for your selfish desires?! Who do you think you are?!"

Behind the mask, mixed with the blood covering Ilyas's face, were his sweat and tears. They stung and itched in the heat. But who cared?

"How-"

Ben was beyond a corpse now. He was desecrated and mangled. His face was beyond recognition. 

"-about-"

There was no specific target for Ilyas's strikes anymore; he just pounded everything. It was to the point that an eyeball was on the verge of popping out of its socket.

"-the consequences?!"

With that last word still echoing menacingly in the glade, Ilyas regained a fragment of his senses and stopped himself mid-strike. 

Deep breaths resounded from his bloody, brass, mournful mask. He unstraddled the corpse with effort, crawled to the trunk of that damned tree, and weakly sat with his back against it.

It was over.

His wheezing breaths intensified. His body grew limp as the adrenaline slowly began to recede.

'Is... this it?'

The glade was silent yet again as if... as if it were ten minutes ago, before everything. The fire danced, celebrating his victory.

Victory?

What victory?

There weren't many thoughts in Ilyas's head at the moment, nor were there many emotions either.

He felt the pain, but he was too tired to react to it.

His head was bleeding profusely, drowning him in tremendous agony. His shattered hand was numb. His heart abused his chest. His lungs wheezed. And he had exhausted all his strength and energy to do anything about it.

The putrid stench of blood and death was revolting, but he couldn't even retch.

The rapid blood loss only served to drain him further. He wouldn't last long.

'Is this... what a man's life is worth?'

Was it only what they made it to be?

Despite his actions, his pain, and the inevitability of his end given his current state, Ilyas could only reminisce on the comical, tragic fact that it all happened in one day.

He stared up at the sky with the last bit of strength his neck could muster, and just before his consciousness faded and the darkness overtook, Ilyas chuckled, and murmured in a hoarse, wet voice:

"Well... Happy birthday to me."