FallenAtlas Posted June 21, 2019 Share Posted June 21, 2019 hurt I hurt myself todayTo see if I still feel Crimson ran against green as the young Skakdi crumbled into the ground. Blows from above cracked the pavement with the Skakdi's body. He drew a clawed foot up and kicked blindly; a grunt, a crash, and a cessation of attacks told him his aim was true. He scrambled to his feet and wiped from the blood from his swollen eyes. "You Northern filth, I'll kill you!" he growled. The other Skakdi ran forward, fists flying and a war cry in his throat; a war cry that was interrupted by piercing steel severing his throat in half. The Skakdi gurgled in protest as he stumbled backward, hands clamping in vain to keep the warmth inside. "I am Zaktan,” the Skakdi said, shoving the dying being to the ground. “Remember that before you pass.” The bloodied corpse did not object to the command. The street, soaking in the fluids, did not object. The sky, absorbing the stench of death and struggle, did not object. But the warriors of Nektann objected. Zaktan found himself smashed into the concrete again. Head dragged up and smashed into a wall. Into the ground. Into the wall. Into the ground. Into- "Wait!" A voice among the warriors cried out. "Nektann is always looking for more miners. He may pay us well for this one. He certainly is healthy enough to kill; he is healthy enough to dig." Zaktan's vision blurred, darkened, and swirled out of consciousness. I focus on the pain The only thing that's real What have I becomeMy sweetest friend The bronze pick they put in his hands was poor for the job. Soft, it bent easily against the protodermis walls of the mine. He spent more time straightening it out than he spent hacking deeper into the walls. The sudden crack of the warden’s whip would drive him to fix it faster, the sting of the barbs in his back and legs was not something he wanted to feel again. He drove the pick into the wall, dumping out small chunks at a time. He would fill a bucket that would be dumped in a passing minecart. Most of it would go on to be weapons, armor, ammo. The Skakdi Civil War raged hotly, and it was common for lines of prisoners to vanish to the front lines. The grime, the soot, the dirt all sank into his joints. There were no baths. There was no comfort in the mines of Nektann. Zaktan wished he could fade away, into ash; to separate from the girt and escape through the vents. The crack of the warden's whip took those fantasies out of his mind. Everyone I know Goes away in the end And you could have it allMy empire of dirt The warden barked an order. The line stopped picking at the walls. Zaktan turned with the rest of them, facing out into the chamber. A hulking titan stepped forward, power in blue and gold. He scanned the crowd slowly, and then waved a mighty arm towards the entrance. A thinner being strode in, but his aura carried power out into the room before he even entered; power greater than the first Titan. He was old. He was wise. And he was seeking. His eyes fell upon Zaktan. And Zaktan stared back upon him. And the being's lips turned up into a most sinister smile. "I'll take him. The Piraka." Zaktan felt a grin spread across his face. "Good." I will let you downI will make you hurt Quote Short Stories: A Chance Meeting | The Destiny of Teridax | End of An Island | A Conversation | Hurt Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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