[ftm] 1.5 - blood
He could feel the blood under his fingers, hot and slick on the copper-wrapped and silver wire as he played. They gleamed, ruby-wet and flashing bright under the lights onstage as he played, the educated muscles and fingers finding traction easily as the amplifiers wailed behind him.
Like the blood on his sword, the scarlet lines in flesh as the Hunter lay at his feet, broken and barely clinging to life. His final breath was pained and wasted, the sound of the Reaper’s voice as he gave Ryder a lead to follow…his first in the quest for vengeance, the worst in his search for some kind of atonement for his sins.
Stepping up to the mic, he sang in perfect tune, never missing a beat. It still came out as a scream of desperation and grief, a howl that earned him looks from his brothers…the only ones that knew something had to be wrong.
Like the screams that sometimes escaped when he woke from the nightmares that began again. Too often now, he saw the pain and fear in Alegria’s face when she was with him, soothing him back to sleep with quiet songs and gentle touches as he struggled for the courage to sleep again, to relive the horrors of his past and the new atrocities of his present.
The music knew what he had done, every note he played pleading with him to expose his sins, to stop the rivers of blood that flowed from his fingers to coat the strings and stain the stage beneath his feet. It screamed for an end to retribution, it prayed for the souls of the murdered, the departed.
Like the Immortals pleaded for their lives when Ryder found them, when he used their eternal life against them. He’d let them die one time, only once before he ended their lives the second time. The sword still cut true and clean as he decapitated each one of them at the end…when they refused to talk to him.
The shows ended with a haze of delirium and grief, a shadow none of his brothers could break through. The blood stained his hands and his eyes, the legacy of the Hunter sat heavily back on his shoulders…weighty and painful, but familiar. Comfortable.
Good, evil…one of them had killed Ziyah Ambrogio. And if he had to watch their blood poison his music and stain his guitar every night for the rest of his life, he’d find the one who killed her.
He would make them pay…then the flow of blood would stop for good.
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 429
Like the blood on his sword, the scarlet lines in flesh as the Hunter lay at his feet, broken and barely clinging to life. His final breath was pained and wasted, the sound of the Reaper’s voice as he gave Ryder a lead to follow…his first in the quest for vengeance, the worst in his search for some kind of atonement for his sins.
Stepping up to the mic, he sang in perfect tune, never missing a beat. It still came out as a scream of desperation and grief, a howl that earned him looks from his brothers…the only ones that knew something had to be wrong.
Like the screams that sometimes escaped when he woke from the nightmares that began again. Too often now, he saw the pain and fear in Alegria’s face when she was with him, soothing him back to sleep with quiet songs and gentle touches as he struggled for the courage to sleep again, to relive the horrors of his past and the new atrocities of his present.
The music knew what he had done, every note he played pleading with him to expose his sins, to stop the rivers of blood that flowed from his fingers to coat the strings and stain the stage beneath his feet. It screamed for an end to retribution, it prayed for the souls of the murdered, the departed.
Like the Immortals pleaded for their lives when Ryder found them, when he used their eternal life against them. He’d let them die one time, only once before he ended their lives the second time. The sword still cut true and clean as he decapitated each one of them at the end…when they refused to talk to him.
The shows ended with a haze of delirium and grief, a shadow none of his brothers could break through. The blood stained his hands and his eyes, the legacy of the Hunter sat heavily back on his shoulders…weighty and painful, but familiar. Comfortable.
Good, evil…one of them had killed Ziyah Ambrogio. And if he had to watch their blood poison his music and stain his guitar every night for the rest of his life, he’d find the one who killed her.
He would make them pay…then the flow of blood would stop for good.
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 429