Senzafine: #001 - Broken
Challenge at 30_angsts
Title: Inferno
Author: lilhobbit
Fandom: Witch Hunter Robin
Prompt: #001: Broken
Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1661 words
Characters: Amon, Robin
Series: Senzafine
Flames all around them and then yet another part of roof surrendered to the hungry fire that devoured it with haste. The wreckage that descended from above blocked the passageway he’d hoped to use to get to the surface. He longed to breathe that lovely fresh air again and just lie under the sky after they’d survived this inferno. He longed to see her awake, to tell her it’d all been just a bad dream.
She was lighter to carry than he’d anticipated. When he’d knocked her out, wrestling with the little devil that’d taken over her body then and there, he’d had to press his teeth together so hard that his gums had bled. He had wanted to run outside with her, not carry her now that everything was over. He’d wanted to tell her he was proud of her and that everything would be alright now. But she had enjoyed it! Enjoyed lighting the fires and making them chase the helpless victims the Factory was full of: her unconscious fellow sufferers.
Robin, his strong-willed Robin, had been so close to falling, to becoming like the rest. He couldn’t let her live through that, to die after being hunted like a mad dog. He’d tried to save her and she had tried to kill him in return. They’d wrestled in the ground, broken her hair-do, leaving that blonde hair to frame her pale face that was twisted with rage. It’d become more and more entangled as the battle had continued to grow increasingly physical. His Orbo-pendant blocked her Craft, infuriating her further. There was no sane light in her green eyes.
She’d punched him, bruising her precious hand in the process and leaving him with an ache that wouldn’t be silenced even now. In his head, there was a constant hammering, a blaming voice of reason that told him to lay her down and leave here to burn with the rest of the insane witches. He didn’t follow it, but turned around instead and adjusted her position in his arms before he started running again. Maybe it was a mistake; maybe he was losing his mind as well. Still he couldn’t help thinking that if he’d trusted her this far just to leave her at the sight of terror, he might as well killed her back when he was first ordered to do so.
The smoke was growing thicker and his mind dulling as he grew more tired. Their fight had really exhausted him. He hadn’t expected such ferocity from the young girl, for she’d always relied on her Craft rather than close range combat. He wasn’t stupid though; a hunter of her calibre had other talents besides using her powers. It was how she continued surviving as the missions grew tougher. Amon grimaced, stirring because of the pain the simple expression inflamed his cheek with. She’d clawed him, sunken her sharp little nails through his skin like it was paper. Now the wounds were bleeding again.
Robin remained moderately unharmed, if you didn’t count him knocking her out eventually. He hadn’t been able to use dirty tricks with her, or hit her so that it’d leave real bruise. He’d tried to calm her down first and foremost, to contain her so she didn’t harm herself or him anymore; so really most of his suffering was really his own undoing. Hell, she’d even bit his ear during one of her first tantrums! She was twice as aggressive as the most aggressive witch Amon had hunted in the past and he didn’t know why.
The smoke irritated his throat and eyes but he kept going, holding her tighter against his chest so that she didn’t breathe the toxins in the air directly. She was just a child; she wouldn’t probably even remember any of them when she woke up or so he hoped. It passed with some witches. They only had fits when the power became too much at once by being associated with huge emotional stress or shock. Afterwards they reverted. According to his brother, his mother had been just like that: Sane one moment, completely out of control the next. Problem was that the chain of events fed itself; if the violence became too severe or the actions that’d been taken too stressful, reverting became more and more difficult.
STN didn’t separate the witches that went haywire; they hunted everyone equally. It didn’t matter that some diseases were treatable.
Amon didn’t believe that anymore. Robin could take it. She’d been through so much to give up now so she’d survive this too. He’d help her; mend her back together and save her once again. How he’d become this mockery of a knight though, he had no idea. Ever since the beginning he’d had his eyes on her, watching and waiting for the order to kill. But he hadn’t been able to and he’d failed. If he wouldn’t kill her someone else would and that’s how he’d realized he was protecting her. Everything had happened almost by accident. One choice had brought him on the opposite side of the battle, changed everything.
He pushed through the smoke, holding her head against her chest protectively. His heart was racing, every muscle in him felt sore and numb at the same time. She’d destroyed Zaizen’s escape route, but had to be some other way out. Amon wouldn’t accept failure now, not when they were both hanging by a thread. Not when the worst was behind.
A shadow appeared to the corner of his eye, causing him to turn around quickly and remove one arm from Robin to point out his gun. Her feet fell to the floor and she slipped a bit lower against his chest, but stayed in his grasp adequately even with one arm. The freak that was standing across them with a burning torso didn’t give him enough time to correct her position so the battle quickly became a rough ride for her unconscious body. Amon fired at the half-alive witch that launched at them screaming terribly. The bullets hit their target, but didn’t slow it any. He pulled them both aside, diving onto the floor while still holding her tightly against his chest.
He emptied the clip quickly, pulling out the few witch hunting bullets he had with him and slowly lowering Robin from his hold to the floor. The witch had turned around now, its hair and poor excuse of clothing already devoured by the fire. Amon felt its stare, so full of hate for anything living that wasn’t in equal agony with it, and closed the clip of his gun. He felt sorry for every witch he’d hunted and brought to this place for dissection and torture. He felt guilty for not being able to help even though he now knew the truth. But he knew Robin was indefinitely more important than these lost souls, and all he could do for them anymore was to give them a peaceful ending.
An invisible force grabbed him lifting his feet off the floor and throwing him backwards but by then the bullets were already fired. They hit their target without error, each drawing a painful squeal as they sunk into the burning flesh of the witch and paralysed it. The witch fell down with a thump, still stirring and alive when it met with the floor. Amon fell through the air as well, but he fell on his feet like a graceful feline, pointing the barrel of his gun at the pathetic creature one more time. The last shot ended its movement and all coherent thoughts.
He’d killed so many people it didn’t feel like much anymore. Amon’s numbness was what kept him moving. With any weaker nerves, he would’ve broken down a long time ago. He tolerated it all never flinching, never regretting. Robin was the only exception. He looked at her blissful serene face, when he lifted her from the ground and couldn’t say he regretted saving her for a second. She’d reached with her small hands and gotten through his armour, in its place mainly because of his mother. After that, he’d felt everything when it came to her.
He was on his feet again, holding her with his ever-diminishing strength. He’d crawl if he needed to do, use every last bit of strength he had to accomplish this task. He was a soldier, efficient to the core. Not a single breath would be wasted. So his trailed, as he pushed himself onwards. To serve her like he’d served Zaizen, give her that same loyalty. Such childish thoughts, and yet they felt so right.
The coughing become rougher, the irritation in his throat wouldn’t vanish just like that. And the underground corridor seemed to go on forever. The big hero was getting weary, his grip losing its strength. Even his thoughts were losing their coherent patterns and becoming chaotic. The situation really seemed hopeless, didn’t it? Having her lie in his arms like a broken toy, motionless and seemingly inanimate. He wished she was standing up now, pulling him from his hand, forcing him to go on.
She wouldn’t leave him behind, not when he’d saved her for the first time, when she’d been about to be hunted. Her desperate attempts to bring him with her had puzzled him then, but not anymore. Nobody wanted to face the uncertain tomorrow alone, not when there was another shoulder to lean against. This time he couldn’t abandon her afterwards, nor did he want to.
He repositioned her in his arms. This fierce cherub would not awaken until he had saved her and brought them both back to the bare sky. She would not forgive him for hurting her or smile at him in that charmingly reassuring way of hers until that moment. It was motivation enough, yeah, with that just that he’d find his way out of this hell.
Somehow he still found the strength to run.
- fin