So I came up with a daily writing challenge for myself over on tumblr to try and get back into writing with a little more consistency; the prompts are from Brian Kiteley's book, The 3am Epiphany, (randomly picked via number generator,) and set to whatever song pops up on my mp3 player at the time. The filled prompts themselves span several of my favorite fandoms, so as a collective whole I've taken to calling it the 3am Series. Now I've titled everything so the parts are easy to find, but if you want a more organized series grouping then I totally recommend going and checking the 3am stories on my Ao3~
(Descriptions of the book prompts are listed on my tumblr, under the tag '3am-challenge.')
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho, nor any of the characters/locations therein.
3am Challenge Day 4
Prompt: #158 - Individual (800 words)
Song: Threads of Fate OST - Rasdan
Characters: Kurama, Hiei
Tag team. Two on two.
With the roar of the crowd and the announcer's enthusiastic voice amplified three-fold over the speakers, it is a wonder the thoughts inside his own head are still audible.
Side step. Duck. Deflect an attack. Roundabout counterstrike. Slipping in and out of the fray with practiced ease. The scent of blood glazed against too-blunt teeth and fox-like canines aching to protrude and nip at the electrified air. He spins to the left, to the right, back again. Weaving out and around and dancing like a petal on the wind as his whip laces through the flesh of another body.
Black and red in his peripherals as Hiei leaps behind him and out of the way of his weapon. Heat in the air and he shifts his maneuver to accommodate his partner. He drowns out the noise, focuses on the scents, the patterns of color from his opponents.
Their opponents – his and Hiei's both – still plural, still alive and bidding for their blood.
He dodges, back flips, lands gracefully beside his partner. Green eyes burn with gold from eons past like the glint of dying sunlight off precious metal. Kitsune senses sing.
He feels Hiei move beside him and takes that as his cue to begin moving again. He glances to the left, catches his partner's nod, gives one of his own in return. The crowd falls away completely, the announcer's voice silenced against the adrenaline pounding through him and deafening his ears.
The whip, long and thin and overpowering in its scent of roses and blood: cool in his hand as he swings it like an extension of his own arm. It snags like talons against stony flesh and bites like a viper. Off comes the demon's arm. Fresh blood assaults his nose.
There is more heat, flame black and rising with otherworldly power and he takes cover behind his partner and the Dragon tears through the attacking demon's torso. One down.
He tucks his fingers up into his hair, bloodied knuckles mimicking the color of his sanguine strands. He throws the torn whip aside to let the thorns tangle and bury into the wayward feet of an unsuspecting foe. He feels his hair stand on end, like raised hackles, smelling of singed fur. Too close, the dark-flame Dragon has seared too close, Hiei knocked off balance by its force against a damaged leg.
Lean back, brace the weight of his partner, feeling Hiei's back against him as they hold their ground. The sounds of battle reach through the needle-focus, keeping his mind sharp and undistracted by the muted noise beyond the ring. Heat fades, movement at his shoulders as his partner's weight shifts. No more Dragon.
Heavy panting from the other side of the ring – an ugly smell like rotting corpses on the wind from the last remaining opponent's foul, ragged breaths. Still one to go.
His fingers clamp down on the tiny flare of power tied into his hair, little voice crying out to him – use me! I want to help! The harsh sting of a seedpod, hard and edged like mountain stone between the already-torn pads of his too-human fingers. A burst of life and protective will fizzling up and over his hands, answered by energy of his own chanting grow live FLOURISH in gold and green and silver.
Leaves and vines rip forth from the cuts on his arms, his wrists, his hands, a faint pulling as blood spills into the plant's stems and roots it to him. Not harmful, not to him, never to him. A bond, a father and child pair, with fighting instinct and vulpine territorial fury humming between them from fighter to weapon.
Another flash of black flitting to perch behind him and Hiei's aura spawns from nothing to hug at his spine. He is the shield now, instead of his partner.
A word growls from his mind and down the flow of his energy and he can feel it tangling in the flora wrapping his arms. Kill. The thought surges to life like the shrill cry of a cornered fox and GREEN floods his vision just before it is bathed in red life-blood and bits of violet flesh.
Death brings silence. Stillness. And though his sight returns to him, bringing the stadium back into reality, he cannot hear anything save for his own heartbeat. He is alive. They have won.
Sweat and wood smoke meet his nose and suddenly Hiei's voice is in his rounded human ears, far away but oh so close. The air thrums with vibrations that he cannot fully focus on yet – the yelling of the announcer and the cheering of the crowd.
There is a ringing there instead. Shock of survival rippling like white river foam just behind his skull.
They won.