A Sleeve of Blood

She knows that it would just be easier to simply collapse and die. Her body blooms with ugly bruises, so dark they're almost black. Distressed eyelids ache to close. Even though her ribs are tougher than those of humanity, they are not impenetrable, splintering every time her lungs expand. Wheezes trickle over her busted lips. The sickening taste of copper invades her mouth, warm and sticky.

Alien tech resembling a combat staff is lodged in her upper arm, protruding from both sides. That entire appendage is drenched in a sleeve of murky blood, appearing charred as it is blackened with a mix of grime. She does not mind too much, numbness spreads from her shoulder down to her bleached and bloodless knuckles.

Gripping the metal rod, she yanks at it, expression indifferent as her visage is splattered with scarlet. Cleaved flesh curiously oozes, free from the implanted weapon. She feels nothing in that arm. It simply hangs limply at her side, dangling by the lacerated junction of her shoulder.

The remaining slashes across her skin are livid and raw.

Forcing herself to her feet, her body screams in protest.

It's easier to succumb to her beating and die.

But Gwendolyn Tennyson will never do what is easy rather than what is right.


A/N: Just a short drabble. This is not based off of any specific battle scene.