Warning: mention of death and wounds and blood.
Duck. Parry. Kill.
Run.
Duck.
Kill.
Kill.
Run.
Kill. Kill. KILL.
Everything was fast and confused—battle cries mixing with cries of desperation, the smoke hurting his eyes and throat—but even with the scenario constantly changing in front of his eyes, he kept moving to be less of a target while a jet of familiar and reassuring green light issued from his wand.
The smell of blood coming from his own wounds that he hadn't been able to heal only made Evan's nostrils flare and kept him going as the battle raged, his eyes narrowing to scan the darkness.
He was glad the Aurors had decided to invade the Death Eater's camp by night. He couldn't stand fighting in the daylight; for one, he hated the sun for shining on the Mudbloods despite his best efforts to convince it otherwise. Secondly, the darkness had always been his best ally: it didn't speak yet it let the screams come through, it was blind but hid him, it was odourless yet it brought out the smell of fear, it was black yet he could paint on it like on a canvas.
Duck.
Run.
Kill.
Bodies kept falling on the ground because of him.
Kill. Kill.
Even if he couldn't help the rush of pride in his veins everytime a lifeless body fell on the ground because of him, he couldn't help but think that the Aurors were a huge disappointment after all. They'd been fighting for hours and he had yet to find someone who was good enough for him.
Licking his own blood and letting the coppery taste reinvigorate him, he just kept killing, descending upon his enemies as silent, swift and unstoppable as Death itself, begging the darkness to face him with someone worth his time. He truly wanted to use other curses than the Killing one, and a duel sounded appealing.
