AN: This was originally posted on my ao3 (rapono). A reminder that this account is techically dead/inactive, so if you're intersted in my works, please check me out on archive of our own, as I only ever use this account to make the rare crosspost.
Leon wasn't doing so well. Everything ached, his body covered in countless cuts and bruises, and counting. A hand gripping his side, trying to keep the blood inside of him, the nasty gash still bleeding. He was in desperate need of a patch up.
Luckily, he'd found a green herb in one of the small rooms. So he took a break, since no zombies had wandered inside, slumping against the wall while he caught his breath.
Just as he was about to remove the plant from its pot, the door to the room was violently punched open. His breath caught in his throat, as the Tyrant ducked through the doorway, trapping him inside with it.
A choked laugh escaped his lips, as he resisted the urge to cry. He was dead. He was so dead.
The tyrant stomped over to the corner he was sitting in, towering over him, easily able to kick in his ribs if it desired. It crouched down and reached out to him, Leon bracing himself, clutching the herb to his chest.
But no death came. Instead, it simply yanked the potted plant from his grasp, and threw it against the wall.
Leon stared at the broken mess on the floor, confused, but still scared. He looked back up at its inhuman face, holding back tears as he gazed into its pale eyes. Was it going to do the same to him?
To his absolute bewilderment, it started to wag its finger in his face, a disapproving look on its wrinkly face.
"Stop eating grass."
Seemingly satisfied with what he could only describe as a scolding, the Tyrant got up, crushed the remains of the herb beneath its heel, and left. Leon stared at the door, still bleeding, and somehow, still alive.
"What the hell just happened?"