5. Title: Hemotoxin
Timeframe: One week after "Sucrose"
Rating: M (YAY BLOOD!)
Spoilers: Moderate DoC
Notes: Even after you save the world, there's no guarantee the
roads are going to be safe for walking! Plus, violence is cool. You
can thank my roommate for the inspiration for this chapter—her and
her collection of "Snakes On A Plane" music. On a sad note, this will be the last "quick update" for a while.
Classes are getting tougher… bear with me, this fic will continue!
"Hemotoxins are toxins that destroy red blood cells, disrupt blood clotting, and/or cause organ degeneration and generalized tissue damage... An injury due to a hemotoxic agent is often very painful, and permanent damage, such as loss of an affected limb, is possible even with prompt treatment."
The whirr of her weapon through the air is as comforting to him as the crack of his gun firing is to her. It means the other is still there, still in well-enough shape to be fighting. Those sounds soothe the soul, even as the heat of battle sends fire throughout the blood, keeping them on their feet, driving them on to success.
It was supposed to be a routine surveillance mission. They were only supposed to be checking for the legendary, monstrous snakes in that part of the world, not doing battle with them. Rumor had it a few had returned, making the paths through the swamps southeast of Midgar all the more treacherous.
It was supposed to be easy.
Yet now, without warning, they are under attack, a swarm appearing from nowhere, all glistening fangs and scales, oozing venom and saliva. The creatures are met with a hail of gunfire, driven backwards by a rain of materia-conjured thunderbolts. Shuriken, alongside clawed fist, hammer them. The two warriors are standing back to back, then, suddenly, leap apart, battling from the air as well. All seems to be going well, the tide is turning in their favor. No shot goes wide, the shuriken does not bury itself inconveniently in a tree trunk—they are doing exceedingly well.
Until the sound of her shuriken ceases, followed closely by the absence of gunfire.
He is too distracted by the silence to notice what is behind him. He has paused too long, searching for a sign of her. When it strikes, he can barely bring an arm in protection—its fangs scrabble across gilded metal, then crunch down. He shakes it off, already feeling the sting of its bite, right down to the scant flesh remaining in his left hand. Small holes are punched straight through the metal. Before it hits the ground, he puts a bullet through its skull.
Her cries reach him. She sounds angry, not in pain. For that, he is oddly thankful. Trees obscure his vision, each one twisting with more than one serpentine foe. How could she have gotten so far away so quickly? Gunfire rings out again as, ignoring the throbbing pain coursing throughout his arm, he runs for her voice.
She is holding her own, though barely. As the shuriken flies, she fires through her stores of materia, everything from lightning to ice blazing through the mounting foes. When this fails, she resorts to fighting them head on, going so far as to kick a few in their arrow-shaped heads. Scratches mar her bare skin, lying beside more troubling bite marks, all dripping blood. The flesh around the bites is swollen.
"Could use a little help here!"
There is no satisfactory answer he can give. Instead, he merely fires into the pack surrounding her, trying not to feel the convulsions of his injured, metal-clad arm. He does not realize how the injury has dulled his senses, nor does she. Almost simultaneously, they are thrown to the ground, adversaries tearing into any exposed flesh.
Blood fills the air with its hot, copper and salt tang. It is impossible to tell just whose blood it is—his, hers, the snakes? She is trying not to scream, voicing the pain through whimpers instead. Materia crackles feebly, barely enough to toss a few aside, thanks to the venom in her system. He is in no better shape, though he is fighting to get to her. Each crawling step sends agony shooting through his limbs. He makes no sound, regardless.
It is hopeless. So afflicted, they can do little to protect themselves. It is all he can do to bring himself nearer to her, in hopes of shielding the smaller body. She is still struggling, albeit barely. The strategy seems to work, as the creatures become intent on tearing him apart, rather than the one he protects.
Something inside clicks, snapping free. In that instant, he remembers.
Not everything within him has followed Chaos back to the planet…
A howl, tearing from a suddenly inhuman throat, splits across the twilight. Claws, now gracing both hands, rip into scaled flesh. New strength floods through him, washing away the poison, washing away the streaks and smears of blood. The bare hints of steely sunset illuminate the Beast. It stands in the center of the carnage, towering over her crumpled form, lips curled back from gaping fangs.
She gives no indication, save the soft hitch of breath, that she has noticed. The monster is watching over her, and that is all that matters.
Their enemies coil about in confusion, then, with renewed vigor, launch themselves at the beast. It catches the first, crushing the serpentine skull with a twitch of its fist. The resulting explosion showers him, the Beast, in gore, but he has no time to worry about such things. Others are upon him.
A particularly large serpent springs, mouth wide. Effortlessly, he grabs the jaws in hand. New, sleek muscles tense, then wrench back, pulling the jaws along. The snake's entire head splits, as if the Beast has opened a seam, spilling blood, bile and venom all across the ground. He continues to pull, until the entire creature lies in two pieces at his feet.
Those remaining are soon ripped to shreds, torn asunder by tooth and claw. He waits for them to come to him, and as they spring, he destroys them. The whole while, he stands above her fallen body, letting none come within range of her. All around is littered the writhing, bleeding corpses of dismembered snakes. Venom pools beside the blood, lending its stink to the air already fetid with decay.
Gradually, the tide turns, the creatures slither back into the trees, not one leaving unscathed. His form is flickering now, sliding back from monster to man. He sinks to the ground beside her, breathing heavily. He looks ragged.
She looks worse. Bites are standing out, bruised, swollen angry red on warm skin. The flesh is puckered, raw. Her breath comes short, gasping in her throat. She will not last.
Despite his mounting fatigue, he pulls her into his arms, feeling each breath she is struggling to take. His heart skips every time. He does not quite know why. Each step drags as he locates their packs, feeling his movements blur from the fatigue of his change. They stopped before coming here, they stocked up before they left… there has to be an Antidote. By the time he finds it, she has almost stopped breathing.
Strange fear takes him over. It is adding speed, strength to his movements. The green bottle is uncorked, her head gently tilted back, his body supporting hers. Her wounds still bleed freely, but now the healing, saving, potion is draining down her throat. He has to sit, his legs are trembling. Even so, he does not set her down, does not let her body lie on the ground. She lies prone in his arms, steadied breaths matching the slow, albeit unsteady rhythm of his heart.
They remain still until the sun truly sets.
Only then does she rouse, drawing in great lungfulls of air, smaller form shuddering against his. Out of relief, out of reflex, he pulls her closer. She reacts with a curious, tried sound and he loosens his grip.
"Did we… lose?" she whispers. A small, sardonic smile is playing across her face.
He heaves a sigh. Her arms twine around him in return. As night falls, they remain in the same position, supporting one another, reassuring the other. For once, touch is surer than the sound of their weapons.
As long as they can hear each other, feel each other breathe, then they are both still alive.