[FIC] AU: One Hour
Jan. 3rd, 2006 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mdseiranTitle: One Hour
Warnings: Deathfic, dark.
Almost a companion fic to the other deathfic thingyb/c apparently I can't kill one of and then leave the other untouched. :X;;
One hour.
Tanned hands moved deftly, expertly, sharpening the two identical daggers and placing them carefully side by side on the wooden table. One of his thumbs slide carefully along each blade, and he nods, satisfied when a drop of blood stains the wood. These would do.
Fifty minutes.
Gloves are quickly deposed of, as are the several pieces of armor. Hands, feet, arms, legs and torso, unguarded, covered only in a single layer of the simplest cotton. Black, of course. The day certainly called for that.
Fourty-three minutes.
He walked all over the spacious room, clearing the debris left behind by the homeless, leaving the floor as clear as it would get. The trash was tossed outside, the human uncaring where it landed. His personal belongings were piled carefully in a corner, taking up as little space as possible. The table was placed against the farthest wall, the daggers still proudly displayed. Blue eyes strayed towards them, eager, anticipating. But it wasn't time yet.
Twenty-seven minutes.
There was nothing to do but to wait now. Wait, and remember, for that was also part of this day. He would not forget, could not forget. He would never allow himself to forget. In less than an hour, it would be four years. Four years since he'd been in this city and the first time he'd returned after that day. That day when that one person he needed had disappeared. No, not disappeared; that was hiding from the truth. The day he'd died.
Twenty-two minutes.
All that silvery hair, stained with crimson. White robes turned pink, soaked in water and blood. The shard, that had been glowing faintly and then, suddenly, had gone dead. That's when he'd known it was all over. He'd rushed over, but there was no pulse...nothing to save or rescue. It had hit him then, and for several minutes he remembered nothing but the rage, the blood-lust. The remaining three thugs had been dead within minutes, and he'd stood around, waiting for more to come, begging for it. But none did, and there was no escaping from reality any longer.
Seventeen minutes.
Footsteps echoed outside the entrance, and Loki moved to the middle of the room, arms hanging limply by his sides, waiting. His opponent was on time, as he'd known he would be. The man slipped inside the room, stopping momentarily as he spied the figure of the human. He didn't seem to know what to make of it, and he was not the first.
"I'm challenging you to a duel. Pick one of the daggers and remove all other weapons and armor."
He could almost see the man evaluating. On the one hand, it seemed a fair fight and he was confident of his abilities. And his master would be thrilled if he learned of the rogue's death. On the other, there would be no protection...but he was the better fighter, right?
Loki could sense the moment his enemy gave in, as the three before him had done. He watched as the man discarded his armor and weapons, walked over to the table for the two knives and tossed one over to the other. Then he headed back to the center of the room and simply stood there, waiting.
Eight minutes.
The man didn't wait, seeing an opportunity and lurching for it. Loki dodged blow after blow, only letting his dagger slide superficially over the man's skin, making paper-thin cuts. A small nuisance to trained fighters, he knew. The man would go on until he died, as they all did.
Three minutes.
He dodged another blow, delivering a swift kick to the man's abdomen. Disappointing.
Two minutes.
He had hoped against hope that this one would be the one to defeat him, to kill him and give him that release he longed for. But alas, he was not strong enough. And he was running out of time.
One minute.
The end was near. Loki turned his body sideways to avoid the kick that had been aimed for his head and, silently as ever, he swooped his arm down in a sideways motion until his dagger struck deep inside the man's thigh. His opponent let out a scream and struggled to keep himself upright. Loki moved in for the kill, firmly planting the dagger through the middle of his chest. Where the lungs were.
Time.
The other man stopped moving and crumbled to the floor, his breathing ragged and barely audible. Then came the gurgling, blood slipping past his lips as he asked, "why?" like all those others before him.
Loki stood back, watching the man impassively. "You killed my family. For that, all of you will die."
And then he walked away, picking up his belongings on the way out, slipping silently past the door.
On this day four years ago, Nyssius Alvarre had been stabbed through the chest by his father's assassins. And one of them would die for it every single year that he was gone.
Warnings: Deathfic, dark.
Almost a companion fic to the other deathfic thingy
One hour.
Tanned hands moved deftly, expertly, sharpening the two identical daggers and placing them carefully side by side on the wooden table. One of his thumbs slide carefully along each blade, and he nods, satisfied when a drop of blood stains the wood. These would do.
Fifty minutes.
Gloves are quickly deposed of, as are the several pieces of armor. Hands, feet, arms, legs and torso, unguarded, covered only in a single layer of the simplest cotton. Black, of course. The day certainly called for that.
Fourty-three minutes.
He walked all over the spacious room, clearing the debris left behind by the homeless, leaving the floor as clear as it would get. The trash was tossed outside, the human uncaring where it landed. His personal belongings were piled carefully in a corner, taking up as little space as possible. The table was placed against the farthest wall, the daggers still proudly displayed. Blue eyes strayed towards them, eager, anticipating. But it wasn't time yet.
Twenty-seven minutes.
There was nothing to do but to wait now. Wait, and remember, for that was also part of this day. He would not forget, could not forget. He would never allow himself to forget. In less than an hour, it would be four years. Four years since he'd been in this city and the first time he'd returned after that day. That day when that one person he needed had disappeared. No, not disappeared; that was hiding from the truth. The day he'd died.
Twenty-two minutes.
All that silvery hair, stained with crimson. White robes turned pink, soaked in water and blood. The shard, that had been glowing faintly and then, suddenly, had gone dead. That's when he'd known it was all over. He'd rushed over, but there was no pulse...nothing to save or rescue. It had hit him then, and for several minutes he remembered nothing but the rage, the blood-lust. The remaining three thugs had been dead within minutes, and he'd stood around, waiting for more to come, begging for it. But none did, and there was no escaping from reality any longer.
Seventeen minutes.
Footsteps echoed outside the entrance, and Loki moved to the middle of the room, arms hanging limply by his sides, waiting. His opponent was on time, as he'd known he would be. The man slipped inside the room, stopping momentarily as he spied the figure of the human. He didn't seem to know what to make of it, and he was not the first.
"I'm challenging you to a duel. Pick one of the daggers and remove all other weapons and armor."
He could almost see the man evaluating. On the one hand, it seemed a fair fight and he was confident of his abilities. And his master would be thrilled if he learned of the rogue's death. On the other, there would be no protection...but he was the better fighter, right?
Loki could sense the moment his enemy gave in, as the three before him had done. He watched as the man discarded his armor and weapons, walked over to the table for the two knives and tossed one over to the other. Then he headed back to the center of the room and simply stood there, waiting.
Eight minutes.
The man didn't wait, seeing an opportunity and lurching for it. Loki dodged blow after blow, only letting his dagger slide superficially over the man's skin, making paper-thin cuts. A small nuisance to trained fighters, he knew. The man would go on until he died, as they all did.
Three minutes.
He dodged another blow, delivering a swift kick to the man's abdomen. Disappointing.
Two minutes.
He had hoped against hope that this one would be the one to defeat him, to kill him and give him that release he longed for. But alas, he was not strong enough. And he was running out of time.
One minute.
The end was near. Loki turned his body sideways to avoid the kick that had been aimed for his head and, silently as ever, he swooped his arm down in a sideways motion until his dagger struck deep inside the man's thigh. His opponent let out a scream and struggled to keep himself upright. Loki moved in for the kill, firmly planting the dagger through the middle of his chest. Where the lungs were.
Time.
The other man stopped moving and crumbled to the floor, his breathing ragged and barely audible. Then came the gurgling, blood slipping past his lips as he asked, "why?" like all those others before him.
Loki stood back, watching the man impassively. "You killed my family. For that, all of you will die."
And then he walked away, picking up his belongings on the way out, slipping silently past the door.
On this day four years ago, Nyssius Alvarre had been stabbed through the chest by his father's assassins. And one of them would die for it every single year that he was gone.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-03 09:28 pm (UTC)(pretends not to like it but inwardly squees :XXX;;; )
So nice the fic ;O; Makes me wish Nyss actually DID die xDDDD
(cradles fic close and bounces!)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-03 09:32 pm (UTC)*incoherent sputtering*
LOKI WOULD PROBABLY KILL HIMSELF YOU KNOW, OR GET KILLED SOME DAY.
*DIES AT THOUGHT* T______T