But I don't care. Let them scream.
All I see is red; all I can taste is the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. I'm lost in the frenzy, the savage joy of the kill, and nothing else matters.
Dimly, I'm aware of Erik joining the fray, his sword glinting in the lantern lights. We move together like a well-oiled machine, a duo of death and destruction that leaves nothing but broken bodies and shattered bones in our wake.
Gideon and Izabelle are there, too, their swords flashing as they cut down any fucker stupid enough to get in their way. But they're just background noise, barely registering in my blood-soaked haze.
There's a feeling deep in my gut, something primal and urgent, like a siren's call. It's a sickening sensation, a twist of pain and dread that lashes at my insides like a whip.
But I ignore it, push it down, and lock it away. I can't afford to be distracted, not now, not when I'm lost in the throes of bloodlust and savage fury.
Danica
15
The door explodes inward,splinters flying like deadly confetti. I barely register the ugly mug barreling towards me before my hands reach for my daggers, muscle memory taking over as adrenaline surges through my veins.
"Yer comin' with me, wench," he snarls, his breath reeking of cheap ale and poor life choices.
Oh, hell no.
I see Nixie fleeing the room, her skirts billowing behind her. I don't blame her—this is about to get ugly.
I don't hesitate. I react. I use the table as a launchpad, propelling myself into a double kick that would make any action hero proud. My legs whirl around like lethal pinwheels, sending this jerk flying like a sack of potatoes.
He slams into the wall with a satisfying thud, his body crumpling. But I'm not finished. I grab the wooden chair and bring it down on his head with all my force, the wood shattering as he weakly tries to shield himself.
But this brute is resilient. He drags himself to his feet, his sword sliding out with a sinister rasp. I can see the fury smoldering in his eyes, the promise of retribution etched into every line of his ugly mug.
That's when I get a good look at his face, and holy shit, it's like something out of a horror movie. This dude is built like a brick, with a mane of red hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in years. But it's his eyes that catch my attention—they're red and swollen like someone used his face as a punching bag.
Come and get it, you overgrown oaf. I've got a blade in each hand and a point to prove, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let this numbskull take me down without a fight.
Let's dance, asshole.
The pirate's sword slices through the air with a deadly whistle. I bring my daggers up just in time. The sound of metal clashing against metal is like music to my ears, a sweet symphony of "fuck you, not today."
The force of the blow rattles my teeth and sends shockwaves up my arms, but I'm not about to flinch. I grit my teeth and shove him back with everything I've got. He goes flying like a rag doll, slamming into the wall with a satisfying thud for a second time.
I take a moment to catch my breath, but the stench of stale sweat and cheap booze rolling off this guy is enough to make me want to hurl. But I don't have time to dwell on his questionable hygiene because he's already back on his feet and coming at me again.
"Stop fightin', bitch," the pirate snarls, spittle flying from his lips. "Ye won't win with me."
I can't help but laugh, the sound harsh and mocking. "Oh, buddy," I drawl, twirling my daggers. "You have no idea who you're fucking with."
He lunges, his sword flashing in a deadly arc. I dodge to the side, feeling the rush of air as the blade misses me by inches. I lash out with my daggers, the razor-sharp edges slicing through his sleeve and drawing blood.
He roars in pain and anger, charging at me like a raging bull. I sidestep his clumsy attack, my foot lashing out to catch him behind the knee. He stumbles, his sword clattering to the ground as he falls.
But he's not done yet. He rolls to his feet with surprising agility, his fists clenched and ready. I barely have time to brace myself before he's on me, his meaty hands grabbing for my throat.
I ram my knee into his balls, a wicked grin spreading across my face as he crumples. His face turns a delightful shade of purple that clashes horribly with his ginger hair.
But this bastard is made of sterner stuff. He's back on his feet before I can catch my breath, his meaty paws knocking my daggers out of my hands. His fingers wrap around my throat like a vice, squeezing the life out of me with a sadistic gleam in his eye.
I can feel my lungs screaming for air and my vision blurs. My head feels like it's about to explode as this asshole cuts off my air supply. I gather every last shred of strength, channeling my inner warrior princess, and drive my knee into his nuts again.
But apparently, this guy's balls are made of steel. He grunts like a pig and squeezes even harder, his fingers digging into my flesh like hot pokers. I can feel my consciousness starting to slip away, my body going limp as my brain screams for oxygen.
