Vincent/Vaelthor~
Bang!
The sound from the stick ripped through my arm before I even understood what was happening. One second I was upright, the next my body buckled, slamming me against the filthy pavement. My knees hit hard, and the pain felt like the ground itself had turned on me.
Then the fire came. White-hot, brutal, not content to stay where the sound had landed. It roared through my whole body, every nerve screaming like it had been set on fire. A sound tore out of my throat—half growl, half broken cry—something I couldn't hold back even if I wanted to.
My sleeve was already soaked, blood spreading fast, warm and slick against my skin. It ran down my fingers in steady drops, splattering the cardboard we'd been calling a bed. The sight of it made the truth sink in deeper: survival wasn't some big, heroic thing. It was fragile, paper-thin—like this cardboard, already ruined beneath me.
