The heat began to spread, completely engulfing the wooden edges of the painting and materialising into a blazing fire. The red flames cast a vivid hue on the otherwise dull, rocky walls, mixing with the golden relics in the room to create a beautiful sight. But there was no time to focus on that, for along with the rising temperature in the previously icy space, memories of war flooded back to Peteson.
There were gaps in his memory, completely blank, but the hunger to survive and the lifeless bodies of his comrades were not easily erased.
Peteson stood still, his breathing quickening, and the tension in his muscles did nothing to help. He still felt strange in his own body, but that didn't matter now.
The eyes of the woman—no, the enemy—were wide open, as if she herself was surprised by her own action.
"I—I think we started off on the wrong foot," she said, but she didn't lower her weapon, and Peteson didn't even bother standing up to listen. His eyes were everywhere, memorising his surroundings and searching for something useful.
And, for better or worse, almost everything there was sharp and solid, so grabbing a metal candelabra, Peteson hurled it toward where she stood, alternating between hiding behind piles of treasures and throwing objects at her, getting closer each time while trying to disarm her of the dangerous, unknown object in her hand, without getting incinerated in the process.
However, this time the Thretian woman seemed to expect the attack and fired again.
From the way she practically recoiled from the force of the shot each time she fired, Peteson could conclude that she had no experience using the weapon, but that didn't stop her from shooting constantly, without thinking, and being a threat.
Not because of her experience or skills, but because of the unknown nature of the weapon—what was its limit? How did it work? —and the unpredictability of her actions.
She was nervous, and panic made people dangerous.
Firing again, the heat from the weapon ripped through the air, burning directly toward Peteson with speed, nearly striking his left arm, but Peteson registered nothing. His focus was entirely on her.
Wasting no more time, Peteson opened a chest and tipped it over, emptying it while using his left foot to brace it, pulling it apart completely. That way, when the woman fired again, Peteson would have a makeshift shield.
Or so he thought, but like the painting, the object didn't last long, with even the gold parts being incinerated, turning to liquid in an instant.
"I think we're on the same page!" Peteson shouted, but received no response. Quickly retreating to one of the many columns, the air began to smell of smoke, and Peteson could now feel the heat, intense and deadly, building up in his body as thick sweat.
*Shrick—*
A screech sounded nearby, and Peteson barely had time to turn and see the woman, now no longer distant, and aiming directly at him. With a leap, Peteson tried to dodge, but was struck, the blast piercing his skin.
The pain was sharp and quick, hitting his left shoulder—his good hand! —and not stopping there, sinking into flesh and bone. Along with a choked scream, the smell of burning flesh reached him, and Peteson bit down so hard on the inside of his mouth that he drew blood.
The force of the impact made him fall to the side, his body tilting as his foot seemed stuck to the ground, unable to move. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, mixed with the smoke that now permeated the room, intensifying the feeling of suffocation. Peteson tried to get up, but the pain was paralysing, a searing fire coursing through his body from his shoulder down his spine.
Peteson gritted his teeth, trying to focus his mind beyond the suffering. His body burned, the skin seared and torn, revealing flesh and bone glowing red-hot. Blood began to pour from the fresh wound in steady streams.
The pain intensified with every heartbeat, causing his vision to blur and his ears to ring. He tried to steady himself against the nearby column, his hands trembling as sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes, mingling with the tears that now rolled slowly down his flushed face.
Shit, was all he could think. Shit, shit, and even more shit. Peteson isn't usually this careless, but it seemed as though he hadn't fought in years, his reflexes a bit rusty.
How long was I out?
A few hours?
A week?
But the sound of reloading brought him back, realising he was still in danger.
"I'm sorry!" The weapon clattered to the floor suddenly, and through his lashes, Peteson could see the woman now kneeling beside him, staring through the wound she had inflicted. "You attacked me, and I just wanted you to stop."
And, like an afterthought, she screamed at him, as if he were stupid, "You were supposed to dodge!"
Weakly, Peteson crawled, leaving a trail of blood behind, "Well, you shot me."
"If you hadn't attacked me first, none of this would've happened!" The woman seemed offended, which was stupid, considering Peteson was the one with a hole in his shoulder.
"I'm fucking bleeding!" Peteson couldn't help it, finding refuge in the pain, trying to keep the darkness from clouding his mind.
Not again.
"I'm sorry—"
"I'm fucking bleeding, and I'm gonna die!" Peteson shook his head,again and again, "I just woke up, and I'm already going to die. And all because of a Thretian! Of all people, someone from Threta!"
The woman hesitated, uncertainty filling her entire being, but she said nothing, letting him continue.
"Just do it and kill me!" Peteson closed his eyes, bracing himself to finally die. "Kill me with that strange weapon of yours already—"
"I didn't expect you to be like this…" the woman didn't elaborate, and threw a shirt over him instead, covering his nakedness, but Peteson didn't let his guard down, watching her every move. "And you're not going to die; it would be stupid if you died now."
Putting on the shirt, Peteson remained where he was, weakly touching his shoulder and wincing when his finger brushed over the hole.
The pain was ever-present, and it didn't seem to be stopping, wrapping him completely.
But there was something the Thretian didn't seem to know, and that was that Peteson would rather die of starvation than at the hands of someone from Threta, and if he was going to die, it would be with her.
As she turned her back, Peteson lunged at her, covering her completely with his weight and forcing them both to the rough ground.
"The fuck—?!" She let out a sharp scream, surprised by the ambush, and with the pieces of his shield, Peteson was about to pierce her neck and smash her skull against the ground, but just when his victory seemed certain, something around the woman's neck caught his eye.
A necklace.
Peteson staggered back, his eyes locked on the symbol hanging from the delicate chain around her neck. It was simple, almost bland—a small, circular pendant etched with a design he couldn't quite place, yet it was so familiar it sent a shiver down his spine. His mind raced, trying to grasp at the memories that were now swirling in the depths of his consciousness.
Why did that symbol feel like it was pulling him back to something he couldn't remember?
Something important.
Something lost.
He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to wrench herself free, but that didn't matter now.
"Where—why… you?" Peteson's voice came out rough, strained, as if speaking the words took more effort than any of the physical exertion he had just endured.
Peteson's vision began to blur, the edges of his sight darkening as the room seemed to spin around him. His legs, once so strong and sure, now felt weak, unsteady. He took a step back, then another, trying to stay upright, but it was no use. His strength was draining away, the adrenaline that had fueled him burning out, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
And though he tried to stay afloat, his mind failed. His body gave in. Peteson felt the ground rush up to meet him, the impact barely registering as the globe around him faded into nothingness.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So…did I screw it or managed to make it passable?
I think I focused too much into describing how Peteson felt, like the pain, instead of the actual fight, but things are already done.
This chapter is very short, or at least I feel like it is, so I'm gonna try to make up for it in the next chapter.
What do you think of the length?
Too short?
Good enough?