The End For Us [An Evil Sapphire Saga]
Oct 15, 2012 0:52:35 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Oct 15, 2012 0:52:35 GMT -6
Everything was cold. The world was a haze of red-rimmed images. There were fountains surrounding him. But it wasn't water coming out of these fountains, it was a sickly sweet scarlet liquid that oozed rather than flowed, thick and unpleasant.
But there was no fountain here. It was just him. He was the fountain, his water being tapped by several pieces of steel.
Beast Boy struggled to keep himself awake, afraid to lose consciousness. His eyelids trembled, the only sign that he was fighting for his life. The rest of him was disturbingly still; even his chest barely moved, the rising and falling motions hardly noticeable in the melee surrounding the green changeling. He couldn't fall asleep. To do so would be to accept the warm embrace of almost certain death. But he was so cold. And darkness looked ever the more comforting.
Someone was moving him. Steady hands were gripping his body, pressing down on the space between his shoulder blades. They were clogging the fountain, and the added pressure sent a fresh wave of pain that flowed like fire through his icy veins. A barely inaudible hiss escaped Beast Boy, his fingers twitching from the contact.
Then he felt softer, feminine hands replace the rough, steady ones. The fountain was unplugged, the liquid left free to spill out as the blade was removed from between his shoulder blades. Beast Boy's face stretched into a grimace that lasted for about a second before his body went slack again. Even pulling a face was so tiring.
Raven was healing his wound, closing the fountain. He wasn't sure about the daggers stuck in his arms and legs--if he was alive enough the changeling probably would've made a comment about how he had been turned into a living pincushion--but by this time he had lost a lot of blood. It almost felt like he didn't have limbs at all, that he had been reduced to just a body and a head.
He had to keep fighting. The darkness was not welcome, the darkness was repulsive. Sleep was an enemy. Unconsciousness meant death. Sleep...
Beast Boy's eyes fluttered open for a moment. A purple and green haze hovered over him, almost like they were inspecting him. It was difficult to see exact shapes, but there seemed to be a lot of orange flying around. He felt like he should be warm, but he was cold.
Everything was cold.
Raven... he tried to move his mouth, command his lips to form the words to speak to the Azarathian that was holding him. His vision had cleared just enough to recognize Raven and Reflecto as the fuzzy purple and green things, and that the orange stuff was actually fire. Fire. Why was he cold, then?
He tried to lift his head, twitch his arms, move a finger. However, the act of moving brought on an onslaught of dizziness along with the sensation that he was going to puke. His senses were erratic--things would be extremely loud one moment, making him press his ears flat against his skull, and then everything would sound as if he were wearing a pair of sound-resistant earmuffs. At one point he thought he could literally taste the scent of blood in the air. Or maybe he had accidentally bitten his tongue and was tasting real blood--it was hard to tell. The one thing that was constant was the cold creeping up to his torso from his extremities, creating goosebumps on the exposed green flesh.
He was cold. So cold.
But there was no fountain here. It was just him. He was the fountain, his water being tapped by several pieces of steel.
Beast Boy struggled to keep himself awake, afraid to lose consciousness. His eyelids trembled, the only sign that he was fighting for his life. The rest of him was disturbingly still; even his chest barely moved, the rising and falling motions hardly noticeable in the melee surrounding the green changeling. He couldn't fall asleep. To do so would be to accept the warm embrace of almost certain death. But he was so cold. And darkness looked ever the more comforting.
Someone was moving him. Steady hands were gripping his body, pressing down on the space between his shoulder blades. They were clogging the fountain, and the added pressure sent a fresh wave of pain that flowed like fire through his icy veins. A barely inaudible hiss escaped Beast Boy, his fingers twitching from the contact.
Then he felt softer, feminine hands replace the rough, steady ones. The fountain was unplugged, the liquid left free to spill out as the blade was removed from between his shoulder blades. Beast Boy's face stretched into a grimace that lasted for about a second before his body went slack again. Even pulling a face was so tiring.
Raven was healing his wound, closing the fountain. He wasn't sure about the daggers stuck in his arms and legs--if he was alive enough the changeling probably would've made a comment about how he had been turned into a living pincushion--but by this time he had lost a lot of blood. It almost felt like he didn't have limbs at all, that he had been reduced to just a body and a head.
He had to keep fighting. The darkness was not welcome, the darkness was repulsive. Sleep was an enemy. Unconsciousness meant death. Sleep...
Beast Boy's eyes fluttered open for a moment. A purple and green haze hovered over him, almost like they were inspecting him. It was difficult to see exact shapes, but there seemed to be a lot of orange flying around. He felt like he should be warm, but he was cold.
Everything was cold.
Raven... he tried to move his mouth, command his lips to form the words to speak to the Azarathian that was holding him. His vision had cleared just enough to recognize Raven and Reflecto as the fuzzy purple and green things, and that the orange stuff was actually fire. Fire. Why was he cold, then?
He tried to lift his head, twitch his arms, move a finger. However, the act of moving brought on an onslaught of dizziness along with the sensation that he was going to puke. His senses were erratic--things would be extremely loud one moment, making him press his ears flat against his skull, and then everything would sound as if he were wearing a pair of sound-resistant earmuffs. At one point he thought he could literally taste the scent of blood in the air. Or maybe he had accidentally bitten his tongue and was tasting real blood--it was hard to tell. The one thing that was constant was the cold creeping up to his torso from his extremities, creating goosebumps on the exposed green flesh.
He was cold. So cold.