damned_institute | Nightshift 42: The Bookworm

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Nightshift 42: The Bookworm

Worst Case Scenario: they got stuck in town when night came.

He hated being right.

It started out subtle. Hinamori had barely finished her sentence before he realized that the sunlight had all but died. Things got a little cooler, wisps of grey marking their every breath. Peter turned to the window in horror. A splatter of blood blossomed before his eyes on the glass, welling up from the centre and drying as soon as it was born. Beyond it, the paved street cracked. Half-fleshed hands sprouted from the divide, pulling up even more gruesome bodies behind them.

"GAAAH!!" he shrieked, clutching at his throbbing head. His spider sense was going psycho, harder than it ever had. He tasted blood, leaking in a thin trail from his nose to his lips.

Get up get up get up

He pushed past the sensation, shooting a look up to Hinamori, then to the rest of the store when the floorboards started to creak. The clerks behind the counter didn't look so friendly now.

"Zombies," Peter whispered in disbelief, rising from his chair. "Oh my god, they're all zombies..."

The pain in his head began to fade. He took no solace in that.

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A faint sweat was breaking out over the monk's skin, even as Takasugi smashed against the wall.

Takasugi'd been hit, and in the process, disarmed. He couldn't tell if only one round had hit or if the others had, but he'd put space between them. Breathing hard, Sanzo looked down. The knife was embedded right to the hilt. The wound was ragged, twisted because of Takasugi; the blood wasn't even being stoppered by the weapon.

Sanzo's legs buckled, but he pulled himself up, and leaned heavily on the desk. With an unsteady hand, he drew the knife out. The pain shot through his body, right up to his skull. The monk's jaw clenched. For a moment, he thought he'd just pass out right then and there.

The blade was covered in blood. Not just his blood, but blood and tissue from the undead outside.

Sanzo pressed the hand holding the empty gun to it, in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. Each move made him want to gag, but he stood anyway. Knife clenched tightly in hand, he took a step, then another towards Takasugi.

Even if he wanted to run at the moment, it would be impossible. Takasugi had taken too much damage for his body to be of much use at the moment. He could do little more than watch as the monk approached him with each step. He had the advantage in strength and would fight if it came down to that, but whether or not he'd live through another attack... he wasn't even certain any more.

Nevertheless, his eyes showed neither fear nor anxiety. What was done was done, and he would live with whatever consequences came about as a result.

His hand moved to his own wound, pressing against it and feeling the blood leak out too quickly, making his fingers sticky. It was still warm and pouring out incessantly, but the bullet had luckily grazed him and tore a lot of skin with it rather than lodging itself inside. The latter would have been a severe problem since he currently lacked the tools to extract the bullet.

"Are you angry? You shouldn't be. You will die for a worthy cause."

Takasugi hadn't moved, even as the monk drew closer and closer. He finally entered striking rage. Sanzo could feel the blood pooling up against the Smith & Wesson, staining his hand. He was losing blood at an alarming rate. He couldn't keep moving like this for long. Each step was jarring, sending more pain throughout his body, even while at the edge of his senses, he could feel a a hint of numbness starting at his limbs,

Which meant he'd have to try and end it, quickly. And yet, Takasugi was looking at him like that. The fucker actually suggested that this would all fit into his grand plan. Sanzo's eyes flashed angrily at that.

Sanzo lunged, the move driven by sheer adrenaline. He struck out with the knife.

Takasugi's arms went up on their own accord. Years of battle-honed reflexes were the only things that kept him from being stabbed through, but he manages to get a hold of Sanzo's thin wrists and hold them, pushing away with whatever strength he had left.

He had to throw the weight of his own body, knocking Sanzo back and trying to wrestle the knife away. He could feel more blood pouring out of him angrily and incessantly, covering the floor between them and enticing the zombies outside. He couldn't stop here. His will to live was still stronger than what he had suggested.

The bullet wounds were bleeding out but it hadn't been enough to distract him, much less dull his reaction time. Takasugi suddenly lurched forward. There wasn't any time to react: he was suddenly hit with the full brunt of the patient's weight.

Sanzo hit the ground with Takasugi on top of him. The fall'd jostled the knife wound, knocked the breath out of him. It was only instinct that kept his hands right around the knife. Takasugi's hands were straining, fingers digging deep into his wrists to keep them at a distance.

He tried to ignore the sparks swimming across his vision, or how leaden his limbs felt, how much everything fucking hurt. He needed to focus on finishing this off, now. Sanzo's wrists shook, as he tried to break the grip.

There wasn't anyway he was going to pull a throw off. The monk went the other route. He tried driving a knee up into the bullet wound.

The knee connected, sending sparks of pain through his side and making Takasugi's vision blur slightly. It was intense enough to make bile tickle the back of his throat again, and he knew he was going to lose consciousness soon if he didn't take care of his wounds.

Gritting his teeth and trying to breathe through the pain, he kept Sanzo pinned to the ground, increasing the amount of force used to hold down his limbs. His eye went towards the knife, knowing he had to dislodge it from his hand quickly if he planned on keeping himself from being stabbed. He increased the pressure on Sanzo's wrists, attempting to force him to drop it, but there wasn't much strength left in his arms, either. The only thing animating him now was sheer strength of will. He just knew he had to live -live and return to Edo to complete his goals.

He couldn't die here and now. His death wouldn't be wasted on something so meaningless to him.

Edited 2009-07-27 20:42 (UTC)

Sanzo's arms were shaking with the effort to jerk the knife up into him. Even so, he could feel his grip on the Smith & Wesson and knife weakening. Takasugi's fingers were digging into his wrists, drawing blood and putting pressure on the nerves and muscles there.

His fingers jerked. With a thunk the weapons fell, hitting the floor with a solid thunk. Sanzo surged again, aiming his knee at the same spot, even as he tried to roll out from under him.

Pain exploded again, nearly blanching his vision completely white, and Takasugi did throw up this time, coughing up whatever was in his stomach on the floor. His fingers dug into the ground below him, and he narrowed his eye, now just angry that Sanzo was still trying to drag him along to hell. His mind kept repeating that it wasn't his time to die, that things wouldn't end for him here. He'd lived through the end of the war before he was even in his twenties. He wasn't someone easily subdued by anyone -not this institution, not this man before him, and certainly not the Amanto.

He couldn't die knowing that the men who had killed his teacher still lived.

Pushing himself from the ground, he grabbed the discarded the knife and hobbled over to Sanzo. His entire body was dripping with blood, both his own and Sanzo's. Some of it also belong to the zombies. The scent of it was overwhelming and even invigorating, driving him those last few steps towards the monk.

Then he grinned maniacally and absent of any pity or mercy as his head cocked to the side and more blood sluiced down the side of his face.

"You remind me of him, you know... the Shiroyasha. He wouldn't have died so easily, either. And just like him, you'll die by my hand."

He moved with all the strength left in his body, pushing his legs and throwing his entire weight into plunging the knife in Sanzo's chest. There was nothing left to do. It was either all or nothing, and Takasugi wouldn't go down without a fight.

Holding his stomach, Sanzo scrambled out from under him, pressing himself against the wall. The distance between them wasn't much. It was better than being pinned.

The monk considered his options. It wasn't easy. Between the wounds and the contaminated blade, he could barely concentrate.

The world was swimming, in a way that Sanzo was pretty damn sure wasn't just due to blood loss. Takasugi's face was shifting, transforming before his eyes. Human one moment, then rippling features of youkai the next. The only thing that didn't change was that twisted smile. He'd seen the look on some of the more feral youkai before, the ones that wanted to eat his flesh to gain immortality. Whether he was alive or not when they started was a moot point.

Takasugi struck. The blade was aimed right for his chest. Sanzo didn't have the strength in him to get out of the way in time, but he tried anyway. Sanzo tried to duck to the side, and at the same time, bring his arm up to knock the blade away. It only partially worked. The blade didn't hit his chest.

Instead, it struck his shoulder. The knife sunk in, grated past bone, ripped through muscle and veins. The blade entered out the other side, and struck the wall, embedding itself there.

Sanzo couldn't speak. For a moment, he forgot how to breath.

More blood leaked onto the floor and pooled beneath his feat, staining the shoes the institute had given him. Takasugi watched as the main twitched and fought for life while it rapidly slipped form his fingers, but he couldn't bring himself to feel elated. This death was as meaningless to him as the next.

The pain continued to lance up his side, and his fingers pressed back to the wound, hunching over slightly as he panted outwards. He knew he was at the end of his tether and at a blatant disadvantage, especially against the creatures that were clawing their way inside. If he hoped to live till morning, he would have to find somewhere to hide and remain there, but there were few options available with them currently surrounded.

His gaze flickered around before landing back on Sanzo, prodding him with the edge of his foot to see if he had any more fight left in him after the dual stab wounds.

The monk was breathing hard. The only thing keeping him half-standing was the knife through his shoulder. Each little move and breath shifted his body around the knife, sending new jagged edges of agony right through him. He couldn't even hear the moaning right now. All he could hear was the the thundering in his head.

Takasugi prodded him with a taloned foot. Sanzo barely even noticed the touch. The limb changed, becoming insect-like before withdrawing.

Sanzo reached up with the other hand. Weakly, the monk tried to pull the knife out. It felt like he was trying to pull a tree from the ground. The blade didn't budge. His limbs felt heavy, even as he tried again. The result wasn't any different.

It was too pathetic of a display to watch. Takasugi didn't want to stand there and be bothered with overseeing his death. He was already losing to much blood as it was, and he could barely focus on anything, but the way his wounds continued sting as the cold air hit it.

Reaching out, he wrapped both hands around the blade and plucked it from Sanzo's prone body, deciding to take it along in case he did have to fight the undead creatures. He'd rather be wandering around armed than without it, and it was the closest thing he'd get to a sword in a while.

Sliding it in between his belt and his pants, he threw the monk one more parting glance. He absently wondered if he would find Sanzo again tomorrow morning, in one piece and completely healed, greeting him with a gun to the face. Considering the other feats this institution had pulled off thus far, he wouldn't be surprised.

And if this was the end... then someone somewhere else could mourn for this man.

"For what it was worth," he murmured as he started to step over the rubble around them, "you were an interesting roommate while it lasted."

Takasugi drew close, and with one motion, drew out the knife. An new flood of fire and blood was ripped from him. Sanzo spasmed. His legs gave out, and he dropped to the ground in heap.

The monk barely heard what Takasugi was saying. He was out cold within seconds of hitting the ground.

[After awhile, coming to down here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/675435.html?thread=55907179#t55907179)]

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Nightshift 42: The Bookworm

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