The bustling city streets were alive with a mesmerizing blend of scents, colors and sounds, creating a kaleidoscope of sensory stimulation. Caravans and elegant carriages added to the vibrant atmosphere, weaving their way through the bustling crowds. Towering landmarks cast long dramatic shadows over the labyrinthine alleyways and bustling thoroughfares, enhancing the city's dynamic energy. John could tell this was a place where every corner held the promise of adventure and where the air itself crackled with the excitement of countless possibilities.
He was in a world where anything could happen. ‘This place is amazing’ he thought to himself as he wandered slowly, taking in everything he could. ‘I’ll bet I’m the first human to be on a different planet. Just imagine the stories I’ll be able to tell everyone back home!’
Above, the sun bathed the city in a warm glow, illuminating the architectural marvels. Zephyr’s Reach was a place where the ancient and the modern coexisted, creating a captivating and dynamic urban landscape that pulsed with life. Vendors offered their wares to people, and several even called John over. ‘It’s like the world is completely different here’ he thought to himself. Outside, he was shunned; but here? He was a potential source of profit.
"I guess capitalism will make anyone willing to put up with you for a price," he mumbled to himself as dozens of different people vied for his attention.
The bazaar seemed like a place that a person could get just about anything, and scratch whatever itch you might have. Vendors offered him gems to beautify his hands, alongside silks to entice young men. Others offered incense and perfumes to make him irresistible to the special man in his life. And yet a few others offered rare relics, masks, costumes, exotic fruits.
One of the vendors even pointed out that with a small change in clothes, he could accentuate his curves instead of hiding them and of course only this vendor had the solution to fix this apparently grave problem.
But the only thing that ran through his mind when he heard that was "Wait, curves? Man, I really need a mirror." Stopping and taking a quick look around, he saw stall with one. He snapped his fingers and pointed at it. "Bingo!"
It was a small mirror guarded by a saleswoman, but it was something at least. The woman who ran the stall, offering a cream that promised to make John look younger, happier, and more attractive for their special someone.
He approached, and the saleswoman instantly started her spiel. "Oh my, miss. I see that you are in desperate need of my services." She raised an eyebrow and urgently waved him to sit down. "I must say I don’t believe I’ve seen anyone quite as…exotic as you before." Her accent was odd, almost as if she were Central European mixed with a Southern cadence.
John raised an eyebrow as the woman continued. “Oh miss, don’t you worry. I have plenty of creams for unconventional skin types. It’s actually quite popular among yourselves from our southern border. The cream works wonders on all sorts of skin conditions. Even the most vibrant complexions can benefit.” John started to feel like he maybe bit off more than he could chew.
The woman continued. “And it’s excellent for smoothing out those wrinkles or any unusual textures,” she said as she pointed to his forehead. “And it has quite a lovely cooling effect, perfect for those who run a bit…hot. If you catch my meaning.” The vendor gave a small, nervous laugh.
“Between you and me,” the vendor leaned in and lowered her voice. “With a few applications, you might even blend in a bit more with the crowd. If that’s something you’d be interested in, of course. If a bold woman such as yourself prefers to stand out, I’m certain more than a few would find your…unique sex appeal ravishing.”
John felt his cheeks flush. “Look, miss. I hate to be-”
The vendor applied a dab of cream to his blue cheek and rubbed it in, her eyes widening in feigned amazement. “Oh my! Look at that beautiful transformation!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm.
John raised an eyebrow again, skeptical.
“Your skin, darling. It almost looks normal now! And those horns—they seem less...threatening. I’d be willing to bet you’d pass for an unusually tall elf in dim light! Just one shard.”
John looked at the woman and attempted to steer the direction towards his goal of seeing himself. “Miss, I don’t think I need any creams. Besides, I’m not really the kind of ma-” he stopped himself, catching his soon-to-be mistake. “- Person who is looking to do a bunch of skincare every day.”
He went to wipe a bit of the cream off his cheek with the back of his hand, and the vendor’s smile faltered slightly. “Oh well. I suppose the look you have suits you too.” Her voice was tinged with pity. “But you know, dear. A little enhancement goes a long way, especially for someone with your…unique attributes.”
The vendor leaned in conspiratorially. “Between us girls, this cream might be your best chance at catching a man’s eye. In a good way, that is. I have to assume that not many fellows are lining up to court a lady who looks like she sold her soul if you know what I mean.” She leaned back and patted his arm. “Just think about it, sweetie. With this cream, you might even find a nice open-minded chap who can see past your colorful exterior. It might be your only shot at a happily ever after, all things considered.”
“Miss,” John sighed defeatedly. “May I just please use your mirror?”
The woman looked at the mirror and took out another cream, assuming this was her chance to come back in. She snapped her fingers as if remembering something important. “I think I know the problem. You’ve got a certain look. It’s not conventionally attractive, mind you, but it is striking. Like a cataclysm. Beautiful but a disaster. I’d be willing to bet you turn a few heads back where you’re from—maybe even send them running too. But that’s still an impact. You want something more bold. More…striking.”
She reached into the bag, and John steeled himself for the next sales pitch. The woman pulled cream off the top shelf. “This, my dear, is the créme de la créme of beauty products. Now I understand that at two shards, this might be out of some people’s price range, but don’t think of it as a cost. Think of it as an investment. An investment in yourself. If you're looking to enhance your perceived natural beauty and achieve that radiant glowing look, you need this cream.” She took out a tab and applied it to spots on his forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, and neck. “This is our all-new radiance-enhancing cream, designed with a unique blend of natural ingredients and just a touch of essence from the healers of the order. It's perfect for all skin types. Even yours. It's especially formulated to reduce the appearance of those fine wrinkle lines you have and give your skin a firm, youthful look."
She looked over at John and waved her hand down as if she were spilling some great secret. Her head cocked to the side, and she smiled slightly as she said in a 'just us girls' tone, "It's so good; people will assume that you're an initiate, dear." She waited a few seconds and then, with her hand and a soft cloth, began rubbing the cream off.
Even though John hadn’t seen his own face yet, he felt a little peeved that this woman basically insulted him when she pointed out his wrinkles. ‘Who cares if I have wrinkles?’ he thought to himself. But deep down, he knew the woman was just trying to make a buck, and he could see himself doing the same thing if it meant getting food on the table.
Once the saleswoman was done rubbing, she finally turned the mirror to John. And for the first time, he got to see what he actually looked like in the mirror. But when he finally saw his face, he was taken aback. ‘Wait. I’m…cute?’ he thought, perplexed. He looked at his own face a bit more and really studied it.
The woman pointed to the spots she rubbed the cream on and then pointed out the differences immediately next to it. She moved the mirror to look into John’s eyes. “Quite the transformation, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong. You’re still unmistakably you, of course, but with this, you’d have a touch more refinement. Like a…polished gemstone instead of an uncut and rather rough diamond.”
John just looked at her and remained silent. He touched his face, and when the mirror was pointed back at him, he saw his delicate hands gently touch the woman in the mirror. ‘Holy crap’ he thought. ‘Folks would kill to look like this back home. Well, aside from the blue skin and the horns.’ Visions of cosplayers standing still for hours came to mind. ‘Actually, some folks might even prefer it.”
His cerulean-hued blue skin shimmered with vibrancy. Large, intricately curved horns adorned his head, rising with an elegant curve up and away from his head. But far from being off-putting, it seemed to accentuate his unique allure. His eyes sparkled with an enchanting warmth, casting a soft azure radiance that mirrored the sky at dawn. He blinked for a moment and realized it wasn’t just a soft radiance; they actually glowed blue.
The saleswoman smiled as she continued, unaware of the gift she had just given John. "All you have to do is apply a small amount every morning and night after cleansing, and you'll see noticeable results within just a few weeks. Not only..."
Her words became lost as part of the background noise of the bazaar.
John’s hands instinctively touched his face gently as if to verify what he saw was real. It didn’t seem quite real to him though. He smiled to look at his teeth. His endearing smile revealed a hint of mischief, adding to his good looks. Wisps of white wavy hair cascaded around his face, framing his features in a soft and almost beguiling halo. His hair seemed to dance in the breeze, imbued with a sense of whimsy. And yet it still felt wrong. He saw himself looking back from the mirror, but in his head, he couldn’t help but feel like this wasn’t a mirror. To him it was a screen looking at some other person who was in perfect sync with himself. The image sat unfortunately close to the edge of the uncanny valley.
John thanked the sales-lady and got up, offering to come back after he thought about it for a bit. Truthfully, he had no intention of coming back, but figured it couldn't hurt to be friendly. The woman offered a slightly better deal for the same product, promising it was worth every penny. John still left and headed out of the bazaar.
The smell of food was making him hungry. All he had eaten for the past few days was some berries, a piece of bread, and that grain bar. With the smell of food everywhere, his stomach might mutiny if he ate more berries. The air carried the smell of roasted corn from one building, and the smell of meat was almost intoxicating. John saw a stall selling skewers of meat for only eight tally. But if he was hungrier, he could get three for twenty.
‘Oh yeah. Money.’ John thought. “It’d be helpful to know how much a tally was worth. Or how much that compares to the two shards for that ointment.’
Leaving the bazaar, John couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur and diversity of this thriving metropolis. Even a few blocks over, he could still smell the heady aromas of exotic spices and freshly baked goods. People stood and spoke with friends or colleagues. He saw at least ten different colored flags, each with different pictures on them, most in a multitude of colors. The buildings varied in style, some gothic, some nonsensical and dangerous to stand near. ‘There’s no way that’s structurally sound’ he thought as he looked up at a building two stories off the ground. It was as wide as a city block but supported by eight beams of wood.
As he kept walking, John eventually crossed a few invisible barriers that seemed to have a noticeable effect on the buildings. On one side of the street, buildings were brightly colored, on the other side, they were slightly more worn down. The streets narrowed, and the opulent buildings gave way to more modest structures. The once pristine cobblestones grew uneven and cracked, and the clean avenues became cluttered with street vendors and garbage. The crowd became more diverse, a mix of working-class citizens and beautiful travelers bustling through the busy market squares. The vibrant colors of the bazaar faded into more muted tones, with buildings showing signs of wear and neglect.
John continued his journey, and the transformation of the city-scape became even more pronounced. The buildings grew smaller and more dilapidated, their facades marred by peeling paint and crumbling masonry. Narrow alleyways twisted and turned, filled with the sounds of shouting and haggling. The air grew thicker with the mingling scents of burning wood, sweat, and the occasional waft of something less pleasant. The people here moved with a sense of urgency, their faces lined with the hardships of daily life.
‘Maybe I can get a job and work off a room?’ he thought to himself as he meandered through the streets. He waved at a couple that was walking and the woman scoffed at him. John stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled while he walked. “Definitely going to need some cash” he mumbled to himself. He passed by someone sitting on a curb, slumped over with the glazed-over look of heavy drug use. He figured it was best to leave the guy alone.
THUD
A sudden, sickening sound of impact reached his ears—a deep, hollow sound like a heavy sack hitting a wet slab. It was the unmistakable noise of a fist striking flesh with brutal force, causing him to stop in his tracks. He looked around as he heard coughing coming from the alley.
Peeking into the alleyway, he saw a bunch of thugs beating up on a smaller man. There were five guys. Two of them were holding a third man between them, one of them was punching and saying something at the guy, and the fifth was looking in John’s direction. John quickly dove back around the corner and hoped the lookout didn't see him. He heard more impacts from the alley and pained coughs.
John leaned on the wall, He started to turn around and walk the other way but stopped. Thoughts raced in his head as he leaned back against the wall. ‘This is none of my business. For all I know, that guy is a criminal.’ He peeked around the wall, and once again spotted the victim. His face was just oozing ruby blood. The attacker had broken his nose, and from the way he was limply hanging, John knew he was in a bad spot.
He stopped looking and leaned against the wall again, out of sight of the people in the alleyway. He spoke to himself as he gently banged the back of his head on the wall. ‘C’mon John. Think about it. If he was a criminal, he’d be in jail. They wouldn’t be beating him up. Helping him is the right thing to do. Then again, this is a new world. Maybe this is what they do here? I’m sure this isn’t what it looks like. He’s just -’
Another thudding sound impact. The man called out through the pain. “Please stop!” he coughed out through breaths and beatings. “I promise I can pay.” Thud.
“If you could pay up, why didn’t you?” The man said, his voice gruff.
‘Yeah, there’s no way.’ John glanced around the corner again and then just as quickly retreated back to the safety of the street. ‘That guy is getting worked over. Could I really look my kids in the eye and tell them Daddy’s the kind of man who would just ignore someone in need? Or my wife? The look of disappointment alone would—’
John’s thoughts were interrupted when a gruff voice called out from the alley in a bit of a sing-songy tone. "Hey girlie, don't be shy. Me and my friends will be happy to show you a good night."
John squinted as his attention was brought back to reality. He hadn’t been a woman for very long, but this was something that he could tell he wouldn’t be a fan of. He stepped into the alleyway, and the guy acting as a lookout smiled a bit in shock. He could feel his body twitching as a warmth spread through him. His body really wanted to stretch out his blood magic and he had several willing targets to try it on.
From the look on his face, he was never really expecting his half-assed attempt at flirting to actually work. John walked halfway down the alley, the entrance maybe ten meters behind him. At this distance, he could still easily run away. ‘If this is all a big misunderstanding, I’ll leave the guys alone, If not, maybe I can scare them off?’ he thought to himself. ‘But if they were bad guys, I'll... what? Jump in? Help out? Eh, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.’
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
"Hey, why are you beating that guy up?" John asked, trying to be sweet. His feminine voice sounded innocent enough to his own ears; he hoped it would work on these guys.
"Oh, that lot? Don't you worry about him, sweetie. My boys can handle him. But I'm free right now." He smiled a predatory smile. It sent a shiver down John’s spine.
John walked slowly towards the lookout. He was just about eight meters away. "Look, I'm a bit lost here." He took another step.
Seven meters.
"Well then, why don't you come here, and I'll show you around? My boys are almost done here." He smiled, and that creepy smile once again shone through. The guy beating up the man looked over at him and stopped beating on him. He nodded toward John with his head. “Hey Gareth, is that one of your girls? I didn’t think you liked their half-breeds. I can see why though.”
John was tense but managed to be calm enough to think rationally. ‘Well, if nothing else, at least I stopped the guys from beating him up. Maybe we can talk this out man to man.’
Six meters.
The man getting beat up looked in John’s direction and spat out blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut. “I don’t know who she is. Just leave the girl alone. Miss, you need to leave.”
The lookout looked back at John, and he could feel the thug’s eyes drink him all in. He knew that behind those eyes ran thoughts of him holding John down, having his way with him. Or that he’d get John drunk and that John would be the one on top. John’s eyes squinted at the thug dangerously as his eyes focused on John’s chest and didn’t leave.
John spoke up and tried to remain calm, even though the thought of the thug touching him made his skin crawl in an attempt to get away. "I may have misspoken or maybe you misunderstood. I'm really lost here. I don't even know where 'here' even is. I'm not really from this world." John felt his anger rise, and yet he tried to smile sweetly. Step by step, he moved forward. And as he did, his nerves and body started to get him ready to either fight or run.
He had to start looking up at the thug as he got closer, considering the thug was a good foot or so taller than he was and considerably wider. John felt his body shake with jitters or fear. But he was determined not to let that stop him.
Five meters.
His eyes traveled back up to meet John’s, and when they did, his head cocked. Something in the thug’s eyes registered that something was wrong. ‘Maybe I have that manic smile on my face,’ John thought. But he kept walking up.
"Even better,” the thug responded. “Franky Fist and I would be more than happy to tag team ya. It’s a local custom. You wouldn’t want to break the local customs, would ya?”
Four meters.
John continued. "It’s funny. Where I'm from, we also have bullies. And frankly, I can't stand them."
The lookout continued, but his eyes also started to squint. “Well, sweetie, if you can’t stand bullies, you should get out of here before my friends and I work out some frustration in you.”
Three meters.
The guy in front of John looked ready to take a swing. John realized he probably shouldn't have said the last part, but he really did hate bullies. In school, he was the smart kid that always got bullied. Back then, bullies would beat you up, and you either fought back or didn’t. Maybe you lost your lunch money, or maybe you lost your homework. But either way, the consequences weren’t that bad.
But now? The bullies were threatening to do things to him. ‘Beating up a guy is one thing,’ John thought. ‘But threatening to have your way with the person after you beat them? That’s a line too fucking far.’ He cut his hand with his nail, and blood started to drip from it. John focused his mind, feeling the familiar pull deep within his veins. With a sharp intake of breath, he summoned his blood magic.
Thump-Thump
Warmth surged through him, starting from his core and radiating outward, like liquid fire flowing through his bloodstream. As the power coursed through him, his vision sharpened, and the world around him seemed to slow. The sounds of the bustling city faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thrum of his own heartbeat. Euphoria washed over him, lifting him to a state of near bliss. His body hummed with strength, the blood magic transforming his anticipation and resolve into pure, unadulterated power. Each step toward the thugs in the alleyway felt lighter, as if he were gliding rather than walking, the surge of energy making him feel invincible.
Thump-Thump
He activated Gory Armaments and thought of brass knuckles. He felt the blood pool on his fingers, and considering there was no flash or fanfare other than the steady drain on his mana, he knew they wouldn’t see the attack coming. Now he just needed to say something to throw the thug off his game.
Two meters.
Thump-Thump
John looked at the thug and tried scaring him off. “You know, the cops would probably love to know that thugs here are threatening girls and beating up a guy. I'll run if you try anything.”
The thug sneered at John, his eyes narrowing with anger. “Funny, girlie. You think you can walk away from this? By the time we’re done, you’ll be too broken to beg for mercy.”
John smiled, and his smile turned a bit manic. “Funny. Where I’m from, corpses don’t talk.”
Thump-Thump
John could tell the comment broke the man’s OODA loop, and it had to reset. “What did you say?” he asked threateningly.
One meter.
“Sorry, what I meant to say was, I'm going to fuck you up."
That day, the man learned to never bring bare knuckles to a brass knuckle fight.
Thump-
John pulled his arm back and slammed it into the thug’s face. He had never been a fighter. So even though he had been aiming for the nose, he instead caught the thug’s cheek just under the eye. And it connected hard. Before impact, the world seemed to slow as if time held its breath. The thug's features froze in a grotesque tableau, each minute detail etched in vivid relief against the backdrop of the alley. The sickening crunch of bone and cartilage echoed through the air like a deafening sonic boom. The force of the punch sent a ripple of shockwaves coursing through the thug's features, his eyes widening in a mixture of pain and disbelief.
His cheekbone contorted his face in an agonized grimace, the flesh seeming to warp and ripple like the surface of a tempestuous sea. The skin under his eye began to almost instantly redden and swell, from the brutal impact the fist made. John had a fleeting vision of some day in the future where folks would comment on this man’s worst scar and ask what horse kicked him. And the laughter of hearing it happened because of a girl about two-thirds his size which would inevitably follow.
-Thump
Blood, dark and ominous, seeped from the corners of his mouth, painting a gruesome portrait of violence. His nose, already crooked from previous fights, now appeared broken in the other direction, a gory tribute to the power of the strike. The cartilage and bone of his cheek had been reduced to a mangled, pulpy mess.
As the aftermath of the punch reverberated through the air, the thug staggered back, his face now a mangled canvas of pain and disfigurement. The symphony of violence had played out in an instant, yet the memory of that brutal, bone-shattering impact would linger in both of their minds for years to come. The thug half slumped against the nearest wall. Not completely out of the fight, but unwilling to go one-on-one anymore.
‘Alright, pros and cons,’ John thought to himself. ‘On the plus side, the thugs are no longer punching the helpless man. Also, that felt amazing. On the downside, I think I’m the new target. Oh well, they say it’s best to make a strong first impression.’
John brought his fists up to his face in the best imitation of a boxer he could pull off. The rest of the alleyway just stood and looked his way, shocked. He then called out in his most ominous voice, “Your buddy said he wanted to show me a good time but he couldn't keep up.” Even in his mind, his voice didn’t really do much to intimidate. Still, he tried to. “But honestly, I’d rather break your fucking noses than let you break me in. So how about it, boys? Want me to rearrange your balls to match his face?"
Thump-Thump
The thug throwing the punches at the guy they called Gavin rushed John and took out a knife. From John’s perspective, he was a little slower than he had expected, but unlike the first guy, this thug was ready for a fight.
As the thug with a knife lunged at him, a smirk tugged at the corners of John’s lips. It was fueled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. After the first impact, he almost felt superhuman and was hoping to try out his new body and push it. He felt almost contemptuous toward this group of men. They seemed normal, but he was obviously a superhuman. His fists, clad in the macabre brass knuckles formed from his own blood, tightened as he prepared to defend himself against the onslaught.
Thump-
In that pivotal moment, he felt his adrenaline spike, and the world around him seemed to slow just a bit again. His brain wasn't up for the task of formulating a strategy, but at least it helped avoid the first knife strike. The thug's features twisted into a snarl, his eyes narrowing with malice as he also swung a meaty fist in John’s direction.
With a fluid motion, John ducked beneath his wildly flailing limb. His blood knuckles gleamed menacingly in the dim light of the alleyway. As he rose back up to his full height, he pivoted on his hooves, channeling all of his pent-up potential energy into a single, devastating blow.
His fist, encased in the unyielding bloody sheath, connected with the thug’s chin with an audible crunch. He felt the bone at first provide a token bit of resistance but soon gave way. Once again, John watched a face contort in front of his very eyes. Several teeth forced their way out of the man’s mouth as the thug’s jaw compressed into his skull. In what seemed to take a few seconds, the thug’s head eventually snapped up and backward, sending him reeling with a pained cry. His body crumpled to the ground, his face a twisted mask of agony and disbelief.
He likely wasn’t expecting the girl in front of him to hit back. John didn’t care what he was expecting, though.
One of the teeth bounced off of John’s face, and he was certain the thug’s jaw was shattered. His only movement was breathing.
-Thump
Encouraged by his initial success, he whirled around to face the third assailant, who was far closer than he expected.
John felt a searing pain in his stomach as if someone had plunged a hot poker into his flesh. The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Sure, the crossbow thing had been bad, but it was in and out. This pain was intense and felt like a much larger area. His body instinctively recoiled, and he stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for the source of the pain. John looked down and saw the handle of a knife protruding from his abdomen and a large gash that went halfway across his torso.
‘Fuck, that hurts!’ Panic surged through John’s mind as he looked down at the hilt of a dagger and the vicious wound leading away from it. Blood poured from the gash. ‘Wait, why am I bleeding if there isn’t a blade?’ he thought, confusion mingling with the searing pain. And then he saw the gleam of metal. His breath hitched, and he suddenly realized with horror that the blade was still embedded deep in his body. The realization sent a wave of terror crashing over him, making the pain even more unbearable. Two icons appeared back to back in his vision.
Debuff Impaled (Physical Trauma) Level: 3 Effect: Causes ongoing damage, reducing health by 1% per second Decreases stamina by 30% Inflicts severe pain, lowering focus and increasing spellcasting time by 25%. Also puts the user into a state of shock. Induces a state of fear, lowering morale and increasing the chance of making mistakes under pressure. Duration: 10 minutes or until healed Note: A blade to the guts is not normally a fashion statement, but you like to strive for the bold. I don’t think this is what they meant when they said you should bleed for your art.
Debuff System Shock (Blood Loss) Level: 4 Effect: Reduces awareness of the severity of wounds, causing a 30% decrease in the perceived urgency of injuries. Dulls pain perception, leading to a 20% reduction in reaction time to new injuries. Lowers attentiveness to immediate dangers, increasing the chance of being surprised by attacks by 50%. Causes periodic waves of nausea and dizziness, reducing accuracy by 20%. Duration: Until healed Note: Congratulations, you’re now the poster child for bad decisions. That gaping wound? Tis but a scratch! Those lurking dangers? Pssshhhh, totally overrated. Have fun being a hero with a death wish!
“Oh God, it hurts,” he tried to scream out, but all that came out were screams mired in pain. His blood, the crimson liquid that kept him going, poured out of him and soaked into his clothes. Strangely, despite the pain and the sight of his own blood, he felt a strange numbness wash over him.
For a moment, the thug seemed to believe he was a dead woman walking. “Crazy bitch,” he spat. “We could have found more enjoyable things to stick in ya.” The thug holding the guy continued to look on as he was certain death was going to take the woman soon.
But in that moment, John felt an odd sense of clarity. With a determined grunt, he wrenched the knife from his stomach. The pain momentarily overwhelmed his senses. The knife was a nasty-looking thing, slightly curved, with some holes in it that he was certain were there for a reason. He could feel the blood gushing from the wound, and yet he knew that he couldn't afford to succumb to the pain. If he did, he was dead. Again. Or worse.
Forcing himself to ignore the throbbing agony in his abdomen and utterly failing to, John lunged back into the fray, his blood knuckles gleaming menacingly in the dim light of the alleyway. His small frame seemed to grow three sizes in the shadows as all the thugs looked on in shock at the devil made flesh in a female form. John knew that he was running on fumes and that any moment now his strength might give out. But the adrenaline coursing through his veins seemed to dull the pain further, allowing him to push on through sheer force of will.
"Holy shit, she's an initiate!" one of the thugs yelled as a warning and pointed. John looked at him, the hatred probably evident in his eyes.
Undeterred, John met the comment with another fist. This time to the one who had just knifed him, his brass knuckles connecting with a sickening crack against his attacker’s elbow. The force of the impact sent a shock-wave coursing through his body and a reverberating breaking sound through the alley. The thug stumbled back with a pained scream of his own. The bloody knuckles had connected near his elbow, and now his arm was bent in a way no elbow should ever bend.
Seizing the opportunity, John grabbed the thug with the broken arm by the collar of his shirt, yanking him towards him with a savage growl. The thug didn't resist much. With a swift, gruesome strike, he drove a knee up into the thug's groin, eliciting a ragged, high-pitched gasp of pain from him.
The moment he did, John felt an odd wooshing of power. A thought came to his mind. ‘Why did it feel good to knee this bastard in the nuts?’ he looked at the man as his shaky hands limply cradled his balls and he cried out in pain. John mentally warned him. ‘I swear to God if you move, I’ll absolutely do that again.’ John let him go, as the man fell down.
The thug clutched his crotch as he hit the ground. The groin of his pants was turning a red color as blood poured out of him. He collapsed, whimpering. Sensing that the tide of the battle had shifted in her favor, John surveyed the remaining thugs, his gaze hardening with fierce determination.
The two untouched thugs ran. The guy who John had first hit ran too, but he didn't run straight. ‘Guess he can’t see that well,’ John thought. The one holding his crotch was evidently in too much pain to go anywhere. As John surveyed the aftermath of the fight, his heart pounded in his chest, a potent mixture of adrenaline and exhilaration coursing through his veins. His abdomen felt like it was on fire, and now that the fight had ended, he started to feel a little weak. He looked down and saw that his pants were almost entirely covered in red blood.
He saw his health was also low and slowly draining.
The only other man who remained in the alleyway was the guy who was getting beaten up originally. ‘Man,’ John thought as he started to feel a bit cold. ‘He looks about as good as I feel.’ The victim stumbled over to John and put his hand on John’s shoulder. "Thank you," was all he said.
John looked down again and saw that he was still bleeding quite profusely. Panic surged through him, but he forced himself to stay calm. He wanted to heal himself but had never healed a wound this big. And when he healed the crossbow wound the other day, he almost passed out from it. ‘If I passed out here, what would happen to me?’ he thought to himself. Images of himself collapsing in the street, vulnerable and alone, were almost more terrifying than the pain. Gritting his teeth, he tried to steady his trembling hands and fingers, which were getting stiff enough to move.
"You...got a place...around here?" John asked, his breathing as sharp as even talking hurt. The man nodded, and John felt his legs buckle from the strain of keeping herself standing. He stumbled and had to partially put a hand on the wall to keep himself upright.
The wounded man put his arm across John’s back and under his other arm. Between the wounded man and the wall, John forced himself to stand up. The man, however, wasn’t much better than John was. He started to stumble, and John held him up the same way.
"Just around the corner," the man said, and the two of them stumbled towards the man’s place.
‘Ah, city life,’ John said out loud, and they both chuckled despite their pain and exhaustion.