![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indifferentinfernoSetting is Pluviosa - Ripple and Warp part II
Flamebringer stumbles against the wall- these freakish, mirror walls. He shouldn't stop here, its dangerous, its wrong. He was practically a sitting fowl beast- worse, an injured one, limping along for whatever predator found him first.
By the furnace he was sick of feeling like prey.
But despite his own internal sense of urgency, his limbs weren't cooperating. His chest was heaving, and he couldn't lift his greatsword, only drag it along, and now lean on it like some deeply impractical cane.
He grunted, turning it into a growl as he slid against the wall and down to his knees.
CRAP He didn't have time for this. Those illusions from the mirrors could pop up at any moment and decide to end him in his bout of weakness. But he could practically feel his blood boiling at this point. He knew his skin would be hot to the touch, sweat had dripped into his eyes more times than he bothered to keep track of, blood ran down his arm from a nasty set of scratches from some beastly thing that only vaguely resembled him at all- and his limbs felt unsteady in a way they absolutely shouldn't.
CURSE It all.
He slammed his fist into the mirror-wall, even then holding back so as not to injure himself more, or waste his fleeting strength on a bout of frustration.
The flowers on his shoulder swayed gently in mocking contrast.
Ever since they'd sprouted on him, he hadn't returned to normal. He was slow. He was weak. He was tired.
All thinks he couldn't tolerate. All things he didn't have the luxury for.
He drops his head, letting out another low growl of frustration, clenching his fist so tight he felt his fingernails press harshly into his skin. His tail lashed lethargically.
He gathered himself, his anger, his exhaustion, all of it, and shoved it all down, forcing himself to try to move. He hissed against the pain- glaring down at another particularly inconvenient injury- that being the inner calf of his left leg, which had a nasty and long cut that started below his knee and ran to the rim of his boots. He chuckled darkly- maybe he should count himself lucky at least that no one was around. Infected as he was, it wouldn't bode well for anyone, especially Kisa, who would be likely to try to force herself upon him despite his complaints.
He starts to rise slightly, managing a little, but the precarious tip of his greatsword shifts against the smooth floor- abruptly causing him to shift, and he falls back down, crashing down with both his hands and knees on the metal flooring. He lets go of his greatsword- lest he hurt himself from giving it further direction and momentum- and it clatters loudly in the empty hall.
Curse this place and curse his luck- someone- or someTHING, absolutely would hear that. But his arms shook even as they were, he started trying to move again- he had to get out of here-!
By all accounts he should stop looking over his shoulder in paranoia- and yet new and unsettling things keep happening.
Flamebringer stumbles against the wall- these freakish, mirror walls. He shouldn't stop here, its dangerous, its wrong. He was practically a sitting fowl beast- worse, an injured one, limping along for whatever predator found him first.
By the furnace he was sick of feeling like prey.
But despite his own internal sense of urgency, his limbs weren't cooperating. His chest was heaving, and he couldn't lift his greatsword, only drag it along, and now lean on it like some deeply impractical cane.
He grunted, turning it into a growl as he slid against the wall and down to his knees.
CRAP He didn't have time for this. Those illusions from the mirrors could pop up at any moment and decide to end him in his bout of weakness. But he could practically feel his blood boiling at this point. He knew his skin would be hot to the touch, sweat had dripped into his eyes more times than he bothered to keep track of, blood ran down his arm from a nasty set of scratches from some beastly thing that only vaguely resembled him at all- and his limbs felt unsteady in a way they absolutely shouldn't.
CURSE It all.
He slammed his fist into the mirror-wall, even then holding back so as not to injure himself more, or waste his fleeting strength on a bout of frustration.
The flowers on his shoulder swayed gently in mocking contrast.
Ever since they'd sprouted on him, he hadn't returned to normal. He was slow. He was weak. He was tired.
All thinks he couldn't tolerate. All things he didn't have the luxury for.
He drops his head, letting out another low growl of frustration, clenching his fist so tight he felt his fingernails press harshly into his skin. His tail lashed lethargically.
He gathered himself, his anger, his exhaustion, all of it, and shoved it all down, forcing himself to try to move. He hissed against the pain- glaring down at another particularly inconvenient injury- that being the inner calf of his left leg, which had a nasty and long cut that started below his knee and ran to the rim of his boots. He chuckled darkly- maybe he should count himself lucky at least that no one was around. Infected as he was, it wouldn't bode well for anyone, especially Kisa, who would be likely to try to force herself upon him despite his complaints.
He starts to rise slightly, managing a little, but the precarious tip of his greatsword shifts against the smooth floor- abruptly causing him to shift, and he falls back down, crashing down with both his hands and knees on the metal flooring. He lets go of his greatsword- lest he hurt himself from giving it further direction and momentum- and it clatters loudly in the empty hall.
Curse this place and curse his luck- someone- or someTHING, absolutely would hear that. But his arms shook even as they were, he started trying to move again- he had to get out of here-!
Sir keep calm I’m a doctor- sir stop screaming- sir…(cw body horror, medical nonsense)
Date: 2025-05-29 04:20 pm (UTC)He does note that the man tries to attack, and those reflexes are impressive. It’s clear the oni-man is no stranger to combat.
Still not fast enough to stop him. “Calm down. If you keep moving around you’re gonna-“ Annnd the man falls over in a heap. Oops. Oh well. The katana should have absorbed some of the impact, but looks like the fall took a lot out of him. Maybe he’ll stop trying stupidly to attack…?
But no. He’s struggling to get up soon after, clearly suffering pain that would knock a lesser man unconscious. Law is quietly developing a bit of respect for this foolish person. He’s interesting, at least. The man’s amber eyes land on his own detached leg, and understandably grows a bit…upset about it.
Law watches closely for the reaction to touching the leg, near the injury and- yeah. Okay. This wound may be already in the process of infection, the way the battle-hardened man flinches at the very light contact. With the Room still active, he investigates a little closer and…hm.
What is…?
He can sense the beginnings of an infection, sure, but there are foreign bodies in the blood that he’d not ever encountered before.
Fascinating.
The man demands answers, and Law has to force himself away from that discovery. He can inspect that later, when this guy isn’t in danger of bleeding out trying to bite his head off or something. He sounds…terrified. Also a normal reaction. Law holds up his hands, energy humming around them.
“Calm down, Horn-ya. I’ll put your leg back after cleaning it up a bit. It’s in bad shape, and this was an easier way to look it over.” Isolate the problem, cut out the damage, sew the patient back together. Typical plan of action for the Surgeon of Death. His lips thin out, disapproving. “Keep flailing around like that will make my job harder, and this will take longer. I’d stay still if I were you.”
Lies. He’d absolutely raise hell if he were in Flamebringer’s position. But that’s not the point here. The point is, even detached, the leg keeps trying to kick around, which is annoying…
He shambleses some surgical gloves onto his hands, which are straight from his emergency medical kit stashed in his coat. It’d help to stitch this up, but it’s easier to clean if it’s open…also whatever did this, might still be a threat nearby.
“What left such a mark? I didn’t see anything big enough around here.” He’s speaking conversationally, as if he’d not amputated the man’s leg with little to no warning. He holds the appendage down by the ankle, and raises his other hand to shrink down the Room, focusing it more around the leg, and what foreign bodies are inside. What’s causing the wound to be particularly hot to the touch? He’ll remove it, little at a time, since he doesn’t have a good supply of blood and skin to readily replace it with…
It’s a challenge, that’s for sure. This isn’t a bad thing.