It's funny how loud blood can be. All day long it's blasting through your body, but it's only when it's on the outside that you notice it, that bubbling crimson broth. Lars panted gently under the moonlight as he staggered through the portal, clutching his side. Even if he had the energy for healing magic, these were wounds beyond his capabilities.

Tired. He was so, so tired. He could have simply laid down on the concrete, watched the silver puffs of his breath grow fainter and fainter, fading into the darkness. It would be easy, so much easier than this. But then something caught his eye - a kid, maybe 10 years old. Looking at him with an expression somewhere between scared and curious.

Lars wanted to explain everything. The fight, the wounds scissoring his flesh, the blood drip dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wanted to laugh, to joke, to reassure. Instead he just looked, eyes filled with pain, and he told a story with his face. Of a bloody waltz, a dance of severed flesh and twisted bone. No victors, only survivors. That's who he was, the survivor.

The kid turned and ran, fast as he could. No screaming, just the silent pelting of pure terror. Lars sighed, wincing at the pain, and with a groan he began the slow walk home.


This beauty of a commission was done by  koa-wolf! Sometimes the grisly truth is laid bare, and in this case it's done so with some astounding talent.