Twisting the Blade

He doesn't immediately understand the feeling of the blade sinking into his chest, but the taste of metal in his mouth is overwhelming. It chokes him to the point of coughing, which only presses the blade deeper as the spasm brings his chest off the floor. Only barely mentally present, his hands shoot up to wildly scrabble at the blade, easily decorating his palm in more cuts.

"YOU," his assailant grits out. He's having a hard time focusing on the words though. His teeth are clenched so hard he feels they might shatter, but in this moment he begins to relax. Whatever, this would be impermanent. It would be over soon. "YOU DID THIS TO ME." It almost sounds like something is caught in the weakling's throat, like they're sad.

He doesn't respond.

For just a second, he opens his eyes back up to see the mess of hair in front of him indicating the kid is fully leaning on the sword. Has this oddball really died their hair rainbow is the strange thought that crosses his mind as the feeling of peace quickly overtakes any lingering survival instincts. He closes his eyes again and can tell there's laughter or maybe sobbing going on because the blade is shaking in his chest. The pain of it is surprisingly dull already. He must be slipping away soon.

There's a shout from farther away and the kid startles before pulling the blade up and out. They look angry, glancing between the victim on the floor and the direction of the shout. They curse something under their breathe and turn to tell the man one last thing.

"I'll come back. I'll come back with whatever it is I need to finish you--because I know this isn't it. Just you wait."

A blessed blade then. Fool. It would burn them, too.

The rascal scurries off, and the man's followers, recognizing his form would simply have to be temporarily lost, give chase.

He finally falls into the darkness to the lullaby of blades singing through the air.