The gambling man (OP Male Reader X Esdeath) Akame ga kill fanfiction

Chapter Eleven Point Five: Man To Man (Part Three)

Savańia grips her chest tighter, as her shivering worsens. Whilst her sisters both sneeze in unison.

And it's not just them, every member of your team is starting to feel the pinch of the cold night. As well as the vexation of not finding an appropriate camp sight, yet.

Polkùma: "Oi, Lèkian, do you actually know where you're going!?" Polkuma growls in frustration.

Nezkia: "Why are you just assuming he does!?" The siblings begin to argue between themselves, which doesn't really help ease the tense atmosphere. But then, Júreya suddenly stops and gazes off to the side, her eyes locking onto something in the distance.

Slowly, everyone catches wind of the break in formation, and swiftly follow suit. And what you see next makes your heart sink.

Dańtious: "That's one hell of a sand storm!" And you agree. The oppressive, rolling wall stretches far into the distance and disappears well past the horizon.

Lèkian: "The sand," Lèkian holds a finger to the air, "it's too coarse. If we're still out in the open when it hits, we'll be shredded." You all look between eachother, concern and panic written plain on your faces to see.

With maybe thirty minutes before the sands bury you all, you're left with no choice but to book it as far and as fast as your legs will carry you, and beyond.

Sahģrè: "That storm's getting closer! Don't we have a tent in our supplies!?"

Lèkian: "Unless someone wants to stay outside and pin it down with their dead body, it won't be much use. We need to find an area that we can use to brace against the worst of the storm." Lèkian informs the hysterical Sahģrè.

Luckily, it seems that fate smiles on you all today, as you're only a mile or two from a nearby cliff formation.

(Y/fn): "Will that do?" You ask.

Lèkian: "That's perfect." Lèkian responds, and you all push your legs harder. Your feet slide across the uneven sands as you double down on your speed, the sack on your back constantly throwing off your balance.

To your left, you see Nezkìa slip and fall, but her brother quickly hoists her across his shoulders and continues to run.

By the time you all make it to the climbing visage of the mountains, the crest of the storm is starting to push against you. Your vision is tinted with a hue of orange, as your skin is stung by tiny pebbles.

You throw your bag off from over your shoulders and desperately flip open its top, the other kids crowding around you immediately.

You take a large rolled up sheet and toss it to Dańtious. With Aĺexia, Savańia and Kefkà all grabbing a collection of collapsible, metal poles with flawless coordination.

You all work in tandem to put the tent up as quickly as you can, everyone equally pulling their weight. Poles slip into holsters. Pegs are hammered into the sand. And nerves are at an all time high, as the storm is practically upon you.

As you swing your arm down one last time, your final peg dings into place. You wipe away a trickling bead of cold sweat from your brow, as you release a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

But suddenly, you hear a yelp as Źelfrah is flung back, his peg swinging lose and wildly in the increasingly violent winds. Sahģrè drags her brother away from the thrashing line, gently pressing her hands against the large, red gash that now runs down the length of his cheek.

Túlio then slip over the sand as he runs to Źelfrah's post. But just as he reaches his destination, the wind rips the peg out of his reach and onto the opposite side of the tent.