Fatality ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo²

𝖑𝖝𝖎𝖛. Burning Bridges

[ tw: death ]

𝖑𝖝𝖎𝖛. Burning Bridges

Matt

MATT FALLS LIKE A STONE.

The useless, patronizing armor that never did anything but slow him down won't protect him from a hundred-foot drop into raging water. It can't save him, and he can't save Maeve. His hands claw through open air, reaching for anything to grab, but the fog just whistles through his fingers. He can't even shout.

Debris tumbles with them, and Matt braces for the impact of solid concrete. Maybe it'll crush him before he gets the chance to drown. What a small mercy that would be.

He tries to see her, even as the river rises up to meet him.

Someone grabs him around his middle, arms squeezing so tightly the breath is crushed from his lungs. His vision spots. He might be passing out.

Or not.

Matt shouts as the river and the fog and the crumbling bridge disappear, swallowed up by a blackness. His entire body tightens, tensing up, and when he hits something solid, he expects all his bones to shatter into dust.

But nothing breaks.

"I didn't know kings could scream like that."

Matt's eyes fly open to see Weston Kliffe and Nick standing over him, the former wearing a friendly smile and the latter looking nothing short of relieved. Nick offers a firm hand and Matt takes it gladly, letting his brother pull him up.

Then, Nick embraces Matt tightly, a bond forging back between the brothers. It's short, it can't last more than a second or two, but it's meaningful and Matt feels the strange prick of searing tears behind his eyes.

The Montfort teleporter looks on, panting slightly in her green uniform. She gives Matt a curt nod.

"Thanks," he gasps, still trying to wrap his brain around surviving.

She shrugs. "Just following orders, sir."

"Will we ever get used to that?" Maeve says from a few feet away, still on her knees. She looks a little green in the face, like she might throw up.

Her teleporter, the Montfort officer Arecko, looks down at her with a smirk. "Would you prefer the alternative?"

Maeve just rolls her eyes. She glances at Matt and sticks out her hand, gesturing for help. Weston takes one side, with Matt on the other, and the pair pull her to her feet. She pats dirt from her own uniform, the bloodred color of the Scarlet Guard, if only to do something for a moment. She's just as unsettled as Matt is, though she's loath to show it. He supposes you never get used to being plucked from the jaws of death, no matter how many times it happens.