Astarion x M!Reader

Forty-Eight

The first strike pierced your flesh. The second one drew blood.

It poured in waves from your shoulder as Cazador's blade cut through skin, muscles and bones until it got stuck inside your body.

Enraged by the pain you grabbed the blade with both hands, not paying any attention to the burning pain that the light enchantment caused on your palms.

Dark figures wrapped around his shoulders and neck as he made the mistake to remain standing too close to you for too long.

His teeth bared he pushed all his weight down on the blade, tried to battle you for the upper hand.

You could feel how your shoulder have in, how bones splintered. Not long and he would cut that arm right off you.

Anger and adrenaline rushed through your veins. With your mouth torn open you charged at him, went right for the throat to end it quick.

You knew as well as Cazador that this fight couldn't last long. It wouldn't end because one was stronger than the other, it would end because someone would make a mistake.

You swore to yourself that it wouldn't be you.

Threatened by the pointed teeth of yours he pulled back, shadows stuck to him like seaweed that wanted to keep their prey below water until it drowned.

Tears and cracks ran through their dark bodies as he freed himself with such force that they cut into his own skin. The smell of iron soaked into those fine clothes of his as he slithered across the ground.

A dark trail was left behind. The pressure on your shoulder eased. There was no time to waste. Quickly, you grabbed the handle of the blade and removed it from your flesh.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling nor a clean way to cause little damage but you needed your arm to recover quick. Scars did not matter in this moment.

Your own blood ran down the length of the blade, all the way down to the pointed tip where it fell from to your feet.

Your breath was heavy. It exhausted you to regenerate muscles and flesh that had been separated. Within moments your bones reattached and that feeling of belonging returned to your numbed fingers.

Cazador shook off the shredded rest of the shadows that had restrained him. His clothes were torn and a few fleshy wounds peaked out into the moonlight.

They were gone as quickly as your shoulder recovered.

Huffing, he showed you a smile. A thin layer of sweat shimmered on his pale forehead. As he frowned, the beads connected to run down his nose and fall from the tip.

Satisfied, you smiled to yourself.

So you hadn't made a fool of yourself. He wasn't more of a threat to you than you were to him. Somehow, that realisation chased satisfaction through your body.

"Don't mock me!", he snarled and took a fighting stance.

Demonstrably, you raised his blade to the level of your face and made the metal shimmer in the silver of the moon.

The scent of your own blood reached your nose. Iron, naked stones and dust.

How had you managed to ignore it all this time even though it had been so clear?

Hell was all over you.

"I don't have to, Cazador.", your fingers played with the new opportunity he had handed to you. "You're already making enough of a joke of yourself."

He fell for the bait. Of course he did, after all there was nothing that could have railed him up more than when dirt was thrown on his name.

Chucking satisfied that he hadn't changed all too much, you jumped back to avoid a strike of his woe. A bat made of red and black metal looked back at you as it barely missed your face by a hairs width.

Your eyes jumped through the air.

Moonlight made it hard for the shadows to operate. Yet again, there wouldn't be shadows without light.

Your fingers flinched, barely enough for yourself to notice, and the dark obeyed to the silent call.

Hands grabbed Cazador by his boots, dug into the leather and made it crack. Struck by the sudden lack of movement he almost stumbled.

For a brief moment he was defenceless.

Your fingers tightened around the handle of the blade. You hadn't been born a swordsman like Horren nor had you been made one like Cazador.

But your skills were enough to land a hit strong enough to make him scream in agony. One eye forced shut by pain and the gush of blood that poured from the wound, Cazador threw his head back in such a quick movement that the shadows snapped once more under the tension.

A frightening sensation chased across your back. You felt like you could land another strike and then two more, maybe slice his throat before he was able to defend himself.

But that was a foolish thought that pride send through your head.

Perhaps you had overestimated the might of the shadows, overestimated how powerful pieces of hell itself could be. Or maybe you hadn't expected him to be as strong as he actually was.

Whatever the answer, Cazador tors his hand up, tearing more shadows apart and snapped two fingers. All of a sudden a shockwave threw you across the ground, made you slither through mud and tree trunks.

Splinters dug into your flesh, yours sides, drew blood and caused thousands of small wounds. Ribs cracked under the force.

You lost your grip on the blade, it chased through the air and cut a few shadows before coming to a halt in a stone.

Panting and howling in pain, Cazador rushed forward to reclaim what was his. His hand trembled as he pulled the blade from the stone.

Coughing, you remained lying on the ground. Stones had broken your legs, branches were stuck in your flesh and made you bleed all over your garden.

Flowers withered as the darkness crept back to your feet. Hands made of a void grabbed the distracting things that hindered your body from healing, removed wood and stones and put bones back together.

All at once you felt like nothing ever happened. But your breath remained unsteady. You felt just the way Cazador looked liked.

Facing the limits.