[ CLOSED ] hunting for love

[killuwatt]

Who: Killua Zoldyck and others
When: Septeril 27
Where: the nightmare city of Dream Aefenglom
What: fears and phantoms from the TDM
Warnings: blood, gore, physical and emotional abuse against a minor



Honestly, Killua doesn't really understand what's going on with the whole other city of Dorchacht. He wasn't around for any of it before, and though he's asked and learned what happened and why this is happening now, he's mostly stayed out of it. This isn't his fight. He has his Bonded to focus on, and he doesn't trust his magical abilities very much yet. It feels like an unnecessary risk, especially when it's been taken well in hand by other, more experienced people. He doesn't volunteer.

In the end, it doesn't matter. Maybe he's being punished for his selfish decision.

Comments

[gynvael]

The hazy, shadowy shifting of the city makes walking through it a headache. He's not one to easily lose direction; in here, though, he's stepped out of one street into another that he knows is on the opposite end of the city. At this point, he's given up trying to go anywhere specific.

He's getting used to the faint, indistinct whispers, the eyes that seem to linger no matter where he turns. Whatever's lurking, it seems it's biding its time. Waiting. But the voice -- from a real person -- catches his attention immediately. Especially once he realizes who it belongs to.

Geralt strays off the road he'd been walking on. Or he means to. Apparently, there's no need: the street twists and turns, and leads him right to where Killua is.

His gaze is lingering on the tall figure (who is that?) when movement comes out of the corner of his eye. He catches Killua's wrist a split second before the claws sink into him. They miss scraping over his eye by a hair. This close, he can see the blood dripping from the nails. He can sure as hell smell it soaking into the air.

"Hey." Damn it. "It's me. Geralt."

If that even means anything right now. They barely know each other.

[killuwatt]

It's been a long time since Killua's felt like this. It's like a switch somewhere deep inside him, a safeguard suddenly ripped away. The bloodthirst emanates from him in a nightmarish, physical representation within this twisted world, like a black shroud hanging over him, dulling his senses and sharpening reflexes.

He doesn't seem to hear. The world around is like static, and the voices fill his head, drowning out Geralt's words and face.

Killua twists around instantly in his grip, yanking his arm down to free himself at the same time as he brings his opposite knee up in a savage kick around Geralt's other side.

"Kill him," echoes the voice in the alley, the nightmare real and present. The order is calm; it holds no anger, no passion, no emotion at all. And expects Killua to do the same.

[gynvael]

Ah, fuck. He knows that look. Geralt brings his arm down; it blocks the kick, but it also leaves him with a hell of a bruise along his forearm.

He spins around, not drawing his sword yet. Instead, he reaches out to try and grab hold of Killua to wrestle him to the ground and pin him there. The boy is fast, but Geralt's bigger. He has every intention of using it to his advantage.

He'll deal with the whispering voice later. Whatever it means, he doesn't know: if Killua is being mind controlled or trapped in a past version of himself or what. Or what it'll take to snap him out of it. It must be possible. He'd been a little shit of a kid, and that underlying edge of violence, but not a cold-blooded killer.

[killuwatt]

It's lucky he ran into someone actually equipped to fight him when he's like this. Perhaps later, Killua will be relieved and appreciate that. Right now, he has no sense of any of that.

He reacts on pure instinct and adrenaline, obeying the memory of all his training. When Geralt grabs him, Killua instantly fights back, trying to yank free and roll away, kicking at him even as Geralt manages to bear his weight down onto him and finally get Killua on the ground. For all his insistence on being just a normal human, his strength is monstrous, and not at all correlated to what one might expect from his petite size.

Teeth bared in a silent snarl, Killua tries to push off the ground for leverage to throw the Witcher off his back.

[gynvael]

For a split second, he thinks the kid might actually break free. They flip onto the ground together, landing hard on the cobblestone. The only upside to Killua showing his inhuman strength is that it lets him know how much he needs to hold back.

Not much. Apparently.

He shoves his knee against Killua's back, bruising grip around his wrist. Sharpened, claw-like nails dig in. It's a struggle to hold him down when he's trying not to snap his arm or his neck. Between the bloodstained street that have slicked up his palms, his grip starts to slip. He lets go before he loses ground entirely, rolling to his feet -- waiting for Killua to make the next move. His gaze roams the shadowy city, searching for something blunt he can use as a weapon.

[killuwatt]

The way Killua yanks against his grip, it's like he doesn't even care if he breaks his own arm. The moment he gets any leeway, he springs backward, almost catlike, into a defensive crouch a few feet away. The sharp blue eyes that watch Geralt now are unnervingly empty of personality, cold and calculating, gauging him only as an opponent and nothing more.

There's a fleeting shadow behind Killua, the whisper of that long-haired man again, blinking into existence one moment to lean low and whisper into Killua's ear before he vanishes again.

"Shut up!" Killua screams again, making a swipe for where the figure had been. There's nothing there now-- but it's a distraction. Geralt has an opening. If he moves fast.

[gynvael]

His attention is briefly diverted by the flickering shadow. Unlike the moths, he's learned the hard way these visions are tangible. They've left their share of cuts and scrapes on him. But it takes no interest in him. Just Killua.

The moment Killua turns to the dark shape, Geralt moves. Drawing his sword is usually something he's avoids when he has no intention of following through a fight to the end -- but he only has a second to make his move and few options. So he does.

His fingers curl around the grip. It flips in his hand at the last moment, the blunt end of the pommel aimed at the boy's temple. Knock him out, or at least stun him. The former, ideally.

[killuwatt]

It's best that Geralt doesn't hold back too much. Killua's not nearly as fragile as one might assume given his petite stature; but by now, given the way he moves and fights, Geralt's surely gathered that.

If it weren't for the distraction taking up most of Killua's attention and distorting his reality so far that he doesn't even recognize Geralt, he probably could have dodged. He could have tried to block.

As it is, everything is happening in such a disjointed, nonsensical fashion, Killua doesn't even turn back to Geralt, all of his focus suddenly honed in on the shadow he's screaming at. It's lucky, in a way. It means Geralt is able to move in quickly and carry out his plan just as he'd hoped.

Killua reacts belatedly, hissing through his teeth and stumbling, badly stunned if not yet unconscious. He tries to drop to the ground, to roll away and make a run for it, staggering when his vision swims.

[gynvael]

That Killua's still conscious after a blow like that tells him everything he needs to know about what the boy can withstand. (A fucking lot, apparently.)

He takes the opening without hesitation. As soon as Killua tries to stumble away, Geralt darts to the left to try to intercept and tackle him to the ground. No way he's letting the kid run off while he's practically feral -- not just for his sake but in case he bumps into someone who can't fight him off.

He reaches for Killua at the same time, in an attempt to wrap his arm around his neck and choke him out. Maybe some time knocked out will snap him free of whatever's got its hold on him.

[killuwatt]

He can withstand a whole fucking lot. But this time, after the barrage from earlier, the blow to the head and now Geralt steadily cutting off his air, even Killua can't cling to consciousness without being able to breathe.

It takes a bit longer than it probably should have, by any normal estimate. He's been trained for this too; he can hold his breath longer than most people, even as he tries to fight back. In the end though, despite his stupid shounen protag strength training, he really is only human.

He goes limp under Geralt's grip.

Since this is a dream, though, the consequence of him no longer being aware in it has his body suddenly starting to just sort of... fizzle out in Geralt's arm, slowly losing consistency.