A Piece of The Sun

36. Blood On My Name

Suffering cheerfully endured, ceases to be suffering and is transmuted into an ineffable joy - Mahatma Gandhi

Jean POV

There was no telling just how long we were here fighting, but he came at me with almost nothing, he fought me as though he were rather bored and tired. For him, this was effortless, akin to washing dishes or vacuuming a rug, just another task to him, but I had already been putting in my best efforts, and so far the fabric of my top held up to defend the areas where he lashed at me. Judas' defense patterns were nearly unpredictable, he managed to nick the back of my thigh. We could have very well been down here already for three hours at this point. What felt like minutes was nothing against time under Diasphorum and its power, potent enough in my blood gave me what I needed to fight him off.

I was still dancing around the obvious, flirting with weapons and the battling clang of our metals, avoiding death. The pointe shoes being a second skin gave me the advantage to move gracefully throughout the air as I came toward him, sheathing my sword and jumping on his thigh (at least where I thought it would be) and balled my fist the way my uncle had taught me, landing a blow square up his jaw. I won't lie, it hurt, but it hurt him more, warm blood spurt across my face and I saw the opportunity to steal his sword from him, throwing it across the room, another blow at his neck and kicked away, cartwheeling back from him.

My ears picked up on the sound of metal shifting through the fabric, the sound not quite dense enough to be another sword. Something smaller and the sound coming toward me, cutting through the air. I turned around, on my feet watching as a throwing star was hurtling right towards my face. Thinking on my feet, I clasped it between both hands, drawing blood, and threw it back at him, darting it to his knee.

See how you get around now. Judas was perhaps a perfect name for the stranger who had been so comforting to me up until today. My anger was mated by my betrayal.

He continued to throw stars at me, I dodged many of them and came back with my whip, lashing where I predicted his hands to be, snapping the metal stars out of his hands. Blood splattered on the ground, proving I caught him.

Then he caught me, wrapping the tail end of the whip around his hands, yanking me closer to him until we were back to chest. He could have ended me now if he wanted to, he could have slit my throat and stabbed me in the back, but he pushed me off of him and sent me twirling back from the whip's length. Dancing with me. Our dance proved most violent, he threw another star clean toward my left shoulder, and this time it stuck. The Diasphorum working its job to keep me strong and sprightly did little when it came to feeling pain, instead, it tripled and I felt as though someone slit from top to bottom of my entire arm.

He'd come at me again, he wouldn't let up. I wrenched the star out of my shoulder, blood oozed around the area and I ignored it. I doubled back, whip in tow, lashing away at his chest until I was certain the fabric shredded and bared skin. He stepped back, shying from the sting as much as he could and for a moment I rendered him defenseless, I wasn't sure if I was getting him anymore, he never spoke or uttered a single sound until now as I whipped across his skin, I thought I heard him moan pleasurably, but surely that wasn't what I heard, his voice and the sounds around me distorted unable to decipher the truth of the matter. It couldn't have been. He was letting me get my licks in.

He walked toward me now, unbothered by the bite of my whip.

What the fuck are you standing there for? Finish this sicko. This is what they want. This guy is toying with you, he's a fucking cat and you're a mouse. It's now or not at all.