[1] 𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 | 𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

! 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦: 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦

➸ 2021
📍MADRIPOOR
Two Years Later
tw: graphic death
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THUNDER, LIGHTNING, RAIN.

That was common in Madripoor — no matter what season it was, it was in a constant state of mugginess.

The man crawled weakly through the puddle, scurrying away with panting breaths as the raindrops mixed with the tears rolling down his cheeks.

He craned his aching neck to look behind him, only to find a hoodie figure stalking slowly towards him — menacingly, deliberately.

"Please!" he cried out as his hand stretched out as if pleading. "I have a wife!" he desperately informed. "I have children! I promised them that we'd have a movie night, please."

At the figure's dark side, a shadowy pink light is materialized in its hand before it fizzled away, revealing a generated needle point knife.

The man continued to try and scurry back but it was of no use — the damage that the figure placed on him prior made him extremely weak.

Once close enough, it flipped his body over onto his back before climbing on top of him and straddling his chest — knees digging into his biceps purposely.

He continued to cry and wail, begging for his life to be spared so he could make it back home to his kids.

A certain gust of wind whips through them from the North, causing for the figure's thin cloaked hood to slide back and reveal the top of its head.

The man's eyes went from fear before slowly melting in recognition at the half covered face.

"You're...You're an Avenger." he shakily stammered in confusion. "Why are you doing this?"

She gulped for a moment, shifting the dagger in her hand that rested at her side as she stared blankly down at the man.

She blinked a couple of times to shake off whatever feeling was rising in her throat and placed her opposing hand on the dagger.

The man's eyes widened with fear again as he watched her bring the weapon up above her head — in-distinctively, his arms tried to cower to cover his head, but the weight on them restricted the movement.

"PLEASE!" he screamed out in a wail.

She then slammed the dagger into the base of his throat, before pulling it out, and then going back in.

He gurgled, he clawed at the ground, he whipped his legs around.

Down, Up, Down, Up, Down, Up,

She repeatedly did that, getting angrier with each stab and with each time he continued to try and break free — getting even more furious when there was light still in his eyes.

But soon enough, he went limp.

Blood that filled his mouth, painted his face red and fell into his opened grey eyes.

The base of his throat was completely gone, and barely even a string of ligament held his head to the rest of his body.

She exhaled a long breath which only filled her mouth mask up with warmth, much to her dismay, before her body relaxed as she savored the adrenaline and power rushing through her veins.