Oneshots! (Mostly Hermitcraft)

Cut apart (for the sake of science) [Tango]

One of the lamps is out, creating a pocket of darkness in the otherwise well-lit street. Tango glances around worriedly, peering into the sparse alleyways branching off behind various storefronts. He's roughly halfway home at this point, so he strides over to the post and wraps his hands around it, bracing his boots on the metal and beginning to shimmy to the top.

He opens the glass on the side of the lamp post, exposing the wick of the burnt-out lamp. He breathes a small, bright flame onto it, watching it catch fire and cast light around it once again. Satisfied, he checks the oil reserve beneath the wick. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the nearly full cup, the shiny flammable liquid easily being consumed by his fire. He shrugs, closing the lamp tightly. A stray gust of wind must have blown it out early on into the night. He fails to notice that none of the others were out as he slides down the pole.

A shadow surges out of the alleyway, rough hands latching onto the lapels of his jacket and raising him up. They slam him against the wall of the nearest building and his head whips back, knocking hard against the bricks. Stars dance in his vision as he reaches over and across his chest, digging his fingers into the side of his attacker's palm.

They're a good foot and a half taller than Tango and hold him at chest height, slightly above the ground. A mask covers their face as they stare at him with ice cold blue eyes. Panicking, Tango pushes on the wall with his foot, trying to twist the person's arm and get them to release their grip. His assailant grunts, pressing him against the wall, causing his ribs to crack under the pressure. Tango kicks out, the ball of his foot connecting with the attacker's abdomen. They inhale sharply, their grip loosening and allowing Tango to peel one of their hands away and twist their arm behind their back as he lands on the ground.

He kicks the back of their knee, sending them to the ground. The abrupt movement causes him to overbalance and stagger forward, landing awkwardly on their back. He recovers himself and increases the pressure on the arm bar, and the person yells in pain. They kick back, causing Tango's mount position to waver. He growls fiercely, suppressing his terror as he struggles against their thrashing.

The attacker twists and throws him off. Tango springs to his feet, dusting off the tender sidewalk burns as he considers running. It's too late by the time he makes his decision, his opponent charging and grabbing his shoulder in an iron grip. Tango swings his arm up and over theirs, locking their elbows together and pressing forward, standing on his toes to maximise his leverage.

His blaze rods are a tornado around his head now, glowing white-hot when the person finally releases him. He bolts, sprinting for home, and the hand closes around his collar, dragging him back with near-impossible strength. Tango gasps, pulling at the front of his shirt as it chokes him. He barely has time to react before a bag is put over his head, pinning his blaze rods close to his head. They begin to burn through the thick fabric, filling the small space with smoke.

Tango holds his breath as light begins to peek through. He struggles against their grip, then another hood is placed over his head – not as tight, but still filling with suffocating smoke as his rods begin to burn that, too.

A collar of sorts is buckled around his throat, clinching the fabric closed. It's pulled slightly too tight and he gasps, filling his lungs with dizzying smoke. He claws at the thick restraints, yet his feet are swept out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. He hyperventilates, the wind knocked out of him as he rolls on the ground, hands pawing weakly at his throat. More and more smoke fills his lungs as he chokes and gasps.

The attacker turns him onto his stomach, a knee digging into the small of his back as they manhandle his arms behind his back. His jacket is stripped off his shoulders, exposing him to the night air. He struggles, gradually growing weaker and weaker as he suffocates on the smoke caused by his dying blaze rods. Manacles click around his wrists as he goes limp, still breathing feebly.