Living on the Island of Vaas (A Farcry Fanfiction)

Chapter 22: Jungle Fever

Danger is real, fear is a choice. 

Chapter 22: Jungle Fever

Myra thrashed, fear gripping every muscle and nerve in her body. They say fear is a choice, but for Myra, fear had seemed to impose itself in her. She had had no choice but to be scared. It just burst inside her like a volcano spewing lava. Lava; that is exactly what was burning the soft interiors of the brunette. If the thrashing around wasn't making it worse, it was the fact that Citra was holding Bella. 

The person holding her was definitely a male, strong and dark skinned. He held Myra's mouth and with his other hand, he held her wrists. His fingers dug in the skin, fingernails scratching at old scabs and making them bleed again. He pulled hard, her body never seeming to scrape the ground. It hurt the young woman's hips every time she hit a rock or the man behind her pulled too hard again. She was still screaming behind the hand over her mouth, and her voice was becoming raw and quiet. She kicked her legs around, trying to get the woman who walked beside her. Her back ached with all the scrapes it was suffering of, as she felt the warm blood tickle down her back. She struggled again, throwing her body around and up. 

She was cold inside; a millio8n frozen crystals poking at her insides. Every jab was painful. She screamed. The cold was like liqui8d, flowing in her veins, freezing her entire body.

"Enough!" the man shouted, pulling her arms back until she felt like they would dislocate. She yelped. His voice had a certain accent to it. Myra was never good with accents and putting a name to them, so she decided he sounded like an African man, but she wasn't sure. 

"Dennis, put her there," Citra ordered in her exotic voice, pointing a long finger to a point beyond Myra's vision. The brunette struggled as the man -Dennis-  threw her body to the side, still holding her wrists. Her voice was too raw to continue to scream, so she silenced, accepting that she might get killed. She landed on something hard, probably a rock, and Dennis pinned her wrists over her head and tied them with a braided rope. To tie them, he had to let go of Myra's mouth. 

"Fucking bitch!" this one yelled, throwing her head up trying to get to the other woman. The fear twisted and turned into anger, bubbling up into her throat. "What the fuck!" she continued to yell, thrashing her legs around as Dennis tied her wrists to a small tree beside the rock. Now, Myra lay back on the rock, watching the man circle her and place himself beside Citra. 

She panted, ignoring the raging pain of ice in her stomach.

Dennis was a tall, black man with dark features. His thick, dark hair was short and lay over a wide forehead. His dark, glinting eyes were shielded by black glasses. A short beard hung from his chin under thick, dark lips. Tattoos snaked up and down his arms, warning of an inner toughness. A wide, bizzare assortment of necklaces hung from his long neck. A very intrigueing one, shaped in a round, silver disc, took up most space on his chest. He wore a pilot-like shirt, signs on the shoulders and sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He had casual jeans with some rips in them and simple sneakers. Rings littered his fingers and bracelets circled his wrists. Except for the machete in his hand and tattoos, he looked pretty normal. However, with Citra standing beside him like a goddess, it gave a demon look to the man. 

"Calm down, girl," he responded, voice calm. Myra rolled her eyes with an exagerated huff. 

"Oh yeah, I'll fucking calm down," she said, sarcasm strong in her voice. "I'll calm down because you fucking kidnapped me! Who the fuck are you anyways!?" Her body jumped off the rock, but, due to her tied wrists, the young woman wasn't able to lunge at the man.

"I am Dennis Rogers," the man introduced himself, putting a hand over his chest just under the disc on his chest. Myra frowned, not understanding the calm demeanor of him.