It hurt.
It hurt so much.
He coughed, blood flecking down his face.
Gasping he pulled himself off the ground, ignoring the blood/marrow, dust and magic that pooled around his body.
Blue hated runs like this.
Where the fallen child went from kind to dust mad.
And he didn't mean Dust, he'd prefer the killer to the genocide runs.
Finally he got to his feet, wincing at the slash across his ribs.
Half a point oh Hp.
That's what saved him from dusting.
He laughed harshly.
A slash he was all to familiar with, more then Papy would ever know.
He would not Break, he was determined.
He would not allow his tale to have an After route.
One Geno was enough.
The Light of a reset flowed into the area.
He woke up.
YOU ARE READING
Touch of the Blues
ספרות חובביםA story/drabble/one-shot a day for Sept for our boy Blue
