Paris, France;
3 AM, around the area of the Latin Quarter.
Two men, currently bound by a sacret trial of combat prowled the rooftops of Paris. They were meant to fight to determine who is superior, instead they run. Their steps rippled within the many puddles that freshly gathered on top of the buildings, their tired pants echoed down the alleys as they crossed the gaps between the renovated buildings. For hours the chase dragged on.
Two men meant equals, now morphed into hunter and prey.
"I know this isn't exactly the best moment for retrospect..." *Huff-huff* "...but seeing as this might be my last. I don't see a reason why not do it.", his weighted chain just nearly misses me. Whizzing past my head and embedding into a chimney. Cursing and threats barely picked up by my ears. That's how fast I was running. Or maybe I was just too scared to let anything else in my head.
"Anyways. Two years ago I was just a kid like any other mixed mongrel growing up in Paris. Drinking fine wine(I wish), ocassionally getting into a brawl with clueless tourists, pissing on stuff and climbing on things you are not intended to climb. The usual here. I would have never guessed that such life would stray me down this path.", I look back to confirm he's still on me. Can't see him, but I'm definitely not stopping.
"Put an old dude to sleep one day and you end up on the run 24/7. True that. And hunted not by the law, but by random mutie fighters that got you mistaken for one of them, these 'Strigidigidae' and what not. It's ridiculous, They won't let explain myself...Can't even let me stop to say hi...or good-bye.", can't let the nostalgia get to me not now. Just...keep running!
"What a twisted f*&king charade.", suddenly pain in the back of my head. Followed by darkness, not the starry sky type, just concentrated me. Alone again, confined inside my mind. "I hate charades."
When I come back to my senses, I know that this is my end. Why? The big-ass gorilla fingers around my throat gave it away. He laughs through his decayed teeth, raveling in his victory. But even now in my last moments I can only think about how different things could have been. "Stupid. Stupid. Could have been there when mom passed away. Could have been there to make it easier for my brother and my sister! I was the oldest, supposed to look after them!...But what I regret the most is that I won't ever see my baby nephew learn how to crawl, to walk, to run!", now I can't hope but to paint him a warm smile across the canvas that is my bloodied face, much to his confusion. Which he repays as his grip on my neck tightens.
It's an impulse that rekindles the fire within me. With my last strength, I swiftly plant my feet on his chest and grasp him by his enormous wrist, a feat that takes my both hands to complete. It takes both thumbs and the full strength of my grip, but I squeeze-- no, I dig through his tendon and up to his nerve. Of course he tries to retaliate, but it's too late. I am free again. My legs immediately come to life as I rebound backwards off of him, the sheer force behind my acrobatics just flings him off the roof and into the abyss below. I should just run, but I check if he's okay. Fortunately met with the scenery of his big-ass gorilla hand sticking out of the dumpster. The smile now spread into a smug grin that overlooked the whole of paris.
"I know it's gonna be a boy."
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