Sorry, guys, I haven't been the best blogger this week. I had a lot to do at work, and I've been feeling a little creatively tapped. I'm hoping that spending this weekend really plotting out some of Defenders (and maybe even editing Rosetta) will help get me back on track. It feels pretty messy and disjointed, and it's making it hard for me to write it when I don't know what's going to happen next. I didn't even take a swing at hitting my word count yesterday, so I've got almost 1600 more words to write before Monday to keep me on goal.
But anyway, this is Flash Fiction Friday, not Tobi Whines Friday. And this flash fiction is a possible future scene from Defenders (depending on how the story goes). Hope you enjoy.
He knew he was in trouble. His chest ached where the sword had pierced it, and no amount of fairy magic could heal a gash like this.
Yeah, black magic was a bitch like that.
Still, he forced himself to his feet and summoned the remainder of his strength. He might be dying, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.
She was only about a hundred feet away—though it may as well have been a hundred miles to his battered body—and he staggered to her just as she threw a Trip Spell at her opponent. He fell back, head smashing against a rock, and didn’t rise again.
“You’re getting better,” he grunted, and she whirled to look at him, face falling when she saw his bloody shirt.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“You always did have a way of pointing out the obvious.”
She glared at him, fierce. He liked her fire, even if it would get her killed someday. “I’ll be fine,” he lied, and she didn’t believe him.
She let it go anyway. “They have us surrounded,” she said. “And there are a hell of a lot of them.”
“Where’s your backup?” he asked, looking for her teammates.
“They’re here. Not far. They’re waiting for my signal, but I don’t… I…” She hesitated, then pushed on even though the words seemed painful. “I don’t have a strategy for this.”
He nodded. “You’re in luck. I do.”
She looked heartbreakingly hopeful, and he had a moment to remember that she was really a kid still. “You think we can take them all?”
“No,” he said. His realism made her face fall, though she hid it behind determination.
“Of course we can,” she argued, and it was a struggle not to laugh, even though that would have hurt his wound.
“The best you can hope for is to delay them until more backup arrives. But that,” he continued before she could interrupt, “we can do.”
He watched the conflict flicker across her face before she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Where do we start?”