❛power isn't everything. it's the only thing.❜
[complete]
wattys 2018 winner ❧
Lin is a hunter, one of the magically enhanced witch slayers that roam a flooded world. Under the laws of four Kings and Greymark, who rules them all, Lin is unto...
*trigger warnings: self-harm (ish), surgery on oneself, drowning, vomiting
"Broken people don't hide from their monsters. Broken people let themselves be eaten."
― Francesca Zappia
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Lin staggered down the hall, cursing the blood trailing in her wake. People had flooded the showroom soon after Lin left, and even more of them gathered in the streets to gawk. Avoiding them took more energy than she could spare.
She clenched her jaw and pawed at the next door she came to. It took a few tries to get the knob to turn, her fingers tacky with blood.
She ducked inside without checking.
A closet. She closed the door behind her and yanked at the little chain dangling next to her face. A bare lightbulb showered her with yellow.
There was barely enough room for her to move. Shelves occupied most of the space with what looked like cleaning supplies. She shrugged and hiked her bad leg up onto one of the shelves, leaning against the other side.
The bullet in her leg leaned against a nerve, sending pain shooting up her body. She laughed under her breath, face twisted in pain.
The sigils weren't doing their job very well. The stab wound in her neck was still raised and aching. Her leg was half-healed and her head was killing her. She glowered at the silver marks sitting uselessly under her skin.
"Go on," she said.
They did nothing.
"Fuck you."
Again, nothing. They were still there, still working, they just didn't seem to realize she was injured.
She'd have to treat her own wounds, then. She knew how to do that. Lin squinted around the closet and grabbed at a bottle. She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. Bleach. She put it back and grabbed another. Rubbing alcohol. Better.
She pulled out one of her cleaner knives and tore the hole in her trousers until she could see most of her thigh.
The bullet wound was puckered and red, irritated from her constant motion. The bullet twinged from its place deep in her leg. She blew out her cheeks and positioned her knife as carefully as she could.
Lin pushed it down.
The meat of her leg parted easily, and she stopped just before hitting her femoral artery. The bullet was close to it.
