"kill him"

His eyes were black with rage and anger, and there was a hidden emotion in there just waiting to bubble over and spill across the floor as he landed, bow unhooking as he went and aimed an arrow straight at the girl holding Neal by his hair, his normally expressiionless features brutally cold and calculating. Here's what's going to happen. I give you five seconds to release him. If you don't, I'll kill you. The only response was Neal 's head jerked back further, and he winced as the nails dug into his skull, cording through his hair almost lovingly.
Poor little baby. She crooned, but before she could finish her taunts, the arrow was released and she was forced to dodge, pulling him backwards and down in an effort to avoid the projectile. Before she could react further, Donov's hand was in her hair, and he ripped her head back, slamming a foot into her jaw, knocking her off Neal , who managed to half-prop himself up with a busted shoulder and knee, hissing in pain. Donov whirled and slammed a foot into her windpipe, crushing her to the ground, twisting it to block her oxygen. When she tried to resist, he crouched down and pulled her arms into a brutal lock, spinning her onto her front, just holding her off the muddy puddle.
He leaned down so his mouth was right beside her ear. And now I kill you.
Before she could say or do anything else, he braced his foot on the back of her skull and pushed her face into the mud. While she was choking- he didn't care right now the weak struggles and sobs, and the knowledge of just how desperate she was getting with the watery mud- he glanced over his shoulder at Neal , half-off the ground, and the sight of his blood soaked shoulder made him push her head more ruthlessly into the mud. Neal turned his head and caught his eyes, before his gaze flickered down to the struggling woman.
Don't. He said, trying to force himself off the ground and managed to pull one knee up, the other trailing uselessly. Donov hesitated- she was still alive, probably barely conscious, but he kept his foot there, and turned his head away, feeling something build up. Donov, don't kill her.
Give me one good reason. He didn't need one. The fact Neal had asked was enough. But he asked for one, all the same, lessening the pressure a little bit. Neal replied without a pause.
Because I don't want you to always kill. Please. Donov turned to look at him, their eyes meeting, and he looked, really looked before moving his foot and pulling her head up. She gave a rattling, weak gasp and he dropped her head again, not putting any pressure on it, and she turned it away from the mud, choking and crying. Still, he's not stupid, and tied her hands together; making a good knot it'll take a while for her to get out of. He looked away from Neal, suddenly feeling... ashamed no, it wasn't that, but it was similar, it was something undefined and something he didn't know, and he got off the woman and walked over to Neal , picking up his bow on the way and slinging it onto his back, offering his (mostly) clean hand.
Come on then. He said tiredly, and it takes a while, admittedly, because Donov's weak and just... tired. He's tired of everything. Of killing, of being this souless monster, and he knows this needs to stop but he just doesn't know how because he's always been more useful as this tool for people to use and throw away when they're finished.
It's all he knows how to be, anymore.
Neal had a busted shoulder and a cracked kneecap, which probably hurt like hell, but eventually Neal got his good arm over his shoulder, and they manage to limp out of the clearing slowly. The woman watches them, having given up on freeing her hands for now.
Neal knows he's leaning really heavily on Donov, and the little scout is struggling with it, but it's not like he can exactly help it after a particularly bad stumble, and the groan that Donov makes after managing to save him from face-planting how, he'll never know, but he thinks it involved the runes he feels guilty. Sorry. He mumbled, hissing as his knee was jostled.
Don't be stupid. He replied absently, knuckles white and digging into Neal's side as his own injury flamed up. Not your fault I'm weak.
You're not weak. Neal says, before he can stop himself, and he gets a raised eyebrow and looks away, not really wanting to get into it, before glancing back, unable to drag his eyes away from the grey eyes for that long. Why'd you stop?
Donov doesn't look at him, and he feels... something. He wants to see those eyes. You wanted me to.

Donov would do anything Neal wanted him to, and that's the scary part.

---------

Donov screams, from somewhere, and it's not a voluntary sound. That's the only thing Neal computes. He sounds terrified, and in pain, and like something's tearing him apart, and Neal halts mid-swing, whipping his chain to clear his path and he sprints toward the sound.
It takes a lot of luck and/or talent to get Donov down, but he enters when the scout's sprawled on the ground, some magician holding his hand out and slowly curling his fingers into a fist. Another scream is pulled out of him when there's this awful crunching, and Neal sees blood pooling from seemingly nowhere.
He might have lost his mind for a second, and his chain's whirling through the air, thumb pressing onto the runes Donov drew there so long ago, activating whatever the heck it did, and released it from twenty feet- it spun and smashed into the magician, looping around him, handle crunching into his hand, breaking it. There's this sizzling sound as the chains, which are apparently red hot, sear through the magicians skin, and Bone's pushing him down, angry and seething, the chains not burning him, but apparently doing a lot of damage to his opponent.
Donov screams again, and he slams a fist into his face, splattering a few teeth across the ground and feeling his nose shatter. It feels so good that he does it again, and again, until the man's face is a twisted mess. You drop that spell right flipping now or I will mess you up so bad. He spat. The only response he gets is another scream from his Donov, and he punches him again. I'm going to kill you if you don't. Another, much longer, agonised scream, and the man is grinning at him, all bloodied and swollen and misshapen. You wouldn't dare kill me. I know you, the gentle giant, eh? Too compassionate for his own good. You wouldn't kill anyone.
Stop.
Poor little scout's gonna suffer cause of yo-
That's all he manages before Neal 's hands are around his throat and he snaps his neck, thrusting his palm into his jaw for good measure. He feels him die. He's killed before, yeah, not as much as the others maybe, but this is... personal, he was not fighting back, he couldn't fight back, and his eyes were still open, still grinning, but a kind of newfound shock in his eyes. Neal 's thumb had been on his pulse, and he literally felt it stop underneath him, and the scary thing is, he can't feel anything but relief and anger and fury. A kind of whimper from Donov reminds him the scout is bleeding out or something, and he pushes himself off the dead magician and is by the scout's side as he tries and fails to get up, hand pressed to his chest, one eye closed, hacking up blood that's splattering onto his mask, struggling to breathe. Neal pulls down his mask so he has free access and gently, very gently picks him up, trying to not to injure something more, and while Donov hisses in pain, his hand grips Neal 's sleeve, and manages to keep from passing out.
Are you okay? Neal manages to whisper (speaking at normal volume doesn't seem appropriate right now) and turned around and began to head down the path towards the other two. Rookie in particular, who could heal him.
Donov looks at him, and it's those eyes again, and they're hazed over in pain and relief and some other emotion Neal can't label, hidden beneath the surface. He doubts it would show if he was in full control of himself. For all that, he doesn't answer the question. Thanks. He manages to hack out, turning his head so blood didn't get all over Neal, but the only thing that succeeds in doing is make him cry out again, and Neal turns his head back so it's half-pressing into his chest, and he looks a hell of a lot more comfortable.
He realises he's stopped walking and steps forward again. I don't mind.
He doesn't mind about a lot of things, with Donov. He never noticed that. He doesn't know what he's saying 'I don't mind' to. Maybe everything. He doesn't really hate him, despite what Leah thinks, despite all their arguing and fighting and squabbling and trading of insults. In fact, he's probably the best friend Neal's ever had.
It's funny how those kind of things work out.

The Concept

Reality is the harshest thing in the world. It devastates people, slowly and surely, just as time kills us- but there is a difference. Time kills our bodies, makes them weak and old, hunched and decrepit, useless and frail. Reality kills our soul, makes us faceless and apathetic- it is the creator of depression and anger, hate and pain. Reality is the true destroyer of worlds.
There are some, of course, that have found a way to fight reality. More often than not, they are killed seeking that momentary thrill, that momentary feeling of... of being alive. The ones who don't die sink into the fringe of society while the mainstream dance along to a movement channelled and choreographed by the media.
So if you could escape this reality, wouldn't you take it?


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More coming when I gather a bit more inspiration to write it.