"I imagine he will," Billy-Ray nodded. This, he knew from experience, was going to be the pleading. In Wreath's case, the logic. The quiet, and perfectly logical, variously mundane reasons for why killing him would be a bad idea.
To be honest, though, Billy-Ray hadn't been expecting that second comment. Most people accepted that he was the more powerful victor, at least, if not quite their imminent deaths.
Nor had Billy-Ray been expecting what happened afterwards.
Years later, Billy-Ray still wouldn't have any idea how to describe exactly what did happen. For one dizzying moment, he thought Wreath might have thrown something blinding in his direction - pepper spray, or a smoke bomb, something like that. In that same dizzying moment, the familiar knowledge that any blinding agent was useless against Billy-Ray surfaced the way it always did. One of the drawbacks of being able to see despite not having eyes - Billy-Ray still flinched at bright light before remembering it wouldn't affect him. Even now, after all these years.
So for one dizzying moment, he believed he was perfectly fine, and that Wreath was an idiot.
Then the pain set in.
It wasn't normal pain either, although that was part of it. It seared. It burned brightly, practically scorched, like he was caught in the middle of a fire. Exactly like bright light, except it felt like his whole body was the set of eyes being painfully blinded. No... no, not his body. It went deeper than that. Some deeply buried pat of Billy-Ray screamed in agony, and the Texan uttered that scream without thinking, dropping to the floor, grabbing at his sunglasses and ripping them off like that would do anything to help. It felt like it would. It didn't.
The light filling the room was golden. Bright, golden, agonising, terrifying, harrowing, excruciating, torturing, all rolled up into one searing hot ball of pain that shouldn't have been painful, because it was just light, it was light, and Billy-Ray didn't have eyes...
Cursing, curling in on himself, limbs practically twitching with absolutely no way to defend against the blinding whatever-it-was, Billy-Ray instinctively did the only thing he could do - drop down into the floor.
Immediately, it all lessened. Narrowed to a point, then dispelled, leaving nothing but a foggy and achy afterglow - and not the good kind. Billy-Ray gave himself all of about a second to recover, shaking half with pain and half with fury, before his perilous grip on the razor tightened and he launched himself towards the doorway of the room.
Wreath shouldn't have been able to get out, but he shouldn't have had magic either. Billy-Ray was beginning to suspect that there was a whole lot he hadn't been warned about. With one last deliberate jerk to shake off the remains of the strange golden light, Billy-Ray shot upwards through the floor between the door and Wreath. The smirk was gone, all intent to toy with Wreath vanished. The instant he had a proper foothold on the carpet, Billy-Ray lunged forward with the razor and stabbed. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't pretty. The Texan assassin was beyond caring.
no subject
To be honest, though, Billy-Ray hadn't been expecting that second comment. Most people accepted that he was the more powerful victor, at least, if not quite their imminent deaths.
Nor had Billy-Ray been expecting what happened afterwards.
Years later, Billy-Ray still wouldn't have any idea how to describe exactly what did happen. For one dizzying moment, he thought Wreath might have thrown something blinding in his direction - pepper spray, or a smoke bomb, something like that. In that same dizzying moment, the familiar knowledge that any blinding agent was useless against Billy-Ray surfaced the way it always did. One of the drawbacks of being able to see despite not having eyes - Billy-Ray still flinched at bright light before remembering it wouldn't affect him. Even now, after all these years.
So for one dizzying moment, he believed he was perfectly fine, and that Wreath was an idiot.
Then the pain set in.
It wasn't normal pain either, although that was part of it. It seared. It burned brightly, practically scorched, like he was caught in the middle of a fire. Exactly like bright light, except it felt like his whole body was the set of eyes being painfully blinded. No... no, not his body. It went deeper than that. Some deeply buried pat of Billy-Ray screamed in agony, and the Texan uttered that scream without thinking, dropping to the floor, grabbing at his sunglasses and ripping them off like that would do anything to help. It felt like it would. It didn't.
The light filling the room was golden. Bright, golden, agonising, terrifying, harrowing, excruciating, torturing, all rolled up into one searing hot ball of pain that shouldn't have been painful, because it was just light, it was light, and Billy-Ray didn't have eyes...
Cursing, curling in on himself, limbs practically twitching with absolutely no way to defend against the blinding whatever-it-was, Billy-Ray instinctively did the only thing he could do - drop down into the floor.
Immediately, it all lessened. Narrowed to a point, then dispelled, leaving nothing but a foggy and achy afterglow - and not the good kind. Billy-Ray gave himself all of about a second to recover, shaking half with pain and half with fury, before his perilous grip on the razor tightened and he launched himself towards the doorway of the room.
Wreath shouldn't have been able to get out, but he shouldn't have had magic either. Billy-Ray was beginning to suspect that there was a whole lot he hadn't been warned about. With one last deliberate jerk to shake off the remains of the strange golden light, Billy-Ray shot upwards through the floor between the door and Wreath. The smirk was gone, all intent to toy with Wreath vanished. The instant he had a proper foothold on the carpet, Billy-Ray lunged forward with the razor and stabbed. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't pretty. The Texan assassin was beyond caring.