Malik Al-Sayf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notambidextrous) wrote2012-05-22 06:44 pm
notambidextrous) wrote2012-05-22 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
this pain is just too real
Malik had never been a very strong believer of God. He studied religions for the purpose of being informed, but following them had never had much appeal. The Creed dictated his way of life - not some invisible being that sat back and watched as the people he was supposed to save killed each other in his name. Still, when the blade began cutting through flesh and broken bone, he couldn't keep himself from cursing the very God he claimed to hold no belief in; couldn't keep himself from praying to Him that this would all end soon. Was it not punishment enough that Kadar was dead? Were his wrongdoings not atoned for with the loss of the person he cared most about? Was it truly necessary for his arm to go as well?
Someone is holding his good hand - he has no idea who - but provides little comfort. Nothing can provide comfort adequate for the removal of one's arm. He tries to imagine it's the hand of his little brother, but it's much too small, too soft. Kadar's hand was much bigger, rougher from the hours and hours he spent training. The hand is too fragile and the memory of Kadar's dead body is too strong for that fantasy to seem like anything but a fantasy.
He bites the inside of his lip, trying to hold back a scream. For all of his lstrength on the battle field, for as good an Assassin as he is, there was no way to make it seem as though the pain wasn't that bad. He could feel every movement of the blade, every time it went deeper, coming even the slightest bit closer to separating his arm from his body. He could feel the blood flowing from the cut, could feel it pooling around him, and it made him feel strangely cold and afraid, despite the fever he seemed to be running. He was shivering and sweating and it felt like he was truly about to die. He hazards a look at his arm, but he's not sure what he thought that would accomplish. It had already been completely mangled and purple because of the wounds inflicted at Solomon's Temple, a hard sight to see originally and only made worse by the additional blood that came as a result of the amputation.
There's a metallic taste in his mouth - more blood. He'd been biting down on his lip so hard that now that was bleeding, too. When this was through, Malik never wanted to see a drop of blood again (it was an unrealistic want - he had no intention of giving up his place in the Brotherhood, even if he did have to work as a Dai when this was all over). He can't stop the tears from falling and he hates that. He has only cried one other time - on the way back to Masyaf from Solomon's Temple; only minutes after the death of his brother. He hates that he is crying, hates that this is reducing him to such a pathetic state when Kadar must have been suffering so much more in his final moments and he hadn't cried. He hadn't seemed to be afraid all. No, Kadar had even managed a smile, weak as it was, when he looked at Malik in his final moments. Malik wishes he could be half as strong now as Kadar had been then.
It frightens Malik to think like that; to think of his brother in the past tense and admit that he is gone, admit that life will be very different now. He will have to relearn to fight, he will have to find new ways of climbing, even his general balance would be affected. It all made Malik feel so weak and that frightened him more than anything. He'd always prided himself on his mental strength, and even that seemed to be failing him now. Now he was weak. Now he wasn't sure what to do.
His arm is gone soon enough and then it's all a matter of stitching him up and cleaning all of the blood, but even that is too much at this point. The blood smell makes him want to vomit and he does his best to keep from breathing through his nose, but he can still smell it. Blood has never bothered him before, but this - his own blood - is too much. At the very least, he is thankful that his mouth seems to have stopped bleeding, although the taste still lingers. The taste still remains just like the pain he still felt from his arm as it was being torn to shreds in the temple. It's a terrible, throbbing pain that would make him want to rip off the arm if it hadn't already been cut off. It has been cut off, though, and that causes a pain worse than anything. He can still feel that blade cutting through skin and tissue and muscle and bone and it hurts as it did while it was actually happening.
All of this pain and suffering and fear and he can do nothing but sit there and bear it.
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This was originally written for a prompt onasscreedkinkmeme
Someone is holding his good hand - he has no idea who - but provides little comfort. Nothing can provide comfort adequate for the removal of one's arm. He tries to imagine it's the hand of his little brother, but it's much too small, too soft. Kadar's hand was much bigger, rougher from the hours and hours he spent training. The hand is too fragile and the memory of Kadar's dead body is too strong for that fantasy to seem like anything but a fantasy.
He bites the inside of his lip, trying to hold back a scream. For all of his lstrength on the battle field, for as good an Assassin as he is, there was no way to make it seem as though the pain wasn't that bad. He could feel every movement of the blade, every time it went deeper, coming even the slightest bit closer to separating his arm from his body. He could feel the blood flowing from the cut, could feel it pooling around him, and it made him feel strangely cold and afraid, despite the fever he seemed to be running. He was shivering and sweating and it felt like he was truly about to die. He hazards a look at his arm, but he's not sure what he thought that would accomplish. It had already been completely mangled and purple because of the wounds inflicted at Solomon's Temple, a hard sight to see originally and only made worse by the additional blood that came as a result of the amputation.
There's a metallic taste in his mouth - more blood. He'd been biting down on his lip so hard that now that was bleeding, too. When this was through, Malik never wanted to see a drop of blood again (it was an unrealistic want - he had no intention of giving up his place in the Brotherhood, even if he did have to work as a Dai when this was all over). He can't stop the tears from falling and he hates that. He has only cried one other time - on the way back to Masyaf from Solomon's Temple; only minutes after the death of his brother. He hates that he is crying, hates that this is reducing him to such a pathetic state when Kadar must have been suffering so much more in his final moments and he hadn't cried. He hadn't seemed to be afraid all. No, Kadar had even managed a smile, weak as it was, when he looked at Malik in his final moments. Malik wishes he could be half as strong now as Kadar had been then.
It frightens Malik to think like that; to think of his brother in the past tense and admit that he is gone, admit that life will be very different now. He will have to relearn to fight, he will have to find new ways of climbing, even his general balance would be affected. It all made Malik feel so weak and that frightened him more than anything. He'd always prided himself on his mental strength, and even that seemed to be failing him now. Now he was weak. Now he wasn't sure what to do.
His arm is gone soon enough and then it's all a matter of stitching him up and cleaning all of the blood, but even that is too much at this point. The blood smell makes him want to vomit and he does his best to keep from breathing through his nose, but he can still smell it. Blood has never bothered him before, but this - his own blood - is too much. At the very least, he is thankful that his mouth seems to have stopped bleeding, although the taste still lingers. The taste still remains just like the pain he still felt from his arm as it was being torn to shreds in the temple. It's a terrible, throbbing pain that would make him want to rip off the arm if it hadn't already been cut off. It has been cut off, though, and that causes a pain worse than anything. He can still feel that blade cutting through skin and tissue and muscle and bone and it hurts as it did while it was actually happening.
All of this pain and suffering and fear and he can do nothing but sit there and bear it.
--------
This was originally written for a prompt on
asscreedkinkmeme