Shylock clutched his chest, jagged heaving breathes pulling at the metal shard that was needling its way into his flesh. He pulled at it, but only hissed when he cut own hands on the sharp metal. He looked up, eyes burning with hot tears as he stumbled backwards away from the Leader, who continued to walk forward sleekly, barely batting an eye at what he had done to the boy. Shylock groaned, a gurgling noise, rather than words as the shard caused more pain than he thought possible, in places he never imagined would see the light of day, let alone the end of wielded metal. His left leg bolted backwards and he hissed trying to kept them both still, under the pressure of keeping his body up. If fell he would surely die. He looked down at the stab wound helpless, the blood seeping into his orange prison jumpsuit. his hands helpless waved around, wanting to put pressure on the wound while simultaneously not wanting to cause himself anymore pain. he was going to die. he wanted to close his eyes and sleep.
the single word made him stiffened. no. he couldn’t fall now, not when the leader was expecting it. if he died on his feet, in pain and torture by the Leader he’d still die happy. He tried to keep his eyes staring without fear into the Leader’s clear unseeing ones but with a lazy flick of his hand, the Leader sent another plate of the prison grating at Shylock, the piece knocking his head backwards. his skin unbearable hot as it was rub raw and split open. When it shuddered and clanked to the concrete floor and he once again found himself stumbled like a drunkard to keep himself on his feet. the Leader held his wielding hand in front of him, twisting more of his element like butter, rolling a newly forming shard in the air in front of him. Shylock clenched his teeth and his body, but the ice cold pain that cut through his leg still caught him off guard. he screamed, choking on his sorrow as his voice broke like he was a child again. the grey floor was splattered in small drops of red around his feet. he bend forward, staring, unfocused at his own blood. he could feel the earth calling to him, wanting him to join it, sink into his own element away from all this metal.
“Kneel and I’ll end this.”
He screamed, but in rage at the mock kindness and reached down, making the pull the earth and its heavenly song and pulled it towards him. The ground now had rivers of his blood as it cracked sending the them cascading like waterfalls. The smallest flecks of dirt grasped at the cracks as they struggled to pull themselves up. The Leader must have now realised what he was doing, must be readying whatever he wished to send at Shylock next, but he kept his gazed on the bloodied floor and slowly climbing earth and roots. His legs trembled beneath him, burning, pleading for rest. But he would not stoop for the Leader; for Fenrir, for the resistance he would not kneel. The concrete cracked and scraped as it was pushed aside by thick green tentacles of forest matter that had been buried deep below to make way for the prison. They rose tall, towering over the Leader, diving upon him, swatting his shards away with feeble clunks against their might. They hissed and fluttered around each other only barely following their target around as they could only be slightly nudged by Shylock in his weakness. But the Leader had already turned tail, something he could have laughed at but instead he sloped down to knees before slowly collapsing sideways, the snake like branches falling dead and scattered back into the pieces of dust they were to be blown away on a light breeze.
Inspired by Daily Post prompt: Resist.