#everyone say thank you vampire fight scenes for teaching me how to do pacing kind of okay

[felixravinstills]

Taking the time to plug my unfinished Twilight Volturi OC fic on my tbosas blog for no reason other than why the fuck not? And also Felix Ravinstill brainrot is probably the reason this fic is still unfinished… so I need you to know what I could be writing instead:

(Below the cut have some context and my current favorite scene in that fic (1.5K words) and one of the reasons I started writing it in the first place… also considering this was the first fic I started writing, one of the reasons I started writing fic full stop period)

(There’s so much context that I don’t have time to give, but just know Children of the Moon are different from what Jacob is (and it’s kinda problematic how it’s all handled in canon rip). This fic takes place currently centuries before canon. Vampires are basically superhuman statue people who can heal super fast and sometimes have superpowers. My OC has such a gift and it’s death precognition basically. The Volturi (the vampire government) took her in after she got turned into a vampire because of her handy gift. And before this scene, someone important to the Volturi died while she was away so she couldn’t predict their death. Also yeah, if anyone here knows Twilight, I made Caius a girldad… For reference, he’s kinda like my Max in that fandom… I’m torturing him through his adopted child.)

…

“It’s not your fault,” Caius began, shakier this time. “It has never been your fault. There is but one person to blame and that is—“

But Myrtis was beyond hearing, and all words drowned out in the face of her sobbed apologies.

As if there were enough ‘I’m sorry’ to make things right.

She crashed forward, crying tearlessly into the inky black of Caius’ cloak.

Caius, for his part, was trying his best to lie to her.

There were more ‘it’s not your faults’ and ‘you couldn’t have knowns.’

His pleas for her to believe his lies about her innocence continued more frantic than the last until finally he pulled her from his chest and looked into her eyes.

“Listen,” he commanded her, but she could not.

She felt her eyes glaze over.

She had gotten distracted.

“Aro—“ Caius was saying.

In her panic, she had frozen.

Gods.

Then, remembering how to move, she pushed Caius away from her as hard as she could.

Caius stumbled back.

“Wha—“

Myrtis regained sight of reality and saw the confusion etched into Caius’ face just as the dark blur of her visions slammed into her.

A clawed hand ripped through her stone skin like she was human, and Myrtis screamed.

The lupine bulk of a Child of the Moon pressed her down into the snow.

The smell was terrible, but the pain was worse. Spittle rained down on her face and into her eyes as she struggled to keep her head out of its gaping maw.

The liquid ate at her skin.

Her gloves were in shreds.

Black dots appeared in her vision, and the last thing she truly saw before being submerged into the frenzied sights of her gift was the moon poking out from the cloud, full and glowing silver.

Her hands grasped and tore and scratched.

She could see it clearly. The sharp, yellowing teeth biting through her neck. The acid working at the flesh until venom could no longer works its miracles. There would be no bringing her back.

Her arms cracked. She could feel them about to give. She would have hissed or snarled back at the beast if her mouth could pull itself away from screaming.

Her gift cocooned around her in a panic.

The death rattle of her mind asked where was Caius. As her limbs shook from the strain, she let extended her gift with equal parts dread and hope.

The exertion was unnecessary.

The vision before her faded. Her eyes were still screwed shut, but hands were tugging her up by the armpits. A moment of pure fear made her struggle until she heard a familiar voice.

“It’s alright. It’s me.”

Caius helped her stand, but again, they were separated.

The wolf-beast was back, or perhaps, it was one of his brethren. Now that she was no longer pinned by its appendages, her visions expanded to showcase their numbers.

Wolves had always been pack hunters.

Myrtis dodged the a clawed swipe, left and right.

She would not survive another tackle from these beasts. The fractures in her arms were still healing.

“Myrtis.”

She moved towards the sound. She stopped when her back pressed against Caius’.

The wolves encircled them.

Caius’ hand grasped her arm. It grounded her.

Her eyes were closed, but she searched for a way out nonetheless.

“There’s a gap,” she said as her gift weighed their chances.

“I know,” he responded.

She heard shifting in the snow. He had bent legs, preparing to sprint. His own hand enclosed around hers.

A vision flashed before her.

“We won’t make it.”

“Have a little faith.”

Myrtis shook her head, taking her hand away from his.

“We won’t make it.”

It took Caius a moment to realize what she meant.

“No,” he said.

His’ voice was harsh, punctuated by the howls of the wolves around him.

He had turned his head to look at her, and that had been his mistake.

He had shown a lack of attention, a weakness.

With her gift pounding through her head, Myrtis moved on instinct.

To her great shame, she moved away from Caius and watched in her mind’s eye as the wolves pounced.

She strangled the scream that tried to force its way out of her throat.

Visions came and went, and she felt like she was choking.

Something landed near her skidding across the snow. She picked it up, knowing what it was.

Move, she told herself, as she held Caius’ right arm to her chest. Move.

She couldn’t fail again.

She couldn’t fail Caius.

Myrtis gave herself a running start before sliding herself into the tangle of limbs and fur.

She wanted to cry, but she bit her bottom lip and crawled.

The wolves were piled on top of each other, reaching for something. The labyrinth of paws and legs was so dense, and she was so weak.

Still, if they had been a little more organized, she would not have stood a chance. They crashed into one another and jostled amongst themselves.

The pain in her wounds and in her skull was nearly unbearable.

But she could not fail.

In her desperation, she could think of one solution. She bit into the legs that penned her in and hampered her movement.

The blood was bitter. She had to fight the urge to spit it out, but slowly, she felt the flesh of her arms knit themselves back together.

She bit and chewed, and some of the beasts moved. Others acted like she had not even touched them.

Nevertheless, she crawled forward as best as she could.

Soon, her hands did not just feel snow but also another arm, then a torso. Myrtis was relieved to hear the leg that dragged along with it.

Next was a blond head. She cradled that close.

And finally, there was a snout chewing at a leg.

Myrtis thought that it was a kindness that Caius could not feel a thing as she reached and grabbed at the last bit of him. The slobber that drenched the limb burned her hands. She had to wrench the poor limb from the mouth.

With the loss of their play toy, the wolves’ claws came down around her. She took the gashes with a scream, hugging Caius closer and fighting the stinging behind her eyelids.

She scrambled to drag herself out from under those beasts, counting again one head, one torso, two arms, and two legs.

With everything accounted for, she ran, full-sprint in the direction that she knew was south.

Myrtis dodged trees and boulders and other obstacles, just barely.

Her gift shrieked at her:

One wrong move. One stumble, and she was dead.

There was a morbid comfort in knowing she could rely on her visions.

A sharp pain stabbed from her head to the rest of Myrtis’ body.

Still, She ran. She had always been fast. Better yet, evasion had always been her strength.

Myrtis ran until the howling of wolves disappeared into the wind, not stopping until another terrible sight interrupted her.

The pain behind her eyes continued hammering through her head.

It felt like it was splitting her head open.

It was splitting her head open, her visions told her.

She would die.

Worse, Caius would die.

She dropped him: head, limbs, and torso into a heap.

Her hands grasped for the snow. Feeling all the vulnerability of a human, she wished she had their warmth. Flowing water would have served her better than tiny crystals of ice. Still, she sloughed the stuff onto her face.

She wiped the slush of snow, venom, and that terrible acid down her cheeks. Still, the visions did not abate. She buried her head into the snow, opened her eyelids, and let venom and poison spill to the ground.

The vision persisted.

The liquid was trapped in the crevices of her head.

In the distance, she heard the howls of the Children.

A new vision came into view.

She grabbed blindly into the pile that she knew was Caius. She grasped at the various tears and fractures, the places that the acidic poison had touched and scrubbed at it with snow.

Gods, they needed more blood.

More howls went up, and Myrtis’ head swam.

There were more visions, all different except one. Her head was a terrible mess of stony gore.

Then, the sight disappeared as soon it came. She already knew its remedy.

Another howl.

The Children were getting closer.

She laid Caius’ head gingerly beside his neck.

Perhaps, it was futile to imagine that he might survive if she failed, but she needed the hope.

She breathed two unnecessary breaths. Then, inhaling a third time, she raised her hands to her face. Her fingers skimmed her cheeks past the rough texture that was attempting to stitch itself together and to her burning eyelids.

Myrtis laid the gentle pads of her fingers—the thumbs and forefingers— at the far ends of each socket. She eased them into the pools of acid, venom, and the jelly of her eyes and pulled.

And screamed.

…

Except of Cracks in the Crypt, Chapter 21