#tw: amputation

[meltedmush]

Sorry! 😭

[dragonnova]

Resonance: Prologue pg. 11

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tbh it has been a bit since I've had to post trigger warnings, so if I missed something I should have added, I'm sorry. My comic will have blood, but it will be kind of artsy-flowery blood. And this is the end of the Prologue!

The set up is complete, now onto the story!

[redeyeingirs]

Tw: horror maybe(?)

[chiscribbs]

Updated Future Donnie Concept Art!!!

So, I've been hesitant to try my hand at designing an Apocalyptic Future version of Donnie for a while, for a number of reasons - mainly that I just didn't have a clear idea of him in my brain yet and the thought of attempting to update his already pretty perfect design was highly daunting - but I finally caved and decided to take a crack at it. A couple months and several revisions later, I'm actually genuinely happy with the result. I'd still consider this "concept art" more so than a final design, elements of it could definitely be improved, but I really do like the concept as a whole - I think it could work!

The main goals I had in mind while working on this were: A. Must fit the character/look like something Donnie would canonically wear and still be easily recognizable. B. Must work in the Rise world & style (i.e. not be overly detailed or have too complex a silhouette.) C. Must fit in with the other (canonical) Future Rise designs.

I was also thinking about what problems Donnie might be trying to solve, which is what inspired the belt (more info on that below). All-in-all, although there might still be a few kinks to work out, I think I managed to come up with a pretty solid base design for my favorite Warring Warrior Scientist (Jr.)

Some additional character tidbits under the cut.

Also, I can't draw mechanisms to save my life, so just pretend those vague ninpo-gun-things make sense lol

Donnie has a mechanical prosthetic leg. How'd he lose that leg? Up to interpretation - my working theory is that it was a minefield accident that occurred when he was trying to blow some Krang dogs to Timbuktu. Naturally, since it's Donnie and they are in the midst of an alien apocalypse, he designed the leg to do a whole lot more than just help him stand without falling down. It's a multifunctional tool that contains a plethora of secret uses - including, but certainly not limited to, sawing off ugly Krang faces. It's essentially his new tech bo.

Bonus leg tidbit: Casey Jr. saw him deploy the saw blade in battle once when he was little, he then proceeded to beg for a saw-leg of his own to fight the Krang with. Donnie, realizing that amputating a perfectly healthy child's leg is probably not that most morally acceptable option, instead made him his own "sawing stick"(AKA, his motorized hockey stick)...which the others then made him wait until Casey's 10th birthday to give him.

The belt that Donnie's wearing here is a prototype of his latest invention. Its intended purpose: to deflect the Krang's mystic-blocking attacks, allowing them to use their ninpo in close combat. It took a lot of risk-taking to collect the necessary information to create such a device, and he experienced a number of way-too-close calls (one of which may or may not have resulted in that large gash across his plastron), but he finally managed to crack the code and pinpoint the frequency of the Krang's sound waves. He's testing it out right now to make sure that it works and is safe to use, but once it's out of beta, he plans to mass-produce them for every mystic-wielder in the Resistance to use in battle. He believes it could turn the tides of the war...unfortunately, the device never makes it out of beta, as he dies before its completion.

Donnie's gloves are fashioned after the ones his dad used to wear in his Lou Jitsu days (with some modifications, for comfort and to make working with screens a little easier and less annoying.) The material they're made out of is far more durable, of course, since he's working with them near-constantly and under varying conditions. But maybe he designed them to look like this as a way of keeping his dad's memory close, similar to Leo's sword hilt?

Ironically, Donnie uses his ninpo probably the most consistently out of all the brothers (even though Mikey uses his to the greatest extent, hence his rapid aging). He's constantly using it to check on the base's security status and multitask while working on other projects. Because his ninpo takes a good deal of brain power to operate, it puts a significant amount of strain on his nervous system and this causes frequent complications. Seizures, spasms, and blackouts become a semi-regular occurrence - especially in the latter part of his life. Donnie does his best to manage them, but the workload makes it almost impossible to do so properly. Mikey is able to help with these attacks when they happen, but Donnie - not wanting his brother to overuse his powers any more than he is already - usually opts to just ride it out and save the mystic healing for people who need it. The exception to this rule being when he's in the middle of an extremely important procedure and can't stop long enough to let the attack pass naturally, then he has no choice but to accept Mikey's aid.

This is probably needless to say at this point, but much like Leo and his other brothers, he is a giant. Equal in height to Leo (if not slightly taller, even without the goggles.) The doodle in the top-left corner of the sketch page where he's next to April is meant to be them sitting, so don't take it as anywhere near an accurate representation of their height comparison. It is not, he dwarfs her by several feet, lol.

[sami-guinea-arts]

Azura's wardrobe!!! In summer she wears special thermo leggins to keep away heat.

[katsutacle]

your sun and moon

[aizhits]

Guards! Disable that man!

Oops i connected with this character and took his leg oopsie

[whump-about-it]

The Only Way Out

@whumpuary Day 9: Trapped Under Rubble/ Gunpoint/ Out of Time

CW: implied amputation, implied cauterization

The cave in had been as expected as it was unexpected. It had surprised everyone when it happened, but considering they were in an old mine that had been abandoned because it had kept collapsing, everyone on the team had gone into the mission knowing full well it was a possibility.

"Roll Call!" Team Leader yelled once the dust had settled and the booming in the distance didn't seem so close to affect them anymore. "Who's not dead?"

"Teammate 1" Came a voice not too far from Team Leader.

"Teammate 2" Another sounded from farther down the mine shaft.

"Medic!" A voice yelled directly in Team Leader's ear. "Who screamed earlier? Are you alright?"

"That was me. Teammate 4. A rock hit me in the head, but I think I'm okay." A fourth voice called from somewhere behind them.

"They're probably not." Medic whispered and a dimming flashlight flickered to life. Medic's dust covered face was illuminated eerily behind it as they swept it over the small area looking for Teammate 4.

In the distance in front of Team Leader, another flashlight flickered on, brighter than Medic's. It illuminated the whole of the room to reveal that the exit, the way the team had come was almost completely covered in rubble, blocking all of their exits with the possible exception of Teammate 3, who was the smallest and most agile of them.

"Teammate 3" Team Leader called. "Are you dead?"

Silence followed. Team Leader's stomach instantly twisted into knots and they regret being so cavalier with the death jokes.

"Teammate 3!" They called again, Their eyes darting over the room.

Teammate 1 was standing off to Team Leader's side, near another pile of rubble that had not been there a few minutes ago. Their shirt was ripped and there was a large quantity of blood on their leg, that they of course were not acknowledging. Teammate 2 who had the working flashlight, was farther down, smartly away from most of the rock fall and in the part of the tunnel that was still open. Teammate 4 and Medic were together now near the wall of rubble. Teammate 4 was in fact bleeding profusely from a nasty gash on their forehead. But they looked lucid enough as they and Medic looked back at Team Leader with alarmed expressions.

"Teammate 3!" Team Leader yelled again holding terrified eye contact with Medic. In the silence that followed, there was finally a response. A tiny whine immitted from a pile of rubble near the corner of the wall, so quiet, Team Leader wouldn't have been able to hear it if a pin had dropped at the same moment.

"not dead yet, leader."

Team Leader was over to the rock pile in a second. Pushing and throwing rocks out of the way until Teammate 3 began to emerge among the rubble.

They had a bad gash on the side of their head. When Teammate 2, who had jumped in to help, moved a rock off their pelvis they had screamed in pain. Their femur appeared broken. So did one of their arms, which they had thrown over their face to protect it. Their other arm was in the worst shape. Or so Team Leader assumed it must be. It was completely buried under the wall of rubble. Team Leader could just barely make out Teammate 3's elbow before their entire forearm disappeared at the bottom of the massive pile heavy boulders that was blocking the team's exit.

"Medic!" Team Leader yelled over their shoulder. But Medic was already there; crouching just behind Team Leader with their flickering flashlight.

"Out of my way." They ordered Team Leader in an authoritative voice that made Team Leader jump out of their path without hesitation. They watched Medic for a minute as they shined their flashlight into Teammate 3's eyes and palpatated their body, making Teammate 3 scream in pain, all while asking them soft questions Teammate 3 could barely manage the answers to. When Medic finally got to the concerning arm injury Team Leader finally snapped out of their trance and turned to the rest of their crew.

"We have to start dismantling this wall." They ordered. "Teammate 2 help me with this. Teammate 1, you help Medic. Teammate 4, you just rest. I'm concerned about your head."

"Wait." Medic said over their shoulder. "Don't touch the wall yet. If it destablizes it could all come falling on Teammate 3 and I."

"How else are we supposed to get Teammate 3 out of there then?"

Medic stood up and turned towards Team Leader. In the shadowy light of the two flashlights, their face looked grave, but Team Leader was pretty sure it would have looked like that in the sunshine too. They walked over to Team Leader and gave a minute shake of their head.

"Even if we could get out of here, we wouldn't be able to save it. The bones are dust." Medic whispered so only Team Leader could hear. Their heart sank, but as they looked into Medic's dark, apologetic eyes, they knew they wouldn't be saying this if it wasn't absolutely true. This was going to be horrible.

"Okay. Change of plans" They said still holding eye contact with Medic. "Medic is in charge. Listen to them."

Medic nodded gravely and went over to their pack. Team Leader felt defeated. Deflated. They were supposed to protect their team, but here they were buried in an underground mine with almost no one knowing where they were. Three people were injured, one of whom was close to death's doorstep and about to get even closer.

You haven't failed as a leader yet.

They tried to tell themselves.

If you get everyone out of here alive you did the best you could.

But this wasn't even about their leadership really. Teammate 3 was looking at them with partially glazed over eyes, lips parted in the most confusion they could muster with the concussion they were probably sporting. They had no idea what was about to happen.

Medic came back with their medical kit.

"I know we all have flasks here. Get them out. Who ever has the highest proof gets to save there's, the rest of you, feed yours to Teammate 3. This is the only pain medication we have here. Teammate 1, I'm going to need your help, get behind Teammate 3 and help support them. Teammate 2, Teammate 4, you guys will be holding the flashlights on us, Team Leader-"

Medic turned to teamleader and handed them a wad of gauze and a book of matches.

"I don't have equiptment here to do stitches when we're done with this." They told Team Leader in a low voice. "You take the last flask of alchol and be ready to soak the gauze and light her up as soon as I say alright.?"

Team Leader nodded, feeling a little detatched as they agreed to Medic's orders. Medic nodded as well and swallowed hard before looking Team Leader back in the eye.

"You have the saw, right?"

It was only then, aparently, that Teammate 3 seemed to realize what was about to happen.

"Medic?" They said, the glazed look in their eyes suddenly fading into pure terror. They feably pushed away the flask Teammate 1 was now feeding them with their one hand and tried to sit up as best they could.

"Medic. Why do you need the saw? Medic? Why do you need the saw?"

Their voice got shriller with each word. Both Team Leader and Medic stoically ignored them as the saw was produced from Team Leader's pack and handed to Medic. They couldn't even look each other in the eye as the tool that was about to alter Teammate 3's life forever changed hands between them.

"Medic? You don't have to do this. Please don't do this."

"Finish feeding them the alchol." Medic ordered in a hollow, blank voice. Teammate 1 obliged and pressed the flask back to Teammate 3's lips and forced their head back to tip it into their throat. Teammate 3 screamed and moaned around the neck of the flask. Tears bursting in their eyes.

"Medic! Please!" They screamed shrilly once the flask was empty. "Please don't cut off my arm! There has to be another way!"

Medic walked over to them and knelt close to Teammate 3's arm.

"There isn't " They said sadly. "I'm sorry."

As Teammate 3 opened their mouth to scream again Medic suddenly produced a second wad of gauze and shoved it in their mouth.

"We can't have you screaming too loud or the sound waves could cause another collapse." They explained Teammate 3's eyes widened with a mixture of terror and anger, and they began to scream against their gag again and struggle. Medic purposefully looked away from them and at Teammate 1 who had already taken up their place behind Teammate 3.

"You're job is going to be make sure Teammate 3 moves as little as possible throughout this. Hold them as still as you can." Medic told them. Teammate 1 nodded and proceeded to manvouer themselves around Teammate 3 so that they had them practically imobilized while still managing to stay out of Medic's way. It didn't escape Team Leader's notice that Teammate 1 had managed to position themselves so that Teammate 3 wouldn't be able to see what was about to happen. Before totally settling themselves they leaned forward and kissed Teammate 3 on the side of the head.

"You're going to be okay." They said in a low voice and Medic began to postion themselves to start the procedure. Team Leader was so focused on the building horror that was happening infront of them that they at first didn't notice Teammate 4 hold out the final flask to them.

"Here boss." They whispered. When Team Leader looked up at them, they could see the reflection of the flahslights shine in their eyes. They had started crying. After a moment Team Leader noticed for the first time that they had tears running down their face as well.

"Just so you know. Teammate 1, Teammate 2 and I all took swigs of it. But there should be plenty left."

Team Leader nodded and took it from them. They didn't have the heart to be mad about that. And when they looked over at Medic, they were looking back at the flask as though they were jealous they weren't able to take a drink from it. Team Leader looked Medic directly in the eye and took a swig themselves.

"We're ready when you are Medic."

Medic gave them a nod. Then looked back at Teammate 3 one last time. Teammate 3 had dissolved into tears and was moaning something over and over again through their gag that Team Leader was pretty sure was "please"

"You're probably going to pass out from the pain quickly." Medic said trying to maintain a clinical voice, and failing. "Don't try and fight for consciousness. I promise we'll take care of you. When you wake up again this will all be over."

Teammate 3 began to cry harder, and Medic paused, their cold clinical expression breaking.

"I'm sorry Teammate 3. I'm so sorry that I have to do this."

With that Medic turned back Teammate 3's arm and picked up the saw.

[thomothysdoodles]

oscar, i am so sorry—

don’t worry, i don’t even feel it anymore.

16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

[batwynn]

When they come back wrong... or not at all.

[meltedmush]

Art dump with some lesbingqiu!!

[dragonnova]

Resonance: Time Ripple pg. 1&2

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Each Chapter will have a short "bumper" (or lead-in) that will document small shifts to the timeline caused by F!Leo. I will go further into this later, because "Spoilers". A side note I will delete later: I'm trying to work out a regular posting schedule. I pre-release pages on Patreon, because my patrons are saints and they're the reason I'm able to dedicate time to work on this passion project. I plan on releasing pages a week in advance on Patreon and then release them publicly here (and unlock them there).

[russet-writing]

“Look at them… Look at them, Whumpee.” Whumper snarls against their ear. “Is this what you fucking want?”

Whumpee doesn’t reply— They can’t. Before, they had been struggling with all their might: grinding their heels against the rain-slicked ground, clawing at the unforgiving hand gripping them by the scruff of their neck.

But now…? Now they were frozen. And their eyes, wide as saucers, were locked on the person lying on the shed floor. Only… calling it a person was almost laughable. It was a mere lump on the floor. The stumps of what used to be its limbs were disfigured, scars that had improperly healed. The small patches of skin visible from underneath its tattered blanket were painted with ugly bruises and deep lacerations… some had scarred over, others looked “fresh”. Undoubtedly infected, but new. The sight of this person— this thing that had once been human— curled up in this ramshackle shed.

The words die in their throat… The fight in Whumpee drains.

“Do you know how easily this could be you?” Whumper continues, ragged panting having settled into slow, trembling breaths. “Do you know how much restraint it takes to be patient when you act like a fucking child?” They catch Whumpee roughly by the jaw, forcing them to crane their neck to make eye contact.

Their next words are a whisper, deadly and demanding.

“If you try some shit like that one more time… you will end up just like them…” Their eyes search Whumpee’s intensely as if daring them to slip up, make a mistake. “Do you understand me?”

A breathless beat.

“I understand.”

“Good.” Their jaw is released and Whumpee’s knees nearly give out. But Whumper had already settled their attention on the heap of flesh in front of them, one hand reaching for their pocketknife. “Now get back inside… I need to relieve some stress.”

[agentsanders]

"Might get fired for using the 3d titanium printer unauthorized. But fuck it. Look at my new leg. Doesn't it look awesome? And it's so lightweight."

[onlythegoodpretzels]

Blood Duty

Kotallo this time! With a fic and a WIP of art!

This is for Whumptober 2024's prompt surgery!

On AO3: Blood Duty (3447 words) by OnlytheGoodPretzels Chapters: 2/2 A marshal under a knife is always dangerous, no matter how much he understands. Dekka will take him through it.

(I could not finish this illustration for today, ohmygod Tenakth tattoos.)

Or, if you like, read it under the cut:

Dread climbed Dekka’s armor when she saw the mismash of paint colors shambling up the path. Lowland and Sky together, squadless, was never a good sign. Neither were any Tenakth moving so slow.

A runner split off, pelting to the Grove’s palisades. “Chaplain! Treason!”

His white-rimmed eyes were enough for her to vault down to him, catch his arm. He was young, Sky Clan. Curse Tekkoteh for sending dregs! “Steady, soldier. What ---?”

He lurched out of her grip, waving wildly backward. “Regalla, at the Embassy! M-Marshal Kotallo!”

Shit.

Dekka hadn’t registered the white between the two lowland warriors. Kotallo’s lines bent wrong and crooked. He couldn’t be walking. “Report inside.” She pushed the warrior up the stairs, already running. “Chief’s guard, with me!” Please, if they carried him this far, let him be alive.

Fury flew in Dekka’s hands. Regalla, always sure there hadn’t been enough blood!

Ten above, Kotallo was walking. Or he was hobbling, arm wrapped wrestle-tight around a warrior’s shoulders. The other Tenakth huddled close around him, but didn’t touch his left side. Dried blood smudges covered him from chin to leg, garish and dark in the lush lowland green.

Kotallo’s eyes were barely a clenched line in his face. Sweat canyons carved through his paint. Every muscle stood separate in his neck.

And he clutched his left arm tight to his side, and wrap sheds around it were blood-black.

Shit shit shit.

“He needs a medic!” the warrior holding Kotallo gasped as Dekka reached them. “We-we did what we could, Chaplain, but I’m not sure --”

“R-Regalla -- Aghhhh!” Kotallo fought his eyes open, his growl gutted and hoarse. Hate made his skin look like stone. “D-declared war. We --- the Carja -- dea -- aaagh…” Dull choked gasps cut him off and his legs trembled, forcing him to hold tighter. The third time he tried for breath a dull cracked cry shredded out instead.

But it was his arm that commanded Dekka’s attention. He dug it tighter to his ribs, crusted blood glistening against his marks. The angle of it…the rolling twitch it dragged along his jaw, mouth open in a silent retching quiver…his hand was gone.

And though he looked toward her, Kotallo’s eyes never focused.

Dekka blocked out the rest of the conversations. The chief guard commander could handle the rest, but not this. They might still lose a marshal yet. “Quiet, soldier.”

Kotallo squinted, weaving dangerously, trying to find her. She came to his side and reached in slow to press her thumb to his headdress. Just as she had years ago setting his first marshal mark. “Your chief will take his report when he’s ready.”

Even that little force tipped him.

But Kotallo winced, swallowing raggedly. “D-Dekka…”

“Yes.” Dekka grit her teeth, feeling his gasps rattle on her fingers. Were the others she’d marked gone? She couldn’t worry about them now. “You made it. Regalla didn’t strike here.”

Kotallo snarled, low and choked. The rawness of it twisted in Dekka’s feathers, anger clenching her arms until the fronds hissed. Regalla thought sending pain like this to their doorstep would frighten them. What it would do was sing vengeance, like the fury burning in Dekka’s hands now at the thought of Kotallo limping all this way.

“Ch-chief?” Kotallo twitched, grimace carving deeper. Trying to straighten up, the idiot. 

Dekka pressed knuckles to his breastplate. “Safe. Hold Still.” The force of his shaking ached in her wrist.

Orders still worked, thank the Ten. Kotallo stilled, eyes open but darting. “G-good…good.” He must know she was there, though, because he let the chief’s guard heave him onto the stretcher when it came. Kotallo howled but he didn’t attack anyone. That was the best they would get today.

Dekka waited just long enough to be sure he was down. She had to speak to Hekarro, now.

______________________________________________________________

The shadow of war hunched over the Grove as Dekka hurried to the sleep rooms. Teharra’s report was clear and curt. The broken remains of Kotallo’s arm had Bristleback hate leeched in. The hasty field job, cut and cauterized, saved his life this long. But blaze in the wound had done its work, too deep to pry out.

For him to survive, they had to cut the attack off at the source.

This, and then Regalla.

Hekarro’s grief held him impossibly still when she left him staring at the throne room flickers. “Call him back,” had been his orders. “We can’t lose him too.”

Dekka had no intention of losing anyone else. The tags laid at the base of the throne bit so sharp. She’d give Hekarro her full report later. He was with the survivors now, though it sounded like they’d been trapped at a distance while Kotallo fought in the thick of it. And Dekka had her own calls first. A marshal under a knife was always dangerous, no matter how much he understood.

She could hear the right hut twenty paces off. Rough, sharp groans clouded the air. Dekka ducked inside.

“The Chaplain will be here -- “ Teharra’s face lit up with relief. “It’s alright. She’s here.”

Dekka nodded, setting down her bow loudly and slowly. “Kotallo.”

Kotallo sagged against the dark. He curled, hand wrapped across his knees, holding himself up as if by the grip alone. Each time he gasped he twitched, bowed tighter around his wounded limb. Armor and ornaments scattered the rug around him, so he hadn’t stopped Teharra removing them. Or hadn’t managed to. But now he looked coiled, a burrower ready to strike.

He looked up, gaze drifting slow and dull.

Good. So he’d been aware enough to drink Teharra’s liquor. They wouldn’t be able to do this at all without something in him to blunt the pain or his strength.

Teharra nodded. “He’s had a flask, but he won’t take more.” He sighed. “Marshals.”

Dekka smiled despite the tight pang in her chest. “Always at the ready, as much as they can be.” Hopefully one was enough for Kotallo. He rarely drank more ale than brought his brash back out for spars, and Teharra’s brew was rust-bitingly strong. She was glad he’d been aware enough to accept that much.

Dekka stepped closer. “Marshal. Ready?”

“Read…Ready.” Kotallo scowled, fighting against the slurring words. He squinted at Dekka, fist clenched. “Ch…chief?”

She’d only heard bits and pieces from the survivors on her way out. An ambush. Machines tearing through the marshals, Regalla’s traitors on their backs. This close, Dekka could see the dark seep of bruises in Kotallo’s marks. Cuts glinted in the blue-black stain ringing his left arm and side. The same impact echo showed dark and edged in the gap of his sternum and all the way down at his knee between the white bands.

Something enormous crashed into him, or blows all swung from the same side.

It must have been terrible.

“Planning our retaliation.” Dekka made sure he met her eyes. She wondered if he didn’t remember or was so worried he had to ask again. “He’ll want to see you after this.”

Relief hazed across Kotallo’s face. He was young enough for Hekarro’s approval to fill a void Dekka could only just remember. Maybe it would help him through this. Still, Kotallo hissed, slumping. Violent quivers ran across his bruises. “H-he…nhh--it’s bad…”

Sky Clan and their understatements. Dekka nodded. “I know. We’ve had worse.” She hoped that was true, but truth wasn’t her goal here. She moved slow, watching for strikes, and touched Kotallo’s strained knuckles. “Teharra needs to work. Lie down.”

Kotallo’s brow and nose clenched pain-low before he fought them flat. He sighed raggedly, the sound catching each time his bruised side twitched. Were the ribs broken? A snarl-shape trembled into his lip as he glanced at his arm, then turned sharply back to her. “Watch…” Kotallo’s voice broke and he winced, the pain crumpling back into his face. “Watch for machines…she…”

He finally released his knee to catch Dekka’s thumb. He shivered, fighting not to fall without the brace, a fight he would clearly lose. “She had machines…c-controlled them…somehow.”

Chills ridged up Dekka’s back. She needed to know more about that, but not now. Now she needed to answer Kotallo’s fear. She returned the handclasp, keeping her voice firm and even. “I’ll keep watch. I promise.”

Kotallo searched her face. His expression changed sluggishly, from drawn to relieved to exhausted. He braced against her hand. And when he started to fall again, he stopped fighting it.

Dekka held on, pulling to slow his fall, but Kotallo still whimpered through grit teeth hitting down, left arm slipping. Teharra ducked into the gap, stabilizing it and guiding it down. That set Kotallo growling shrilly, glancing wildly in too many directions as he tried to find what was hurting him.

Dekka let him go. No sense making him feel more trapped. “The chief’s guard will take care of it. You just have to focus.”

Kotallo panted, blinking dazedly toward her. Then he arched, keening, clawing at the rug as Teharra peeled the wrap off his mangled arm. Dekka winced, bitter taste in the back of her mouth. How long had he been stifling that sound whenever someone jostled him?

Bared, the destruction was gut-twisting. The stitches at Kotallo’s bloody wrist couldn’t hold the wound closed fully, so bone glinted at the end. The skin was mottled purple and black, darker at the wrist. Ragged scabbed gouges bent the swollen flesh in awful spirals up his forearm. Like he’d been processed by a Scrounger. They rippled and wept as he flinched. The smell of bleed and tear hit like a punch.

Teharra caught her eye and nodded before he bent down. Dekka swallowed. She’d seen many machine wounds and every single one looked inhumanly awful. If the medic thought it was possible, her duty was simple and clear.

Kotallo hissed through setting the tourniquet. He searched the room sluggishly, breaths tight and ragged. The position on his back made it worse. That worked in their favor.

When Teharra brought down his knife, Kotallo howled, recoiling, but he was choked enough to fall back almost instantly, coughing. Each time Teharra shifted Kotallo gurgled, searching shakily for Dekka, a low unyielding sound deep in his chest.

He wouldn’t be able to do this without something to hold.

Dekka leaned over him. It was hardest when there was nothing to fight. Tenakth Kotallo’s age had rarely uexperienced that kind of pain. “Soldier, I need that report. What did this?”

Kotallo twitched, relief fighting into the sweat and bruises on his face. “R -- hhhghh --” His chest spasmed, stomach to neck. “Regah -- !“

Blood, bubbling fresh. Kotallo roared, teeth creaking they clenched so hard. Teharra pinned his shoulder, shushing softly as he dug his knife in again.

 “Regalla.” Dekka broke eye contact long enough to spit on the ground. “Yes. How were you hurt?”

“ B--bhhh. Khhh--aghhh!” Kotallo flattened into the rug, kicking frantically as the blade chewed into him. Dekka pinned him, hands flat to his chest, the shattering force of his spasms jarring up and through her to ground in the dirt. “Brist -- khh! Bristle-b-back…”

Kotallo suddenly snapped his head down, hand writhing against Dekka’s knee. “Javv--AAAH! I w-wouldn’t let…” The words rushed out like he couldn’t bear them in his mouth. “H-he didn’t --- N-no!”

By the Ten! The pain was setting him off, forcing him to see what he had in battle. Dekka realized with a start her hands were flat over the bruise on his chest, where something struck him so hard it painted him black. She cursed and pushed harder. “What happened to the Bristleback, Kotallo?”

“S-sp…!” Kotallo choked, fighting weakly against her, but not enough. Not enough to jostle Teharra, or knock the glow-blade off course as it came down again, sizzling. Kotallo’s scream felt like it split the arena walls.

Dekka focused on the jagged thrum of the sound from Kotallo’s bloodied ribs up her arms, deep into her bones, right into her heart. Let it lodge there. She’d take it. She’d listen to what Regalla did to their soldiers, swallow it down bitterness and all. And she’d send it straight back into that traitor’s chest when the time was right.

Let everyone hear it. Let Hekarro hear it and be ready this time.

Lulls in bloody work like this were short and sharp. Teharra switched tools. Kotallo sagged, streaming sweat. “S-spear,” he gasped, slow and toneless. “Sp-spear. Ja--h-he speared. It pinned me.” His knuckles knocked against Dekka as if to push, but he was too uncoordinated. His wild searching of the hut intensified, tears caught in his paint. “C-can’t get loose. C-crush.”

Dekka hadn’t though she could feel more ache, but there it was. These bruises were from a Bristelback burying Kotallo? Like he was already dead as the sand drank his blood? The image chilled all the way to her spine. No wonder the warriors who saved him looked so haunted.

“It’s not here.” Dekka risked letting go one hand to brush Kotallo’s face, drawing his head down to the rug looking at her. “I have you.”

Had Regalla missed him then, down beneath the machine?

Kotallo winced, blinking hard, heaving. Shudders ran all the way down his ribs. His eyes focused violently as Teharra shifted. “D-Dekka…?” A broken bark of sound, clawed out hoarse and frayed.

Damn, so brave. “Yes. That’s right.” Dekka shuddered. The bone-biter flashed its jagged teeth in the corner of her eye, lighting Teharra’s rigidly focused face. She held it separate, looking only at Kotallo. “Yes. The Bristelaback. How did you evade Regalla, marshal?”

She didn’t really want to know if her old sparring partner found other downed marshals, or what she did to them. Regalla could be cruel and now she was beyond all honor. But Dekka hadn’t been in that bloody dirt, so she wasn’t going to fall short of those who were.

Bone grating sounded like nothing else.

Kotallo fought, joints snapping with the kind of desperation that made lizards bite after their hearts stopped beating. Dekka caught his hips with her knee, pinning his torso with an arm bar dug in at the collarbone. Kotallo wailed and roared, pulse sputtering against her fist at the crook of his ear. But even though he bared his teeth animal-sharp at the pain, he couldn’t move her.

Thank the Ten she could hold him. And she hated it so much. Kotallo was stronger than her. Dekka hated that he wasn’t right now.

Kotallo writhed beneath her even though he couldn’t break through. Dekka didn’t think he could see her, and she could only hope he wasn’t seeing the Bristleback. His white smudged on her knuckles, bleeding off in the sweat. Like Regalla tried to wipe the marshals’ stories down into the sand she thought belonged to her.

“Out -- “ Kotallo suddenly clutched at her sash. “F-fire hair, n-neverseen---” When she looked his eyes were glazed, forced almost closed by the deep gouges the pain tore in his face. But he was focused. Holding on to what he saw. Words bubbled out like the blood spatters Teharra burnt closed. “Neverseenoutland--aaah---f-foughtch-challenge--Gr--AAAH!”

An outlander?

Dekka tried to shift enough for him to feel her tug in return. “A Carja challenge Regalla? Brave.” She leaned down, holding him through the spasms.

She didn’t think Kotallo could feel anything through the sawing teeth. But she had to try.

After interminable time and screams, Teharra shifted at her shoulder. Roasting flesh smell roiled much closer to Dekka’s face than before. She looked, letting the glow-blade sear its echo-ache on her vision to watch it press to the curve where Kotallo’s elbow had been and now was carved away. The blood was so red it seemed like it would never allow another color, even though Dekka knew that wasn’t true.

Teharra nodded, gratitude tight in his face as he set the glowblade aside and took up his needles. He set to closing the flesh around the new end of Kotallo’s arm, stitching the muscles back home.

Before Dekka could respond, Kotallo slumped under her, breaths watery and ragged, full-body trembling. She lurched up so she wasn’t crushing his chest. “Kotallo?”

He muttered, still trying to answer her, but no words formed in the sounds. Dekka pressed her palm to his cheek and sagged with relief when skin-warmth met it. So no blood-chill, thank everything. She tapped his cheek. “Kotallo!”

Teharra’s wounds weren’t like battle hits. They could shock even the strongest warriors into strange states. Maybe losing the bone was more than Kotallo could hold like this.

Kotallo flinched, bumping Dekka’s hand. He slid one eye open. Pain-drunk now, loose and shaky as new-walking cadet, he nudged closer. It took a long time for any recognition to bleed over his face. Kotallo wheezed, fingers twitching. “G--Grudda…”

The desert champion. Certainty stabbed into Dekka. The braggart joined Regalla. “He isn’t here.”

Kotallo bared his teeth in something like a smile, though it couldn’t reach the grooved pain lines in his face. “H-he’s dead.” He clutched his hand to his ribs, panting so fast it shook him. “Ahh--at least---I saw…that…”

Dekka let her full scowl out. She had no patience for Kotallo’s brand of dramatic, regardless of whether he was conscious or not! She clasped his thumb, hard, pulling him away from the bruises. “You’re not dying today. And if you did, I would make you sharpen every weapon in the Grove.”

Kotallo flinched, fumbling in her grip. Confused. The tangle of needles and cut and fingers was probably more than he could parse right now. But he returned the grip. So faint it felt like a brush of wind. “Y…yes…Ch…”

His strength was almost gone. He’d spent so much just getting here, and then making the Ten proud under Teharra’s teeth. Dekka felt him losing cohesion, fingers slackening. She forced herself not to panic. Kotallo was breathing. He showed no sign of stopping. If the pain took him under, it would be a reprieve for all of them.

Still, she hated him fighting to see her. Dekka pressed her thumb to the deep pain lines in Kotallo’s forehead, joining her sweat with his. “The chief still needs your report after this. He’ll want to know what happened to Grudda.”

The pressure nudged Kotallo’s eyes closed, as she’d hoped. He shuddered, each breath he took climbing into her wrist. “S-she…killed…him.” A faint smile dragged at the corner of his mouth. “S-strength…o-of the…Te…”

He went still, head sagged into her hand. Finally, finally out. He still protested faintly to each dip of Teharra’s thread, but the sound was so soft it was barely a hum in Dekka’s fingertips. She let herself breathe, and stay. And wait.

The thick blood smell leveled, pierced with balm-sour and char.

She checked Kotallo’s pulse, even though she could see him breathing perfectly well. “Teharra?”

Teharra wrapped his tools. “He’s survived this far. He should be clear if he wakes up tomorrow.” He paused, reaching to run his hands over his face, but caught it before he smeared himself bloody. Instead, he blinked at Dekka. “He will…”

Dekka took a moment to turn to Teharra, fully meet his eyes. She didn’t want Regalla’s fear to reach any farther than it already had. “Yes. He knows we need him.”

Teharra nodded, teeth grit. Seeing a marshal carved this deep shook him, even after all he’d seen. Dekka had her work cut out for her once she finished here. Teharra stood, lifting the bloody wrapped bundle of Kotallo’s arm. “I’ll report to Chief and see to this. If…he’ll ask for you.”

Dekka shook her head. “He won’t. There are no marshals to keep the Watch. No clanmates he’d recognize.” She traced the mountain lines on Kotallo’s forehead, trying to smooth some of the pain there. “Tell Chief I’m ready to report. And send anyone in need of guidance here to me.”

Teharra saluted. “Walk with the Ten, Chaplain.”

“And Hekarro can wait for you to wash!” Dekka called after him. She settled, half an eye on Kotallo’s short, wincing breaths. They all needed her. Everyone in the Grove, even Hekarro. And she'd do it. She’d see to them all. That was her duty as Chaplain. Tonight this was the tip of her spear.

Dekka gathered Kotallo’s breastplate off the floor. Sitting by his head, so he’d see her if he woke, she picked the dried blood out of the tines. By morning, maybe this would be something she could give back to him, for all the things no one ever could.

[scholarofgloom]