Kneel in Pieces [Battle Thread]

Connor’s expression, watching Colleen’s takedown of the flying worm, resembled a freshly snowballed child’s. Woof. Had he forgotten how much he liked the way her soft fur hid reflexes that could snatch a runaway kid, or dance as fast as them during recess? Or had he been thinking about it every day, like all of her traits, since he’d left Zootopia?

Her smugness snapped him out of it. Dashing his head back and forth to clear it, Con wrinkled his snout at the schoolteacher. “Yeah, okay, real impressive. You can take down a little foot-long biter. There’s worse than that waiting for you out there!”

While he spoke, the wolf wasted no time turning and lifting up the ragged curtain separating the blacksmith’s main room from the back section. The tunnel was still standing open, it’s trapdoor supported by a small chip of wood. The oldest female human took one look and darted towards it, holding out her arm for the squealing little one.

Connor didn’t like the look Colleen’s eyes were glinting with. But he realized almost immediately that it wasn’t just pride. There was something slightly more fragile there.

”Fine. They’ll go with you. I won’t.”

A flash of memory: the first time she’d ever grabbed his paw, the first time he’d ever felt hers so shaky...floating on the iceway, about to go through one of the river tunnels in Tundratown. I...don’t do well in closed spaces.

She was claustrophobic. Aw, jeez. He knew she thought he was a jerk, a ‘blaggard’—and how the fuzz was he supposed to prove her wrong when he forgot stuff like this?

“Ah—look...” He began, hearing his own voice sound like half-melted snow. The eldest Huntford firmed it up. He knew her, even if he forgot important things. She’d bristle at pity, and definitely bite if he just blabbed her fear in front of strangers. Had to use a little tact. “It’s not far. And these guys need you.”

The Prince was suddenly like an arrow, his body stretched forward and up from below the Hun’s guard and his blade aiming for the vast expanse below the barrel ribcage. Why would the smaller man wait to attack until his enemy was watching? Was this honor?

It was foolishness.

It was death.

Like a hammer swatting down an incoming shaft, Shan Yu brought the pommel of his sword down in a double-fisted arc. ”HURRAAUUGH!” Even seeing the Prince’s dive coming, Shan Yu was still too slow to land this blow on the opponent’s skull. Instead, it smashed down between the white-clad weakling’s shoulder blades and cancelled his little flight. The Hun received a thrilling reminder of how close he’d cut it when the outstretched blade’s tip scratched his stomach on it’s way downward.

The sound of the little man’s sword clattering across the cobblestones and his form lying facedown disgusted the Hun. One pointed hand reached down to touch his small wound. Yellow eyes glanced over the blood there carelessly. The sounds of battle around him were enticing, but Shan Yu didn’t look at the surrounding progress yet. He sneered at his prey. This was the best his enemies could do?

The Prince’s view of his target, the Hun’s midriff, as he lunged, was shut off. A flash of white hot pain. Blackout. He hadn’t made it.

When his eyes bleared open again the Prince was lying, his cheek against the cobblestone, his mouth full of blood, both arms spread above him. His sword—he had to reach it. The young man had brought both arms under his shoulders and was pushing himself up before the jagged, destroyed feeling of pain between them registered. With a defiant grunt he forced through it, but wobbled on his knees.

The sight of Shan Yu swam in front of him, double-visioned. He had expected a parry, but this monster didn’t fight like his father had trained him. This was a barbarian.

The people. Christopher’s brows crushed down over his eyes and he tried to will the fogginess from his brain. If he left this brute standing, Shan Yu would move on to them. No. He had felt this foggy ness crowding his vision before. The last time it had cleared, Ella was gone like a vapor in the night. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

This was the strength that took the Prince’s blurry, defiant gaze off of his opponent and glanced about for his sword desperately.

The Prince met Shan Yu’s eyes, though he saw four of them, with his most defiant stare. He was not bowing, neither in knee-height posture nor silent gaze. He knew he couldn’t reach his blade now that the larger man was right here before him, and his honor kept him from making any desperate efforts in the face of the villain’s gloating.

But the screams of his subjects overcame that.

Thus Christopher’s dazed mind settled on the strategy to reach for his enemy’s weapon. But when he leaned forward, palm outsreatched unsteadily for the quick grasping move, he was stopped with the hand at his throat like an immovable wall. That wall became a noose, and Christopher found himself unable to suck in air, the world lowering as he was lifted past standing ability. Hands that had slid the glass slipper upon his bride’s foot in happier times now locked around the huge wrist of his captor, struggling futilely.

As oxygen left his reach, the Prince could hardly register Shan Yu’s taunts. The image of the man’s devilish goatee and mass of grey furs faded in and out, interrupted by broken-glass memories. His father riding away for reinforcements. The Duke’s worried face. Cinderella’s eyes, desperate and defiant, even as she was dragged from his view.

The word ‘extermination’ made it through the dark haze, and unconsciousness was seared away for just a moment by the pain, like a cold line of ice, slashing into him.

Not again!

Christopher didn’t even feel the cobblestones as he met them again when the Hun finally released his grip. No sooner had air re-entered his lungs than the defeated monarch choked, feeling as if blood was filling every one of his senses. He had fallen on his hands and knees, one arm cradling his new wound. “No—you can’t!” Barked his voice, hoarse, and though urgent, nearly inaudible.

But he could hear, through the shuddering of his own breathing, the crackle of fire. Nottingham was going to burn.

Christopher wanted to rise, but he could barely keep himself propped on one hand, his body utterly rejecting any orders. He tried to raise his gaze from the reddening Street, but it was met with too-bright flames just above. He’d failed—he had less power to continue fighting than a mouse had to sew a dress.

After Shan Yu’s first kick, all the remaining strength left the Prince’s limbs. His body was one huge throb of pain. Cinerella’s eyes seemed to take shape in the pieces of blue peeking through the smoke he stared up at. Another kick, and he couldn’t see that anymore either. He was dimly aware that he was inside of a building—the burning building. Daylight was still stretched across his limp feet, so he knew he was still near the door when the sound of Shan Yu leaving registered without being able to lift his head.

Christopher coughed again, and rocked feebly to the left. He had to roll over. That would be the first step toward getting his arms benreath him—he wasn’t above crawling, and he had to get out of this condemned house. Get to where someone could see him. His body felt empty, but his mind was full of the goals death was threatening to interrupt.

Ella. She was still out there, beyond all this, in a darker place.

Enchanted Suns. They had to know about her, that she needed to be rescued.

Father. The King, he wouldn’t survive his son’s death, he wouldn’t forgive him for leaving him without grandchildren, he’d be so disappointed that his son had failed to protect the people...

Prince Christopher was so focused on these rebellious thoughts, he didn’t know when he fell unconscious.

Shoulder be damned. The pain would have to wait. The she-dragon lifted her ruff slightly as she turned to face her new attacker. Now, was this for her? Or was this for the children huddling around her? The the elderly? The sick? How could these people do this? how could the Thorns want to exterminate everyone? For what exactly? Her light green eyes narrowed. Her vicious features were up.

If anyone was going to burn it all down, it was her. But the 'all' in question would be the villains and ruffians attacking the innocents.

Lifting up, despite her smaller size, she sucked in a breath and shot out a fireball, aimed at Shan-Yu. She assumed a dodge would happen. So she followed up the fire with extended claws and teeth. Sure she couldn't gobble him up with her current size but she could tackle him to the ground. Which, with wings spread and a roar bellowing from her lungs, she intended to do.

Dodger staggered back with the force of the cat using him as a springboard. At least the ugly mook's nasty claws weren't in his shoulders anymore.

His voice sounded like Sikes' cigars smelled. Air gulping quickly back into the Dodge's lungs built his energy back into a crescendo. Sucker punches made him mad. Losing blood and face in front of a cat?

That made Dodger lose it.

The terrier shook himself, and when his ears stopped flapping they were pinned. His teeth jutted out of a wrinkled stache. When he dashed forward again with a snarl that meant business, it was to the beat of angry, heavy-metal adrenaline.

He'd gone for the face the first time. This time, Dodger topped off his charge with a spring--even if the cat latched onto his front, this time he'd let his weight carry the creature off it's paws. He'd come out top dog, one way or another.