That was enough. Malik growled, his only hand shooting down to grab one of his throwing knives. However, he had forgotten Altair’s new speed and only just managed to get his fingers around the hilt when the Master noticed, pulling his arm back up, twisting it behind his back. With a sharp pull, the knife clattered to the floor as Malik gasped.
A hand reached under his robs, grabbing all the remaining throwing knives and tossed them aside. Malik squeezed his eyes closed, listening as his only weapons became useless to him. That same hand roamed for a moment, as if looking for any other hidden weapons, before it paused, coming to a halt on Malik’s stomach. He glared, turning his head back at an odd angle so he could see Altair’s face. Malik sneered.
“And what do you plan on doing now? Kill me?” He spat out, flexing and relaxing the muscles in his shoulders, trying to figure out how to get back the movement of his only arm.
Apparently, Altair did not approve of his vocalization. It seemed Malik was being ‘insubordinate’ he could see, written all over the Master’s face. At such a look, Malik let a half-smirk twitch against his lips. Maybe Altair wasn’t as in control as he thought he wa—
“No, Malik.”
His eyes went wide, suddenly, and the next sarcastic remark died on his tongue, twisting itself into a sharp, pained cry. The hand twisting his arm back was pulling, pulling hard enough in the wrong direction so his arm bent further, strained into a twist that wasn’t humanly possible.
“I don’t want to kill you.”
And, in another second and hard jolt, a clear ‘pop’ sounded, followed closely by Malik screaming out as his arm was dislocated from his shoulder.
Behind him, Altair was laughing again, a sick sort of twisted sound that caused another wave of nausea to sweep over Malik, though he was sure that was also partly from the pain setting his body ablaze.
“See, I only want to make an example of you.” The hand holding his arm let it go and another cry left Malik’s throat as the weight of it fell, causing another jolt of pain as if swung limp and worthless next to him. Horror crossed the Dai’s face, a sudden look of realization, as he tried to move a finger only to cause more pain running up his body, that he now had no working arm to protect himself. And that awful voice was still talking to him. “I want it so, every time another looks upon you, you they will think twice about calling anyone but me ‘Master’.”
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, only half hearing what the other was saying, trying over and over again to get some mobility out of his arm, not wanting to think about how nothing but pain gave him reply. At least it was still there. At least he could still feel it. Though, Altair did not like being ignored. Grabbing Malik by the shoulder, he turned him around, face to face, eyes bright with that spark of insanity. Ebony met amber and couldn’t look away. Altair smiled once more; glad he had captured the other’s attention.
“You speak so highly of the Creed,” He said in just above a whisper. “So why not prove how faithful you truly are?”
Suddenly, everything was a blur. It was a combination of Altair’s quick movements and the sudden pain that practically made Malik black out as he was pulled by the arm (too scared to resist in fear of it being fully ripped off) and then thrown onto the untouched bed. There was no time to make himself more comfortable or to even move enough for a possible escape as the bed dipped and Altair was above him.
The anger had vanished, replaced now by a pleasant air, soft and almost, almost, understanding. Forgiving. And maybe it would have worked on someone else, anyone else, but Malik knew better. The man above him was the reason he only had one arm. He was the reason he might have none soon and he knew better than to trust that look. Because those eyes gave it away, clouded over and distant. The Apple was at work, causing more of the poison to invade.
He flinched away when cold fingers touched his cheek. When had he started to cry again?
That smile, and for a moment Malik saw a shadow of what Altair used to be.
“Dear Malik…do not judge me so harshly for what I am about to do. I simply want you to remember, that everything is still permitted.”
Re: Visions of Eden [5/?]
A hand reached under his robs, grabbing all the remaining throwing knives and tossed them aside. Malik squeezed his eyes closed, listening as his only weapons became useless to him. That same hand roamed for a moment, as if looking for any other hidden weapons, before it paused, coming to a halt on Malik’s stomach. He glared, turning his head back at an odd angle so he could see Altair’s face. Malik sneered.
“And what do you plan on doing now? Kill me?” He spat out, flexing and relaxing the muscles in his shoulders, trying to figure out how to get back the movement of his only arm.
Apparently, Altair did not approve of his vocalization. It seemed Malik was being ‘insubordinate’ he could see, written all over the Master’s face. At such a look, Malik let a half-smirk twitch against his lips. Maybe Altair wasn’t as in control as he thought he wa—
“No, Malik.”
His eyes went wide, suddenly, and the next sarcastic remark died on his tongue, twisting itself into a sharp, pained cry. The hand twisting his arm back was pulling, pulling hard enough in the wrong direction so his arm bent further, strained into a twist that wasn’t humanly possible.
“I don’t want to kill you.”
And, in another second and hard jolt, a clear ‘pop’ sounded, followed closely by Malik screaming out as his arm was dislocated from his shoulder.
Behind him, Altair was laughing again, a sick sort of twisted sound that caused another wave of nausea to sweep over Malik, though he was sure that was also partly from the pain setting his body ablaze.
“See, I only want to make an example of you.” The hand holding his arm let it go and another cry left Malik’s throat as the weight of it fell, causing another jolt of pain as if swung limp and worthless next to him. Horror crossed the Dai’s face, a sudden look of realization, as he tried to move a finger only to cause more pain running up his body, that he now had no working arm to protect himself. And that awful voice was still talking to him. “I want it so, every time another looks upon you, you they will think twice about calling anyone but me ‘Master’.”
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, only half hearing what the other was saying, trying over and over again to get some mobility out of his arm, not wanting to think about how nothing but pain gave him reply. At least it was still there. At least he could still feel it. Though, Altair did not like being ignored. Grabbing Malik by the shoulder, he turned him around, face to face, eyes bright with that spark of insanity. Ebony met amber and couldn’t look away. Altair smiled once more; glad he had captured the other’s attention.
“You speak so highly of the Creed,” He said in just above a whisper. “So why not prove how faithful you truly are?”
Suddenly, everything was a blur. It was a combination of Altair’s quick movements and the sudden pain that practically made Malik black out as he was pulled by the arm (too scared to resist in fear of it being fully ripped off) and then thrown onto the untouched bed. There was no time to make himself more comfortable or to even move enough for a possible escape as the bed dipped and Altair was above him.
The anger had vanished, replaced now by a pleasant air, soft and almost, almost, understanding. Forgiving. And maybe it would have worked on someone else, anyone else, but Malik knew better. The man above him was the reason he only had one arm. He was the reason he might have none soon and he knew better than to trust that look. Because those eyes gave it away, clouded over and distant. The Apple was at work, causing more of the poison to invade.
He flinched away when cold fingers touched his cheek. When had he started to cry again?
That smile, and for a moment Malik saw a shadow of what Altair used to be.
“Dear Malik…do not judge me so harshly for what I am about to do. I simply want you to remember, that everything is still permitted.”