Clash(2)

Sawyer, along with the rest of the bikers, heard the main bulk of the fight moving further inward. They seized this opportunity to advance. As they stepped over the dead bodies strewn across the floor, Sawyer's stomach churned violently. He turned and vomited. The sight of death was a stark contrast to merely hearing about it; the brutal reality gripped him, making his heart race uncontrollably.

His eyes were drawn to the lifeless bodies, their vacant stares haunting him. Some eyes remained open, lifelessly gazing into the void, while others were mercifully closed. "The lives of these people…" he thought, unable to complete the sentence as a lump formed in his throat, choking off his words.

A biker, looking a few years older than Sawyer, noticed his hands growing clammy, his nervousness palpable. The older biker placed a reassuring hand on Sawyer's shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

His hair was curly black, falling just below his shoulders, his form adorned in a slim, form-fitting black ankle-length tailcoat, black boots, and gloves. His eyes held a crimson hue, mirroring the blood flowing around him. In his hands were two pitch matte black Chinese daggers, their blades sleek and doubled-edged. He left the safety of his earlier position as he spotted a group of shooters nearby, in a reckless haze he launched towards them and began slashing wildly, every hit completing his art form.

Just as Sawyer was finally summoning the courage to move again, he felt a tight grip on his ankle from behind. He struggled to call out, his words stuck in his throat like a knife, his group was already beginning to move to a new position, oblivious to his plight. A body peered up from the ground, a bullet hole through the left side of his chest. The shot biker pulled Sawyer to the ground. Fueled by adrenaline, Sawyer quickly sprang back up, only to be met with the fallen biker's fist pounding into him. Everyone else moved on, engrossed in the fight, unaware of the one they had left behind.

Sawyer's mind raced as the half-dead man sat on top of him, helplessly pummeling him. Memories from school flooded back, moments when he had been physically and spiritually oppressed.

"You need something to at least protect yourself." Ezekiel's words echoed in his mind as his vision began to blur. His eyes locked onto the knife that fell out of his hand during the drop and had landed just out of reach to his right. Summoning every ounce of strength within him, he blocked two of the man's wild hooks from above. Using his lightweight frame to his advantage, Sawyer slipped out from under the half-dead attacker and rolled swiftly toward the knife.

The half-dead man, sensing Sawyer's intent to go for the knife, scrambled to stop him. But with a burst of adrenaline-fueled determination, Sawyer's fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife just in time.

Sawyer unhesitatingly picked the knife up from the ground and drove it into the pursuer's middle toe on his right foot.

"AAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!" The man screamed in agony. In a fit of blind rage and adrenaline, Sawyer stood up and kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Without pausing, Sawyer yanked the knife from the man's foot, evoking another scream, and then drove the blade through his abdomen four times, each thrust fueled by a blind, desperate rage to survive.

As the adrenaline ebbed away, the gravity of what he had just done sank in. Sawyer's breathing slowed, and he stared at the lifeless corpse before him, the life had just taken. The man lay still, blood pooling around him, and the reality of death settled heavy on his conscience.

Ezekiel noticed Sawyer gone and drew back. Ezekiel burst in, his gun sweeping the room, with a rushing adrenaline and urgency. His eyes fell upon Sawyer beside the dead body,

it only took him a moment to grasp the situation. Kneeling down to Sawyer's level, he called out, "Hey… Hey…!! Hey!!!" His final shout snapped Sawyer back to reality.

"It was self-defense, alright?" Ezekiel's voice softened, his concern evident as he watched Sawyer's eyes helplessly drift back to the lifeless man. "Alright!?" He insisted.

"…. Sure…." Sawyer mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"Here you go…!" From around the bar table, a body was flung, crashing into the cold, hard, dirt and blood stained brown wooden floor. Vail emerged with a smirk. "This is the leader of this chapter of Hellhounds. How do you want to handle him?" he asked, but his smirk faded as he noticed the body lying next to Sawyer. He pieced the situation together quickly, the tension in the room palpable.

Ezekiel shot a nervous glance at Vail, silently conveying the this was not the time. Sawyer didn't even respond, a haunting sat in his eyes, he sat almost soulless next to the corpse.

"Never mind, we'll figure it out," Vail said, his tone shifting to one of understanding. He looked at Sawyer, who was still visibly shaken. "Maybe you should get some rest, huh?" Vail's question was more of a directive, his voice firm yet gentle.

Ezekiel helped Sawyer to his feet, steadying his shaken friend. Sawyer's eyes remained vacant, lost in the horror of what had just transpired. Ezekiel scanned the room, his gaze settling on the man in the ankle-length tailcoat, who was casually licking the blood from his matte black Chinese daggers.

"You can take him, Avent," Ezekiel said, his tone carrying a mix of authority and resignation.

Avent's heart sank at the command, his face contorting into a pout. "Fine…" he replied reluctantly, moving towards the door with a languid grace, his tailcoat swishing around his ankles.

Ezekiel turned back to Sawyer, his concern palpable. "Go home with him," he instructed. "You're in no state of mind to drive your own bike home. I'll have someone bring it back for you." Sawyer nodded numbly, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body beside him, unable to tear his eyes away from the grim reality of what he had done.

Sawyer, still trembling from the shock, slowly climbed onto the back of Avent's bike with Ezekiel's steadying assistance. Ezekiel gave Sawyer a firm pat on the shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. Words failed him in that moment, so he simply nodded, conveying his support silently before turning and walking away.

Avent, clearly disgruntled, let out an exasperated sigh. "Ugh, I hate that I have to miss what they're about to put that chapter leader through," he scolded, his voice tinged with frustration. With a swift motion, he dropped his visor, the click echoing in the quiet night, and revved his engine. The bike roared to life, and they sped off, leaving the scene of carnage behind them.

The rumble of the motorcycle engine faded as the two made it back to the apartment complex, the night enveloping them in a blanket of silence. Sawyer dismounted from the bike, his movements mechanical, feeling a strange sense of detachment as if he had been on autopilot during the ride home. It was as though he had woken up, the journey a blur in his memory.

Before Avent could lower his visor and speed off into the night once more, Sawyer lifted his visor and spoke, stopping him. "How… how do you do it?" His voice was heavy with sorrow and confusion, his eyes searching Avent's face for answers.

Avent let out a weary sigh, his gaze meeting Sawyer's troubled expression. He absently scratched at his nose, a nervous tic betraying his calm facade. "I don't know, man…." he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of madness. "Killing… it just comes natural to me. It's survival out there, Sawyer. Kill or be killed. You don't forget your first, hell, I haven't either." His tone shifted, his words becoming more urgent. "But you gotta push past it. In this brotherhood, time is a luxury we can't afford." His words hung heavy in the air.

Avent swung his visor down with a sense of finality as he rode out of the apartment complex, his departure seemed to only leave behind a lingering sense of unease. Sawyer watched him go, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions stirred. Contemplation washed over him as he stood alone in the quiet darkness.

After a moment of hesitation, Sawyer turned and walked through the door of his own apartment complex. The weight of the night hung heavy upon him as he made his way to his room. Leaning against the door for a brief moment, he felt the rough texture of the wood against his back.

With a heavy sigh, Sawyer flopped onto his bed face down, the mattress offering little comfort against the weight of his thoughts. His mind churned with unanswered questions and haunting memories.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through his window, illuminating the room with a soft golden glow. Sawyer stirred from his troubled sleep. With a tired groan, he rubbed his eyes groggily, the remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to his senses. As his vision adjusted to the light, his gaze instinctively gravitated towards the materialized blue screen before him, it's blue glow assisting the sun by irradiating the room.