“He’s MINE, now,” Heero growled, in a voice that chilled Trowa’s blood.
“Zat so?” Muller leaned forward; a dark lustful hunger showed plainly on his face, a chilling reflection of the murderous fury in Heero’s eyes. “Then let me give you a tip; when you tie him up, don’t use rope. He’s like a damned monkey, the way he gets around knots and locks. The only thing that’ll hold him for long is wire -- just make sure it’s tight enough --”
An inhuman snarl ripped through the mercenary’s words, cutting him off as swiftly and surely as a blade across the neck. As Muller stared, mouth gaping open and eyes blank, Heero exploded into frenzy fueled by rage. In the blink of an eye he had crossed the distance to the prisoner and slammed him to the ground, the older man taking the brunt of the momentum. The wind blasted out of him, leaving him stunned, but he never had time to recover as Heero’s hands closed around his head in a steel-bending grip. For a split instant his grip tightened, as though he would crush the man’s skull with his bare hands, but then he savagely twisted his arms to the side. A vicious snap echoed through the space, and the sudden bonelessness of the prisoner’s limbs could leave not a sliver of doubt that his neck was shattered.
His face still contorted with disgust and rage, Heero rose and tossed the man’s body to the side like a broken doll. Without giving a glance to Trowa or to the ashen-faced unfortunate that had been assigned to guard the prisoner, he tore from the tent and did not look back.
Trowa’s still green eyes went from the dead body on the ground, to the sickened-looking soldier, to the empty space where Heero had left. After a moment, he gave the guard a respectful nod and ducked from the tent himself. The sound of retching chased him as he followed in his friend’s wake.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:26 pm (UTC)“He’s MINE, now,” Heero growled, in a voice that chilled Trowa’s blood.
“Zat so?” Muller leaned forward; a dark lustful hunger showed plainly on his face, a chilling reflection of the murderous fury in Heero’s eyes. “Then let me give you a tip; when you tie him up, don’t use rope. He’s like a damned monkey, the way he gets around knots and locks. The only thing that’ll hold him for long is wire -- just make sure it’s tight enough --”
An inhuman snarl ripped through the mercenary’s words, cutting him off as swiftly and surely as a blade across the neck. As Muller stared, mouth gaping open and eyes blank, Heero exploded into frenzy fueled by rage. In the blink of an eye he had crossed the distance to the prisoner and slammed him to the ground, the older man taking the brunt of the momentum. The wind blasted out of him, leaving him stunned, but he never had time to recover as Heero’s hands closed around his head in a steel-bending grip. For a split instant his grip tightened, as though he would crush the man’s skull with his bare hands, but then he savagely twisted his arms to the side. A vicious snap echoed through the space, and the sudden bonelessness of the prisoner’s limbs could leave not a sliver of doubt that his neck was shattered.
His face still contorted with disgust and rage, Heero rose and tossed the man’s body to the side like a broken doll. Without giving a glance to Trowa or to the ashen-faced unfortunate that had been assigned to guard the prisoner, he tore from the tent and did not look back.
Trowa’s still green eyes went from the dead body on the ground, to the sickened-looking soldier, to the empty space where Heero had left. After a moment, he gave the guard a respectful nod and ducked from the tent himself. The sound of retching chased him as he followed in his friend’s wake.