[He lets out a cry of surprise when Griffith's fingers reach him, and makes no move to dodge or resist the first strike. The pain that blossoms beneath those knuckles fills him with a strange mixture of relief and nostalgia, and he hardly manages to raise his hands in a weak attempt of defense when the second strike sends him sprawling with a louder shriek.
The boy hardly hits as his father did, or maybe he'd been smaller and more sensitive to pain as a child. He thrashes, the throes only half-contrived, and coughs around the blood filling his mouth as the boy continues to beat him, and just before the red blinks to black, he smirks. To the very end, he's had men doing exactly what he wants them to, and given the circumstances, he considers this a very well-earned death.]
no subject
The boy hardly hits as his father did, or maybe he'd been smaller and more sensitive to pain as a child. He thrashes, the throes only half-contrived, and coughs around the blood filling his mouth as the boy continues to beat him, and just before the red blinks to black, he smirks. To the very end, he's had men doing exactly what he wants them to, and given the circumstances, he considers this a very well-earned death.]