Snippet #2428925

Jarrob's head was swarming with ache. He probable just hadn't noticed it before because he was so hooked up on his wing. He couldn't carry on; he probably had a concussion. He just... couldn't. Jarrob felt the cool skin of the angel girl on his neck. All she had to do was pull the knife from his wing, sticking instead in his chest. Or head. Or, hey, she could just tighten that arm around his neck. Even if he fought back, she was in better shape. All this time, Jarrob had no way to know how pale his face was. Death never looked more certain. Sure, he could heal fast, but only with treatment. Jarrob knew that this was probably the time when he should make a speech addressing her, just like how all battles end, even though their own only lasted for a few minutes. He gazed up at her face, eyes glazing over in a way he could not identify the source. "Why continue when the battle is already so clearly won? My life is in your hands, O Holy One. End it." Normally this would be the time when he'd bow to her, bow to death, but given the circumstances... Jarrob inclined his head forward, accepting his fate. There was no better way to go down.