There was no monologue, no purely arrogant speech, just the comment and then Felix was there, looking worse the closer he was, all the breaks and horrors laid out where he could see them, smell them. Tucker tried to move back but he didn’t have time and Felix’s leg sweep brought him down, loudly, quickly. He crashed to the ground, the blood splashing around him, and fuck it hurt even with the armor taking most of the blow.

The sword cut through the air on front of him on the way down, a wild swing as afuck burst through his lips. The knife he had just gotten possession of slipped free, lost to the ground somewhere. He needed to stop fucking around with Felix, needed to get the fuck back to York.

Not good. Not good not goodnotgoodnotgood.

Tucker’s leg lashed out hard and fast and from the right, and the quick thought of If he bites me, am I a zombie then? passed through his head. He didn’t have time for this, dammit.