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#Post#: 1449--------------------------------------------------
It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: BreakerofCanon Date: May 1, 2025, 8:48 am
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Summary
Adam and Cinder—two fugitives, once tools of violence—who,
against all odds, become a family. Forced together by an
unplanned pregnancy and hunted by the world they helped burn,
they learn to care, to fight for more than themselves, and to
give their child the future they never had.
[hr]
Chapter 1: Ashes Amongst the Cherry Blossom
The wind in Mistral was biting. It howled between the alley
walls like it knew she didn’t belong here—like it was trying to
freeze her out. Cinder pulled the ragged cloak tighter around
her body, teeth clenching as her swollen feet dragged her
forward, step by agonizing step.
Her stomach had dropped lower in the last few weeks. Every kick
from inside now landed sharp beneath her ribs. Her center of
gravity had shifted. Her body hurt in places she didn’t know
existed. And she was hungry.
Not just "I could eat" hungry. Starving. Everything in her was
drawn tight, twisted. Her body was eating itself to keep going,
and it still wasn’t enough.
Her power barely sparked now. No more lighting rooftops with
flame. No more dramatic entrances. Just little puffs of warmth
from her fingers when she begged it, like striking a match in a
blizzard.
The world had taken almost everything.
And now it wanted her baby, too.
She stumbled into an empty maintenance tunnel near the far edge
of Lower Mistral, stepping over rusted pipes and discarded
plastic. The air was stale. It smelled like mold and old blood.
But it was warm. Sheltered. And nobody was watching.
She fell to her knees the moment she was out of sight. The pain
bloomed in her hips, up her spine. Her arms trembled as she
lowered herself onto the floor, lying against the cold stone.
She cradled her belly instinctively, protectively. Her skin felt
tight across it. Every muscle screamed.
The child inside shifted. Not strong. But alive.
Cinder let out a breath that shuddered out of her lungs like
smoke.
She wants to live, Cinder thought.
And then, like an echo:
So do I.
Cinder didn’t know how long she lay there. She drifted in and
out of sleep, more from exhaustion than rest. Her dreams were
half-coherent—visions of fire and screaming, of Salem’s hands
wrapped around her shoulders, whispering that the child belongs
to me. She woke choking on rage and fear.
And still, she stayed alive.
She always had.
That was the thing people never understood about her. About what
she’d become.
She wasn’t just cruel. She wasn’t just vengeful. She was
selfish—the kind of selfish that took root in someone who had
never had anything. She fought because it was all she ever knew.
She clawed for survival because no one else had ever fought for
her. Not once.
And now—
Now it wasn’t just her own survival.
The child was a parasite, sure. It sucked the life out of her.
But it was hers. Her blood. Her consequence. Her future.
And she wanted it.
She wanted to live. And she wanted her daughter to live, too.
Not just survive—but stay together. Both of them.
“I’m not dying for you,” she whispered to the child. “So don’t
you dare die on me either.”
It wasn’t maternal. It wasn’t warm.
But it was real.
She wouldn’t give her up. Wouldn’t make her a symbol or a
sacrifice. Wouldn’t let Salem mold her like she molded
Cinder—into a weapon, into a dog on a leash.
She wouldn’t let the world turn this child into another thing.
Another girl starving in a corner while someone with power told
her to be grateful. Another monster made from nothing.
“Not her,” she hissed. “Not mine.”
Her stomach growled so violently it made her flinch.
The last thing she’d eaten was two days ago—a half-rotten carrot
stolen off a vendor’s cart while his back was turned. It tasted
like dirt and mold. Her body had taken it like an insult. She’d
thrown it up behind a wall.
She was shaking now. Weak.
She pressed her hands against her knees and forced herself
upright.
“I need food,” she muttered. “I need something. Anything. Just
enough to keep going.”
Her voice sounded ragged, feral. She didn’t care.
She staggered out of the tunnel like a drunk, half-blind from
the sunlight. The streets were busy, filled with pedestrians.
Her cloak brushed against shoulders and carts. She kept her head
down, face shadowed, every instinct begging her to vanish.
If Salem’s agents saw her—
If Mistral’s guards saw her—
If anyone saw her—
She’d be taken. Or killed. Or worse.
But she couldn’t die yet.
Not yet.
Please, she thought again. Not to any god. Not to any power.
Just to fate, maybe.
Please. Let me get through this.
She found a donation box outside a faded old church, tucked
between staircases and streetlights.
It was unguarded.
She looked around once. Twice.
Then smashed the lock with a weak flame and took everything
inside—half a loaf of bread, two overripe apples, a can of soup
she couldn’t open without tools. She stuffed it into her cloak
and moved before the smoke even cleared.
She ate in a forgotten stairwell. The bread was hard. The apple
bruised. She wept as she chewed.
It was the best thing she’d tasted in weeks.
That night, curled up in the shell of an old greenhouse, she
spoke out loud for the first time in days.
“I’ll make it,” she whispered. “I’ll get through this. I’ll find
someone. Anyone. I’ll lie. I’ll beg. I’ll pretend I’m someone
else. I’ll… I’ll barter the Maiden powers if I have to.”
It came out in a rush, like confession.
“I don’t care what it costs. I’ll burn Mistral to the ground if
it means she gets to live.”
Her voice cracked.
“I just don’t want to die.”
That was the rawest truth of all.
She didn’t want to die.
Not for a cause. Not for redemption. Not even for her child.
She wanted to keep both of them alive.
She wanted to see her baby’s face. To hear her cry. To give her
a name. To watch her grow teeth and talk back and make mistakes
and survive.
And she wanted to be there. Every second. Every breath.
She wasn’t done. She hadn’t built anything. She hadn’t earned
anything yet.
She needed more time.
More chances.
More everything.
“I’ll do better,” she said. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll… I’ll
learn how to love her. Really love her. I’ll change.”
She laughed, bitter and small.
“I’ll try to change.”
She touched her stomach again.
The baby moved under her hand.
Alive.
Waiting.
Depending on her.
And for the first time since she ran, Cinder didn’t feel fire.
Or rage. Or control.
She just felt human.
[hr]
The wind changed.
Cinder felt it—cold and sudden. The kind of shift that made
animals freeze. Made birds go silent.
She was in the greenhouse still, curled around herself, too weak
to move, belly heavy, body pulsing with pain.
Then she heard the giggle.
That sing-song, pitch-shifting, nightmare of a sound.
“Found you~”
She didn’t look up. She didn’t have to.
Tyrian Callows.
Salem’s mad dog. Her shadow from the past. And he sounded giddy.
“Took me a while, y’know,” he cooed, voice echoing against the
glass. “You’re a slippery one. Pregnant and everything! Very
impressive. Still a shame though…”
Glass shattered above her.
She rolled—
Too slow.
He landed in front of her, crouched like a predator, that
twisted grin painted across his face.
“…because you’re going to die here.”
Cinder tried to stand.
Her body screamed.
Flames sparked at her fingertips. Fizzled. Her Aura was all but
gone.
“I’ll kill you,” she rasped.
Tyrian tilted his head, delighted.
“Oh, please try, sweet little girl. Make it fun. I’ve been
bored.”
He lunged.
She barely deflected the first swipe. Her fire caught his arm,
but it didn’t stop him. He grinned through it.
His tail lashed out and caught her side. Her legs gave out.
She collapsed again, teeth clenched against a sob of pain. Her
hands curled protectively around her stomach.
“You should be ashamed,” Tyrian hissed, standing over her.
“Running away. Getting knocked up. Tsk. You disappoint her so
much, Cinder…”
He knelt, dagger poised above her belly.
“And this? This little thing you’re carrying? I’ll carve it out
nice and slow—”
Something slammed into him.
Hard.
Tyrian flew across the greenhouse, crashing into a wall of
dirt-stained glass. The impact cracked the structure.
Cinder blinked.
Standing over her, red coat flaring, breathing hard—
“Adam?”
His eyes didn’t leave Tyrian.
“I’m going to kill you,” he said.
Tyrian laughed, wiped blood from his mouth.
“Oh my, the brooding bull cares now.”
Adam didn’t respond. He charged.
It was a blur—red and black. Glass shattered. Metal rang. Dust
swirled.
Adam fought with fury that bordered on feral. His blade cut
through Tyrian’s defense again and again, driving the madman
back, cornering him.
“You told me,” Adam snarled, slicing through a spray of thrown
dust. “You told me she was pregnant. That you were going to kill
her.”
Tyrian giggled.
“And here you are! Father of the decade!”
Adam’s blade ignited with raw aura and slammed into Tyrian’s
chest.
The madman shrieked, forced to retreat, tumbling through a
broken wall and vanishing into the fog outside.
Adam stood still for a moment.
Then slowly turned back to her.
Cinder stared up at him, still dazed, barely able to sit up.
“Y-You… found me…”
He marched toward her, jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with
kindness. Not relief.
With rage.
“Do you have any idea what it felt like hearing it from him?
That you were pregnant? That he knew before I did?”
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
“You were going to disappear. Die. Alone. With my child. And not
tell me anything.”
She shrank back instinctively. Her body trembling.
“You arrogant, self-absorbed—stupid woman! You always think you
can handle everything on your own! You always think you’re
untouchable until you’re half-dead on the floor!”
“I… I didn’t know if you’d care,” she finally croaked.
That stopped him.
Just for a breath.
And then his voice cracked.
“I did,” he said. “I do.”
Cinder swayed.
Her vision darkened at the edges. Her legs buckled.
Adam caught her before she hit the ground, cursing under his
breath.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered, lowering her gently.
“You’re not dying here. Neither of you.”
She passed out to the sound of his heartbeat. Fast. Steady.
She didn't feel safe. But for the first time in months—
She didn’t feel alone.
[hr]
This is more like a draft of what I've written thus far. Please
lemme know what you think and any changes I should make on the
first chapter.
#Post#: 1452--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: anonymous Date: May 1, 2025, 9:04 am
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Daaamn that's good. The formatting needs some work and there are
a few oddities in the chapter but this has some potential for
cinema!
#Post#: 1455--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: Scarlet Taurus-Fall Date: May 1, 2025, 12:38 pm
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That was great! I'd maybe brush up on the formatting but other
than that, that was excellent!
#Post#: 1456--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: Brisanon Date: May 1, 2025, 9:32 pm
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I know it sounds like a broken record, but the formatting needs
a bit of work. Short, single sentence paragraphs works fine for
action sequences, since it creates a sense of speed as you blitz
through the page, but as a universal standard, it doesn't really
work.
That being said, the actual content itself is great, and I find
your interpretation of how exactly the alluded Tyrian / Adam
fight went down pretty unique. Obviously this isn't the last of
their duels yet, Tyrian isn't dead after all, but I'm looking
forwards to see what you do with the gaps left in Cinder and
Adam's story.
#Post#: 1461--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: BreakerofCanon Date: May 4, 2025, 4:14 am
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Fair, makes sense to me. I do find it a little bit harder to
write longer sentences but I do agree it keeps the flow of the
chapter better. I'll rewrite the chapter to have longer
sentences.
#Post#: 1470--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: BreakerofCanon Date: May 5, 2025, 4:25 am
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Chapter 1: Ashes Amongst the Cherry Blossom
The wind in Mistral wasn’t just cold—it was cruel. It slithered
between buildings like a snake, coiling in shadows, striking at
any exposed skin with teeth made of ice. It howled between alley
walls like it knew her name, like it had been sent to hunt her,
to remind her she didn’t belong here anymore. Maybe she never
had. Cinder pulled the ragged cloak tighter around her body, her
fingers shaking, white-knuckled and cracked at the knuckles. Her
swollen feet dragged over uneven pavement, every step more agony
than the last. The soles of her boots had worn thin weeks ago.
She could feel every rock. Every shard of glass.
She had stopped bleeding. That worried her.
Her stomach had dropped lower over the last few weeks. It had
grown heavy, distended, pulling her forward with its weight, and
now every shift of her child inside felt like a punishment—sharp
jabs beneath her ribs, twisting pain in her back, cramping when
she tried to sit or stand too quickly. Her body wasn’t built for
this. It was a war machine, twisted by magic and fire. Not meant
to nurture. Not meant to carry life.
And yet, it did.
And it hurt.
In her joints. In her spine. In the skin stretched taut over her
belly like it might split. Her breasts ached. Her legs cramped
when she tried to sleep. Her hips felt like they were tearing
apart from the inside. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw
flames and heard screams, but the worst was when she saw
silence—when she dreamed of the child gone still inside her.
She couldn’t lose her.
She wouldn’t.
But gods, she was hungry.
Not just "skipped-a-meal" hungry. Starving. The kind of
starvation that made her muscles feel like they were folding in
on themselves. The kind that made her teeth ache and her head
spin and her heart stutter in her chest when she stood up too
fast. She had gone past desperation. Her body was cannibalizing
itself. Her magic, what was left of it, barely flickered. No
more lighting rooftops with flame. No more dramatic entrances.
Just a spark—barely enough to warm her fingers. Like striking a
match in a blizzard.
The world had taken everything from her. Her home. Her power.
Her safety.
And now it wanted her baby, too.
She stumbled into an old maintenance tunnel near the far edge of
Lower Mistral, where the buildings rotted into scaffolding and
the streets narrowed into veins of rust and filth. The tunnel
smelled like mold and rusted iron, like something had died here
long ago and no one had bothered to remove it. The walls were
streaked with water damage, the floor littered with broken glass
and bones too small to be anything but rats. It was dark.
Hidden. Forgotten.
Perfect.
Cinder collapsed the moment she was out of sight, her knees
hitting the concrete with a thud that echoed. Pain seared up her
spine. Her hips screamed. Her arms shook as she lowered herself
to the floor, curling onto her side. Her hands cradled her belly
instinctively, not out of warmth, but protection—like shielding
a wound. Her skin felt stretched too thin. Her breath came in
shallow bursts.
The child inside her shifted. Weak. But alive.
Cinder exhaled a trembling breath. It fogged in the cold air
like smoke.
She wants to live, Cinder thought.
And then, quieter: So do I.
She didn’t know how long she lay there. The dark made time
meaningless. Her thoughts blurred together. She slipped in and
out of half-consciousness—shadows pulling at her, voices
whispering in her dreams. She saw Salem’s face hovering above
her, eyes like blood, voice like a noose.
“The child belongs to me.”
She woke with a sob strangled in her throat.
But she was still breathing. That counted for something.
She always had survived. That was the part they never
understood—the ones who called her a villain, who labeled her
cruel, monstrous, vengeful. They thought she was evil because it
was convenient. Easy. But the truth was uglier. She was selfish.
The kind of selfish that’s born, not made. The kind you earn
from years of silence, from sleeping on stone floors and eating
garbage and being told your suffering meant nothing. The kind of
selfish that clawed and bit and burned because no one else ever
would. She had lived in alleys like this before. She had starved
before. She had killed before.
She had done what she had to do.
Now it wasn’t just for her.
The baby was a parasite, yes. It devoured her strength. But it
was hers. Her blood. Her sin. Her consequence. Her future. It
didn’t matter if she loved it or not.
She couldn’t lose her.
She wouldn’t.
“I’m not dying for you,” she whispered, eyes closed, voice
hollow. “So don’t you dare die on me either.”
It wasn’t maternal. It wasn’t soft.
But it was real.
She wouldn’t hand her over. Wouldn’t let Salem shape her into
another monster. Wouldn’t let the world feed on her like it fed
on Cinder. This child would not grow up afraid. Would not grow
up obedient. Would not grow up begging.
“Not her,” Cinder hissed. “Not mine.”
Her stomach growled so violently it hurt. It curled her forward.
She hadn’t eaten in two days.
She’d stolen a half-rotted carrot from a vendor’s cart when he
wasn’t looking. It had been so bitter it made her gag. She threw
it up behind a dumpster half an hour later. Since then, nothing.
Not even trash worth picking through.
Her legs were trembling. Her hands numb.
She forced herself upright.
“I need food,” she muttered. “Something. Anything. Just enough
to keep going.”
Her voice sounded like sandpaper. She didn’t recognize it.
She left the tunnel, stumbling into a world too bright, too
loud. The streets of Lower Mistral pulsed with noise and motion.
Vendors yelled. Trams clattered overhead. Children ran barefoot.
The city was alive, but not in any beautiful way. It wasn’t a
place of dreams. It was rust and neon and decay. It was walls
tagged with protest graffiti and blood stains that never got
scrubbed clean. It was a place where lives disappeared, and no
one asked why.
She moved like a ghost. Head down, cloak drawn. Eyes always
scanning. If Salem’s agents saw her, it was over. If the city
guard recognized her, she was dead. If anyone noticed her long
enough to remember her face, she was done. She didn’t look like
Cinder Fall anymore—not really. Her hair was longer. Matted. Her
skin pale. Bruised. She looked like any other street rat on the
verge of collapse.
That was her only defense.
She found a donation box behind an old church. Rusted. Untended.
Forgotten.
She smashed the lock with a burst of magic so small it singed
her fingers, and stole everything inside. A crust of bread. Two
apples. A can of soup she couldn’t open. She shoved it into her
cloak and ran.
She ate in a stairwell that reeked of piss and mold. The bread
was hard enough to break a tooth. The apple bruised. She wept as
she chewed.
It was the best thing she’d eaten in weeks.
That night, she slept in a collapsed greenhouse. Vines had
clawed through the ceiling. Glass glittered on the floor like
teeth. She curled in a corner on a pile of rotting canvas,
wrapped in her cloak, belly tight with the food and the fear.
And for the first time in days, she spoke out loud.
“I’ll make it,” she said. “I’ll get through this. I’ll find
someone. Anyone. I’ll lie. I’ll beg. I’ll pretend to be someone
else. I’ll barter the Maiden powers if I have to.”
It came out in a rush, like a confession. Like an oath.
“I don’t care what it costs. I’ll burn Mistral to the ground if
it means she gets to live.”
Her voice cracked.
“I just don’t want to die.”
That was the truest thing she’d ever said. Not for redemption.
Not for sacrifice. Not for the greater good. She just didn’t
want to die.
She wanted to see her baby’s face.
To hear her cry.
To give her a name.
To watch her grow teeth and talk back and break things and
survive.
She wanted to be there. Every second. Every breath.
She wasn’t done. She hadn’t earned anything. Hadn’t built
anything.
She needed more time.
More chances.
More everything.
“I’ll do better,” she said. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll learn how
to love her.”
She laughed, low and bitter.
“I’ll try.”
She touched her belly again.
The baby moved.
Alive.
Waiting.
Depending on her.
And for the first time since she ran, since the world turned on
her, since fire was the only thing she had left—
Cinder didn’t feel like a monster.
She didn’t feel like a weapon.
She didn’t feel like the Fall Maiden.
She just felt human.
[hr]
The wind changed.
It wasn’t just a breeze shifting direction—it was a warning. A
sudden, unnatural stillness that crawled under the skin. Cold
air knifed through the cracks of the broken greenhouse, slicing
across Cinder’s cheeks like it meant something. Like the city
was holding its breath.
Her whole body tensed without meaning to. Instinct took over
where strength failed. Her ribs ached with every breath, each
inhale shallow and ragged. She was curled on the cold stone
floor, the glass above her fogged with dirt and time. Her belly
was enormous, the skin stretched tight and bruised. Every nerve
felt like it was burning under her flesh. She was too weak to
move. Too tired to care.
And then she heard it.
A sound like sugar curdled in blood. Light. Lilting. Mocking.
A giggle.
That horrible, high-pitched, pitch-shifting giggle.
“Found you~”
The voice echoed off the glass. Cinder didn’t move. She didn’t
need to. The air told her everything.
Tyrian Callows.
Mad dog. Loyal to no one but Salem. He was giddy now—she could
hear it in every syllable. Excited. He always was when there was
pain nearby.
“Took me a while,” he said, tone sweet as poison, footsteps
pattering lightly around the edges of the structure. “You’re a
tricky little rabbit. Pregnant and everything! That’s
commitment. I respect that.”
A pause. She could hear the bounce in his gait. Like he was
dancing. Winding up.
“Still a shame, though…”
Glass shattered overhead.
She rolled, instinct overriding pain, but not fast enough.
Shards rained down. Her arm caught a long slice across the
forearm as she shielded her stomach. Her side lit up with agony.
And then he was there.
He landed in front of her with a flourish, crouched like a
predator on all fours, his grin so wide it split his face like a
wound. His tail curled behind him, twitching with glee.
“…because you’re going to die here.”
Cinder forced herself to rise, trembling. Her legs barely held.
Every motion dragged pain from the deepest pits of her body.
Fire sputtered to life in her hand, but it was small. Weak.
Pathetic.
“I’ll kill you,” she rasped. Her voice sounded like broken glass
ground between teeth.
Tyrian laughed like she’d told a joke.
“Oh, please try, sweet girl,” he said. “Make it entertaining.
I’ve been so bored. Salem talks and talks and talks—no one lets
me have any fun anymore.”
Then he lunged.
The speed was terrifying. Even prepared, Cinder barely avoided
the first swipe. Her fire lashed out, catching his sleeve and
searing his arm, but he didn’t stop. He never stopped. The grin
never left his face.
His tail cracked against her ribs like a whip. Her knees
buckled. She hit the ground hard, bile rising in her throat.
And her hands—instinctively, again—went to her belly.
Protecting. Shielding. The baby shifted under her palm.
Tyrian stood over her, eyes wide with twisted delight. He licked
the blood off the blade in his hand, then crouched. A clawed
hand reached toward her face.
“You should be ashamed,” he whispered, almost tender. “Running.
Hiding. Getting knocked up like some back-alley strumpet. Oh,
how you’ve fallen…”
He drew a dagger from his belt and raised it above her belly.
“And this? This little secret? I think I’ll open it up—see what
she’s hiding inside.”
A shadow crashed into him.
There was no warning. One second Tyrian was poised to gut her,
the next he was gone—launched across the greenhouse like a doll
caught in a storm. He hit the wall hard enough to rattle the
entire frame. Glass cracked and fell in sheets. The structure
groaned.
Cinder blinked.
There—standing between her and the chaos, a red coat flaring
like a banner, face tight with fury—
“Adam?”
He didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on Tyrian. Cold.
Lethal.
“Ohohoho, yes! There you are!” Tyrian crowed. “I was hoping
you'd come crashing in like a hero. Makes it so much more fun!”
Adam didn’t speak. He didn’t hesitate.
He launched.
His sword came down in a flash of red—a brutal overhead strike
that would’ve split Tyrian clean in two if the Faunus hadn’t
somersaulted out of the way with a cackling shriek. The blow
slammed into the floor, fracturing the stone with a sharp crack.
Tyrian lunged immediately, short daggers flashing from his
sleeves. He spun low, aiming to disembowel.
Adam deflected the first blade with the flat of his weapon,
twisting his body just enough to avoid the second. Sparks flew
as steel kissed steel, ringing through the shattered greenhouse.
Tyrian darted around him like a shadow, moving with manic
grace—low, fast, unpredictable. His tail struck with deadly
rhythm, aiming for joints, the back of the neck, soft places
between armor. Adam parried every blow, footwork honed from a
hundred battles, pivoting on broken glass like it wasn’t even
there.
Then he struck.
A vicious cross-cut aimed at Tyrian’s side. The madman barely
dodged — but Adam was already following through, momentum fluid,
pivoting the blade around into a rising slash. It caught
Tyrian’s chest and tore through his vest, blood spraying from
the gash.
Tyrian let out a delighted, high-pitched giggle. “Ooh! You are
mad!”
Adam didn't answer. His next strike came faster, sharper. A
thrust meant for Tyrian’s heart.
Tyrian sidestepped, ducked under the blade, and rolled behind
Adam in one fluid motion, stabbing for his spine. Adam spun,
sword raised, blocking at the last instant—but not fast enough.
The tail got through.
It slashed across his side, tearing through cloth and skin. Pain
flared white-hot. Adam grunted and kicked Tyrian square in the
chest, sending him skidding back across broken stone and dead
leaves.
The greenhouse groaned above them. More glass rained down. The
wind outside howled louder, rattling the framework.
Tyrian bounced to his feet, eyes wild.
“You’ve gotten slower,” he sing-songed. “Too much brooding. Too
much mourning. Too much daddy stress!”
Adam said nothing. Blood dripped from his side. He adjusted his
stance.
His sword ignited with Aura.
The red glow pulsed like a heartbeat.
And then he was on Tyrian again.
The next exchange was brutal. There was no finesse now. Just
raw, vicious intent.
Adam’s strikes were meant to maim—wide sweeps aimed at limbs,
throat, joints. Tyrian’s counters were lightning-fast, built on
chaos, blades slipping in and out of guard angles, tail spinning
like a third limb. He ducked, weaved, lashed out in bursts of
unpredictable madness.
Each strike was a killshot. There was no warning, no holding
back.
Adam caught Tyrian’s wrist with one hand and slammed his
forehead into the madman’s nose. Bone crunched. Tyrian
staggered, cackling even as blood streamed down his face.
He stabbed forward blindly.
Adam twisted aside, the blade grazing his shoulder, and drove
his knee into Tyrian’s gut. As Tyrian doubled over, Adam brought
his sword down in a vertical arc.
Tyrian blocked—barely. The force of it still drove him to his
knees, the metal shrieking in protest.
“You’re angry,” Tyrian hissed, eyes gleaming. “Oh, I love it.
Let’s see how far you’ll go. Will you kill me? Will you kill for
her? Or will you let her die like you let them—”
Adam punched him in the throat.
Tyrian gagged. The next blow came fast—Adam’s sword cleaving
down in a flash of red light.
It tore through Tyrian’s shoulder, deep, spraying blood across
the floor. The madman shrieked, tail whipping in panic. He spun
away, blade clattering from his hand.
He fled.
Not tactical retreat. Not deception.
Fled.
He crashed through a wall of glass, shards slicing his skin,
blood trailing like a comet’s tail as he disappeared into the
mist outside.
Adam stood over the wreckage, chest heaving.
The wind roared through the greenhouse, scattering leaves and
ash. Silence followed.
Cinder, still slumped against the wall, looked up at him through
pain-fogged eyes.
Adam turned back to her, jaw clenched, sword dripping red.
Cinder was still on the ground, face pale, mouth slightly open.
She looked like she didn’t know whether to thank him or scream.
“Y-You… found me…” she whispered.
Adam walked toward her. His boots crushed glass with every step.
His eyes were burning—not with relief.
With fury.
“Do you have any idea what it felt like hearing it from him?
That he knew before I did?”
She tried to speak. No words came.
“You were going to die. Alone. With my child. And you weren’t
even going to tell me.”
Her back hit the wall. Her body curled instinctively.
“You arrogant, reckless, stupid woman!” His voice shook the air.
“You always think you can do everything by yourself! You always
think you’re untouchable—until you’re dying in a ruin with a
knife over your belly!”
“I didn’t know if you’d care,” she whispered.
Silence.
Something changed in his face.
For the first time, his anger faltered. He stared at her like
the words physically hurt him.
“I did,” he said. “I do.”
She swayed.
The world spun sideways. Her vision narrowed to a pinprick of
light. Her knees gave out.
Adam caught her.
His arms went around her like armor, strong and steady. He eased
her to the ground with surprising care. He cursed softly under
his breath, pulled her closer, wrapped his coat around her
trembling form.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “You’re not dying.
Neither of you.”
She was barely conscious, but her fingers clutched his coat. Her
heartbeat thudded in her ears, too fast. Too faint. But it was
there.
And so was his.
She didn’t feel safe. Not exactly.
But for the first time in months—
She didn’t feel alone.
[hr]
End of Chapter 1
What do you guys think of the rewrite? I made it longer and I
worked on adding more descriptions to make the flow better.
#Post#: 1474--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: anonymous Date: May 5, 2025, 12:15 pm
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MUCH better. The format got fixed, the longer sentences helped
make the flow of the chapter a lot better. Good stuff, looking
forward to your next chapter.
#Post#: 1475--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: Scarlet Taurus-Fall Date: May 5, 2025, 5:28 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
that was really good! i say keep it roughly like that! I'm
excited to see what comes next!
#Post#: 1476--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: Ficbro2 Date: May 5, 2025, 5:55 pm
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Oh I liked this! Tyrian's appearance is a highlight for me
personally but overall this was really good. Also the others
were right, the formatting goes a long way with this.
#Post#: 1481--------------------------------------------------
Re: It's a Bullseye, baby!
By: BreakerofCanon Date: May 6, 2025, 5:57 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Just FYI, I've just posted my first story on FFN
HTML https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14467267/1/Hope-Lives-in-Silver-and-Green<br
/>too if people prefer reading it on that. I know a few people
prefer it on FFN because of the formatting and the fact you can
change the text and font.
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