Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own Witch Hunter Robin. That really sucks, though.
Amon: *looks really mad*
Puff: Is little Amon upset at big bad Puff-chan?
Amon: *hands twitching*
Kitsune: Uh, Puff, you might want to leave him alone right now.
Puff: No, he’s a fully-grown man. If he’s getting mad, he should tell me himself.
Kitsune: No, I mean that you really should leave him alone. *backs up*
Amon: *attacks Puff and starts to strangle her*
Puff: Help me!!!! *tries to fight Amon off* Wait, why am I trying to get a bishonen off of me?
Chapter Twenty-Eight: In the Heat of Battle
“Ophelia, stop it!” Robin screamed as she dodged flames, desperately trying to find a split second when she could launch a counter-attack, “I know that this isn’t what you want!” The older woman’s seemingly blank eyes stared apathetically at her intended target, starting the fires that were springing up all around the young craft user.
“Robin, does it really matter what I want?” Ophelia questioned flatly, slashing at Robin with the flames coiled around her hands, “I’ve already explained that I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to take care of my children before some girl I met at the park. Don’t worry; I’m not going to kill you. The boss wouldn’t like that at all, given the fact that he’s had his eyes on you ever since you killed the electricity witch.”
Robin noticed the brief pause in the attacks, darting dangerously forward to catch a flame on Ophelia’s flowing skirt. Her opponent easily dodged the oncoming flame, taking advantage of Robin’s risk and exploiting it completely. Ophelia wound her fingers around Robin’s coat collar, pulling the girl back far enough to stab solid fire into her shoulder.
“Do us both a favor and just sit there until you collapse from the blood loss, then I can say that I won by default and take you and Javan back to the boss,” Ophelia suggested in a hopeful tone, throwing Robin violently against one of the wooden park benches. The craft user hissed as her open wound hit against the hard bench, a single tear escaping each of her bottle green eyes.
“I’d rather die. I already told you that,” Robin spat angrily, lightly running her gloved fingers over the freely bleeding gash on her shoulder. She forced herself to her feet, adjusting her glasses with red-smeared fingers.
“Robin, I can’t kill you,” Ophelia pleaded, tugging at her platinum hair in annoyance, “Can’t you just come with me willingly? This is tearing me apart, to hurt you. I’ve never liked fighting!”
“Then why are you so good at it?” Robin questioned spitefully, one of her hands cradling her wound. She sent a flame at Ophelia and, yet again, the woman dodged like how one would be able to dodge a lazily falling feather.
“Because I’m much older and much more experienced than you, Robin,” Ophelia said sadly, her sky-colored eyes brimming with sorrow, “I was forced to learn to fight since I was younger than Javan. I’ve obviously aged quite a bit. I know so much more than you. You have so many things to learn about fighting in general, and with your fire especially, but I’m afraid that you’ll never get the chance. I can’t allow it.” She sprung at Robin, her fingers wrapped in rock-solid flames. The pigtailed craft user dodged the white-hot fires, crying out from the pain in her shoulder.
Ophelia darted at Robin’s curled up form, near-white hair splaying on the wind. She stabbed at Robin again, the fires piercing the craft user’s lower back. Crimson spurted from the new wound, splattering grimly on the freezing pavement and painting leaves the same shade.
Robin painfully shrugged off her long scarlet coat, the material slick with her own blood and forming an eerily liquid-like pool on the sidewalk. She climbed to her feet, crying out with every breath she took and every move that she made.
“Please, Robin, don’t make me hurt you anymore,” Ophelia begged pitifully, trying to press Robin back down the ground. The craft user’s blood coated hand struck Ophelia’s face, a morbid cherry streak against the older woman’s lightly tanned skin.
“I won’t ever go willingly with you,” Robin whispered, struggling against Ophelia’s much stronger grasp, “I have to protect myself, but first I have to protect Javan from those who want us.”
“Why would you protect Javan with such a tenacity?” Ophelia questioned incredulously, stabbing her fingers into Robin’s shoulder wound to weaken the girl further, “She’s not your child; she’s not even related to you in anyway.”
“She calls me ‘Mommy’,” Robin stated breathily, desperately trying not to cry out, “That’s enough for me to have to protect her.” The craft user whimpered as she attempted to shove Ophelia off of her, her uninjured arm straining pitifully against the weight.
“Does that mean you think of her as a daughter, Robin?” Ophelia asked calmly, twisting her fingers around in the wound as it gushed scarlet. Robin screamed, throwing her head back. The tendrils of hair that had slipped from the pigtails coiled in the viscous ruby pool, tainting the pure blonde strands.
“I guess you could say that,” Robin cried, reaching to pull Ophelia’s fingers out of her shoulder.
“Well, then I know exactly how you feel,” Ophelia whispered softly, pulling her blood-coated fingers out of Robin’s wound, “You know the only reason that I’m after you and Javan is so that I can ensure the safety of my own children. You know, Robin, you’re way too young to have so much happen in your life. You’re almost still a child yourself.” She ran her hand along Robin’s jaw line, macabre stripes painting the pale flesh.
Robin struggled futilely against her opponent, shrieking out in pain with any movement. Ophelia held her still, almost making it impossible for Robin to hurt herself. The craft user could barely move a half an inch, but still she fought to free herself from the tight grasp. The only time Ophelia let her hold slip was when a high-pitched ringing sound from her cell phone went off.
“No!” Ophelia cried into the phone, her blood-slicked fingers wound around the small device, “Give me five more minutes! Don’t do it! She’ll be unconscious in moments, just a little more blood loss. Please, don’t hurt them!” A bone-chilling set of screams poured out from the phone as it slipped from Ophelia’s crimson colored hands, clattering lightly against the cold pavement.
Ophelia stood slowly, her movements mechanical and shuddering. She towered over Robin’s prone form, near-white hair whipping in the icy wind.
“Get up,” Ophelia ordered coldly, staring into the distance with clouded azure eyes. The craft user struggled to move, just barely managing to climb to her knees. She leaned heavily on her undamaged arm, panting soft white steam clouds into the wind.
“I told you to get up,” Ophelia growled, winding a hand around Robin’s upper arm and hauling the girl to her feet, “I have to end this now. They just killed my oldest daughter. I have another ten minutes before they kill Lillith. Now stand and fight.” She let go of Robin, dropping the girl back to the sidewalk. The craft user yelped as she landed on her open wounds, warm scarlet layering over the liquid spilled earlier.
“Mommy,” Javan called out weakly from where she had been placed, just regaining consciousness, “Mommy, where are you?” She tried to sit up, tiny fingers wrapped in her sable hair.
“Your Mommy is busy, Javan,” Ophelia explained, sitting down next to Javan and pulling the small girl into her lap, “I’ll have to take care of you, until she can get up and get over here. But that won’t happen.” Javan started to cry, tears streaking down her innocent face.
“I want my Mommy!” Javan yelped, trying to escape Ophelia’s hold.
“I already told you that she’s busy,” Ophelia cooed sweetly, tracing patterns on Javan’s back, “You’re supposed to be taking your nap, though. I guess I’ll have to put you back to sleep. How I put you to sleep last time didn’t work very well, so I’ll just have to try even harder.” Javan’s fear-filled blue-gray eyes stared up at the sinister woman, the tears stopped out of pure terror.
Ophelia attempted hushed the crying child, uttering softly relaxing words. Javan calmed down, curling against her captor. The woman waited until Javan was settled down completely, until her breathing was even and her cries had all but stopped, before coiling her blood-covered fingers in Javan’s soft hair. She held her gently, smiling sadly, as she brought the little girl’s head viciously against the edge of the park bench.
“Please, stay asleep this time, Javan,” Ophelia whimpered as she re-arranged the two-year-old’s limbs, “I don’t want to have to hurt you again.” She checked for a breath and a pulse, wiping the edge of her already stained skirt against the wound on Javan’s skull. The blood soaked grimly into the flowing material, mingling with Robin’s.
“Robin, shall we continue?” Ophelia asked, standing up with her back to the craft user. She stared down at Javan’s body, waiting for Robin to respond to her question.
“Did I already win?” Ophelia asked herself quietly, grasping the soft material of her skirt, “I thought that Robin had a good five minutes before she passed out.” She turned around, screaming at the top of her lungs at the sight that greeted her.
Robin stood virtually still, her head hung down. Blood dripped from her open wounds, splattering softly on the ground. And what made Ophelia scream was something that Robin shouldn’t have been able to do. White-hot flames curled around her arms up to her shoulders, licking against the black material of her dress. She looked up; gruesome streaks of blood extending all across her face and enhancing the pure hatred emanating from her emerald eyes.