( It isn't that he doesn't notice the cat, it's that it doesn't matter. He doesn't acknowledge it. It's supremely unimportant compared to this, to the far higher priority of taking the lives of every single one of these assholes, one after another.
A couple of the men, as turns out, are smart enough to flee. They're just not fast enough.
One ducks Dean's sword and spins to bolt in the opposite direction. Dean stabs him through the calf, rips his sword out, then slits his throat with it from behind. In the same move, he brings it backwards to plunge into the gut of the one trying to grab onto him from behind. The ringleader, now furious and riding on adrenaline, grips his second axe and snarls out he killed my brother!
Dean yanks his sword out of a dying man's gullet, and grinds out a blunt: )
I don't care.
( He does not stab this one. No, this one started it, this one made a move on Geralt, this one gets to die last. He gets to watch all his buddies go down first, and so rather than slashing at him, he punches him square in the nose with the hilt of his sword. It crunches, breaks, and the man hits his knees.
In the meantime, the fourth bandit intends to get the hell away and almost succeeds. He makes it all of ten yards away, only to have a whizzing dagger sink right in between his shoulder blades. He grunts. Drops to his knees, futilely grasping for the knife handle he can't reach. A second later, he falls to his face in the dirt.
The only one left still breathing is the leader, nursing his broken nose, gasping. Dean hauls him up by his shirt. Presses his back into the surface of a large rock.
And then proceeds to bash his face in. Over. And over. Well after he stops fighting it, well after his fingers stop scrambling to claw at Dean's forearm. Well after he slumps, slackens, and goes still. )
no subject
A couple of the men, as turns out, are smart enough to flee. They're just not fast enough.
One ducks Dean's sword and spins to bolt in the opposite direction. Dean stabs him through the calf, rips his sword out, then slits his throat with it from behind. In the same move, he brings it backwards to plunge into the gut of the one trying to grab onto him from behind. The ringleader, now furious and riding on adrenaline, grips his second axe and snarls out he killed my brother!
Dean yanks his sword out of a dying man's gullet, and grinds out a blunt: )
I don't care.
( He does not stab this one. No, this one started it, this one made a move on Geralt, this one gets to die last. He gets to watch all his buddies go down first, and so rather than slashing at him, he punches him square in the nose with the hilt of his sword. It crunches, breaks, and the man hits his knees.
In the meantime, the fourth bandit intends to get the hell away and almost succeeds. He makes it all of ten yards away, only to have a whizzing dagger sink right in between his shoulder blades. He grunts. Drops to his knees, futilely grasping for the knife handle he can't reach. A second later, he falls to his face in the dirt.
The only one left still breathing is the leader, nursing his broken nose, gasping. Dean hauls him up by his shirt. Presses his back into the surface of a large rock.
And then proceeds to bash his face in. Over. And over. Well after he stops fighting it, well after his fingers stop scrambling to claw at Dean's forearm. Well after he slumps, slackens, and goes still. )