With the loud snap of bone, the sharp edge of my necklace digs into his left forearm, his scream tearing into my ears as his friend in jeans and a black shirt stumbles back, the tip of the outstretched metal torc slashing across his stomach.
As they each take a single step away, I reverse the swing of my improvised weapon, wings straining to add force to the attack.
I am grimly rewarded with a scream cut short, as the second blow connects just below the arm that still holds the trunk lid open, causing him to drop it.
I watch two of his ribs cave in, noting in numb indifference that such a blow could potentially be fatal.
The newcomer draws a metal rod, some sort of bludgeon, which he strikes out with, hitting the trunk as it lowers, the metallic report sounds like a gunshot.
I dive out of the car, letting the chain that trails behind me stop the lid from latching, as I slam into my kidnapper's chest, riding him to the ground.
I barely feel the first blow against my back, as my hooves swing on their own, slamming hard metal and scorching crystal against him.
The second blow against my back sends me sprawling against the now bloody man, but I have enough strength to press the necklace against his cheek, and watch sickly smoke rise from the point of contact, further blows against my neck and head leave me dazed, and I realize that I have been screaming, my throat raw, snarling like an animal. Noise returns to me as my consciousness catches up with me, shouting and my assailant’s howling cries of pain shaking me to the core.
I manage to pull the element back, clipping it around my neck, just before a piercing pain proceeds a shock, which leaves me limp and immobile.
I take the pain of my necklace burning through my coat, as I am dragged away from the sobbing man, whose cheek bears a scorched butterfly to the muscle beneath.
It is a mockery of everything I am.
I lay still as they beat me, my body shaking uncontrollably and clutching at itself in a futile attempt to hide from their furious eyes. I cooperate as they shackle me to bolts buried deep in concrete, on a filthy mattress in a tiny dark room.
I don't bother to cry, as they spit on me, and tell me that I will die here.
Why does it matter? I am not the one that my friends need. I am something different now.
I am something broken, and burnt by rage.