AmethYst

 Chapter Fourteen

Junk grabs Lilith and hurls her against a tree, her back hitting the bark of the tree with a bone-rattling thud. She crumples to the ground, struggling to rise, but before she can catch her breath, Junk dashes forward and drives his boot into her ribs, sending her crashing into another tree. Miles watches in horror from his hiding spot in the thick tree trunk, his body frozen in fear. What am I supposed to do? He thinks frantically. If I jump in, Junk could kill me. But if I don't, how will I ever save Laurel? Junk glares down at Lilith, his voice low and menacing. "Where's that punk who cut off my hands?" he snarls.

Lilith, refusing to back down, pushes herself to her feet, but Junk's boot slams into her face, knocking her back to the ground. Dazed and aching, she spots one of her blades glinting in the dirt nearby. Gritting her teeth, she starts crawling toward it, hope flickering in her chest. But Junk notices her movements and stomps down on her outstretched wrist, pinning her hand to the ground. His weight crushes her wrist, pain shooting up her arm. With a twisted grin, Junk leans closer. "Not talking, huh?" he sneers, his eyes filled with a dark excitement. "Then maybe I'll let my fists do the talking." Watching in agony,

Watching in agony, Miles's heart thunders as he grips the sharp branch he picks up from the ground, his fingers slick with sweat and trembling with raw determination. Without a second thought, he lunges forward, driving the stick into Junk's back with a swift, savage thrust. The branch sinks in deep, and Miles stumbles back, breathing hard as Junk straightens, his face twisted in a fury tempered by pain.

 He turns slowly, his cold, steely eyes locking onto Miles as though he's the only thing in this eerie forest.

A dangerous silence fills the space between them, broken only by Junk's guttural growl. "You little brat. First, you take my arms. Now, you stab me in the back like a coward."

A frigid vapor seeps from Junk's solid ice hands, an eerie mist swirling around him as he advances. Miles stifles a shiver but can't help the tremor of fear that snakes up his spine.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Lilith, her battered body struggling to rise, hands fumbling for her blades. He knows he has to buy her time. "Look, Junk," Miles says, forcing a grin. "You're better than this. At least… I think you are." With a furious snarl, Junk slams his ice-encrusted fist into the trunk of a tree, shattering it into a shower of splinters. "You don't know anything about me!" he roars, the ground quaking beneath his rage. "No," Miles taunts, his voice dripping with defiance as he points toward Lilith, "but she does." Lilith hurtles toward Junk, a flash of silver in her hands, her last ounce of strength pouring into this desperate attack.

But Junk is faster. He twists around, swinging his arm in a brutal arc, his ice-coated forearm slamming into her face. She's sent sprawling to the ground, her blades clattering into the dirt.

Junk shoves Miles to the ground and gets on top of him as he starts to strangle Miles.

Miles's stomach churns as Junk's icy fingers close around his throat. His back against the cold, hard earth, and Junk's grip tightens, crushing his windpipe. Miles claws at Junk's unyielding hand, his breaths coming in short, desperate bursts of foggy mist.

His vision blurs as his strength ebbs, his body slowly succumbing to the frost creeping over him. Junk's eyes glint with sadistic delight, his voice a menacing hiss. "This one's going on my list of favourite kills." Miles's fingers scrabble across the forest floor, the grit and roughness beneath his nails.

His fingertips brush something solid—a rock, cold and jagged. Mustering every ounce of his willpower, he clutches the stone and drives it into Junk's head with a desperate swing. Junk's grip falters.

He stumbles back, momentarily stunned, giving Miles just enough time to gasp for air. Each breath burns his throat, but adrenaline surges through him, forcing him back to his feet. Dazed, barely able to stand, he raises the rock high and, with a fierce cry, brings it down on Junk's head.

The forest echoes with the sickening crunch, and Junk's body crumples, finally silent and still. Miles drops the rock, his chest heaving as he staggers back, fighting the urge to collapse. Bloodied, bruised, and victorious, Miles lets out a ragged breath, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The world around him feels distant, every sound muffled by the throbbing in his head.

His hands tremble, still stained with Junk's blood, and his legs finally give out beneath him. He collapses to his knees, a shudder running through his body as reality of it all crashes down on him. For a moment, he just stares, unseeing, into the ground, his vision blurring with exhaustion and something deeper. Then, a raw, guttural scream tears its way out of him, echoing through the silent trees.

The sound grows louder and fiercer, ripping from his throat as his entire body shakes with the weight of everything he's held back—fear, pain, rage, and, finally, a sliver of relief. Tears start to spill down his face, cutting tracks through the dirt and blood smeared across his cheeks. The forest bears witness to his broken triumph, his victory tinged with sorrow. Miles's scream fades, leaving only the quiet sound of his sobs as he kneels alone, vulnerable and human in the aftermath of a battle that nearly claimed his life.