Moon Theory (ABO)Ch89 - always, i’ll catch you

Yang Rong’s shirt is in plain tatters, burnt on the back, torn in all corners. There is an array of shrapnel embedded into his back. He lies pliant on cracked cement, his dark lashes slightly quivering in collateral.

The explosion quells, but in comes gusts of scorching wind. Obsidian hair catches on the sweat and blood on his forehead, casting shadows down to his paling face. Yang Rong’s chiseled features are an off-putting hue. jP1pWl

A few shaky maneuvers and Noah finally manages to kneel upright, though his body has yet to recover. The surroundings are a blur — only dust particles and unfading clouds of smoke. Noah reaches blindly in front.

“—Yang Rong,” he says – but his voice is so cracked and his ears so damaged, no sound may have passed. Whatever else he tries to say is muffled in coughs, his body straining into a crawl. In distortion, the only feeling he registers is the murky warmth seeped onto his back. The blood isn’t his – not all of it at least, for the pattern is streaked down Yang Rong’s forearm.

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Yang Rong is less than two feet away, his face mashed onto the ground. He had fallen in no gallant form – legs messily sprawled, torso angled strangely, his left arm overhead. Then his right arm, the one pelted a heavy red, is draped around Noah’s body. It slides down in languid motions.

Fighting the strain of his cracked ribs, Noah takes ahold of the colonel’s wrist and hastily feels up the pulse. However, before he can confirm, his entire body is suddenly grabbed and picked up. NT8fDy

The arms around him are big, burly, foreign. Noah is handled roughly on the waist and lifted onto an unknown person’s shoulder (with ease, as though he were a ragdoll). He could not even hope to struggle, for another pair of hands strikes him hard on the side of his neck.

“Go! I’ve got him!” the person shouts – a rough male voice, one he associates with the soldier earlier. “Hurry the fuck up! Those things are—fucking hell! There’s more of them!”

Raucous shrieks come from above – to Noah’s ears, they only come as inaudible hums.

“Roll the vehicle!” another soldier yells out. “Get him in, now!”

Noah’s vision is as erratic as his hearing – everything spins, hurts, and his consciousness is halfway fading. The pair of arms is hauling him upward in transport, the foreign calloused hands sliding on the crevices of his back – and no, there is no absolute way Noah will let them take him. It is mania and fear that he thrashes against their hold. Suffering from a concussion or not, Noah is utterly feral in retaliation.

He slams the hilt of his foot onto the man’s torso. His aim is as messy as his senseless thrashing, and Noah is full-on delirious. Never mind that his entire body is scuffed, that his ribs are most certainly broken, that his arms may be dislocated – Noah fights a violent struggle. A jab to the man’s kidney, another to the spine, more continuous ones to the back.

We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.

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“Fucking whore!” the man roars at him, slamming him hard against the vehicle frame. It is fortunate that Noah’s ears selectively filter half the obscenities, but the other half is no less nauseating. “Stay still—omega bitch—tie you up—fuck you so hard you’ll—begging on your knees!”

Noah spits out a clot of blood. He must’ve replied something that made the man even more irate. In his muddle, he hardly cares for the consequences. Silver hair is slicked with sweat and gore, catching onto every particle of dust and dirt. How unsightly he must be – to be towered underneath five alpha soldiers, to have his hair pulled forward, his dagger swiped away and pointed at his own throat.

Fear is second to hatred.

He leans forward regardless, ignoring the scrape on his neck. It’s dangerously close to his vagus nerve – one wrong stab and Noah would be permanently paralyzed. Noah grips onto the man’s arm and resolutely cracks his wrist. The man howls in pain but not before Noah wrenches away the dagger and stabs him in the chest. mCgy1j

There is no mercy when he twists the dagger, channeling in every ounce of strength to pierce through flesh and bone. In a surge of dominance, Noah pulls out the dagger and goes to stab another man in the eye. The ground is blitzed in blood, and Noah is covered in more. He lunges forward again in frenzy, but it is his own arm that’s grabbed this time.

The soldier twists his limb backward, eliciting a heavy gasp, and then slams Noah back onto the ground. Another man grabs his left arm, and another man spreads his legs, locking him in position. Noah struggles in futility. The dagger is yanked out of his grip. Soon, his shirt is violently torn through, the silver blade resting on porcelain skin. The weapon slides closer up his chest and circles his skin in threat. A small prick along the side and Noah’s eyes dilate.

Another prick, deeper and hitting under his flesh, makes his back arch up in pain.

“Stay still, omega whore,” the man commands him in warning, pressing him down onto concrete. The voice sends nausea down to his most subconscious parts. “Wouldn’t want to carve up your pretty body before I get a taste.” LI7xmX

Disgust and panic overflood him.

Unbeknownst to himself, Noah is trembling heavily. The only sliver of rationale he has beckons for him to look for a weapon. To the left (nothing), to the right (his rifle discarded from the explosion), to the front (nothing more but the other rifles pointed at him). Noah only grits his teeth and sends a glare – harrowing, even if his appearance is pathetic. One of the soldiers seem taken aback slightly, but another one ignores him entirely.

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“Pretty eyes,” the man sneers, pulling his hair back roughly. “Wonder how he’ll look when taking cock.”

The comment is unwarranted, meant only to frighten him into submission. A display of dominance, no doubt. agkoOj

“Take him up,” one of them orders. “Get the ropes. We’ll take our sweet time with him later.” He grabs Noah by the remains of his tattered shirt collar, pulls him in and sneers, “No funny moves, baby doll. Try any more, and I’ll fuck you raw, fuck you so hard you won’t move for a week.”

They try to haul him up, but Noah still thrashes fiercely, taking the chance to punch one of them in the face. The soldier, fed up, lets out an angry bellow. Before he could do any more, his body convulses violently.

Four rounds of bullets go straight into his chest. Shock is seen in the soldier’s eyes before his dark orbs turn lifeless. He drops forward, dead. The shooter is unknown.

His companions, startled, hadn’t a chance to register the death before Noah acts immediately. He slams one of them face-first against the vehicle – a pity Noah is too debilitated to do as much damage, for he had intended to crack the alpha’s skull in half, only to manage injuring him slightly. Even a hard collision against aluminum doesn’t take him out. NodpyK

The alpha soldier hisses angrily and grabs him in a chokehold. Dirtied nails are dug into the nape of his neck, pressing mercilessly against a nerve, paralyzing him entirely. However, at this point, Noah is too damaged to feel even more pain. To the threats spewed out at him, he only narrows his eyes in defiance – he may have spit out a curse as well, prompting the soldier to press into him hard enough to cut off his breathing.

Seconds of blackout and then again, Noah is saved by another ring of bullets. Three rounds, two inaccurately striking the man’s lower back before fatally hitting his mid-spine. The soldier’s grip is loosened upon death and Noah pries him away, spinning around to kick at another foe. The scene is chaotic movements, violent jabs, coarse shouts and pained gasps.

Noah must’ve blacked out again.

He blinks back to consciousness when the third soldier is disabled. The hilt of a rifle strikes the man hard on the skull, the blow coming in at a blur. An ominous crack is heard. Spurts of blood add on to the gallons shed – everything is frenzied inkblots, crimson splatters that coat the entirety of the vehicle frame. Noah’s mouth is parted for heavy gasps. udeF8U

His body slides slowly down the doorframe, too wrung out to stand.

Then comes a flash of emerald-green, a familiar warmth seeping onto Noah’s waist, a familiar scent of vetiver and sandalwood. Colonel Yang speaks with a distinct quality in his tone – always powerful, secure, soothing enough to make his breath hitch.

“My little fox,” Yang Rong murmurs, holding him upright. The man presses his lips against Noah’s ruptured eardrum, says other things that he can’t quite register, and trails bloodied kisses on his cheek. “Don’t cry, hmm? Rong-ge will always come get you. Rong-ge is here.”

And the colonel is more mangled than he, yet Yang Rong coaxes him with sentimentality and more cracked words – rather absurd to be saying such things, considering they’re standing in a field of gore. If Noah were more aware, he’d see the copious amounts of red flowing down the man’s sides, the countless rips along his abdomen. OZ4XRn

Noah shudders in his hold. He reaches to touch a dark clump of hair. Porcelain fingers rub softly on damp raven-black hair. Then Noah’s lips curve slightly, the corners lifting just enough to convey, bittersweet.

He opens his mouth to speak but suddenly, he hears the sound of gunfire.

One single bullet that bypasses his deafened ears. Yang Rong judders forward and spits out a mouthful of red. It is clammy on Noah’s neck and chest, searing hot in his core. Firm arms still hold him secure even as they both fall. Around him, the uproar is dulled.

“—Fuck!” someone shouts. “You fucking killed him!” mwDPs7

“—Fucking Christ—take the other one!”

There come more hectic shouts and no coherent instructions. Droves of anomalies are approaching once more. Like this, both sides are encircled in futility. The soldiers are emptying barrels upon barrels of bullets, rapidly firing into the distance. Rushed footsteps are pounding onto the concrete ground. Ten steps away, Noah is entirely silent.

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He holds onto Yang Rong’s limp body. His palm is soaked deep in red. Preternaturally calmly, he presses down on the colonel’s raw wound, trying to stop the bleeding but to no avail.

Five steps away now, the soldiers are yelling inaudible words. Rifles are angled toward the two of them. Noah reaches for the pistol holstered on Yang Rong’s belt. Vertical pupils turn to meet them at gunpoint. XSM2dp

When Noah speaks, there is no other emotion sans pure, harrowing anger.

“Do not move.”