αέρας; angel day two

Sleep was impossible. Angel felt too much anxiety going into the first night. Nobody was dead that he knew of. That normally doesn't bode well when it comes to the second day. The second day was never good. The second day won't be good. The thin layer of quiet that sat on top of the arena to encircle everyone inside of it made it clear. Today was the calm, tomorrow was the storm. Not that it'd make much of a difference though. Angel's skin was already dripping wet from the amount of sweat covering his body. Not to mention the bugs.

The goddamn motherfucking bugs. They were everywhere. Angel was slapping himself constantly to try and get rid of the mosquitoes, but all he was doing was leaving a mark on his thigh by now. Angel originally thought it was just the fact he was in a jungle, so earlier in the evening he made his way over to the tree bridge. It wasn't exactly a tree as a bridge. It was weird. Half of this massive tree had her roots deep into the earth on one side, the other side was where they held strong over a deep cavern. One wrong step with a fat man and Angel would be considered good as dead.

Luckily, he was alone. Not so luckily, he has no way in hell to defend himself super easily. A mutt comes up and bull rams him while he's standing on the thing and Angel can give his final plea. Angel had no control of what would find him on top of the bridge the following day, but admittedly, it was best for him to not worry about it.

His hopes were wrong in the attempt to escape from the bugs: they still sucked the blood from him like a baby nurturing from their mother. It was awful. Any more of the damn things and he'd might as well paint himself red from how much he's itching his body. In places he didn't even know that mosquitoes targeted. Places that he wishes they wouldn't. Places that, admittedly, he didn't know that the area was accessible to the bugs. The sweat never let off either, he was just a blanket of bed bugs (mosquitoes) and sweat. Gross. The darkness turned into silence, and the silence turned into day. Angel did not dream. Why would he? Dreams are for the hopeful. Angel was not hopeful for what was going to happen in the morning.

Angel got up easily, the bumps on his skin resembling acne but worse. Because this isn't acne. The more you touch it, the worse it gets. Angel kept scratching and itching and pulling; nothing. Whatever. The bugs were going to be a daily unless the God's approached him with a cure.

Looking at the suspended bridge with its' twisted branches and speared outliers. The water rushing below, basically promising death if they were to fall. Angel wasn't sure what would kill him first: the spears or the water. Hopefully neither. However, he wasn't going to turn back by now. The jungle was equally as hot. At least if he were to fall into the water while crossing the bridge, his body wouldn't turn out fried to a crisp. Or the plants. There was some sort of weird plant on there, but that wouldn't hurt him. Right? Only one way to find out.

Angel was crossing the bridge, and the moment one of those plants moved was the same moment he swung his sword at it.

Nope. Nope. Not letting a plant be my death.

What kind of plant was that, anyway? That wasn't in the presentation.

[attacks mercury man trap, sword]
1ECI4pT9RHsword
miss - 0.0

accuracy reroll
sword