[The pain stirs something inside Richtofen, and that hot, white fire spurs him on. He lets out a noise that almost sounds like a moan (because he refuses to show pain, he'll work overtime to make it feel good instead, but he isn't sure who he's trying to convince, this guy or himself) and presses on, shoving at Hallelujah's wrist.]
I'm not- [The side of his wrist is dripping with blood, streaking down his uniform sleeve. He balls his hand into a fist and aims a punch for Hallelujah's stomach.] -going to give you the privilege of killing me! Schweinehund!
[Every movement makes him increasingly aware that the cut on his chest is deep. His shirt is already blood-soaked, weighing down hot and moist on his chest. The scent of it is thick in the air and the taste lingers on his tongue, and even though it's his own blood, Richtofen loves it. He refuses to be scared or disgusted even if he is bleeding all over the place, and instead convinces himself that before this is over, it'll be Hallelujah's blood coating the floor.]
no subject
I'm not- [The side of his wrist is dripping with blood, streaking down his uniform sleeve. He balls his hand into a fist and aims a punch for Hallelujah's stomach.] -going to give you the privilege of killing me! Schweinehund!
[Every movement makes him increasingly aware that the cut on his chest is deep. His shirt is already blood-soaked, weighing down hot and moist on his chest. The scent of it is thick in the air and the taste lingers on his tongue, and even though it's his own blood, Richtofen loves it. He refuses to be scared or disgusted even if he is bleeding all over the place, and instead convinces himself that before this is over, it'll be Hallelujah's blood coating the floor.]