Bearclaw Valley dancing with the devil

the desired scarlet flickered to life in merrick's red nape as evien slashed him, holding fast despite his leg. he was delighted beneath the surge of pain, yanking backward and spinning to cut into the other's cheek. their little dance was equal parts amusement and anger, for merrick did not enjoy bleeding, and evien had not cared for his teasing nature.
the hidden bite of rage blossomed beautifully into shades of carmine, as merrick struck again and bore the brunt of the doctor's chastising teeth.
he found himself shoulder-torn and bristling with red droplets, and on and on and on went his maddened spiraling laughter, for even if evien would not admit it, he had won. merrick had already won the battle he wished to fight, and all pain thereafter was secondary.