His best efforts of resisting being moved came through his heavy limbs as lackluster swats and pushes that Mitchelletto didn't seem to notice or stop. Judas felt his heels being half-dragged out the door as he tried in vain to keep up. When the wall was placed against his back, the world had lost all color for him. He was so tired, a tiredness he had never really felt since Mitchelletto had claimed him. The greyness was threatening more than ever as a bag of cold blood fell on him.
This time he didn't hesitate in tearing into the bag savagely.
He drank deeply, despite the coldness that almost choked him, the bag drained in just a few seconds. Judas opened his eyes - yes, finally, both of them - and removed a stray piece of plastic from between his front two teeth. Dim shades of color - the carpet, the walls - were returning, chasing off the darkness. He wanted - needed - more. There were plenty of beating hearts in this hellish place - it would be easy to just snatch one as it walked by him and drain a human dry, the husk of a body lain on the floor for Laurent or Mitch to clean up.
But Judas doubted he would be able to leave the hotel without any further injury if he tried something like that. Green eyes landed on a camera in the corner of the hallway nearby - set on him. He eyed it for a long moment before trying to put his feet underneath him. Not being able to use his left arm and shoulder was detrimental to his progress off the floor. There was no space left in his head to think about how to maneuver his body in the most proper way, no strength to move himself without injury. Slowly, he leaned against the wall with his good shoulder and forced himself up with a panting grunt.
Judas made no effort to hide his escape from the hotel, his feet only moving so quickly now. As he moved, he took stock of his injuries. A broken eye socket - still bruised, but at least he could see - a gash on his knee, brains that felt like someone had hammered and electrocuted them, a broken clavicle, some compound fracture that peaked out of his back, something else broken at the very edge of his shoulder and a crushed sense of security and independence. Laurent's leeches, licking his wound sensually but otherwise leaving them untouched, nestled contently in the soft walls of his psyche giggling like lovers.
He gripped onto a nearby handrail as his face whipped to the side again, a wave of sickness and pressure swaying his balance. Life spun and turned grey. His eyes felt like kernels trying to pop; his skin broke out in a thin sweat. Judas groaned, but not before another tic took control of him. Stumbling, he nearly tripped down the stairs outside the building, swaying into the masonry wall that withheld the wall of rock and grass. More tics, a swivelling head, a growling mouth, the feeling of vomit watering in the back of his throat.
The world stopped until he hit the pavement. He floated.
Nothingness.
Nothing.
Nothi--
He felt something hard and cold against his face. A pain he didn't understand flood him, threatening to hold him... wherever he was. He blinked and found his face painful, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth. He must have gotten into another fight, the details more than hazy.
As memory caught up with him, Nikolai scrambled up from the ground. His left arm gave out in a sickening lack of strength he didn't understand - why couldn't he move it? Wild green eyes searched the building's face - how did he get outside? Where was Mitchelletto? Nikolai remembered being on the floor, feeling that disgusting blood bond with the elder vampire, the sickening arousal of watching his pain leaking into his skin like an IV. He remembered the fire in his veins. He remembered --
A bubble of vomit, sudden and forceful, burst from his mouth onto the ground, blood spraying the concrete in an ungraceful lurch. Nikolai shook, everything coming to him in pieces. Fire in a hand. The splintering of bone in his flesh. A blood bag on his chest. Bone piercing skin. His throat slick already, the next wave of nausea brought more out of him with better ease. Shaking, he coughed his airway clear and wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand as he sat back on his heels, willing himself to calm down. Quease lingered and he waited for as long as he could for it to pass. His jaw ached and the scent of the blood he had spat up smelled too attractive.
He needed to feed. Nothing else mattered.
Nikolai thought of his car - could he even drive? - and pushed himself shakily to his feet. He needed to get to his car and get the fuck away from this placed. Goblins licked at the blood on the ground, gripping at his pants, suckling on the dried blood on his knee--
The car. Get to the car.
He forced himself to take steps until he did it without focusing on the motion. Nikolai walked the three blocks without knowing where he was going, finding his car before any mortal could stumble across him. He opened the door - keys in his pocket - and sat without a thought. Nikolai shouted in surprise and pain as something struck him in the back. It took him a while to remember the bone sticking out of his back. It needed fixing before he fed or else it would remain sticking out of his skin for quite some time, his immortal flesh closing around it, growing over it or something equally as horrifying. It would take weeks to heal properly unless he got it set properly. Nikolai debating going to a human hospital, just to get the bone put back and shot that down instantly. He mentally went through a list of capable immortals who'd be able to first break the bone, cut him open, and then put the bone back into place. His first instinct - Sonya - gave him a tic of punishment, as did his second - Pierre DuSang.
Nikolai started the engine and pulled away from the curb with a screech of tires. Who the fuck could fix him?
He focused on nothing but putting as much distance between himself and that hotel for a long time.