The kicking had stopped. Rain lay there, his breaths coming out as wheezes. His thoughts were so mired in sick hopelessness that he could barely think straight.

A hand was extended. It seized Rain by the upper arm, firm, and heaved him to his feet.

It occurred to Rain, too late, that his uncle wasn’t the kind of person to offer a helping hand.

Still firmly holding Rain’s upper arm, with Rain bent over, his uncle struck him across the face. It was only the fierce grip on Rain’s arm that kept him from being knocked to the ground yet again.

Again, Rain was struck across the face. His head sagged.

The next hit caught him backhanded, across the ear. It was impossibly loud, painful, and it made his thoughts dissolve into sparks. His ear rang like a siren in the wake of the hit.

Rain, almost insensate, punched in the general direction of his uncle’s stomach, turned his face toward the ground so it would be away of any further blows, and kept punching blind until his uncle let him go.

Rain stumbled back, snorted, coughed, and tried to straighten, before giving up on the latter. He put his hand on his knee to steady himself.

His uncle approached, and Rain backed up. His uncle’s turn to return the favor, now. Swats, a knee, a punch, a shove. Even the lighter contact was painful, because Rain hurt, and each light contact forced him to move one way or the other while existing bruises and injuries punished those movements.

“Okay,” Rain managed, huffing out the word. “Stop.”

His uncle didn’t stop, pushing out with both hands to shove Rain back into the wooden fence.

With an edge of desperation, Rain pulled out the silver blades. It didn’t make his uncle hesitate.

He threw the first blade, and the pain at his armpit altered the trajectory, meant he didn’t finish the swing. The silver scythe passed through his uncle’s head, the two remaining pieces carrying forward, sailing out to strike the side of the house.

A silver line encircling his head, Rain’s uncle stood there, drawing in a deep breath.

“Okay,” Rain said. He hunched over, hands on his knees, coughed, then snorted. “Don’t sneeze or do anything. That’s all. Thank you.”

His uncle remained where he was, glowering, eye sockets only barely illuminated by the silver light from the mark.

The mark would fade soon. Ten, twelve seconds. Rain watched and waited, nervous of the possibility of disaster.

The silver line thinned out, went away. Rain’s uncle touched his face. A moment later, the man strode toward Rain, a dark look on his face.

“Stop,” Rain said, voice weak. He realized the futility of it as he said it. His uncle didn’t intend to stop until one of them was unable to move.