Your glory fades, ebbing away like the tide, the light slipping away and your eyes dulling from bright, burning gold to a washed-out emerald; the colour is almost like seawater, except it doesn't shimmer in the sun. Even your skin--what little of it your bared left hand reveals--is paler, as if you are somehow
less
than you were.
For a moment, your hand twitches toward the gun on your hip.
It would be a fitting end.
But no. You cannot. Natasha--as a defined, self-identifying concept--may no longer exist, but your life has never been yours to take.
In the distance, Ash*in channels lightning and grandstands, but you ignore him. His words wash over you like wind - you can't even tell if you don't notice what he's saying, or if you just don't care. For all his bluster--though, really, it's a fault they
all
share--if he even manages to hurt you, let alone kill you, it'd probably be by accident.
Suddenly, he blurs, tearing toward you at the speed of lightning; your eyes can barely follow, and your body certainly can't keep up. Not in this form, at any rate. He attacks, once, twice, three times, slicing through your armour, flesh, and bone as if they're not even there.
Well.
One out of three ain't bad.
Truth be told, you barely even feel his attacks. He's moving so quickly, and slashing so swiftly, that his blade has been and gone before your mind can quite register his movements. Without that recognition--you've been hit, so you should feel pain--there's nothing to bring on the memories of the thousand similar wounds you received before your ascension.
The soul bullets are a more impressive effort, and so you decide to reply in kind, your left hand coming up and batting them out of the air, coated in a dark, roiling miasma of energy.
You're considering whether to bother killing him when a bullet skims past your hip and shatters your gun to dust.
"It’s time to reunite some estranged family, don’t you think, O Scion of Vindication?"
What.
08-Feb-2015 12:39:54
- Last edited on
08-Feb-2015 16:41:32
by
Enheduanna