| 11:24p |
Writing. (Talen Head)
In the middle of an invasion, the rikti all around, and she swings a punch into a heavy suit- then finds a skull-masked, white-painted face looming out of the bloody haze, blood on his hands trailing smoke as he lunges at her.
There's no thought behind it
No motivation.
They don't have an ancient grudge or a burning vendetta.
When people like that meet, people like that fight.
And the dirty secret is, they do it because it's fun.
The dirtier secret is...
If youhad this power, friends and neighbours?
You'd do it too.
Power corrupts, and these beings wield absolute power, new gods in a godless world.
She heals, completely immutable and refusing to feel any pain and bends steel rebar like it's a bendy straw. He feels the pain but it doesn't stop him, because he likes it. Fists crossed. He has the style of a boxer, and he hits like a fucking hammer with fists that crackle with some bleak harrowed fire that chills to the very bone, but she will not be stopped.
She kicks him through a wall and takes a moment to reorient herself then regrets it as he lunges out of the darkness with a ringing hit that leaves a black scorchmark where she stood. Tireless and persistent, the two of them are equals in will, an irresistable object and an immovable force.
The Rikti are gone.
They left.
They fled.
As the two titans clashed in the ruins of a supposed invasion, the invading army stood and saw what these people were doing to one another, who they were, what monsters they were facing, and they retreated, wanting nothing of this world, for now.
And as the day ends, the outline of two figures, punching, and hammering, kicking and bleeding, one trailing black blood that bursts into flame, the other seeing the world only in shades of corpuscle red, is cast against a bloody sunset.
Who falls to the knee first? Who can say. When you fight that long, that hard, the air burns and your muscles revolt. It stops being about skill and muscle and dedication and becomes about will. It becomes about being the one that snarls I will not yieldlast.
The observers have fled, the people drawing away. four city blocks destroyed. She'd killed him, twice - punching once clean through his chest and pulling his heart out, only to have it explode in her hand like an artful bomb, his ragdolled body hoisting up and healing over in a scant few seconds. The mask is torn, flaunting his face, the tattoos are obvious.
So there's nobody there to see when one adrenaline-soaked swing turns to a grab turns to an embrace turns to a biting and hateful kiss. She'd kiss him back...hungry and almost vicious....the stomp on his foot and try and kick him through a wall.
Suddenly the battle has a new dimension to it. They're not just stealing hits at opportunities, suddenly there's a sexual charge to it. She throws a haymaker that misses, he steps around, footwork as he grabs her wrist, pressing against her back, and his other hand pulls back on her hair - then headbutts her in the side of the head, flipping over her and trying to flip her over him in turn.
As the moon stays at its midpoint in the sky, capitvated by the sight them at war, the sirens begin.
The flier.
Too much carnage, too much wreckage. Arachnos has decided to step in. To contain the situation.
The thing is... as the flier comes down, Hex would pull back from her, stop - and even take a hit, as he glared up at it, tugging his gloves back and giving a grin and a snarl... then he'd point at the flier, grin at her, and say 'Dibs.' |