Don’t mind her. She’s just idly
pulling out a bullet. Nothing
too major to see here.
A melody of hell forged metal and bone falls from its climax in the background of her grunts, prelude for the footsteps of a ghostly tower of a man entering the scene wearing his own evidence of carnage.
God of War: Ascension
The Runner can’t not look as they make eye contact. Mass pulls back from his arm and gathers equally around his wrists, preparing to form into shields if the other intends an attack. This man is incredibly unusual — he’s never seen such war paint before — but the look in his eyes is something Heller has seen in himself.
A burning desire to make everyone pay.
Heller’s stance shifts to defensive, refusing to remain aggressive. He didn’t want trouble from this one merely because a fight would not be worth it. Mass lost versus mass gained would not equate to any sort of positive result. He didn’t have much an idea as to how he knew this one was different from others. Maybe it had something to do with that look in his eyes.
"Why are you here."
Smoldering fires in the heated stare down worsened at inquiry, channeling hell-forge in his leer in spite of the slightness that turned his lips down. Broad nostrils flared, robbing a quick breath, then cocked his chin but an increment, casting that vengeful look down his nose at the other.
“I’ve not leisure to waste such words on you.”
Squaring off the massive breadth of his shoulders, body turnt first, following suit by disconnecting their gazes in a boorishly dismissive roll of head.
kratos + faceless
One of Mercer’s Goliaths. The fucker that had chased him before infection had set in his body like a fever it could never shake. It had been crippled and the Runner intended to finish it off.
His blade pulled itself together from mass collected within his own body and manifested with a sickly sound reminescent of squishy flesh. It was a sound he was long since used to. The movements he enacted were also second-nature: attack the Goliath’s leg, slice through tendons and bone and muscle, and then rip its head off.
Heller ‘drank’ from the vessel of biomass and tossed aside the head, which was almost as large as himself.
Privilege of long-legged gait, he strode onward with a leisurely quickness that narrowly avoided the disembodied head, not so much as glancing as the gargantuan orb rolled to its permanent resting place several feet behind. Forward would he march through the derelict streets, no inhibitions despite the enemies (alien to the Grecian) scarcely dispersed throughout the area. A macabre scene of consumption directly to his left received the cold stare of the demigod— unflinching, mass-manipulator becomes grouped together with the the many mindless monsters he had seen in his travels through this land.
Though, he surmised this one their champion fighter. As happenstance would have it in that millisecond of examination, their eyes connected past the veil of gloomy gray that overhung the city, and stilled the fair skinned roamer in his tracks, whose gaze sized opposing up and down silently.