The Homeless Revolt
Jun 23, 2013 3:32:35 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Jun 23, 2013 3:32:35 GMT -7
But Kenta would not give up quite so easily. His blade bit deep into the homeless individual's shoulder, blooming liquid red, but the soldier's other arm was thankfully keeping him right steady.letting his other, grenade-occupied arm somewhat catch him in his forward motion to hold him steady.
So, nothing done to avoid the grip, Kenta would draw the blade from the man's oh-so-fragile flesh and raise it again, his hard, golden eyes preaching the same message he spoke aloud in a deathly dark whisper. It was not choice, it was hardly even conscious; it was compulsion.
"Unfinished."
With that, his canine teeth bared in complete antipathy, he brought the blade back down savagely, aiming for the heart, clutching the poor man close to him in as strong a grip as he could muster, wrapping his blade-less arm up and around the man's neck, squeezing slightly at the already existing flesh-wound to weaken him. Mercilessly, even if the first attack failed, Kenta would continue to draw and insert and draw and insert violently till blood spattered his hands and until the figure was but a lifeless husk before him. Even if a stone managed to stray and hit Kenta it would only hit his side, such was his angle to the rest of the crowd.
The blood dripping down his sleeve and coating his blade, the soldier's vicious frenzy would eventually end, and he would drop the man without care. In fact, if able to survey the lifeless body, he would even grin in momentary, dark satisfaction;
A dog that had pleased its master; the master, a principle. Leave no task incomplete.
Combat is to the death.
Only very slowly, if nothing else chose to disturb him would the hellish mask drop from Kenta's face, and he would slump into relaxation once more.