urumisu ( @fyu-ture ) said:
💋 from?
It’s Sinday! Send 💋 to straight up kiss my muse!
In a fashion remarkable similar to the crashing of an overloaded computer, his thoughts near-instantly turn to garbled static and skewered, continuously failing attempts at processing it properly, all of the chaotic mess shot through by two distinct sensations.
Initially just an inkling, it quickly turns to something far more intense, like a simple papercut that has been ripped open countless times over by the deliverance of a hatchet's blow at the site of initial, unimportant injury.
The absolute fury--of a sort he has tried to keep locked away for many, many of his long years of life this far--bleeds out like a flash flood, and his entire body tenses in response as the demon's lips linger at his own.
Practically snarling, Shin takes a sort-of half step backward, if only to put a sliver of space between the two of them.
Today is, perhaps, the worst possible timing for Fyu to do what he has done, for Shin's fears (he would call it paranoia were the haunting terror not a reality that stares him in the face from time to time, crimson eyes and curved fangs, sitting before others, pleasant as can be and pretending absolutely nothing is wrong at all) have driven him into a spiral of research in recent weeks (months? years?) as to what--if anything--he could do to not be so pathetically helpless, ultimately culminating into what he does next.
Though it may initially seem like he intends to throw a punch, the illusion is broken when his fingers uncurl whilst mere centimeters away.
Fingernails, grown and filed to an obvious, otherwise-deadly point, soaked, infused and still-dripping with a particularly potent form of holy water, first collide with Fyu’s cheek, then dig into the flesh deeper, scraping considerable chunks of skin away in their path.
That hand is drawn back, only for his other to strike at the other side of Fyu’s face, perhaps a sliver more inaccurately but with equal (if not more) force, otherwise-deadly nails scraping away a line of flesh almost completely identically to what he had done during a much earlier encounter.
Except, this time, he refuses to be the victim, the prey, a terrified little thing trapped by the claws and fangs of a deadly creature that treats his life like nothing but a throwaway toy.
Whilst not possessing of physical strength comparable to that of the most deadly warriors within his universe, what he does have is still effectively potent, and when used in combination with one of the few substances that he knows for a fact can cause the other to suffer, he knows it’s effective in causing misery, agony in a potent enough form that there will be suffering.
But he does not stay to observe the effects, only remaining where he is for long enough to ensure that his strikes landed as intended, the single regret he has about it all as he disappears without a trace being that he wishes he could’ve made it so the other suffers so much more.
