#heavenrule

     metal clashes against metal and electricity sparks in the air as the masked man takes down row after row of mindless automatons-- some humanoid in nature, some not-- with his sword, the shiny yellow metal dripping with oil. his arm is essentially useless, sparking and popping with frayed wires making it hang loosely at his side, still able to work and move but entirely pointless as a weapon. his back is severely damaged as well-- his wings are bent awkwardly and there’s no way he can fly away in this state. at this point, he’s just still fighting for the sake of it.

She’s only half listening - enough to know what’s being said, yet not enough to care. It’s better to let him wear himself out before she speaks again, lest she face his wrath. He’s not unlike Albert in that way.

(The thought sends a chill down her spine.)

“Let me rephrase.”

Pandora’s hand snaps out and in the blink of an eye, she’s holding the biometal tight. He’s not fragile but startlingly small, not much larger than a book. She knows better than anyone how formidable a biometal can be, and he might’ve been so had he stayed silent, but his proclamations of power only prove to shatter the illusion that he might, perhaps, have been worth her time. Some god, she thinks to herself; he couldn’t even stop the one who made him into this

SOMA STARTERS | accepting!

Pandora sits quietly outside the Hunter’s Camp, watching her hands rip grass from the ground instead of gracing the biometal with attention.

She’s never seen a point in complaining. Complaining meant admitting she was in over her head, and under Master Albert’s control, that was worse than a death sentence. Prometheus had much the same mindset, so listening to complaints without a plan to resolve them is something altogether new to her - and it is agonizingly irritating.

“And? What do you want me to do about it? You’ll never be what you were, and you can never be killed… All I can do is tell you to get over yourself.”