#helldescended

For all the white in his hair, he moves like a hail of bullets. Dust mushrooms from the punching bag under Rosten’s fists.

He dances back, fists raised, his grin vicious.

The monster stood there…rather confused as to what the mortal was doing with his helmet, he knew this man was vandalizing his cage of despair, but that was about it. One of the downsides of being a faceless monster was being unable to physically see what was going on around him.

Only through his other senses could he decipher his surroundings to send pictures to his mind’s eye. But nevertheless the punisher was furious at the GALL of this puny, frail, bag of blood and bone. 

̷̝̩I̪̱̮̻̞ ̜̰K̲̳̹N̡̫̻͖O̙̱W̼̜͔ ̯̳̙͙͢Y̯̤O͞Ụ̼̱̮͘ ͎͠J͔̘̪E͎͖͙ST̤͙͈͉͔̤͘ ̺̙̰̪H̛̘U̠̘̯M͏͎̥̣A̛͎̫͖̭͈N̥͔̘̜͕.͍̗͉.̦.̴̤͓̥̩̪̯̘͞ͅ ͙̹ ̖̹̥͇ ͇͎͉̼I҉̫̬̮ ͇̥̱̲̮͝ͅṢ̮͔̳H̹͍͕͈̲̱̹A̻L̰̕L͖̠̙̤̕ͅͅ ̭͚͔P͓͖͎͕̩̩̙͜A͖̹͕I̘̥̪Ṉ̭̘̳̮T̩̠̙̼ ͔̩̥͕͉͙̲T̨̬̤̩̠͈ͅͅH̲̞̦̩E̮̺͠ W̡A̢͔̩̼͈̺L̵̫̬̦̦̘L̤̭͖͍͍̫̹̕S̤͚̘̲̻͍̹ ̫̠̟̖̹̤W̕IT̺̤̪̰̥ͅH̛̙ ̷̦͍Y̻̗͜O͚̻̻͞U͉͕̭R̰̮ ̢F̨̰͉͚̭L̨͙̣͉̼͚̦E̘͈̥͜S̭̘̞̮̝̩͉͠H!͚̟̜͈͖͇̺̰̠̲̩͇̟̞ ̣̳H͍̦O̥̥̳Ẃ̼͈̞̭̗ ̰̹̩̰̭̖̞D͎͎͈̥͉A͞R͉̲̝E̮͉̤̹͙͟ ̥͈͘Y̞͓͚ͅO͔̲̯͎U̦ M̙͔̟̜̣͜O͓͎̗C̹͈̭̕K͚̫̬̞̝̠ ̺͍͍͙͍̥͈̕M̶̩͎͈̝̹̻E͉̰͚̻̺̤!̠̩͘

     “Yeah, well, you should see the other guy.”

     Miles is bleeding. Or, at least, he’s soaked through with a fair amount of blood. Whether it’s his or not has yet to be seen, but there are patches of greasy black liquid intermingling with the expected shades of ruby red. Yet none of this is fazing him as much as it probably should be.

     There’s a thrumming buzz at the base of his skull that he’s trying dutifully to ignore, to press back into the recesses of his mind. 

     “I’m fine, really.”

Hm̛m͝m ̢m͠Y ͟MY̵ ́MY…͡.̷ ͝ ̴ Ẃha̕t ̕A͢N InTERE͘S҉ting A̡NS͠WER̸̸̀SE̕EM͜S ͡L̀ìK̸E yOU ̧SPEa̧K ҉f̛ROM EXP̸e͝ri̛E͝NC̸È

you asked for bargaining and here it is

“So who’d ya serve with?”