@hxttrick stabbed the heart.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Red is the thickness of blood as it stains fingertips and embeds itself under fingernails. Red is the unadulterated passion that comes in waves, unable to be tamed and silenced. Red is the blinding anger that pulses and screams, courses and fibrillates beneath his skin, demanding to be heard and understood. However, red is also love so deep that it consumes the mind, slowly seeping into every crevice of his brain. Red is also the compassion that yearns to understand another's story and the warmth that only companionship with another person can bring. The color red has permeated Hanzo's entirety, and yet, he did not think he would intimately reencounter the impermanence of life too soon and too unexpectedly. But he perceives, it is like a ticking clock, never on my side. I should be lucky to be staring and waiting, with tired eyes.
What used to be the magmatic deluge of his hellfire no longer becomes unfathomable and fervent, like undulating swells of suffocation he endured in Netherrealm, but of the sunset toned in hues of dying yellows and cold, cold blues, steely like the dull katana. Hanzo Hasashi can barely sit, numbing and numbing the smoke, which usually drifts and floats into the sky. What used to be so rapid, callous, and indifferent - not only of his death, but of every Shirai Ryu's - seemingly have enkindled his survivability and endurance, to live on and never stay the same.
Sleeping may have been one of his mortal inconveniences, as if to flirt with a lesser death; to be eaten and consumed, but to prevent his eventual demise. Grandmaster Hasashi knows, his very existence would be completely irrelevant if it weren't for his death, and even with the dualistic nature of his hellfire, he will always prefer to enjoy and learn from these inconveniences, for he cannot exist without them. Not everyone is made aware of this, Hanzo knows, and he doubts anyone in Wu Shi Academy, including Kung Lao, will know. Beneath the contemplative quietness of the atmosphere, Hanzo breathes, albeit trained, as his gaze careens towards Lao.
"We must not forget the fact that we begin with an end. Both of our existence would be irrelevant without death," as certain spell of darkness creates waves within him, he can feel the challenging sun glow within him. He still vividly recalls of his trials and tribulations, with waning sliver of his strength preserved, as he valiantly fought to endure the endless, violent slew of D'Vorah's venom. Even in his befuddled state of unclarity and disarray, the slurring drawl of his thick gravel voice finds enough intent to vocalize. He may still have fallen ill, going delirious at times, but in the gasp of clarity, his uncharacteristically porcelain - wraithlike than ever - expression claims to provide what he knows as the unyielding truth. "I cannot quite fathom what truly has unfolded in this universe. Has the Titaness been defeated? New Era cannot be ushered, no matter what." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
