STRICKEN TERROR SENDS AN ELECTRIC CHILL through his skull, neck joints cracking in unison as he whirls, head - first, towards a familiar noise. not familiar, perhaps, in its source, but in the noise itself — the purest, most basic of human emotions, beyond joy or grief or even happiness : UNADULTERATED FEAR. sparks fly in short slivers as he grips the spiked bat tightly, jagged tearings on his fingers spreading ever further at their widest points.
dirtied dress shoes tap tap tap against the tiles, long legs carrying him in a quick, purposeful stride. a prosthetic eye, long since replaced by the entity, whirs and shifts in its socket as another black and red cloud obscures his vision, far closer this time.
tap tap tap. he moves faster now, around a corner, one hand resting on a rotting doorframe — and catches sight of bright red hair, tousled and loose from the fingers gripping at it so desperately. his weapon is lowered briefly, only for his free hand to rise, sparks dancing, twisting around his curled fingers, before his arm extends to deliver a powerful shockwave beneath the girl's feet.
his laugh reverberates from a ravaged throat, ghost - like and giddy. much too high for such an imposing figure. there had been a time when he had laughed genuinely, when he wasn't quite so monstrous — but that time had passed, and he now inflicted his own madness upon those unlucky enough to fall victim to it.
❛ THERE, THERE. ❜ his mouth doesn't move, held agape by the gear affixed to his head ; his voice seems to echo between the walls, emit directly into the poor girl's head, where it resounds with each spike in her heartbeat. ❛ YOU NEEDN'T FIGHT ANYMORE. YOU'RE UNDER MY CARE NOW. ❜
@adrenalrun :^) you called?
