She enjoys seeing that cocky little smile of his fade–it feeds the pit growing within her, begging for more, crying out in earnest as she imagines all the horrific things she wants to do to this pathetic whelp of a man. It’s almost ironic, how he looks for a way out–adorable, even.
As if he could get away from her for very long. But perhaps she would let him. She hadn’t played a good game of hide and seek in quite a while, so it would be ever so amusing if he decided to run. Hide and seek with a bit of tag mixed in, perhaps? Then again, it would be the cold hand of death making Kimblee ‘it’, if Anger had her way.
He’s begun to run his mouth again, and for a moment the little homunculus wonders if she needs to teach Kimblee another lesson about opening his mouth and spouting his bullshit–but before she can do anything, everything is crumbling.
Anger can’t move, can’t see, can’t breathe. She’s on the ground. She can taste dirt, feel the crushing weight of something pressing against her back, she can’t breathe.
She can’t fucking breathe.
It hits her like a tonne of bricks. The rage is gone, replaced with a terror that, had there not already been rubble piled atop her, would keep her immobile. She sees that red light dancing about her body, struggling to heal itself. It feels like her lungs are on fire. She can’t let Kimblee get away, but she also can’t get up, or see–how is she supposed to stop someone she can’t see?
Get up, screams her mind, and Anger wheezes and scrambles for purchase on the brick and cement atop her. If she could just move it, if she could get up then she would be fuming.
The dust cloggs his nose, each particle reflecting the sunlight, blinding him to the scene - but - not entirely, he has his ears to listen. And even if they ring with aftermath of rumble, the beautiful, perfect artistry that only he is master of, even then he hears the familiar wheeze of someone in their last moments.
Well, Kimblee knew it wasn’t her last moments, no no, it was clear as day. A being like her wouldn’t fall prey to a simple thing as this.
There was no time to ponder. No time to stay and soak up the electricity in the air, no time to appreciate the struggle.
Kimblee turned on his heels, briskly, walking and walking far away. He almost broke out into a sprint, the hatred of the kid prickling his neck and piercing him. All that kept him from doing so was the mass of people, mingling the streets, curious gazes, fearful eyes, all mixed and unsure what had transpired.
Running would only make them suspect him and well, the less he got involved in this, the less he had to deal with it. As long she didn’t find him again.
snowghoul
romaincrisis
stormborns
