He should have expected to be dragged from bed, what else would he have expected Solus to do? Leave the ascian to writhe in bed as the light coursing through his veins burned him from the inside out? The ancient is taken by surprise, certainly, yet is given no time to properly respond when he is then pinned against the wall so violently it causes an episode. His body seizes and tenses like it were being electrocuted as his scars just beneath the thin shirt he wore began to glow. Despite the yelling that the man was doing, Emet-Selch could only focus on the pain he was currently feeling. Even as he is tossed to the ground and near moments away from having his head bashed to a pulp is he still so focused on the agony that the man had forced his body into.
It is only when it dies down is Emet-Selch able to look up at his impending doom, only to find it has stilled itself… and with a properly angry shout is tossed away from him, the container and its contents all breaking upon contact with the floor. Sweating, exhausted, and in pain; his glowing yellow eyes stare at the wreckage… and as Solus is addressing him, the ancient forces himself slowly to his feet, a hand over the scar that marred his chest as he stumbles forward a bit with a pained grunt. Bastard.
When he rises to his full height (still slouching), he glares at Solus with a look so unimpressed and annoyed that he could have killed the man if he still retained his powers… that was alright, though, as a swift punch to the jaw would have to suffice. The bastard should have thrown that crate at him when he had the chance, because now Emet-Selch was in the mood to fight. If this pathetic man wanted to lay hands upon his person and threaten his life, the ancient was more than happy to provide a reason and opportunity for the creature to prove himself.
“Do it then,” He growls, teeth slightly bared as he speaks. “Prove me wrong and kill me you son of a bitch.”
Solus supposes he should have known that his actions would have consequences. He had figured, however, that Emet-Selch would be too weak to stand up against him, so when he throws his fist to make contact with his jaw, he’s taken by surprise. He stumbles back a few steps, catching himself but still thrown off balance. His jaw throbs with a dull ache, and would probably bruise with how surprisingly hard Emet could land a blow. He figured the ancient too frail in his current state to handle even a single blow, let alone deal one out himself. Then again, his own body was far more resilient than it looked—the body Emet-Selch used was no doubt the same despite the lengthy run it’s had in the Ascian’s possession. Despite his fury, there was a jolt in Solus’s limbs and he grits his teeth in a snarling grin.
So, Emet wanted to brawl, eh? Adrenaline is quick to course through him, and the pain in his jaw is a welcome sensation amidst the anguish and helplessness he’d felt within the last few weeks. He feels light on his feet in contrast to Emet’s apparent weakness, and he bares his teeth, hands clenched into fists, ❝ I’ve got nothin’ to prove to you, you piece of shit. If I’m going to kill you, I’m going to make it fucking slow. I want you to be consciously aware of every creeping second--! ❞ He tossed a fist, aiming directly for the bulb of Emet-Selch’s cheek bone. The thrill of the impact was enough to push Solus to toss another blow, this time aiming for his other cheek, in an effort to send him back into the crates behind him.
❝ You want a fight? You got a fight, Ascian, ❞ voice deepened, becoming rougher and gravelly. He stood there, waiting for the ancient to regain his footing in the event he’d lost it. He wouldn’t want to end the fight too quickly... ❝ Come on! Get up! Get up and fight me! ❞
