you think i can't handle this myself ? — @punishmentsdue / workaholic
𝐎𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐀 suspended in dark collectives of heavy rain. all that remained of three full grown men who knew none the wiser that a shift in forecast was a fatal fate.
despite the continuous fall, the surface tension remained a placid mirror. hardly a ripple quivered even as boots outlined in a vivid dance of gold paused a toe length away from the gory contents. water patterned exposed shoulders, vanished into the waves of decadent fabric that formed a hood over the man’s shadow-rimmed eyes. yet he remained untouched, the oppressive moisture seemingly banished.
❝ i do not question your competency, earthrealmer. nor do i suffer chances. ❞
a coppery miasma too pungent to be washed away crawled its way through the threads of the mage’s mask. an invitation for rain to search the remains of his victims who never truly had the chance to make themselves foes. there was a touch of humorous vulgarity in the way the massacred chunks of human remains spun in slow circling, leaking branching trails of blood. all of outworld’s losses at earthrealm’s fists during liu kang’s supposedly honoured tournaments, yet that was the worst the latter’s streets offered?
