Typhex looked up at the old woman. White hair descended from her balding head to her shoulders, and the wispy strands blew in the wind. Time. There wasn't enough time, and she was in his way. Her blue dress was stained with the meal that she had just finished cooking before Typhex had ripped it from her grasp and thrown it against a tree. He was angry, and she was there to die.
Everyone had to die in the end. He was just there to make it come a bit faster than they'd planned. Perhaps someone would miss her. Maybe she had friends in a nearby village, friends that had grown to her age or close to it with her. People that cared about her well-being and her sanity and her trials in life.
Their loss.
Typhex felt the power surge inside and felt the ground around him rumble. His skin stung and crawled in irritation; he had too much power inside and his Matrix was being overwhelmed. Caring for his own personal safety was a setback and wouldn't help him in the long run. Not when he was invincible anyway. He was a god, now.
"What did I do?" the old lady gasped. With a shake of his head, Typhex stepped to her and placed his hand on her head. A rock ten feet in the ground flew through the ground and through the stump she had been sitting on. It pierced her body and flew into his palm, the blood from her heart covered the stone and dripped from the rock onto her body.
Killing her had been a temporary distraction to feel the power that he held inside. Nevertheless, he was eager to feel that power whenever and however occasion provided. He was a god, he might as well feel like one.