Yasuo let out a growl of annoyance, partially with Vlad, but mostly with himself. He had given into the very thing that he aspired to control; the thing he wanted to never succumb to. And yet here he knelt, before the victim of the beast he so easily gave into simply because this … this person, despite what he may think of them– is comparative to the Shugo-Daimyo who made him what he was now.
He was nothing but a villainous, vile creature.
“This time, I’m the one choosing to save you.” The oni huffed, retracting his touch from their beaten form as he brought himself up to stand. Cerulean eyes pierced Vladimir like knives; hands balled up into fists. As he forced himself to breathe, watching the pathetic man before him shuffle and collect themselves, he could feel how his claws wanted so desperately to pierce his ghostly flesh. The tips of each one pressing into his foggy palms, causing the faintest of smoky outlines to cascade from the creases of his knuckles.
Heaving out a heavy breath, the ronin’s hands relaxed, the smoke radiating from his palms immediately dissipating after a short moment, signifying that the markings he left in his own hands had healed.
“So you see what he does,” Yasuo spoke sternly, words full of venom. “You see how he contorts innocent people into monsters, hmm? Makes them his pets? The only reason he hasn’t done the same to you is because he finds your fixation with him to be amusing and to his advantage.”
He let out a low growl, bringing his arms up to cross. Literally, he looked down upon the Soulstealer’s body. “I know plenty of you, Vladimir. I know your power with souls. He’s trying to teach you. Why do you think he does so much for you?”
A sigh fell from his Hannya, shaking his head.
“You’re his fucking bitch.”
A surge of agony coursed from Vlad’s fingertips; charging upward into his spine and up into his head. The nerves had reconnected and Vlad gnashed his teeth; knotting his fingers into tightened fists. Chest heaving, he met Yasuo’s stare with a furious gaze; lessened only by the exhaustion provoked by being mutilated at the other’s taloned hands.
But it wasn’t until that single word did Vlad actually feel provoked to legitimate anger.
Narrowing his gaze, a vivid emerald light crossed his irises.
Vlad’s voice was weak, broken; but he worked with what he had. Attempting to imbue as much intensity as he could, he spoke with furious conviction.
“Stop talking about him.. like you know him.” He seethed, shakily pulling himself up, using the rocky outcrop for leverage. Any usage of his arms was met with blinding agony; the Soulstealer tightening his jaw as a means of stifling any vocalizations to show he was struggling with the pain. Once he’d risen to a stand, Vlad relinquished his grasp from the rocks; shoulders rising and falling as breath twisted from his thin lips. A slight quiver compromised the Soulstealer’s resolute stature and he internally wished it would stop.
Because anything less-than-resolute communicated weakness. And, especially now, that was the last thing he wanted to depict.
“What could you possibly know of Thresh’s motives.” Vlad snarled; breath escaping his mouth as a twist of vapor. “And how can you speak of him as if you are so different.” He kept his voice low; as he no longer possessed the energy to raise it out of anger. Though his words resonated with collected calmness, he managed to imbue every syllable with a distinct, soft-spoken rage.
“I’ve done..” A cough of blood interrupted his speech.
A flicker of desperation compromised his tone.
“And you attacked.. me.” That same desperation twisted across his facial features for a moment.
Stifling a grunt of pain as his muscles continued to reform, Vlad grit his teeth.
“You are. Just. Like. Him.”