You are a predator. You are all predators.
He needed little of his own unnatural instinct to discern this fact, for it was something with which all too familiar with. It was too easy to understand. Logical. The woman's desire to attack the others was evident in the little twitches her body made. But he sought to never give her the chance to harm the others who had intervened. Nor those innocent bystanders who stood packed at the opposing ends of the train, gazing on in helplessness and terror. Wishing nothing to do with the savagery which took place in the center. And mixed in with that fear was a silent envy of it. A desire to have any capability to act. Such was what the Lotus wanted. To prey on the insecurities of those who sought power to take control of their lives.
The man coordinated his attack well, and the woman is forced to choose between attacks. His sword sinks into her body, stopped by her vice like grip. And with her bare hands, she sought to deform the darksteel blade with force that could dent a tank. A vehicle with armor that could take dozens of rocket-propelled grenades. Something which could be beset by an onslaught of assault rifle fire for days on end with nary a scratch. A condensed piece of metal and armor which weighed more than many houses and could withstand.
Her grip however did nothing to deform the thin piece of metal forged from ancient methods. While many swords would have bent tremendous, the blade remained as unyielding as a gemstone forged within the crushing bowls of the earth. Septimus tried to shove the blade in but regardless of the blade's sharpness -- she allowed it no further purchase. And so he was forced to let it go.
His fist colliding with her face. It was a sound akin to a fist colliding with a heavy bag with the magnitude of a gunshot. Admittedly, the man finding satisfaction in the way the strike landed and the slow motion sight of teeth falling out from the little gaps in the hoodie. Accompanied by the denting of steel as the Dark-skinned woman's head dinged
against the ceiling of the train.Eyes however did little to lose focus as he watched her reach upward.
Opportunity. She gripped the handle of his knife. And he gripped the handle of the sword mid-air. A twist of the sword from a point of superior leverage and he would jerk her wrist. And with the twist of his hips, the entirety of Septimus' body would oppose the woman's thumb. The blade would be wrenched from her grip. And whether or not the saw like motion of her blade would take off her thumb
depended on whether or not she let it go.
The cutting of metal and human shriek.
The blade had cut into the wall of the train cleanly for the lesser metal to stop it's travel. Instead, it stopped upon flesh of someone standing near by, eyes hardly able to process the blade's presence. The Vampire's long, elf-like ears twitch, discerning that the person standing was a young man. The blade wedged in his flesh enough to break the skin and slice into the muscle within his leg -- sparing the bone in his chin. The smell of innocent blood permeating the air. The boy was not the one to shriek. More so he stood in shock. A tug upon the blade and it was stuck. The surrounding steel of the train gradually remembering some vague semblance of it's shape and folding in to hold the sword he was too slow to withdraw.
The boy took one step back, watching in paralyzed terror at what not even a moment after.
A wet sound accompanied the knife stabbing into his skull. More screaming as the crowd frantically shovels the teenage boy to the back of the train and further away from the action. Again and again. The blade enters his skull. The Vampire's eyes begin to twitch. And soon lose any amount of coherent focus. He feels his eyes begin to twitch uncontrollably in his skull. And soon his head accompanies, as though he were having a standing seizure. His face twitched at such a rate that it could not be seen except for those brief moments of the knife going into his head and his head was held in place for a split -- each consecutive impact serving to add to a dent in his skull that only increased in size.
Who are you? Where am I?
He blinks erratically. SHLIK
His jaw becomes slack, mouth hanging agape. SHLIK
A twitching just below the cheekbone as his eyes roll up to his head. His world plunged into a familiar and all too comfortable
darkness. There was no pain. No sorrow. No joy. A faint feeling in shuddering of his legs. One which could easily be given up. And he could simply fall to the floor. Let her think him dead. And what way would she have to tell of the life if he remained still.
I have been here before. Why ever did I leave?
A faint image of some people. Some things he does not recognize.
Not yet. There is still something for me elsewhere. Not. Here.
Another plunge of the knife into his head and most all manner of conscious and deliberate which sat on the surface of the mind ceased. Only that which was deeper within remained. Rhythm of strikes.
The blade stabs into his hand, a loud slap echoing through the train as it stops in the palm. His own fingers curling around her fist.
A wet, gargley noise emanates out of his gaping maws. There a split second reaction as all the screams are hushed and they stand paralyzed for a single moment before moving once again. In this moment is however an odd clarity among the crowd as most all of them freeze for a moment.
The lower jaw splitting into two mandibles well equipped for holding struggling prey in place -- drool dripping to the ground. As though a reminder of the grisly fate that had awaited many of those who fell to the Pale Man before his days in Assurance. A sickening crack of his bones as the holes in his head had begun to seal themselves and the dents began to regenerate. Yet his wounds did not fully heal. And the limited blood was channeled to helping other attributes.
His hand leaves her own in whir of motion as his sword is brought fluidly to bear with vampirific speed and human-honed skill. Another strike within the flurry would result in her arm striking the edge of his blade.
His raised his knee to his chest, leaned forward, rotated his hips and launched his knee forward in an explosive -- spear like movement. A strike hard enough to shove a jagged, person sized boulder skirting back a few paces with a notable crack at the point of impact.