[ It's sorcery. It's sorcery or something like, and he can't dwell on the strangeness because he needs to react, the clamor of Mitsuhide's words shaking through his ears (what, what is the bastard on about?) even as the skulls snap close and painful.
His gun's going to do him no good. Even the knife at his side, now brandished, can only manage so much. He cracks one skull just above the eye sockets, catches another in the jaws and gives a sharp twist. One catches at the thick material of his glove and he brings the dagger's handle crushing into its hollow socket. But there are too many and he feels them drawing blood, sudden snags of pain that flickers without holding his focus. Best to keep his attention fixed on the attackers. Best to continue striking. Best to determine the best next phase of attack, because this isn't working as well as he needs.
He doesn't want to attack Mitsuhide. Expects it'll yield a fight beyond what he can predict; not beyond what he can handle (he doesn't think, though there's a doubt, a minor discordant wondering), but beyond what he cares to deal with right now. Because he expects a fight with this man might need to end in death. (Because it's be easier, so tempting to strike this one down and end the trouble he's caused.) Because Daud would rather not kill. Not now. Not anymore.
(Only it would. It'd be easier. Be better, in ways.)
He also doesn't want to employ the bastard's powers. Has vowed against drawing on the Void, sworn to himself that he'd keep to his own skills. But if he has to. If this continues. He'll bring time to a halt and crack these summoned skulls one by one, if they can even be so disposed. (Catch Mitsuhide by the throat, if he thinks it might help.)
The bastard's giggling. Mitsuhide's giggling.
Of course he is. Somehow, it seems appropriate. Only natural.
And there's a question: What precisely is Mitsuhide's purpose in coming here? Because strange as he is, Daud doesn't doubt the bastard's got some fixed point. Doesn't doubt that Mitsuhide moves through the world in part by fixing on one seeming purpose after another, dragging himself along bit by grating bit. ]
Stop this. Now.
[ He elbows a skull aside, ignoring the throb of nausea-edged pain, and strikes another aside, barely keeps another from biting at his jaw. ]
no subject
His gun's going to do him no good. Even the knife at his side, now brandished, can only manage so much. He cracks one skull just above the eye sockets, catches another in the jaws and gives a sharp twist. One catches at the thick material of his glove and he brings the dagger's handle crushing into its hollow socket. But there are too many and he feels them drawing blood, sudden snags of pain that flickers without holding his focus. Best to keep his attention fixed on the attackers. Best to continue striking. Best to determine the best next phase of attack, because this isn't working as well as he needs.
He doesn't want to attack Mitsuhide. Expects it'll yield a fight beyond what he can predict; not beyond what he can handle (he doesn't think, though there's a doubt, a minor discordant wondering), but beyond what he cares to deal with right now. Because he expects a fight with this man might need to end in death. (Because it's be easier, so tempting to strike this one down and end the trouble he's caused.) Because Daud would rather not kill. Not now. Not anymore.
(Only it would. It'd be easier. Be better, in ways.)
He also doesn't want to employ the bastard's powers. Has vowed against drawing on the Void, sworn to himself that he'd keep to his own skills. But if he has to. If this continues. He'll bring time to a halt and crack these summoned skulls one by one, if they can even be so disposed. (Catch Mitsuhide by the throat, if he thinks it might help.)
The bastard's giggling. Mitsuhide's giggling.
Of course he is. Somehow, it seems appropriate. Only natural.
And there's a question: What precisely is Mitsuhide's purpose in coming here? Because strange as he is, Daud doesn't doubt the bastard's got some fixed point. Doesn't doubt that Mitsuhide moves through the world in part by fixing on one seeming purpose after another, dragging himself along bit by grating bit. ]
Stop this. Now.
[ He elbows a skull aside, ignoring the throb of nausea-edged pain, and strikes another aside, barely keeps another from biting at his jaw. ]
Don't be ridiculous.