10-18-2016, 10:36 AM
Ratione was very scared right now. Fortunately, a scared Novan was a dangerous Novan, and he would channel that fear into anger, that anger into his muscles.
The source of his fear was the fact that this thing had decided to give the laws of physics a boot up the ass. The Furtumin had sliced his spine and put the entire length of his gargantuan blade through its chest and gut. Even now he could see organs and meat and blood spilling all over the place, intestines hanging out like gory party decorations. The lungs were still expanding and contracting, heart still beating. Spurts of crimson liquid shot out from arteries here and there. The spinal chord was completely severed and visible. The blow from the crossguard had shattered the monster’s skull, bits of bone flying outward, brain matter exposed and swelling out of the hole, flaps of skin flitting about.
His own rib cage was sore, but not broken. Well, maybe a few ribs were. Either way, his armor was keeping everything intact.
“I’ll have to chop you into little bits then!” The Novan allowed himself a small taunt, before bringing the blade around, still inversely gripping, and slamming it into his enemy’s neck within a tenth of a second after the crossguard blow. He pushed the monster up and through the kiosk, bending the frame with ease and skewering the arms and legs on bits of frayed metal. There was a long, high-pitched screech as the aluminum was forced across the marble floor. When his assailant perked up again, Ratione’s steel plate was met with a series of quick and short but strong kicks, slaps and punches.
The Furtumin gritted his teeth, pressing on despite the blows which each delivered their own sting, craning his head back as the monster tried in vain to bit his face. It was growling and snarling at him like some kind of wild raptor, snapping its jaws at him. Slowly this turned into panicked scratching at his wrists as the blade sunk deeper and deeper into the throat.
First it was just blood, then muscle tissue being shoved out like raw steak being tenderized. Then came the blood vessels and arteries, spraying all over Ratione’s visor, then after that the bone of the windpipe which bent for a moment before cracking open and releasing shards of white everywhere. The rest of the neck gave in with ease, the blade slicing right between two vertebrae and the rest of the skin.
The source of his fear was the fact that this thing had decided to give the laws of physics a boot up the ass. The Furtumin had sliced his spine and put the entire length of his gargantuan blade through its chest and gut. Even now he could see organs and meat and blood spilling all over the place, intestines hanging out like gory party decorations. The lungs were still expanding and contracting, heart still beating. Spurts of crimson liquid shot out from arteries here and there. The spinal chord was completely severed and visible. The blow from the crossguard had shattered the monster’s skull, bits of bone flying outward, brain matter exposed and swelling out of the hole, flaps of skin flitting about.
His own rib cage was sore, but not broken. Well, maybe a few ribs were. Either way, his armor was keeping everything intact.
“I’ll have to chop you into little bits then!” The Novan allowed himself a small taunt, before bringing the blade around, still inversely gripping, and slamming it into his enemy’s neck within a tenth of a second after the crossguard blow. He pushed the monster up and through the kiosk, bending the frame with ease and skewering the arms and legs on bits of frayed metal. There was a long, high-pitched screech as the aluminum was forced across the marble floor. When his assailant perked up again, Ratione’s steel plate was met with a series of quick and short but strong kicks, slaps and punches.
The Furtumin gritted his teeth, pressing on despite the blows which each delivered their own sting, craning his head back as the monster tried in vain to bit his face. It was growling and snarling at him like some kind of wild raptor, snapping its jaws at him. Slowly this turned into panicked scratching at his wrists as the blade sunk deeper and deeper into the throat.
First it was just blood, then muscle tissue being shoved out like raw steak being tenderized. Then came the blood vessels and arteries, spraying all over Ratione’s visor, then after that the bone of the windpipe which bent for a moment before cracking open and releasing shards of white everywhere. The rest of the neck gave in with ease, the blade slicing right between two vertebrae and the rest of the skin.
"Our fear is our weapon."