Zhao's entry was incredible. Here comes the Dragon. If this were a movie it surely would be adorned with a piece of fitting epic music, the audience would cheer, everyone at the very edge of their seats. But it was not a movie, it didn't make Zhao any less impressive, but everything came with a caveat of being all very real. No audience to cheer aside for him. The burns of the talismans still searing— it's but a flesh wound. And of course—
The imminent threat.
Yokohama was seemingly a perfect little place, keeping its balance, keeping peace with several very efficient very simple rules. Both in the world of men and in the world of supernatural— but the first one has already been shaken out of its fragile balance, the scales tipped, the setup changed. If this was the start of something similar happening to the world of nonmen— he'd rather kill all the intruders. To send a message. A "don't fuck with Yokohama".
Getting attached, aren't you? Always, always getting attached, for a cause, for a person, for something bigger and brighter— But now, there's attachment right back. "That's mine" Zhao said, and the one was getting drunk on it. There was a certain power in declaring someone as a belonging, a possessiveness he had known all too well— so that was how it felt being on the receiving end of it.
Exhilariating.
It shouldn't be, by all means, for Majima always longed for freedom, and always rattled the chains, bit on the leashes that held him back. But there's a huge difference between a forced submission, and having the freedom to submit willingly.
With a manic green, he wiped the blood from his arm with the flat side of his knife. Now, the blade decorated red with oni's blood didn't need much more, a whispered spell only, to become something far more deadly - covered with poison. And among the lightning flashes and screams (orders, surprises, panic) it found the first of the hunters that dared, blasphemously, to focus on Zhao.
no subject
The imminent threat.
Yokohama was seemingly a perfect little place, keeping its balance, keeping peace with several very efficient very simple rules. Both in the world of men and in the world of supernatural— but the first one has already been shaken out of its fragile balance, the scales tipped, the setup changed. If this was the start of something similar happening to the world of nonmen— he'd rather kill all the intruders. To send a message. A "don't fuck with Yokohama".
Getting attached, aren't you? Always, always getting attached, for a cause, for a person, for something bigger and brighter— But now, there's attachment right back. "That's mine" Zhao said, and the one was getting drunk on it. There was a certain power in declaring someone as a belonging, a possessiveness he had known all too well— so that was how it felt being on the receiving end of it.
Exhilariating.
It shouldn't be, by all means, for Majima always longed for freedom, and always rattled the chains, bit on the leashes that held him back. But there's a huge difference between a forced submission, and having the freedom to submit willingly.
With a manic green, he wiped the blood from his arm with the flat side of his knife. Now, the blade decorated red with oni's blood didn't need much more, a whispered spell only, to become something far more deadly - covered with poison. And among the lightning flashes and screams (orders, surprises, panic) it found the first of the hunters that dared, blasphemously, to focus on Zhao.