A wet slash stripes across his eyes, swiped away quickly with his hand. It leaves a thick reside against his skin. Viktor's eyes open. Blood. On his hands. In his eyes. Three brightly-colored corpses against thrle wash of piercing white light. Bile rises in his throat. Don't think about it, he tells himself, until there's something that can be done about it.
He doesn't need vision, anyway. He needs to concentrate. To call out the force of energy within him and wipe out the city block. Luther is more than halfway to Kallus' by now. Hargreeves house is far away. Whoever would get hurt probably deserves it, he figures.
Until he starts to wonder why he's not one of those corpses. A crunch of boots behind him could be friend or Purge maniac.
It's easier than it once was to invert the energy. He grabs hold of the space around the presence, boxing him in. With his whole sleeve now, Viktor takes another cleansing path against his eyes. He takes two large steps back and opens his eyes to see a total fucking stranger immobilized several inches off the ground. The blade that was in his hand drops to the floor. Viktor grabs that too, a tendril of energy as his hands try and rid themselves of their thick coat of blood. The knife spins end-over-end in place.
Viktor can't stop thinking about the blood, the inhumane Purge, the training he lacks, Luther and Kallus out there, lost. A warning clap of thunder in the distance, nearly lost to Viktor under a piercing crescendo. He's going to lose it. He has seconds to concentrate the energy or go off.
The knife's swirling meets an abrupt end. Shards of the window rise to join their sharp counterparts. They plunge into the immobilized assailant. The man drops to the floor. So does Viktor. He inspects his handiwork. Tonight, he forgets to take a moment to regret what he's done.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-11-04 10:10 pm (UTC)He doesn't need vision, anyway. He needs to concentrate. To call out the force of energy within him and wipe out the city block. Luther is more than halfway to Kallus' by now. Hargreeves house is far away. Whoever would get hurt probably deserves it, he figures.
Until he starts to wonder why he's not one of those corpses. A crunch of boots behind him could be friend or Purge maniac.
It's easier than it once was to invert the energy. He grabs hold of the space around the presence, boxing him in. With his whole sleeve now, Viktor takes another cleansing path against his eyes. He takes two large steps back and opens his eyes to see a total fucking stranger immobilized several inches off the ground. The blade that was in his hand drops to the floor. Viktor grabs that too, a tendril of energy as his hands try and rid themselves of their thick coat of blood. The knife spins end-over-end in place.
Viktor can't stop thinking about the blood, the inhumane Purge, the training he lacks, Luther and Kallus out there, lost. A warning clap of thunder in the distance, nearly lost to Viktor under a piercing crescendo. He's going to lose it. He has seconds to concentrate the energy or go off.
The knife's swirling meets an abrupt end. Shards of the window rise to join their sharp counterparts. They plunge into the immobilized assailant. The man drops to the floor. So does Viktor. He inspects his handiwork. Tonight, he forgets to take a moment to regret what he's done.
Until he sees Lestat.