Fury’s hand clenched one final time and he kept his gauntleted hand balled into a fist, the energy causing the fingers to pulse as if something was trying to escape the knuckled prison. He looked dead at Kanitah as they faced each other again in one of those many natural pauses that tended to occur, when two opponent’s couldn’t kill each other quickly enough. 

“Not mindless, little man.” Fury muttered, staring him down. “You don’t understand, you know nothing of me.” He told Kanitah, his eyes narrowing as he considered his possible replies. Fury wasn’t a stupid man, nor was he particularly brilliant, but the effect of the Void on his emotions drove him to a near constant rage which made clear thought difficult. Trying to formulate some sort of justification for his actions was both difficult and in Fury’s mind pointless, there was some truth to the assumption that he was a psychopath. 

He looked at his left palm in front of his face for a moment, ever concentrating on the energy build up in his right so as to not release it by accident. He thought about his actions, what was he doing exactly?

“All my power? It’s not enough.”

“I need your power Kanitah, when I take it I’ll be strong enough.” He stopped talking abruptly, surprised that he had even addressed his foe by name, forgetting exactly when he had learned it, possibly when the smaller man announced himself or some-such in the past. Fury reached out his right hand and pointed at Kanitah, the energy still bubbling in his condensed fist.

“Get ready.” He muttered, walking forward.