[hr] [color=PINK][center][h1]Moses Muller[/h1][/center][/color] [hr] “Crap. Crap. Crap.” Moses prayed under his breath, weaving, side-stepping and dodging like a drunkard as the distortion moved towards him like a living chainsaw, shredding all in its path. He took a moment to curse the Law of Life; that arbitrary limitation in his magic that had given birth to this monstrosity. Moses continued his mad attempts to fight the distortion, using the pan in his hand as more of a shield rather than a sword. He wasn’t a fighter with 20 different degrees in a myriad of obscure martial arts. He was a twenty-year old street-artist, for crying out loud! A wild swipe elicited a yelp out of him as he awkwardly dodged it, raising his pan up to defend himself once more. Facing the distortion with a weapon was far more terrifying than facing him without one. It was lashing out wildly like a feral animal, contorting its body into a series of scorpion-like tentacles. Moses bit back a curse as one of its arms missed his head and instead, broke one of his canvas painting inwards. One thing was for certain, though. He shouldn’t have been able to fight like this for so long. His stick-thin, caffeine addicted, lay-man body was begging to be broken apart. He didn’t know why he felt like he was getting stronger the longer the fight went on. Being close to the pan was like the rush after having eaten a home-cooked meal. There was a little more bounce in his steps, a vigour that couldn’t be gained through a coffee binge. Moses sloppilly ducked a wild swing that cleaved a ceramic mug in twain, the edge of his pan skidding on top of the cheap plastic counter-top. With every growing second, the heat of the pan handle grew into an warm inferno that suffused every molecule in his body. Unnatural strength filled his veins as he stumbled, dodging a charge and slamming the pan down on the backside of the distortion. He needed to find an opening soon. The distortion made another wild charge for him, Moses pressing his back against the wall before narrowly escaping certain death as it plowed straight into it like an angry rhino. Its head was momentarily embedded as the distortion tried to dislodge itself. There! Moses slammed the pan downwards on the creature with a untrained, shaky blow, waiting for the inevitable crunch of skull, bone, meat or whatever the hell the creature was made of, bracing for the wet impact….. Except it never came. The damn distortion had caught the pan in one of its multi-digited limbs, ignoring the fact that its limbs were searing and charring upon contact with the pan. It reminded him of burning kerosene as Moses choking on the odorous fumes. Hell, if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seem to be enjoying the pain, given the fact that it was transfixed on his trinket like a toy. [color=RED]“ [b]Hmm,[/b] all of t[i]his pain is...ex[/i]citing. It seem[b]s you do [/b]still possess your magics…..” [/color] It began to insert the pan into its open maw, crushing it and chewing it apart like hard candy, even as its body continued to melt apart under the sheer heat that the trinket was emitting. Well, it was distracted. For the moment. Moses slowly walked backwards in horror before he bumped into a desk with a binder of white paper and several pencils. He looked between it and the distortion, the gears crunching in his head, as a determined look came over his face. He grabbed a pencil and began to speed-draw in practiced motions, his eyes fidgeting between his drawing and the distortion. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too slow…. The distortion had finished devouring his pan and rounded upon him, not minding the fact that half of its body was covered in emberous burns with ash flaking off its multi-coloured skin. It had a shivering look of pleasure on its face, not minding the hideous amount of wounds covering its body. It looked around for him in the darkly lit room, a dozen blinking irises protruding out of its head. [color=RED] “ Now, [b]what [/b]wer[i]e [/i]we - “ [/color] Before it could even react, Moses ran towards it with a nervous expression on his face and grasping what seemed like a miniature pineapple. He was holding onto it like it was a hot potato, sweat beading on his left palm. He ripped the leafy fronds off with his teeth and spat it out before doing the unthinkable. The distortion was too late to stop Moses from ramming the trinket in its throat, pushing his elbow deep past its teeth. He pushed further before he yelled in pain and wrenched his hand out, nursing it. The distortion immediately backed away from him, clawing at its throat and hacking like a one-lunged smoker. It stumbled on its legs as it tripped and fell backwards through Moses shattered window, never bothering to break its eternal stare at him. Moses ran toward the window, peering out as its body fell on top of a garbage bin and flattened it apart. There was a sudden flash of light, the sounds of paint splattering onto the walls and then, nothing. Moses lowered his arms which stopped him from being blinded and nearly vomited at the scene. The lower half of the distortion had been blown apart into smithereens, paint strewn out from a mangled body with several of its limbs strewn across the entire lower alley-way. A second later, a shockwave of wailing filled in the apartment block as windows lighted up. The light scent of pineapple cocktail strewn with oil paint poured out from the window with the warbling echoes of a screeching laugh. He managed to breathe a sign of elation before buzzing began to fill his head. [color=YELLOW]“ YOUR MAGIC IS LIKE A MUSCLE, MULLER."[/color] His heart thudded like a rusty engine. His feeet began to stumble. [color=YELLOW]" WHAT HAPPENS TO YOUR MUSCLES IF YOU DON’T USE THEM?” [/color] Dark ants crawled over his vision as he fainted, unconscious even before he hit the ground. [color=YELLOW]" PERHAPS, THERE IS HOPE FOR YOU STILL." [/color]