[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5022268][img]https://i.imgur.com/yW2VDaL.png[/img][/url]
[h3]Eastern Yharnam, relatively near the Hunter's clinic, at the top of the elevator[/h3]
Watching the Mad One disintegrate, finally succumbing to the damage it had sustained and relinquishing its unnaturally tight grip on its own life force, Victor wanted to let out a sigh of relief, as was proper for such a situation. The damn thing had been troublesome, after all, and dispatching it had removed an obstacle that was preventing them from completing their mission, and which was a significant threat to their charge. Its death was relieving, they could relax now... yet for some reason there was a tightness in his chest that would not let up, and his hands kept shaking.
Raising his hands in front of himself Victor stared at them with detached fascination, somehow feeling as though he was watching those hands as a spectator rather than being the one lifting them. He examined they way they shook, the way the now-bloodied sword trembled, and furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out why he felt like this. He felt a drop of sweat run down the back of his neck
[I]First a light pull on the shoulders, as his garb gathered behind his head in its grip. He felt the tips of its claws graze his skin on the back of his neck, so sharp. The arm was so strong, picking him up like it was nothing, strong enough to break him like a twig...[/I]
and felt his stomach turn as he blinked confusedly. He lowered his hands and looked down himself at his ruined clothes
[I]The sword was inside him, going into his back and out of his chest. It was not as painful as it was just cold and [/I]bad[I]. He saw his blood, knew that it was his blood, which was supposed to be inside him, and he could not breathe. He wanted to breathe, he needed air, he was desperate...[/I]
and stumbled a couple of steps backwards, feeling oddly dizzy. He could hear someone laughing – a hysterical, desperate, joyless chuckle – and it was not until he felt a tear being caught in a crease on his cheek that he realized that the laughter was coming from himself. He heard his sword clatter against the street at his feet as his hands came up to his face, clutching it with his fingers as he giggled
[I]He was in the air, utterly helpless, with a wound that would have been certain death for a normal human. Flying so fast, his body limp and out of his control as he hurtled towards the ground, so fast, so hard, that if his head hit first his skull would burst open...[/I]
and then suddenly he turned, walked the six long steps that separated himself from the nearest lamppost, and punched the iron pole as hard as he could, leaving a small dent. He laughed louder, eyes wide and tears flowing freely while he waited for the broken bones in his right hand to reassemble themselves.

Finally Victor turned to the others, his laughter dying on his lips as he stared at them in disbelief. Then he unceremoniously bent over and puked on the ground in front of him.