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2 Dec 2015 22:32
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"If you kill a man, you scorn his wife. If you kill his wife, you scorn her child. If you kill her child, you scorn his village. If you kill his village, you scorn the kingdom. If you kill the kingdom you scorn an empire. If you kill an empire, then who is left?"

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It was moments before he would have entered the building, the dirt of the sidewalk crunching comfortably beneath his armored toes. The dirt lapping slightly up between the crevices of his toes, the cool dirt relieved that lingering warmth of muscular overuse. This peaceful moment broken by his internal contest of psychological dominance, that draconic whispering and the groaning hunger of his bloodthirsty axe. Piercing every part of his mind save his senses, and they brought themselves to silence when they'd heard what he heard.

Evidently a Helicopter had came and gone in the time he was arguing amongst himself, they'd landed and dropped someone off before leaving into the distance. It, them, he thought aloud. "Why didn't I notice that? Why didn't we notice that?" There was a moment of visceral and thorough confusion as they realized that they'd somehow managed to drown out noticeable and terribly loud noises through their bickering. He shook his head and thumped the mask above his temple with the butt of his sword. "Stay quiet then, we need this blood, otherwise you go hungry for another indefinite period. If they run, I can't kill them if I can't figure where they've gone."

They quieted down once more as Shin shifted his position, lowering his blade tip to near the ground. Hovering both the axe and sword a few inches above the road as he moved towards the newcomer. That singular globe in his eye socket rolled and focused sharply on the approaching man, green swallowing black as his pupil turned nigh invisible. Armed in some degree he noticed, his eye turned up the handle. For a moment he'd assumed it was a bo staff or spear, a potentially deadly weapon. This was not the case, and every voice inside his head burst into raucous laughter and mocking jeers. None that the foe would hear, but they were there. 'Farming tools, just like tha-'

"Don't mention them, worm!" Shin salivated as he screamed. The former assassin launched himself forward into a sprint from his slow forward crawl. Each footfall grew louder as his speed increased, the wind rushed past his ears as distance between them rapidly decreased. The Left Eye scanned up and down each step, looking through the entirety of this young man. His generally clean manner of dress reminded Shin of someone, but he couldn't exactly place the memory. It was painful, sharp agonizing headaches ran across his brain as ran towards the soon to be dead man.

He threw his head backwards in a bestial roar, an animal howl that rang its muffled echo across the wheatfield. Shin's feet dug deeply, the ground itself crunching beneath the raw force between each of his footfalls. He brought himself up to the absolute peak of his attainable speed in just a few moments, the weapons rattling in protest of the rapid movements. Behind himself he held the blade in a trailing tail guard and the raised the axe up to elbow height, keeping it level with the ground even though the rest of him was shifting with each movement. The blade of which was pointed outwards and roughly guarding the bulk of his left hand side.

Within twenty feet of his opponent his right forearm ejected a spine downward into the ground and anchored itself there, stopping his movement almost entirely. Except for one part of his body, his right leg. He slammed his right foot into the ground and pushed outward with the smallest toe facing out towards with the young man. This was all for show, as he stopped himself in the middle of the road he made his real attack. One that no sane individual would have done. His left leg stayed where he stopped and bent slightly at the knee.

With a movement that would have made the gunslinger formerly in ownership of the Hanged Whore impressed, a pair of secondary arms forming just beneath his primary arms reached for the gun at his hip. Whipping it from his body holster with speed significantly greater than even the fastest human gunslinger. With a normal holster he would have been delayed a moment, but as his own flesh is his holster he withdrew it without delay. Drawing it directly forward through his hip and into a hip firing lineup. Even as he drew it he was primed to fire. Right hand well placed on the grip, thumb wrapped nicely around the handle. His finger through and held on the trigger, it would not fire without the hammer being pulled and released. His left hand placed in a near mirrored position but with the thumb atop the hammer and his fingers wrapped underneath his right hand's fingers.

Shin ran his thumb down the hammer and pulled it to its full extension. This began what amounted to a blade swing with his bullets. Resetting his thumb between each shot. These bullets were loud and cruel, the scream of their spiralling path was made bolstered by their thin black trails. Eight shots in sequence fired off to the right of Dias and all the way off to the left. Cutting an even line across the plane of the young man's solar plexus, each shot placed evenly three inches apart as he trailed his gun's path. To one who could potentially see this motion, it would look as though a pair of arms had simply appeared with gun in hand, fanned the hammer as he swung the gun like a blade and holstered.

All eight shots emptied from his gun, arms disappearing into his body and concealing the gun within his armored flesh. All without lowering his paired guards, he stood there inspired at the work he'd done.
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Concrete is the worst material to walk on, he hated it so much. The gritty texture would be fine if it was loose, but it's rigid and inflexible to the weight of a single man. You've got to move your feet entirely off the ground each step, if you drag your feet you wind up scraping your toes. It was only good for roads and wheels, but man was never designed to walk on things like that.

That's why he walked through the fields of wheat, running his clawed fingertips along the tops of the flowering grasses. Flakes of the inflorescences fell each time a new one touched his hand, dropping to the ground near silently as he did so. The only noises touching his ears as he approached the farmhouse was the hushed metallic rattle of his weapons and the soft padding of his feet against the dirt. The slight breeze that pushed the grasses, the cool of the air, the bright shining sun. It was a beautiful day, and if there were any trees within sight he was sure he would have heard birdsong.

The noises calmed the tumult of conflicting voices in his head, each now hushed of their constant screaming. Allowing him a moment of reprieve from his bloodlust, this silence was truly golden. His thoughts were his own and they saddened him. The entirety of his life was bloodshed, day in and out. If he wasn't spilling blood he was preparing to spill it, and even now he was compelled to seek more. 'More blood, more. Please I thirst, give more.'

It spoke to him through the calm of his storm, and his singular eye rolled in his socket. Locking onto the farmhouse and zooming in, the pupil narrowing to a point as it did so. "I am, believe me. I seek it as much as you, and the farmhouse will at least offer pigs blood if we cannot find man blood."

'It must be man blood, pig blood isn't good enough!'

"It will be good enough! Or there shall be no blood at all!" He shouted to himself, the distance between his right side and the barn near negligible now. Long since had he lowered his hands to his side, no longer relaxed and drawing fingers across the tall wheat. "I am in control of you, understand! If I seek blood, it is on my terms! Not yours!" The voice did not respond, they both knew that the voice could not admit that it was not in control. It knew not how to respond, for all it knew was control.

Shin raised his left hand and the former holy blade was pulled into his back, his masked visage hid the moment of disgust and agony from the world. The whole of his armor reverberated, or some motion akin to waves passing through the material. Each of the plates flexed, his horns twisted and bowed for a moment. The tip of the sword exited the palm of his hand, the wet parting of his flesh and the grinding noise of the metal against his black material.

The blade grew from his hand quite swiftly and only those with the sharpest of ears and eyes would have even noticed the process, in his right hand he hadn't noticed. The Headsman too had grown, readying itself for use. It knew that it would be used, why else would he be here. The other weapons thirsted for blood, but The Headsman gets first serving.

It was the only way that their relationship worked.

It was the only way the Battlefiend worked.

He turned towards the barn from the roadside and smiled behind his mask. In a few moments he would feed the beast and sate his blood thirst, he wondered what would be behind the door.
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