Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-7497475-20140306031324/@comment-11588669-20140313221947

One day....just one day...one...away from all of this...just to spend time with my brother...do something....

He could feel it. It surged and twisted, demanding, screaming, commanding him to destroy something. The primal urge to tear apart the world around him, to leave bloody corpses in a path of devestation. To let go, and go ballistic. And he was about at that point. He was ready to say fuck it all, and just let loose. And one little thing would probably set him off.

Verdantos...god....that bastard...of everything Nox did, it was all in response. But the bastard had, had to go after Umbra, and his deceased foster mother. He had to. Where the hell did he even get that information? Nothing was on file, as far as he knew. Even so...Nox had seen red. Had been near to killing to self absorbed highborne. Some would ask if a seventeen year old kid could kill another.

He would have painted the walls red with his blood, all the while not regretting a thing. A low rumble emitted from his chest, his upper lips curling back to reveal six gleaming ivory fangs as he snarled out his hatred. The all consuming rage gnawed and scrabbled at his self control, withering it down milimeter by milimeter.

A burning pain across his face snapped his thoughts to the forefront, and he reached a hand up to his cheek. It came away bloody.

That was all it took. He turned to the bullet riddled wall, weakened with the countless holes in it, and simply kicked it. The warehouse wall came crumbling down, and out he emerged, a dark, nearly black blue cloak of color around his form. Nightfall was drawn from the sheath across his back, the weapon held in a sure grip. His walk was smooth, but predatory and enraged. And his face. A mask of hatred and ice, twisted into a gruesome smile.

"Which one of you fucks..." He spoke softly, but it echoed across the battlefield. Midnight eyes, filled with wrath and bloodlust, searched and assessed the situation. Someone with a warhammer. Powerhouse, speed less than likely. Slit his hamstring and bleed him dry... Another, large male. Greatsword, flamethrower. Could be a problem. But...cut the tubing, and watch him burn... The final. A woman, near his age. Six armed prosthetic device, seems to have varying degrees of strength. Some have weapons, others hands.

Out of the three, the most dangerous. And he recognized her, the smoking gun evidencing who had grazed him. But...looks like the other two were well set on killing her.

He couldn't let that happen, now could he? A dark grin stretched across his features, and he shot forward, appearing beside the warhammer wielding man and swinging low at his hamstring.

"Should I kill first?"