my skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

rxvelation:

   ✗;      C R A C K !

                  A snake-like strike results in long fingers wrapped tightly around a 
                  pale throat, squeezing, leaving darkened bruises in their destructive
                  wake. Amon does not flinch at the sound of her skull bashing against 
                  the wall’s surface, does not feel a lick of sympathy for the Sato girl. 
                  He has  H U R T  those of his own blood before—brother, father—this is
                  almost sickeningly easy to do. 

       Of course, she struggles. Limbs, charged with the need to live, lash out
       but he can tell what course they take, moves by mere centimeters so that
       he is not stricken. The nails that tear at flesh might as well not have been 
       there at all. But the sudden shove backwards has the bloodbender’s steel
       grip faltering, and suddenly his prey has wrestled her way out of his claws. 

                                  N O T  F O R  L O N G . 

              Amon is moving forward, ever-changing eyes narrowed and 
              body coiled. Feet hit the ground, arms swing backwards—

                   ——he’s leaping at her.
                           And he catches her. 
                        

        When Amon tackles her, the force of his weight sends her into
        the ground with enough momentum it knocks the wind out of her.
        She gasps, mouth hung open as she tries to swallow down air. 
        Her head pounds and her heart beats– loud and angry and threatening
        to burst through her chest cavity with primal savagery. This must be
        how spider-flies feel before they are caught in their own webs; trapped
        and DESPERATE.

                                  On the ground, it turns into a tussle. Elbows bent and trying to
                                  jab him with enough power to throw him off her. He’s strong,
                                  though, and at this angle, she’s at a disadvantage. That doesn’t
                                  stop her from t r y i n g. The ever-present pounding of her head
                                  tells Asami what she already knows. She doesn’t need to be a
                                  medical expert to realise she’s mildly concussed—- and it is only
                                  the beginning. Fear fuels adrenaline through her veins.

        “What do you want from me?!" 

                                 Her shriek is harsh and angry, staring into the only visible part
                                 of him she can see; his eyes. Unfeeling. C o l d. It is the look of
                                 a madman. A killer.

        Fingers coil into a fist and the Sato heiress——
                                ———–strikes for his head.