[ blood parts like silk under the thing's blade, momentum carrying the ribbons past to splatter against the far cavern wall. the ease of it, the composed and unbothered air of the thing with Tsurumaru's face, it rankles choso. reminds him of monstrosities beneath Shibuya, of blue-eyed horrors.
hands still clasped, little orbs of red forming around his head like a halo, choso meets the thing's gaze even as he takes a step back, to the side, as if to put himself out of sight and out of mind; a sniper melting back into the fray. the stink of blood in the air does not abate. in fact, it almost seems to grow stronger. ]
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hands still clasped, little orbs of red forming around his head like a halo, choso meets the thing's gaze even as he takes a step back, to the side, as if to put himself out of sight and out of mind; a sniper melting back into the fray. the stink of blood in the air does not abate. in fact, it almost seems to grow stronger. ]