#(I do think about a 'better' outcome for him in MKX)

[sasorikigai]

@whiptrip continued from (x)

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || First, it was the frigid, bitter cold of his wrath consuming Hanzo Hasashi's entirety; his heart pierced with thorny icicles, as it once was thrusted by the power of cryomancy. Bitter cold prevented him from partaking anything else, for his daydreams and nightmares filled with the most cruelest of deeds. Quan Chi's manipulations tasted like honey, with all the promises made of sugar that would all melt away and leave him only charred and burned. Torrential waves would threaten to drown him, with all salt and darkness, crashing and eroding him away, stealing morals and rationale off the shore. How impervious its aftermath became, as he stared at the confines of his detainment with blank, yet piercing eyes. Stirring within him is the choking misery, stirring within him a loathing he no longer withholds.

Then, it was all flames of inferno; creeping, scratching at his heart and soul. Such vile vengeance became the very blood and honey interlaced; a deadly, potent concoction. It once tasted saccharine, but not its scarring left in him only starves his being as the ravaging undulation of his entirety leaves him both tormented and pathetic. It may not manifest within him, his infernal hellfire only existing in the form of his vicious, vehement emotions, leaving him pathetic and useless. Perhaps he was meant to become a lone warrior, kept in a prison of his own demise. Cold, dark, concrete walls and steel prison bars decorate the confinement, with pitch-black darkness hiding the majority of his space. Unrelenting and unyielding, Hanzo Hasashi may have left blood scratch marks to dig, to escape, or better, simply just to know precisely why he is here, but such feeling of incapability and defeat had long plagued his sullen, morose form.

Submerged in his pensivity, Hanzo's head shoots up at the familiarity of Takeda's voice. Eyes so poignant and visceral, so vivid, so filled with color and life, only reflects the barren terrain of Netherrealm; nothing, but crumbled bones and ash. "I suppose there is no reason to hide the pain and mask the exsanguinating wounds. When I unleashed my wrath and chose to act, hellfire seemed bona fide," it was simply an ephemeral song of wrath thrown to the deep sea, as his endless agony continues to deepen by the sight of blood adorning Takeda's face. Ultimately, his wrath and vengeance enervated him for all, as the polished stone of his gaze drops to his bound wrists. "I have my bleeding wrath and vengeance to blame. None of this is your own wrongdoing." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||