#(but hanzo vc. I will bloody fight through the ends of the Netherrealm)

[sasorikigai]

@whiptrip continued from ( 🔥 ) 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Intrusive thoughts are thrashing around his head, and his excruciating distress is a steaming irritation and frustration obstructing Grandmaster Hasashi’s phlegmatic, stoic calmness. Fear begins to slip into the swollen, frantically beating chambers of his heart as his siphoned strength continues to drain beneath the squelch of his magmatic sanguine below. Despite the stark approach of inevitable oblivion, his eyes set upon infinite horizons, with his stygian amber eyes imprinted with blacklight messages of an endless decay shimmer with phosphorescent brilliance, imbued with meaning, but such preservation shall lead to one thing only; chaotic dismemberment of Hanzo Hasashi’s entirety. 

As the fleeting rays of impartial light pass through an object of crystal-clear intent of preventing him from reaching Kharon’s keep, the swirling wreathes of his hellfire, split from one primary beam expanding and radiating from his core, infused with intent and bound by brightness, devours and engulfs D’Vorah, along with the spawning young gnawing through his blood-soaked tunic and hardened, scarred flesh below. 

To the hands of his past that reach out to him in the present, seems to congratulate on Scorpion’s newfound self-awareness with such percipient expression of knowing, with eased tension refusing to break the tainted triumph and crystalline hope for the future which may never come. Hanzo Hasashi is painfully familiar with nights and days and days and nights, hundreds of them slipping through his fingers as he let bloodbath and vengeance blind him in his guilt-ridden vitriol ire. Fire and brimstone of the Netherrealm was the quintessential manifestation of the wraith’s mindscape, as the blackest ocean of stagnant blood of the innocents, along with Hanzo Hasashi’s sempiternal suffering, further impoverishing his magnanimous humanity. 

All he wanted was to remember how it felt to hold sunshine in his hands, and feel the stars on his skin; to be so close to the vast openness of the Shirai Ryu compounds without the fear of being submerged into nothingness. How it felt to be alive without intoxication, poisoning his once-sunlight golden bloodstream. He wanted to be close enough to pure elation that any worry or care would fade into the light that would surround him. To remember what it felt like to smile without melancholic sorrow in his eyes. Has he forgotten how his large eyes would sparkle so bright? 

It feels as if his ribs are done taking the pain inside him; with such insufferable pressure building inside them, very soon, it feels as if they are about to burst out. Countless nights of his contemplative meditation had Hanzo Hasashi calmed himself without telling anyone that he is suffering. His blistered heart and soul endured the tempo of of an extremely uncertain life amidst the time displacement, and so he very well expected death with open arms; for no mortal can decide his time of death. Similarly, a man does not know as to when his time has come to tell this world a good cause. 

I may not and cannot have any control over the timing of my death, but certainly on the quality of death. Hanzo muses, as if sinking quagmire beneath his feet had claimed the entirety of his graceful, regal, yet affirmative posture and picked him apart by limb and vein. Once, Hanzo Hasashi’s sinking vulnerability meant that he willingly chose himself to remain soft as a stream path to freedom with Lord Raiden’s aid. Despite the searing geyser of his being emitting unnatural heat through every orifice of his being, Hanzo Hasashi somehow gathers his verticality, with forceful swing of his left knee propped against his bleeding chest, with trembling long fingers perched atop the earth where ferrous tang bombards his senses. 

“Let Scorpion persuade Kharon for the time being.... and we should make haste for Kuai Liang. He awaits alongside Liu Kang and Lord Raiden,” selfless to a fault as unnatural tinge of transparent white permeates his once vigorous, rubicund copper, Grandmaster Hasashi clutches his heart, with his dominant hand hovering over the hilt of his katana. “It will take more than drops of poison to subdue me to plunging oblivion...” Through his vicious eyes, spilling magmatic heat and steeled, unfettered purpose, Hanzo Hasashi’s both tethered and untethered gaze settles upon his Chujin. “Should you... doubt the well-being of your Grandmaster’s, my caustic and cauterizing fire will burn even through Netherrealm’s eternal necrofire.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||