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The shinobi falls to the ground, but the man catches himself on his knee. He looks at her, trying to catch his breath. Something about this is familiar. The burnt-ochre hair, the pointed horns, the concern for his comrade.
Sophus realizes quickly. “Oh… It’s you. Ala Mhigo. Best of the beasts.”
The man winces, gritting pointed teeth. His anguished gaze flits about, landing on Sophus’s blade for a few moments before he bows his head. Sophus does not question it. Why should he deny him the opportunity to witness such a storied katana?
As Sophus lifts it to strike the man down one final time, he calculates the force needed to sever a neck of that width. He even speculates which of the man’s vertebrae might lie beneath that tumble of hair, and where. Sophus does not recall killing one of his kind before. But he has not been paying very much attention, of late.
Sophus takes a breath, sword outstretched.
It comes out wet, clogging the inner workings of his respirator. Sophus nearly chokes, sheathing the blade before he removes the mask. Red strings snap delicately as it lifts from his face. His breaths begin to prickle, burrs forming in his throat. For the pleasure of feeling, Sophus smears the blood along his own cheek, rubbing his fingertips into the silk of it.
“What a pleasure it is, to see a hypothesis proven true.” Sophus meets the man’s eyes once more. His face is a rictus of anger, his eyes burning bright. Or is it fear? His claws dig into the soft loam beneath them. Sophus is delighted, either way. At last, a worthy test. Not yet a foe. He is too fragile, still. But this warrior has the true makings of one.
Sophus smiles as he addresses him.
“Hear me, hero. Endure. Survive. Live.”
Recalling the spark of their battle, the air stinging in his chest — Sophus is impassioned. This warrior had managed to challenge him. Enough that his breaths outpaced the respirator purifying the air for his caustic lungs. Sophus fixes the hero with a fervent gaze. The warrior meets him with narrowed eyes, his brow furrowing.
“For the rush of breath, for the time between the seconds — live. For the sole delight left to me in this empty, mechanical world — live!”
