[ It's a shock when the blow lands; the impact of it rings all the way through the mace's length, shivering up the length of his arm. And the blood. There's a lot of blood. Gen watches in stunned silence as Dokja crumples to the ground, and all he can think about for a moment is the thud of his own pulse ringing in his ears.
His hand feels numb, his fingertips suddenly cold.
But Dokja stirs, and he tightens his grip on the weapon regardless. His field of vision's narrowed to a tiny point focused on the injured man before him, everything else fading to so much static, and he takes a step forward to close the distance between them -- even with the way the blood's drained from his face, even with the way his breaths are starting to come stifling quick and shallow.
... he'll kill him.
He needs to be able to kill. The ability to enact violence is the only thing that's brought him this far, the only way he's ever managed to accomplish anything meaningful in his life, and so he needs to be able to do this. Even if the iron stench of blood is starting to make him feel a little sick, even if his lungs feel tight, he needs to be able to kill whatever obstacle stands in his way.
Vaguely, he's aware that there's the sound of something scraping across the floor and the glimmer of metal as Dokja scrabbles across the floor. But with the entirety of his focus on what he needs to accomplish, he can't spare that observation any real thought.
The sound of a hoarse, rasping breath is all the warning Dokja gets before Gen lunges forth, aiming a kick at Dokja's gut where he's still doubled over on the floor, aiming to lay him flat. Already his arm's cocked back, prepared to deal the finishing blow.
(Funny how that wasn't his first move, though. It would just take one more swing of the mace to end the job, right? Why does the weapon suddenly feel so heavy?) ]
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His hand feels numb, his fingertips suddenly cold.
But Dokja stirs, and he tightens his grip on the weapon regardless. His field of vision's narrowed to a tiny point focused on the injured man before him, everything else fading to so much static, and he takes a step forward to close the distance between them -- even with the way the blood's drained from his face, even with the way his breaths are starting to come stifling quick and shallow.
... he'll kill him.
He needs to be able to kill. The ability to enact violence is the only thing that's brought him this far, the only way he's ever managed to accomplish anything meaningful in his life, and so he needs to be able to do this. Even if the iron stench of blood is starting to make him feel a little sick, even if his lungs feel tight, he needs to be able to kill whatever obstacle stands in his way.
Vaguely, he's aware that there's the sound of something scraping across the floor and the glimmer of metal as Dokja scrabbles across the floor. But with the entirety of his focus on what he needs to accomplish, he can't spare that observation any real thought.
The sound of a hoarse, rasping breath is all the warning Dokja gets before Gen lunges forth, aiming a kick at Dokja's gut where he's still doubled over on the floor, aiming to lay him flat. Already his arm's cocked back, prepared to deal the finishing blow.
(Funny how that wasn't his first move, though. It would just take one more swing of the mace to end the job, right? Why does the weapon suddenly feel so heavy?) ]