[ For a few blissful moments, he actually thinks he’s managed to get himself out of this predicament. Not that he thinks he's managed to kill John, but just that he's managed to earn himself enough time to put some distance between them. A hard swallow and a shaky exhale, and Gen hurriedly turns to start running --
only to hear the creak of bones and the rustle of dirt as John emerges once more like some terrible B-movie monster rising from the deep. Bootsoles grit against the ground as Gen's forced to face that incoming threat once more, and there's an unmistakable pallor to his face as he mutters, ]
God, I hate you cheaters.
[ Because in what world is it fair that he has to face off against these sorts of overpowered assholes? It's fucking unfair.
For better or for worse, he doesn't have the time or breath to waste on any further snide commentary. It takes all his focus just to avoid the first incoming stab of a spindly leg; a second stab whiffs past his hair, a third narrowly dodged, and a fourth skims against his thigh, tearing through fabric and drawing blood. The next one finally hits its mark -- there's just no way he can maneuver his shattered arm properly, and one of those long bone spikes punctures right through the forearm, pinning him to the ground.
Gen goes down with a pained snarl, though there's not much more he can do than that. Despite his reflexive clawing and shoving at that bone spike, there's no way he can dislodge it. And for all his efforts kicking and thrashing in his attempts to free himself, throwing his weight against that impalement only exacerbates the wound. His struggles have only served to further pulverize his flesh, pulling it bruised and stringy around that spider-like leg by the time he looks back up to John, teeth bared and lips curled as he spits, ]
-- just kill me already then, you indecisive fuck!
no subject
only to hear the creak of bones and the rustle of dirt as John emerges once more like some terrible B-movie monster rising from the deep. Bootsoles grit against the ground as Gen's forced to face that incoming threat once more, and there's an unmistakable pallor to his face as he mutters, ]
God, I hate you cheaters.
[ Because in what world is it fair that he has to face off against these sorts of overpowered assholes? It's fucking unfair.
For better or for worse, he doesn't have the time or breath to waste on any further snide commentary. It takes all his focus just to avoid the first incoming stab of a spindly leg; a second stab whiffs past his hair, a third narrowly dodged, and a fourth skims against his thigh, tearing through fabric and drawing blood. The next one finally hits its mark -- there's just no way he can maneuver his shattered arm properly, and one of those long bone spikes punctures right through the forearm, pinning him to the ground.
Gen goes down with a pained snarl, though there's not much more he can do than that. Despite his reflexive clawing and shoving at that bone spike, there's no way he can dislodge it. And for all his efforts kicking and thrashing in his attempts to free himself, throwing his weight against that impalement only exacerbates the wound. His struggles have only served to further pulverize his flesh, pulling it bruised and stringy around that spider-like leg by the time he looks back up to John, teeth bared and lips curled as he spits, ]
-- just kill me already then, you indecisive fuck!