[The fact that he doesn't answer should speak volumes for the level of hot water he's convinced he's found himself in. That, and the fact that, after getting struck by that leg next and winding up on his back, he's in quite a world of hurt. He can taste blood on his tongue. Can feel it warm on his lips. Is certain there are bruises beneath his costume rising to the surface of his skin.
What can he do? What can he do? ...retreat? It might be in his best interest. But he can't go back to being Yuri Petrov. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Or justice, as it were.
So he's shaky as he stands, but at least he doesn't run. Tells himself that, if this is Hisoka's worst, it's nothing. Pain is temporary. And in this place, so is death. Is that what he's facing here, he wonders, taking a step closer again. And, with that step—hesitating in taking another. Flight mode wanting very much so to take over his fight instincts.]
no subject
What can he do? What can he do? ...retreat? It might be in his best interest. But he can't go back to being Yuri Petrov. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Or justice, as it were.
So he's shaky as he stands, but at least he doesn't run. Tells himself that, if this is Hisoka's worst, it's nothing. Pain is temporary. And in this place, so is death. Is that what he's facing here, he wonders, taking a step closer again. And, with that step—hesitating in taking another. Flight mode wanting very much so to take over his fight instincts.]