[ The sword connects with his chest, with his forearm, blood welling up in both wounds, and he roars in pain-turned-anger, continuing his advance on Ernesto. Death is the only language there is, and while he's trying to inflict it on Ernesto, Ernesto is attempting to bring it to him, too — and he can't have that. That's not the order this is supposed to go in.
So he continues forward, Ernesto's sword barely even a thought as he counters with a swipe of his own, claws curling in in hopes of grabbing hold of Ernesto, of keeping him for himself for all the time he'll need to gut him, bleed him out, kill him. He's the only thing taking up his line of sight now, the only thing on his mind.
If it's personal, it's only because of the fact that Ernesto is trying to attack him. Never mind that he knows how Misa feels, that he'd kill him for her if he was himself at the moment, not to mention the principle of evening the score. None of that exists here.
He needs him dead just because. That's the only reason: none whatsoever. ]
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So he continues forward, Ernesto's sword barely even a thought as he counters with a swipe of his own, claws curling in in hopes of grabbing hold of Ernesto, of keeping him for himself for all the time he'll need to gut him, bleed him out, kill him. He's the only thing taking up his line of sight now, the only thing on his mind.
If it's personal, it's only because of the fact that Ernesto is trying to attack him. Never mind that he knows how Misa feels, that he'd kill him for her if he was himself at the moment, not to mention the principle of evening the score. None of that exists here.
He needs him dead just because. That's the only reason: none whatsoever. ]