It's chaos incarnate on his senses, screams and roars and hisses, the grating scents of burning fuel and fumes and blood, irregular vibrations of movement drowned out by truly massive shockwaves and heat. It's taking everything he has to concentrate on the threats closest to him, struggling to shut out irrelevant noise when any sound could be his only warning that an enemy has shifted its target to him.
Above all else, he can hear the deaths.
Thou shalt not kill.
And he isn't. He strikes hard and fast, crippling and disabling what he can, harrying the enemy and drawing their attention only to have them cut down by others in the convoy. Tempting them into exposing their weak spots to those with better aim, those to whom the fifth commandment means very little at all, and tells himself there will be time to feel guilty later, to seek his penance for allowing - enabling - these deaths to happen. No different than knowing Frank was taking potshots at the Hand as Daredevil fought them hand-to-hand, only a few years ago, and doing nothing to stop or discourage him from the slaughter.
No different.
His attention is caught by the sound of engines, more reinforcements arriving, and though the battle is keeping his core temperature running hot, his blood runs cold as he realizes they're targeting the snowmobile and its precious cargo. If these bastards take it out, it's all over. He knows it. Everyone knows it.
He may not be able to take on the big guy, unprotected as he is by any armor whatsoever, armed only with melee-range taser batons. But the rest of the pack are smaller, and just as vital to take out of the equation. Any one of them could bring disaster if left unchallenged.
Matt abandons his position, and makes a beeline for the snowmobile and its attackers, ready to do whatever he can to clear its path.
no subject
He's not used to battle.
It's chaos incarnate on his senses, screams and roars and hisses, the grating scents of burning fuel and fumes and blood, irregular vibrations of movement drowned out by truly massive shockwaves and heat. It's taking everything he has to concentrate on the threats closest to him, struggling to shut out irrelevant noise when any sound could be his only warning that an enemy has shifted its target to him.
Above all else, he can hear the deaths.
Thou shalt not kill.
And he isn't. He strikes hard and fast, crippling and disabling what he can, harrying the enemy and drawing their attention only to have them cut down by others in the convoy. Tempting them into exposing their weak spots to those with better aim, those to whom the fifth commandment means very little at all, and tells himself there will be time to feel guilty later, to seek his penance for allowing - enabling - these deaths to happen. No different than knowing Frank was taking potshots at the Hand as Daredevil fought them hand-to-hand, only a few years ago, and doing nothing to stop or discourage him from the slaughter.
No different.
His attention is caught by the sound of engines, more reinforcements arriving, and though the battle is keeping his core temperature running hot, his blood runs cold as he realizes they're targeting the snowmobile and its precious cargo. If these bastards take it out, it's all over. He knows it. Everyone knows it.
He may not be able to take on the big guy, unprotected as he is by any armor whatsoever, armed only with melee-range taser batons. But the rest of the pack are smaller, and just as vital to take out of the equation. Any one of them could bring disaster if left unchallenged.
Matt abandons his position, and makes a beeline for the snowmobile and its attackers, ready to do whatever he can to clear its path.