With eyes lurid and orange like the lavaliere they answered to, the Orochi swarmed their prey like feasting wolves. They dug their fingers into their victims' eyes, sucking the souls from their bodies and leaving nothing behind but eyeless and catatonic husks. Biologically alive but no person to live. And yet, others were left as warnings to the evil Grimmwald sought to punish and damn to extinction. Others limped through the streets pallid and emaciated, their souls disfigured and maimed, and with no will to live.
Reacting without thinking, Simulacra cartwheeled to the side, the blast just barely zigzagging past him and crackling against the pavement. Fishing a pen out of his back pocket, he clicked it, revealing the ink coated tip.
Smirking to himself as he thought of the famous quote 'the pen is mightier than the sword', the assassin hurled the writing tool like a bullet at his next foe, making use of his telepathic senses in such a way that, by tracking the mental activity of his opponent, he would in essence be throwing the pen wherever they'd think to dodge.
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