Post by White Mimic on Oct 15, 2011 15:10:45 GMT -5
Had they not been covered by the hood and mask with no features, Scarecrow’s eyes would have looked quite the sight. They would’ve opened wide with surprise and disbelief that his attack had been blocked. The attack itself was much more vicious than his previous attacks, and the follow through that occurred after the technique would ultimately prove itself to be Scarecrow’s downfall.
The sharp pain that entered his legs broke his concentration and instilled a shriek of agony in the man as he toppled off his target. He caught himself with his hands and tried to stand up with them in his inverted stance, but the pain was too fresh to focus on anything else. Like everywhere else on his body, through the tears in his boots, his green splotched skin could be seen, but this time it was slightly different. Unlike his mid-section wounds, his limb was dry and somewhat wrinkled, tiny vertical rolls of dead skin hanging tight against his leg and seemingly getting worse as they went down to his ankles. The tears weren’t large enough to see the whole picture, but they were at least wide enough to catch a glimpse at what could have been the worst part of his affliction. But it wasn’t.
After Scarecrow fell to the ground, he lost his grip on the whip, dropping one end of it and freeing the bounty hunter’s bladed arm. The one ring he had on his ankle flew off in some odd direction and the rest fell to the ground, clattering with one another. Scarecrow writhed in pain on the ground, trying to hold in his tortured cries and only letting a few slip out as horrible grunts. The legs were where the sickness almost hurt the most. He had been fighting with pain through his entire body and the legs always hurt the most whenever they bent or moved. It had felt like nothing more than a horrible paper cut that was spread across and throughout the area, but now that they had been struck and cut open…
He let out another scream. Even his rasp couldn’t hold back the true nature of the experience.
After a few moments of dealing with it, his pain seemed to die down, though it was a ruse. He started crawling for his chain, sticking his good ankle through one of the hoops and lifting himself onto his arms. He was able to hold it almost normally like he had before, but his injured leg was now bleeding profusely and hung limp from his elevated knee. When he started trying to spin the whip around to keep on fighting, the balance that his wounded leg would’ve given him was gone, and he soon wobbled around on his arms. Still, he continued to stay up and tried to fight.
“Urrraaaggh!” He twisted around on his arms and slashed out with the leg, sending the chain in a sweep. He nearly fell over doing it.
The sharp pain that entered his legs broke his concentration and instilled a shriek of agony in the man as he toppled off his target. He caught himself with his hands and tried to stand up with them in his inverted stance, but the pain was too fresh to focus on anything else. Like everywhere else on his body, through the tears in his boots, his green splotched skin could be seen, but this time it was slightly different. Unlike his mid-section wounds, his limb was dry and somewhat wrinkled, tiny vertical rolls of dead skin hanging tight against his leg and seemingly getting worse as they went down to his ankles. The tears weren’t large enough to see the whole picture, but they were at least wide enough to catch a glimpse at what could have been the worst part of his affliction. But it wasn’t.
After Scarecrow fell to the ground, he lost his grip on the whip, dropping one end of it and freeing the bounty hunter’s bladed arm. The one ring he had on his ankle flew off in some odd direction and the rest fell to the ground, clattering with one another. Scarecrow writhed in pain on the ground, trying to hold in his tortured cries and only letting a few slip out as horrible grunts. The legs were where the sickness almost hurt the most. He had been fighting with pain through his entire body and the legs always hurt the most whenever they bent or moved. It had felt like nothing more than a horrible paper cut that was spread across and throughout the area, but now that they had been struck and cut open…
He let out another scream. Even his rasp couldn’t hold back the true nature of the experience.
After a few moments of dealing with it, his pain seemed to die down, though it was a ruse. He started crawling for his chain, sticking his good ankle through one of the hoops and lifting himself onto his arms. He was able to hold it almost normally like he had before, but his injured leg was now bleeding profusely and hung limp from his elevated knee. When he started trying to spin the whip around to keep on fighting, the balance that his wounded leg would’ve given him was gone, and he soon wobbled around on his arms. Still, he continued to stay up and tried to fight.
“Urrraaaggh!” He twisted around on his arms and slashed out with the leg, sending the chain in a sweep. He nearly fell over doing it.