Mirko watched Alan lay back down in his drab but comfortable hospital bed, his eyes closed as if to sleep. Bandages covered almost all of his visible skin, including his entire head, making him look like a mummified patient out of some shitty horror movie. She was proud of his survivability, but his healing speed seemed concerningly average.
She spun around and headed for the door; it didn't matter. A little road rash didn't seem to concern him, and she felt a kindred spirit in him because of it. Also because he forced her to love him, but could she really be upset about that? It was reasonable, given the unreasonable circumstances. And he was cute, in a "baby bird that can't fly straight" kind of way.
The room's door exploded outwards as Mirko kicked it; she followed right after, a white and caramel blur that the nearby doctor was too slow to react to. Normally, she was solely a kicker, but she didn't need the power of her legs to tear apart a squishy civilian.
Or, in this case, rip his throat out. Her gloved hands proved to serve that function plenty well.
Crimson liquid splattered over her face and painted her cheeks, staining her brilliant white hair with splotches of red. That was enough from him, she figured.
She didn't even come to a complete stop for him, before she hopped to the side for her next target. A short nurse, his hair a slicked back black that shined with inappropriate amounts of oily hair product. Her hand wrapped around that outdated hairstyle to grip his skull in an iron grip.
His eyes widened as he felt his neck twist to the side, but that didn't kill him. Didn't even register, really, as Mirko's knee flew at, then into his face, caving it in with a lackluster burst of blood. It didn't seem like enough, mainly clustered around her knee as it was, so she grabbed his head in both hands and twisted it around in a full circle. And then another one. Three times she had to twist, while pulling, before his head popped off with a wet squelch.
Blood squirted out in fast jets; she tossed the head aside and let the life juice make a mess across her chest. The muscles of his esophagus, now exposed to fresh air, twitched in rhythm with the pulses; it was quick to lose vigor, but Mirko considered it good enough. She took off to the next victim, a young girl drinking from a water fountain who simply had the misfortune of being closest.
It had only taken a few seconds to rip the man's head off. People were still noticing the sudden initiation of the Mirko massacre.
It look less than a second for Mirko to swing her leg out, kicking the girl into the water fountain with a sharp crack. Her lower half flattened against it, while her upper half slammed headfirst into the wall. It wasn't the most bloody kill, so Mirko kicked again at the fresh corpse's midsection; her shin went through it and crumpled the metal fountain on the other side. The lower half of the girl fell to the ground; Mirko heard a scream somewhere, but knew she'd take care of that in just a second. At that moment, she shoved her hand inside the corpse's upper half and scooped out as much blood as she could.
Then she hopped away, dragging her bloody hand across her abdomen to leave a wet, red trail. Around her, chaos had broken out; this floor seemed especially busy at this hour, with dozens of people bustling about, a mix of doctors, nurses, patients, administration, and visiting family members. Half of them were running about, some for the floor's single elevator, some for the corner stairwell or fire escape, while the other half cowered in fear or tried to hide.
That placed a priority in Mirko's mind; the more that escaped, the less blood she would be able to get for Alan. She didn't like that, and so went after every person she could see running away. The first three fell easily, each individually dispatched with kicks so hard that their bodies bisected into two pieces, getting blood everywhere, including, most importantly, Mirko.
The fourth runner, though, was squishy in the worst way. Her kick sank into him with only a thump, further than would possible for a normal human, and he flew to crash against the hallway's wall, but he didn't die or even collapse. Instead, he tried to run again, but she sent him sprawling to the floor with a downward kick. She stomped on his back, and her foot sank into it like he was made of firm rubber.
Such a fact annoyed her; his lack of dying was in the way of her fun, so she grabbed his throat and squeezed, cutting off blood and oxygen to his brain. Then she took off, dragging him behind her as she sought out more life essence for her love.
He'd die eventually.
One by one, she stomped down seven runners, and two people that had walked out of a patient's room at an inopportune moment; they seemed to be visitors, not the patients themselves, so they were fair game.
Blood painted her, as she had been commanded, and she admittedly was enjoying herself. It was good to feel what it was like to be the predator when rabbits were commonly mistaken as prey. Her opponents weren't strong, but her blood was pumping nonetheless, and adrenaline flooded her system; her grin was wide, and at some point blood got in her mouth, giving her teeth a red hue, accompanied by a taste she didn't mind.
Although she still couldn't see why Alan liked the stuff so much. Probably because she wasn't a... Whatever the fuck he was.
The squishy-human she had been strangling was still in her grip, long dead, so she kicked him like a soccer ball at two women that had almost made it to the stairs; the body knocked them down like they were bowling pins, but probably left them alive. She had more pressing targets, however, as at least thirteen people were trying to squeeze into an elevator, crying and shouting as they tried to flee.
Having seen her chase down the first several people trying to escape, many had taken to hiding instead of escaping, with rest hoping to live another day by taking the elevator.
She jumped forward, towards the crowd, and their cries increased. Except for one woman, who shimmied her way out of the elevator; she extended her hands as Mirko approached like a blood-soaked train, and Mirko's grin widened when she felt herself freeze in midair.
Finally, a bit of a challenge.
The woman's arms wobbled; around her, a few people took notice, and a look of hope took residence on their faces. She grit her teeth, but seemed to almost smile as two men that had been pushing into the elevator rushed Mirko. The first looked like a man mixed with a rhino, with a thick nub-like horn on his face; he rammed her side, horn first, and Mirko grunted, a flare of pain shooting through her from two ribs fracturing.
The second man, with eyes red from tears, grabbed her throat and squeezed as hard as he could; his strength was average, but it was the stinging cold that alarmed Mirko, while the rhino-man backed up for another rush. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, and it only got worse as seconds ticked by.
Her attempt at struggling doubled at the potential danger; she couldn't fail Alan, couldn't leave him behind. She didn't want him to look at her with disappointment, or leave her behind. Her legs and arms tensed, every muscle fiber pulling and pushing like her life depended on it. It seemed to be working, as her toes and fingers were quickly able to wiggle with greater and greater degrees of motion.
The woman, holding Mirko suspended in the air with some form of telekinesis, was sweating. She didn't look happy; she looked terrified. She squeaked out a "No..." but it went unheard among the people that were still shouting, doing their best to get into an elevator that was jam-packed with bodies and struggling to close as people refused to give up on their last apparent chance for survival.
Her arms spasmed; she let out a cry as they fell to her side, worn out, and Mirko fell to the floor.
The bloody rabbit wasted no time, her foot darting out to meet the balls of the man strangling her; he flew up into the ceiling, but Mirko didn't waste time, spinning around to kick the rhino mid-sprint. It landed on the side of his head, snapping it to the side and sending him to the ground like a dead puppet. Then she turned her attention to the telekinetic woman again, who futilely raised her shaky arms, only for them to drop to her side after half a second; tears flowed freely from her eyes as she backed up, until she couldn't back up any further, and she choked out a sob.
Only four people in the crowd were able to take off running... Before Mirko crouched, her legs tensed like a gun cocked and ready to fire.
She pulled the trigger and launched forward, spinning in the air to angle both feet towards the throng as she flew faster than a bullet, the woman who had frozen her and caused her to waste several precious seconds being first in line.
Blood erupted around Mirko, covering her toe to head as she plowed through half a dozen flesh-bags. Screams followed, wails of pain from people with fresh stumps where their arm used to be a single second ago; some, like the telekinetic woman, died in an instant. A man lost half his midsection with a cry of pain, his pink intestines spilling out to cover the floor and the people around him who had collapsed upon being hit by the Mirko-rocket.
The "hero" herself had embedded herself partially into the elevator's wall and had to push her legs out. It only took a second before she was standing in the middle of the elevator, spinning an instant later in a full roundhouse kick, ending the lives of the remaining humans inside in multiple consecutive detonations of gore. Flesh and blood sprayed throughout it, giving the entire inside a red misty paintjob with Mirko both the painter and the canvas, who was off again to finish her sacred duty.
The four who had escaped the elevator didn't make it far; they went down like wet tissue paper, although one of turned into some glass-like material that took a concentrated kick to shatter. Sadly, he didn't turn back into flesh, denying Alan his blood. That incensed her more than she would have expected, if she were able to think straight at that moment. A mix of adrenaline and enjoyment made her head cloudy, with only a single path revealed amongst the fog; a path of blood and death that she paved with every step and kick.
She furthered that path by driving her leg through a family of three crouched beneath a counter; the apparent father, a big burly man with neat beard, survived the first kick even as his internal organs became external. He didn't survive her foot stomping through his chest, though.
His heart exploded like a water balloon beneath her sole. She wasn't satisfied with the amount of blood they got on her, so she first reached into the man's chest, staining her hand so she could finger paint her chest. Then she collected ample tithes from the rest of the family before moving on.
The floor was quiet. It was a stark difference to how it was only a couple minutes ago... But she could hear someone sniffling.
Seconds later, two more victims were added to her kill count as their blood was added to the canvas of her body. With every step, she left a red print surrounded by drops of blood. Her long, straight hair was as much red as it was white, complimenting the beautiful red of her sharp eyes.
The floor was quiet. It was empty to her ears, save for the few patients that stood frozen in shock in the doorways of their respective rooms, but they didn't count. They looked half-dead, anyways.
Mirko didn't know how long it had been, but she was certain it had been at least two minutes. She felt urgency return, but hadn't even registered its absence.
It took her two hops to get back to Alan's room, leaving a pair of bloody footprints at each point.
"You. Look. Gorgeous." I said, looking Rumi over as she walked into my room, painted in a thick coat of blood, with bits of indistinct meat hanging onto her in a few places. A grin stretched from ear to ear on her face, and her eyes were wide as she stared at me, panting. "Looks like the hunt was successful, yeah?"
"Hurry up. We need to leave." She greeted, still grinning as she offered her hand. I knew she was right, and I felt thirsty beyond belief at the sight of my hero; both for blood, and for her.
I couldn't recall someone ever going through so much trouble, doing something so taboo, for me and me alone. It made my heart thump with something I couldn't describe
My mouth touched the back of her hand in a kiss; I extended my tongue, and as soon as it connected, overwhelming pleasure forced its way into my mind. Everything went white with bliss, emptying my mind of all thoughts; only ecstasy dared remain, carving grooves into my brain to distribute heaven throughout it like Roman canals distributed water. It lasted longer than any time before, although I couldn't count the seconds, couldn't quite hold onto time in such a mindless state. But, in no time, it was over as five sets, thousands and thousands of capabilities descended upon me.
I knew what I wanted, and my heart lovingly grabbed them; resistance, for all five, became my own.
And then I was back, on the ground, crumpled over my knees with a distinct wet spot on the lower half of my hospital gown.
"Are you okay?" Came Mirko's concerned voice. She kneeled down, putting a bloody hand on my shoulder as I straightened up into a more comfortable kneeling position.
"I'm fine, I just--" I let out a heavy breath and took a few seconds to collect myself. "I wasn't prepared." My eyes drifted down to the visibly damp splotch on the gown, centered around my crotch. "I think I just nutted from tasting blood." My eyes snap to her as I hurry to preemptively defend myself. "It was five at a time! The most I've had so far was two! And just one is a lot!"
But it was too late.
Mirko burst out laughing at my expense. Her laugh was pleasant to hear, but it made my face burn to have it directed at me. How humiliating. But, it felt like I would only lose harder if I commanded to her stop, so I bared it with dignity, made far easier by my superhuman level of resistance.
"You came from kissing my hand!" She laughed.
She had gone too far. Something had to be done.
"You think that's funny?! Cum!" I commanded, pointing at her like I was an erotic sorcerer casting a cantrip.
Her laughter cut off as her legs quivered and her ears bent down; she bit her lip to stifle back a moan. "N-Not fair." She grumbled, her voice husky in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Not so funny when it happens to you, huh? Now, how about we hurry up with this?" I asked, standing up and holding my hand out. She nodded and gave me her arm; this time, I readied myself, and gave it a fast lick from hand to shoulder.
Fourfold pleasure assaulted me, and I felt my balls tighten as I orgasmed for a second time. It was certainly less intense than the last one, and I'm able to remain standing, barely, as four sets of capabilities find me; I reached out, plucking resistance from each of them, and found myself back in the hospital room. Mirko's eyes peered down, probably to see if she can tell whether I came or not--although, she must have heard it hit the gown with those fluffy ears of hers. Maybe she's just a pervert...
I kneeled down before her, resting my hands on her hips; my head is level with her crotch, where I'm tempted to pull her leotard to the side and see if she's wearing underwear beneath it, or if its built into the costume, but I held back.
I'm not a doctor, but it seemed unhealthy to get someone else's blood inside any of one's holes, and I didn't want her to get sick.
I didn't have insurance here, after all.
So, instead, I put my tongue against her bloody hero costume, right between her legs, and dragged it up and up and up--
Pleasure so strong it made all the hits before it seem like nothing brutalized my senses; my level of resistance meant nothing to it as it bulldozed every sense I had. I couldn't perceive even myself, couldn't recognize my own consciousness. All "I" could "feel" was euphoria itself, more powerful than any moment of happiness, any drug I had ever did, even if you added all of them up into one. My mind didn't white out with pleasure, it completed evaporated, leaving behind only that pure, overpowered sensation that should leave me hopelessly addicted, more than any meth or heroin addict could ever dream of living up to.
And then they hit me, twelve sets of thousands of capabilities. They hit consecutively, but it was indistinguishable from all at once. If I hadn't been taking the same capability from each of them, I'm not sure I would have been able to take any.
Twelve capabilities for resistance became mine.
Then I was back in the room, back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling with my mouth foaming and my limbs still twitching.
I still felt good, and when Mirko stood above me, investigating my eyes to confirm that I was still conscious, I wanted nothing more than to ravish her, to make her mine in every sense of the word, to lick her clean of blood while I made her messy with my seed. But I knew I lacked the time, so I didn't; my resistance helped out, I was sure. It seemed to not work on the initial hit of pleasure, but it seemed to work for this residual feeling.
Slowly, it subsided, my limbs ceasing their restless twitching.
I couldn't be sure if it was a good or bad thing, this method of getting batches of capabilities all at once. It made it easier by putting all the capabilities in one place, but it also made it harder with the sheer intensity of bliss it gave me, where doing it one by one would have been more bearable.
However, even still, it wasn't as hard as my dick was.
I climbed to my feet; Mirko helped, supporting me with a smirk on her face. "Didn't know you were such a preemie like that--"
"Cum." I intoned. "Cum. Cum!"
Her knees buckled, and suddenly I'm supporting her, my arms wrapped around her as three orgasms invaded her all at once. She let out an audible moan, clutching handfuls of my gown. She leaned on me, her breasts squished between us, and I took the opportunity to lick her again, this time from her collarbone, up her neck, across her cheek, to her mouth.
It's far less intense than last time, but still a powerful blast of rapturous bliss that numbed my mind like nothing else possibly could. Six sets of capabilities become mine for the choosing, and thus I took six capabilities for resistance.
Then the two of us are on the floor, with me on top; I must have fell forward, and she hadn't been prepared to stand on her own.
My erection was pressed against her thigh, and I felt lust overcome me, fueled by the dozen or so hits of pleasure in the past minute; a bit of fun wouldn't take that much time, so I closed the distance between our mouths, my lips crashing against hers. She returned it with more enthusiasm than I had going in, but I broke it to go for another lick, from one of her beautiful breasts, sadly covered by her costume, all the way to her jaw, where I was unable to make it further as lust-laden euphoria rushed through me; only two sets of capabilities descended this time. Unsurprisingly, I picked resistance for both.
I continued licking, up her jaw to her cheek, then back to her mouth to continue kissing. Her legs wrapped around my waist and pulled me tight against her, shifting my dick to press right against her crotch. She grinded against me, my gown and her high-cut, white leotard serving as two annoying barriers between our sexes. Which was good, because fully blown intercourse would take at least two minutes, possibly two hours, and maybe two days.
Mirko reached down, grunting an indistinguishable sentence; she seemed intent on destroying the barriers stopping us from rutting. It felt like a funny time to whisper to her:
"Cum."
She did. Her hand that had been reached down clenched into a fist as her body arched against me, her orgasms overlapping to reach and even greater peak. I took another opportunity to lick her; there was nothing for a few seconds, but then I got another hit. Just one; the pleasure was amazing, but it didn't compare to the heights I had reached before. It was fine though; there was a surprising, almost suspicious, lack of need that I would have expected myself to feel from tasting such glorious euphoria.
Maybe if I went long enough without it, I'd get that same thirst I felt when my powers first appeared.
I certainly didn't have to go that long before getting another hit as I continued my ministrations, licking every blood-covered inch of her body. I really wished she was wearing nothing, but it would have been embarrassing to make her kill people naked like some sort of bunny-version of the Siberian, from Worm.
Plus, I hadn't thought about it before.
For this capability, I chose predictably chose resistance again; I must be at forty or so capabilities for resistance. It made me wonder for a second just how resistant I was by now.
And then I heard the hallmark sound of glass shattering behind me. An instant later, one, then two, then a dozen stinging sensations appeared in my back, each stabbing a few inches deep like razor-sharp knives.
The glass crinkled, and I turned my head back to see what the fuck just happened; my eyes stared at the man crouched on the windowsill, looking at me through his tinted visor with a look so cold I could feel the temperature in the room drop to near-freezing.
He wore a tan jacket, lined with white fur, and a pair of pants that matched. But my eyes paid little mind to his hero costume; it was the pair of red wings that jutted out from his back that drew my attention. The answer as to "What the fuck just happened?" was a single name.
Hawks.
Why the fuck--
My body moved without my input as Rumi threw me to the side. She rushed Hawks as fast as she could, becoming a blur to my unfocused eyes for half a second before a wave of red feathers shot out from Hawks's wings. They pierced Rumi's legs first, then her arms, slicing muscle and tendons in a spray of blood, sending her tumbling to the ground a few feet before him. Her scream rattled my eardrums as I clambered to my feet, but she didn't stop moving; she desperately bit at him, trying to reach him, but he ignored her.
His eyes remained on me the whole time.
Seconds passed; I could clearly feel fear radiating through my brain, but it was easily resisted. I knew I couldn't run from him, so I just stood there, seeing who would blink first. Then the awkward silence got to me and I started to speak. "I'm Alan, what's your--" A single feather shot out like a knife, cutting through the air to reach my throat. It embedded itself in my flesh, destroying my vocal chords until it stopped halfway into my neck.
Hawks narrowed his eyes and six more feathers flew out, finding my esophagus much like the first one. I tried to say "What the fuck was that for?" but all that came out was a wet gurgling sound. Miffed, I reached up and started pulling on a feather; it was stuck in me pretty good, but I managed to move it.
The hero watching me wasn't a fan of that, judging by the rapid fire of feathers that erupt from him.
I found myself falling as the red blades sawed through my tendons and muscles. Mirko shouted Hawks's name with rage, and I could hear the noise of her thrashing on the hospital's cold tiled flooring, but I couldn't look at her. Hawks didn't spare the muscles in my neck, leaving me laying on the ground with my head turned to the side, Hawks and Mirko completely out of my field of view.
It was not a good situation, I recognized, so I tried to move; it's pathetic, like a human-shaped worm scooting forward, but it was enough movement to get Hawks to send out a few more feathers to slice through my spine, right below my head. My body slumped, fully paralyzed and nonresponsive to my central nervous system's commands; I've never been more thankful for all the stacks of resistance I had--probably because I just got them--or else the situation would be incredibly traumatic.
I felt trapped in my own body, locked inside it with only the ability to breathe.
But I didn't want to freak out, or panic, so I didn't.
I heard glass crinkle again; a second later, a pair of boots hit the ground next to me.
Hawks entered my vision, that same cold look on his face. He crouched down beside me, peering into my eyes, and poked my cheek.
"Still alive?"
I tried to call him a naughty word, but it came out as a nasty gurgle from all the blood in my throat and lungs.
"Good. Death is more than a thing like you deserves."
Mirko shouted again at that; he turned his head to look at her for several seconds, not speaking, not even blinking. Then he turned back to me.
"Why?" He asked, his voice halfway to a whisper, despite my inability to provide any answers. I still try, but of course all I managed were those same wet sounds. "I can't comprehend someone having your capabilities," I laughed at his choice of words; it must have looked like micro-seizures though, considering my current dog-shit, limp-noodle condition, "and wasting them slaughtering innocent people. Are you stupid?" His voice grew quieter. "Does the suffering of others matter so much to you that you'd condemn yourself to prison, or death?"
"You're going to rot in the dark for the rest of your pathetic life."
"Was it worth it?"