Meanwhile, in Washington. (Open)

Washington this time of year was rather nice, as weather goes. Very moist and temperate, not exactly something he was accustomed to, as he spent more time in places with extremes of climate. Still, it's not like he ventured back into the United States for sight-seeing. Well ... alright, maybe he did see some sights and helped himself to some unfortunate victims but ...! No, no: he had some unfinished business that would need taking care of ... old scores to settle, a debt that needed paying, and maybe just enough time to go visit Seattle later for actual sight-seeing. Speaking of business, he had arrived at the headquarters of the Lewellen Technology Corporation. A modest business entity that occupied office space at this most unfortunate skyscraper he had come to pay a visit.

Still, despite his most audacious of clothing (truly, he was just as inconspicuous as a dancing bear in a tutu strolling down a street, donning a black longcoat at nighttime), he had managed to make to the front desk and inquire which floors his prey would be at. Not that he mentioned he was on a hunt, mind you, for such a thing would terrify the little sheep he posed his questions to. Alas, while he had a craving for it, it would not do to wantonly destroy everything on sight. Especially since he was here to settle his personal affairs, not indulge himself. But not before calmly removing the gloves atop his hand and gently caressing the face of the attendant to his directional problems.

In an almost predatory manner, he smiles gently at her, who is cleared disturbed at his actions. Needless to say, the fact that her neck was broken, or rather her entire head was encapsulated and torn asunder in what felt like a giant mouth did not soothe her final moments. No, she tried screaming in those last few seconds, as the jaws that were now about her closed shut and severed her head from the body. Fortunately for him, there was no one around save the security cameras to observe his gruesome transformation and decapitation of the nice young lady who was no longer of this earth. And no one save the mechanical lens of the observer, whose guards that were supposed to be observing it missing, see him gently pick up the tiny soul and swallow it whole.

So up he went, ascending about eighteen floors whilst patiently listening to the corny muzak of the elevator. Imagine his surprise to be greeted by a pair of blacksuits (as he called them for them all looked so generic, no matter who they were serving) standing outside the elevator doors.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"At this time, only company employees are allowed here in these offices, I'm afraid. We're currently undergoing some changes in personnel and ther- began the first of the two goons. Well, technically, they were glorified goons choosing to dress as inconspicuously as him to send a message. Course, blacksuits don't just show up willy-nilly in corporation headquarters, which was gonna complicate things if they were who he thought they were. Not that it mattered as he raised his currently ungloved left hand.

As he had been expecting to put an end to this charade early, said left hand had swollen to a ridiculous degree, as though it were a balloon being pumped full. Of course, balloons have a limited tensile strength to which they can be expanded before they burst. And such a thing happened, as his 'arm' then 'burst' into a pair of serpentine beasts that coiled about each other and what was left of his arm from which the sprouted. The oversized python-like twins then lunged outward in the brief moment of shock that had overwhelmed the two goons, and both reached for their sidearms. Sadly, they were much too late as the jaws of his 'pets' gripped about their throats with the same force as hid hands had, enough to crush a normal man's throat without much trouble.


"Oh? Where did the elevator go?" Typhon mused aloud, after attempting to call the one he had stepped off of back. Sadly, pressing the button seemed to do nothing, and that was when he noted it seemed this elevator was no longer in service, if a blackout on the digital indicator up top meant it wasn't powered. Or working. Maybe it had something to do with that explosion he heard earlier just now? He never did like elevators, nor understand how they work. Alas, this was quite the nuisance, he had hoped to take the elevator straight to the floor where his prey's office was, but now here he was stuck with these two dying lunkheads a few floors away. Not even the sound of gurgling blood was enough to soothe his annoyance as he turns his attention back to the two goons who were gripping their throats, trying to desperately cover the new structurally superfluous air hole he had just given them.

"Ah well, it's not like I'm in a hurry. But I supposed, I should have a snack first!" he calmly, almost cheerily states whilst looming with a predatory smile. Already, his left hand was reshaping with a slimy slithering and gelatinous squish as his body converted the twin serpents back into a mammalian forearm, dripping his blood and the victims' all the while. But, as disturbing as a sight that must have been for the two shmucks that tried explaining why he couldn't be here rather than making him leave, it was made worse as his right arm reached for something ... and drew ridiculously oversized machete that had cutting edges all about it and a rectangular shape overall.

Given his two victims were practically prone, clutching at their throats, scared out of their wits, and completely forgetting the demon of a man was still standing before him, it was really an easy double-kill for him to drive his weapon through what was left of their necks and perhaps, in a way, end the suffering he bestowed upon them. ... N'aw, he just killed them cause he felt like it, after all he already wounded them and had a taste of their blood: So what was the harm?

"Bon appétit" he chuckles heartily to himself as his restored left arm began to deform again, just as the corpses disintegrated before his eyes leaving only their blood and the calm flickering azure souls. Yesssss, these were the things he craved. Meat had its own merits, but this ... the soul? It had quite a fascinating texture that they most enjoyed, as his extended limb scooped up both leftovers and swallowed them, absorbing the last remainder of their existences inside him. Now, since his meal was finished, it was time to hurry along, even if he couldn't take the elevator, there were still stairs he could use. A most wondrous blessing of the safety codes of american buildings, truly. Taking a moment to collect one of the sidearms on the goons' remaining effects, and check to see if it was in working condition, Typhon continued on.

'How odd for the offices of a company to only have their employees roam about ... when there's no one even here? Something's fishy, and ... ... oh ho, hollow? This just gets better and better ...'

Resistance was definitely not anticipated, but given his muses had revealed what exactly the sidearm was loaded with caused him to reconsider. Whoever those fellows he had devoured belong to, they certainly weren't going to be friendly with him. ... ! Perhaps they had come to take his prey? Such insolence could not be forgiven! He had come to just settle business, but it seemed that 'business' had complications. And oh how he hated complications so.

So much that when he kicked down the door to the floor in question, and saw another pair of blacksuits standing by at the elevator, barking at possibly more of them over what appeared to be a handheld radio device, he simply shot them. No buildup, no hesitation and certainly no mercy. To him, their blood reeked of bad manners and insolence, so much he only wanted their souls and not even a slight microliter or microgram of their flesh and blood! Angrily stomping down the route he had memorized from those days years ago, the two serpents reemerged from his left arm to take his ill-flavored prize while he marched with the handgun held at his side, ready to take aim when necessary.

Unfortunately, for him, there was no more killing to be had, as he reached his destination, and with a forceful kick, sent the door to the office he wanted crashing open.

"Oh dear God!" comes crying a familiar voice, a voice that once was a business associate and now screamed 'PREEEEEEEEEY' to him. The sniveling President of the company in question sat kneeling in front of his desk while his tormentor, some scarred-face wannabe punk(?) sat atop the desk in question with a gun aimed to the back of his target's head.

"Save me, please!"

"Quiet, you useless sack o' shit!"

"Oh ho, and to think there are others who wanted him dead." the titan in the room muses while having a gun trained at the sole two individuals in the room. Apparently, whoever the punk was, his security detail was small enough to have been spread thin already. Still, given he wanted the pleasure of killing the pig, it was trained exclusively at scarface over there.

"Wha? Typhon! NO! Please, I beg of you, I'll give you anyt-""SHUT IT! You ..." Began the coward, desperately trying to cling on what was left in his life, before he was cut off and now Typhon had a gun pointed at him. A point that amused him so well, he couldn't help but chuckle at how the situation was getting out of hand ... prompting the following.

"S'you wanted to kill this backstabbin' motherfucker too?"

"Kill? No, nothing that simple. I planned on making him suffer, beg for me to kill him in order to make him pay for what he did to me, and THEN kill him."

"Wha! NO! Pl-please ... pl-pl-pleaaasse don't kill me! I don't wanna diiiiiiiiiiie . . ." came the enthusiastic sobbing, as predicted.

"Y'know, the fucker had a panic button built in'is desk. Fo' real, a FUCKING PANIC BUTTON. So, the cops'll be swarming this place any sec now . . . though, had my men plant a special 'surprise' for them."

"Really? What a shame ... so, how do we settle on who gets to kill him?"

A lengthy pause passes as both aggrieved parties consider their options.

"So, if you're gonna fuck this guy up as bad as you wanna, cops don't mean shit t'you, eh?"

"INDEED."

Perhaps it was his enthusiastic tone or maybe it was his charming attitude about vengeance that prompted the would-be prey-thief to give his victim a very decisive kick to the back of the head and calmly walk around, gun resting at his side (an act that all but confirmed his intentions, so Typhon humored him into lower his aim as well) and walked past him to take his leave.

"He's all yours." went the most gracious host, even taking care to shut the door behind him, as if he was being courteous enough to what he had planned or simply wanted to put this event behind him in a literally manner as well as metaphorical.


Soul Count: 5

OOC: 48 hours have passed.


"Well, that was disappointing." muses the demon in the guise of a man, as he gently wipes off the blood on Bianca and Vera, and if the handkerchief allowed, a bit of blood off his shoulders. Still, there was some pleasure gained in taking revenge on the weasel who sold him out, but it ... it just wasn't enough. Killing was still a great joy and pleasure to him, but mindless was now turning into a chore! He needed something else, something greater ... something bigger! A grand scheme, or master plan to strive for, serving as his new raison d'être to make all the killings worthwhile ... or else, what use was it all?

Ah well, he'd have more time to muse about it later, for now he had to get out of the building or else the surprise may catch him to. And lucky for him the elevators seem to be working again!

...

Oh dear, the elevators were working again. How he so loathed these giant metal boxes suspended by rope, lowering their victims down a slow and tortuous journey to the sweet earth. Well alright, he didn't hate them that much, considering he begrudgingly admitted their use and that they were relatively idiot-proofed against plummeting themselves and their cargo to a date with gravity and her sister inertia. That didn't make him enjoy this trip in the steel coffin lowering him down, particularly with the true root of all evil and insanity, the corny muzak intended to help prolong the agonizing descent. But, like a good bowel movement, the trip was not only uneventful, solid and relatively quick ... but also left him feeling quite refreshed when it was done. So much, he cheerily stepped out and made a beeline for the exit while whistling a jaunty tune to himself without so much even examining the situation outside.

Speaking of the outdoors, though, the fecal matter that would have been involved if this were a bowel movement, had most likely hit the rotary blades and were spread everywhere, as cops had swarmed outside the building.

For the briefest of moments, while Typhon stared at the cops with quizzical amusement and the cops stared back in suspicion and confusion, one thought went through the minds of everyone in unison, 'the fuck?' Typhon, pondering just why so many cops had shown up to this place, even if a panic button were pressed. Was it a slow night for local law enforcement this day? The police, on the other hand, were baffled at the clearly not harmed and not exactly armed (though imposingly large) exiting the building so nonchalantly.

"SIR! PUT YOUR HANDS UP IN THE AIR!" shouts one cop with common sense at seeing a most certainly not inconspicuous tall man wearing audacious clothing and humongous maniacal grin and possibly light blood splatters on his face. His fellow officers, realizing they were in a stupor, followed suit in drawing their sidearms at the suspicious character. An awkward pause is had after the command, in which the officers remained still, guns trained at the unknown, fully expecting him to cooperate.

In that brief moment, Typhon decided it was, for the best, to humor the cops, and so he raised his hands. Unlike most people though, he also spread them outwards, whilst the palms turned to face inwards towards his body, and took a step forward, thrusting his chest out. A gesture that had little ambiguity in meaning and could be interpreted as "WELL?! WHAT IS IT?" or "COME AT ME, BRO!"


At that exact moment, shit truly hit the fan.

For behind the malevolent dark-clad man, the top of the building erupted with an enormous roar. Fire burst from up above, raining scrap metal, glass, and other debris, as though the Heavens were opening and raining the apocalypse on this very place. Soon multiple explosions followed after the first, each one triggering sooner than the last until it seemed as if the blasts were a massive shockwave of fire and ruin from the fist of an angry god, diving straight down from the top. At last, as all thirty floors were turned into smoldering wreckage and shrapnel, with the lower explosions triggering near-simultaneously to seem like one colossal roar, the final blast then hit the ground floor ... and it seemed to even come down below.

The ground about him and the cops cracked as great tremors occurred, as though the explosions were detonating in an underground complex of sorts. But that didn't matter to the cops, who had been blown off their feet by the succession of explosions near the ground, some of whom were injured from sonic and possibly hypersonic pieces of stray debris and fragments ripping through their clothing and flesh.

Typhon, on the other hand, not only remained upright as he kept his back to the explosion, but also walked off as if it were nothing more than a light summer breeze. Which caused the awe-struck officers not clutching entry wounds that were bleeding who staggered up to see what just happened to see him marching towards them. At this point, his coat was on fire, which gave the appearance of a flaming dark daemon emerging from the ruins of hell, a maniacal grin masked about him while bits of his flesh were singed to reveal the muscles and the shape of his skull on his face. Fortunately for him (and for their sanity) his head was not lit ablaze, although that would have been wicked awesome.

Unfortunately, the sight of this, particularly since they all had enough common sense to know that many laws of physics were being ignored at the moment, was enough to send them into a panic. Not that a fiery bald maniacally grinning demon who had just drawn a blade out of nowhere that was not only a meter and a half long but also glowing red from the heat wasn't enough to make them shit their pants, mind you.

Sadly, said officers, still shaken from the blast, would not make it far until Typhon crashed atop one of the patrol cars, laughing maniacally as though he were a Satanic Santa Claus given how brilliantly red the flames appeared on him. Sadly for the officers who had abandoned their mates to run off, he had kept the gun from earlier and had enough bullets to shoot them with disturbing precision, as he targeted their legs to reduce them to a limping pace. And then gleeful set himself upon the four or so moaning cops who were still on the ground bleeding out.

Needless to say, they didn't last long. So that mean the last five or so cops who had fled from the scene, all limping or now crawling on the ground as they tripped whilst moving a wounded leg, would have to suffice.

And either way, once it was all said and done, he'd be out to Seattle and leave the bloodstains and blazing skeleton of a building for the Fire Department to sort out.

OOC: Soul Count - 5 + 9 = 14.