Muerte stood transfixed by the situation. He wasn't positive but it seemed to him that his master's energy were enveloping him. It was a gentle wave, almost pleasurable to him. Like a soothing breeze. Her words ensnared him. Pulling him into the ground. He tried so hard to do as his teacher commanded but it was just far beyond his understanding. The chains of helplessness staining his tarnishable confidence and bravado. An expression of terror and uneasiness overtook his face and beads of sweat flooded his brow.
It was then a melody seemed to take him out of the trance. Muffled. A delicate click of a clasp served as a transition to a most important conversation. Not that any of those participating in the event would know it. For this conversation is responsible for the lives of countless innocents.
"Mmm that voice. It couldn't be. You? What are you doing here~? I wasn't supposed to hear you again until I claimed my reward. Oh that voice. That domineering tone. The mass you displace with that sharp tongue."
Muerte's heart began to beat in a peculiar tempo. Something of an inner groove. An offbeat, delirious, homicidal song. The thorns of inadequacy dug deep into his ankles and dared to pull him through the floor. In response to the emotional turmoil his legs gave in to his enourmous weight, and he took to one knee, hands covering his face. Still his heart did beat its tune. And it grew stronger. Resentful. Disgraced. Revengeful. His aura began to bubble up, "popping at the seams" somewhat. if his ten were a plastic film covering a microwave dish, this would be the film bulging out filled with steam. Once or twice something of a pop would be made.
Then suddenly it erupted into an enthusiastic firecracker. The aura wild and free. Burning with intensity. He'd done it! He'd set himself aflame! A great hearty laughter erupted from his belly and he stood awestruck by his power. He was with her. She was emboldening him. He felt indestructible.
Giddily he removed the knife that Kameron left in his stomach and retrieved the coolant propelling device. Clumsily propping the gun against his chest; he delivered a few short jabs with the knife which punctured the canisters and sprayed deadly freezing fumes just short of his face. Without a care in the world he pitched it in the direction that felt best to him. A shrill wail could be heard from the beast as he sweeped Dorn into his gruff arms, planting his right palm just under her rump. He started to bolt off in the direction of Kameron who was now clearly struggling to understand what was the impetus for what she saw as her sudden downfall. His thick legs leapt gracefully from the floor and the heels of his boots found their way into her agape mouth. The duo's combined weight and the tremendous force he'd surrendered himself to with his daring jump caused her head to collapse somewhat like the folding of a paper balloon.
How could he forget? That man must not reign supreme over el Cancion de la Muerte. He will not let this man be the thing that ends the greatest line of warriors the planet has ever known. This man was nothing compared to the greatness he would accomplish. The scores of blood drenched pedestrians littering the streets like the garbage they are. The bits of hair and dried blood stuck to the front bumper of the muscle car they'd stolen and were currently having passionate intercourse on. This was the future he imagined for himself. The utopia he demanded to reach.
The type F began to pull itself up from the ground. The stolen muscle fibers of so many innocents propping up its wretched form. It started to lumber after the duo. It heaved itself along with wet plops of its ghastly limbs. Bobbing up and down in Muerte's romantic clasp, Dorn would be witness to the unfathomable terror steadily approaching. The only plan Muerte had running through his mind at the moment was to run as fast as he could into the elevator. Desperately pressing the top button, Muerte prayed he hadn't made a mistake in ending the life of sultry Kameron. The gargantuan foe took to the air and made its presence known to the pair, slowly prying the thick doors apart with impossible strength. As it clutched the vessel, a supportive wire snapped, causing the counterbalance mechanism to fall rapidly, sending it flying up the shaft at a dizzying speed. The beast plopped to the bottom but soon enough, just as easily it careened upwards, bursting through the drywall and emerging just behind the two thieves. Their mischievous escapade was nearly cut short by the type F's most lethal and precise attack yet, had Muerte not spotted one saving grace. A miniature fire extinguisher propped up on the receptionist's desk.
"I'm gonna need you to grab that fire extinguisher for me..." he said, his voice dripping with a provocative tone. He looked down at his prize with his bedroom eyes, clearly not taking the situation seriously enough. Already preparing to seduce his woman into a celebratory coitus. Dorn would be there in his arms, still clutching the briefcase, taken on this madman's sprint to destiny.