Kiyam moments
Bar Fight
What was it about bikers that they all thought they had to use chains and ugly knives as weapons? If Kiyam had used a knife, the bikers would all be dead by now. As it was, he'd started out with his fists, taking sweet pleasure in the satisfying crunch of breaking bones with each efficient punch.
Then one of them had pulled a gun. Guns were big no-nos in Kiyam's book. Point, shoot, no skill. No fun. So he upped the ante. From beneath his cloak, though where he might have kept them was anyone's guess, he pulled two slender wooden sticks, each not quite two feet long. Eskrima. In the proper hands, quite deadly.
Of course, Kiyam could make toilet paper seem deadly.
A swift thwack sent the gun flying. A sharp crack heralded the breaking of the man's wrist. Two more cracks, and the man could kiss his kneecaps goodbye. A meaty thud, and one of the two eskrima was embedded in the man's stomach. With inhuman strength, he lifted the biker into the air with one arm, the man still impaled upon the weapon.
"Guns don't kill people," he stated calmly, though his eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. "People kill people."
It was technically possible to remove a man's skull and spine from his body without disassembling it. It required breaking all of the man's ribs, snapping the pelvic bone in half, shattering the collarbone, and then tearing all the ligaments that held the muscles to the bone.
It made a delightful mess. Kiyam loved it. The bikers weren't quite so thrilled. In a matter of moments, the entire bar had emptied.
The Right Way
Kiyam frowned. Somewhere down the long corridor to his left, sharp hearing picked up the faintest sounds of a struggle. Something was amiss.
Never one to walk away from a battle without at least getting a look, he headed down the hall, following the sounds as they steadily grew in volume until he stepped out into what appeared to be a small common room linking several hallways together.
It was sheer chaos.
There was blood everywhere, pooling on the floors and splattered on the walls. The bodies it had come from were lying in pieces, an arm here, a head there, many crushed as though by an immense force. In one corner five armed men appeared to be attempting to get an older woman away from the carnage and not having an easy time of it while at least six others gradually joined the pile of broken body parts thrown haphazardly upon the marble floor.
In the thick of it all was a giant of a man intent upon coating the walls with the red of blood. Kiyam noted the numerous small features that bespoke of inhuman parentage, though he wasn't familiar with the exact species in question. What really caught his eye, however, was the way in which the man fought. There was no style to it, no finesse. He was all brute power and no grace, and yet not a single one of his opponents bothered to exploit this weakness.
It wasn't his place to intervene, but he refused to just stand there and watch a bunch of idiots get trounced due to poor coordination and lousy training. That was just stupid. Besides, if things kept up like this there wouldn't be much of the place left for him to visit.
Darkness in human form glided across the blood-soaked floor, steps sure and steady despite the slippery footing. He slid between two of the would-be guardians and stepped just out of the way of one of the attacking man's swings, snapping an arm out and grabbing the wrist as it went by. Using the large man's own momentum against him, Kiyam swung the man around in a wide arc before calmly introducing the man's face to the floor.
He hadn't really expected the fellow to get back up again after that, but apparently the guy was sturdier than Kiyam had given him credit for. No matter. He dodged another blow, waiting until the exact moment before grabbing hold and adding his own not-insignificant strength to the equation. This time he chose the wall to introduce the man to, putting half the man's body through it before running out of inertia.
Kiyam frowned. It had looked more solid than that. Oh well. He pulled the body back toward himself and dropped it on the floor, smugly eyeing what was left of the man's head as it oozed blood and other things out onto the floor. That was how such matters should be handled.
This is what Kiyam is like when he's not giving advice to lovesick shapeshifters. Different, non?