Standing with but a few feet between them, one figure in the centre of the hall dwarfed the other. Doctor Samson was easily six and a half feet tall and towered over the ordinarily short Vincent. His head, and in turn the mask he’d grown, were tilted up at the doctor.
Other than her height, there was one other impressive thing about Samson. The feeling emanating from her like an invisible cloud, seeping into the hearts of all nearby. Power. Danger. Death. It was like a cocktail equal parts sickeningly frightening and intoxicating. As if every moment around her was a game of Russian roulette, but the prize of survival was pure, uncontrolled power.
Vincent attacked first, driving his claws into Samson’s stomach.
Except the moment his arm went to move, she disappeared from his view in a black flash to the left, his hand meeting nothing but thin air. He heard a stifled laugh from behind and slashed out to the right, intending to slice into Samson. He was greeted by a metallic clang, his claws meeting a blade like solidified night that Samson was now holding.
The Doctor just smirked at the monster she’d made, looking into the blank visage that covered his face. Her arms were shaking slightly against the force Vincent was exerting with one hand.
“Surprised?” Samson asked, her words directed at the pair off to her side. The soldier and the scientist. Both were shocked by the display. Samson looked ordinarily human besides her height and eyes, but there she stood holding back the hand of someone who they’d seen to be strong enough to send people flying with a punch with only minor difficulty. With a sword that had flowed from her hand as a stream of black liquid, solidifying the moment before the impact that pierced the air like a cry of distress.
As Vincent twisted to stare back at Samson, a feeling of complete and utter ire flowed from him, easily felt by the pair who watched on. It was only then that they noticed the distinct stench of death.