Utilizing reflexive improvisational skills honed only by centuries of nigh holy experience, the Son of Death altered his course of movement and let his form fall with the crumbling wall, simultaneously striking a small sphere upon his breastpiece and activating a force field around his body, curling into a little ball so as to maximize the strength of the barrier. Nonetheless, those few mili-seconds spent on reaching for his chest cost him, and several muscles across his form were instantaneously sprained, more than two of his ribs shattering within his diaphragm.
He had endured much worse, and as such, reduced himself to a cloud of black smoke, disappearing in thin-air and popping out in the exact same spot he had earlier, stepping into Xenon's personal space and bringing a single nunchuck around in a single swift strike aimed at the base of the Mutant King's temple, the assault designed solely so as to disorientate the man so that his concentration would be scattered, directly affecting his telekinetic abilities. The Mercenary always ensured he knew as much as possible about his targets.
Xenon wouldn't be able to pull a trick the Lord of Life had not yet predicted.
"How long ago was it? All that business in South Africa? We had a good run there, before the Spoilsport Spaniard interrupted."
Words hit Xenon before the boot that materialized out of thin-air beside his face tried to. The Mercenary's amalgamated orange and blue form followed, a set of nunchucks in each palm, dozens upon dozens of other weapons littering his frame. After the attempted entrance kick, he directed his momentum towards the earth and struck it in a roll, coming up and immediately utilizing the wall opposite Xenon as a platform off of which to vault, another foot coming up to afflict the Mutant King, the Mercenary's masterful form masking his true intention with the supposed kick, other leg coming round to catch Xenon in an airborne neck lock with the sole purpose of snapping his spinal vertebrae within seconds of appearing.
@owen_porter: Gross right? I think it's the expectation you got of yourself, knowing that you won't be satisfied with a lacklustre post but not having the energy or motivation to write your standard grade. Or just a creative slump. I've been in one of those as of late.