"...Maybe you want to go on another ride on my antlers, asshole. Maybe you want to rot alongside my dead folks, huh? They're not going anywhere, after all."Hannibal’s smirk was almost smug, fear absent from his gaunt face as he stood proudly before the advancing Sawsbuck. Her words, like venom, could do the hardened battler no harm. He was numb, relishing in the reaction he could trigger from a few harmless utterances in the right company. Sil, although strong, was a prime example of his malicious hobby. Meeting her hate-filled eyes, practically daring her to dislocate another of his legs, Hannibal gave a half-amused huff when she finally turned away. There was a violence beneath that innocent shell that was capable of truly extraordinary things – awakening it was proving more difficult with each new attempt.
“Was it something I said?” He muttered sarcastically, watching her storm past the peculiar Gengar in the doorway. Of course, she didn’t turn. Her ability to control her temper was remarkable, but Hannibal had developed a sick goal to break that barrier altogether.
Rising to his feet, injured leg raised on orders from the group’s own, personal medic, Hannibal’s dark eyes roamed the sombre expressions of those remaining. Obviously, he’d upset more than his intended target. A dark, cruel chuckle left him then, low and eerily melodic, as his own inner gloating was disturbed by a loud wheezing. His expression didn’t change, locked in a spiteful grin as he regarded the ghost struggling at the doorway.
“Stop embarrassing yourself,” Hannibal stated, the bluntness detracted by the humour lacing his eloquent words.
“They all hate me, but they’re going just going to have to live with it,”"I suggest you all get out of there, unless you want to be buried with them,”The Houndoom had noticed the creaking protest of the house earlier, but had dismissed the noises as the effect of a harmless breeze on an aging, decrepit farmhouse. He was pleasantly surprised that Sil was, in fact, the cause. Grinning to himself, eying the delicate structure that seemed to sway and groan above, Hannibal was impressed.
“Touché,” The canine muttered to himself. Whilst part of him wanted the thrill of waiting inside the building and escaping at the last moment, the rush of adrenaline addictive to the battler – Hannibal knew survival rates would be poor. His leg wouldn’t permit his usual agility. Snorting, his smirk remained plastered to his face as he took the angered deer’s orders, silently slipping past the ghost and out of the building.
Stood a decent distance from the house, catching glimpse of Sil’s furious onslaught of her home every now and then, Hannibal’s grin gradually faded. Something clicked. A light switched on within the recesses of his blackened mind, illuminating a memory he’d hoped to destroy.
We’re the same…Pushed to their breaking points, total destruction seemed the only cure, the only antidote to the unbearable pain that had grasped hold of them in time of weakness. Hannibal’s eyes widened a fraction, staring at the Sawsbuck, through her, as the malicious fog plaguing his brain cleared.
He thought of Mischa. Mischa hanging dead, lifeless from the jaws of that
monster. He thought of the humans who had jeered at him, killed his mother, forced him to fight for his life day in day out…
He thought of how he burnt that hellhole to the ground.
He had killed every last one of them…
A rare flicker of guilt crossed his features, a deep shuddering breath totally unhinging the canine’s composure as he stared down at scarred paws. Unable to comprehend the intensity of the revelation flashing before crimson eyes, Hannibal, for once in his life, was lost.
