Another trial, another 3 minutes fighting for survival... The killer this time is 1x1x1x1. With her Daemonshank dragging along the ground, tiny sparks bouncing from the concrete in the carnival setting, that domino crown perched upon his head stays straight with each of their steps, like the slow steps of a predator stalking their prey. Her pitch black skin has a whispy effect around it, his bright red eyes flicking left and right, looking for their next target. The Daemonshank drags along the ground, while the Venomshank lies on his shoulder, ready to swing the second she spots a survivor.

Although, even when standing still, one can still hear the sound of breathing. Shaky breaths. The breaths of someone holding back rage through gritted teeth. In this case, through a zipped mouth. The zipper dangles and rattles with each of his movements, the killer's teeth firmly clenched shut, held together by the metal that makes up her mouth. Their bright red eye gleams in the dark, the other one dim from mistreatment. His breaths continue to come in small raspy pants, shaking with barely contained rage as he reaches upwards, gouging out his own eye to reveal the survivors, giving a moment for the pain and blurriness to pass before continuing her hunt, heavy footsteps pounding the ground as he approaches, swords at the ready to strike, that crimson glow glaring into the souls of all who gaze upon it

The glare of The Adversary was nothing to sneeze at, after all. A glare of sheer contempt, hatred, spite at the Three Dimensional FILTH. NOTHING made her angrier, nothing vexed him more than seeing it all around them. It disgusted her to no end. It truly did. He swore he would destroy it, so here he is. In this realm. Start off small, 1x1x1x1. Start off small. Start with the one who MADE you.

Shedletsky. Kill ALL who associate with him. Kill. Him.

The more The Adversary thinks about her creator, the shakier his breathing gets. It's not because of the running. No. It's from hate. Barely contained hate. If the word "hate" were engraved on each blood vessel that made up her body, it wouldn't equal one BILLIONTH of the hate he felt for Shedletsky at every waking moment of their existence. She HATED him, and they wouldn't be satisfied unless his blood was on his hands. Maybe then their breathing will finally go back to normal... Less tense. Less full of contempt. Less... ANGRY