Everything that wasn't bolted to the ground careened outwards, caught in the explosion, the leading edge rippling and sweeping outwards with a speed approaching terminal velocity. Brick and porcelain disintegrated, metal buckled, and stone crumbled in the face of his attack.

"Murder is such a charged word. You know how some people fixate and won't let things go?" Kyoichiro had that foxy sly grin of an expression on his face, "They're called cops." He cooed at you.

The glass windows of the structural building which he had admired the sunset seconds ago— fifteen centimeters of naval-grade transparisteel interlaced with a thin lattice of durasteel for strength, and protection enough to take a few hits from his steel spider-wires - shattered like fragile glass, splintering and cracking and falling out from the city scape below.