Page 3259

He needed distance. Darksteel was following--and not letting up with that attack, either. Banda could feel pieces of his solid self being chipped away, as well as his gaseous self being dispersed under the flurry of iron bullets.

Agh. Distance wasn't going to work, either. Darksteel could keep up with him too easily.

His options were becoming very limited now. He was being pushed harder than he had in a very long time. If he'd had the presence of mind for it, he might've even been pleased. This was the very reason why he'd been so curious to test Darksteel in the first place. He'd wanted to see just how threatening this mystery man really was.

In this moment, however, Banda Toro was not pleased at all. Perhaps that was because of Grigozo's emotions spoiling things. The reaper wanted to flee. To panic, even. Banda could sense it.

The full Chaos form was the answer here. Banda hadn't used it much yet. In this fight, he'd only faintly touched it just before devouring Darksteel. The immediate agony thereafter had pulled him back out of it.

Should he really use it again, though? There wasn't time to debate.

He went for it.

No, he didn't. It was too dangerous now. They could lose control. It wasn't worth--

Yes, he did. Banda forced Grigozo down and assumed full control. He had to. The reaper didn't understand.

And immediately, his body came alight with new fury. Burning. Angry. Screaming.

The damned souls were there again, more violent than ever. And Banda's mind--it slowed, as did the whole world around him. He could hardly think. Hardly form complete ideas.

But he could see.

He could smell.

He could sense it all.

And he was hungry.

Beautifully hungry.

This state of being was its own brand of wonderful. Distinct and glorious. Pure.

Everything was simple.

Hunt. Eat.

This meal was fighting back, though. A series of blades flew at him. Banda avoided most, ignored the rest. The only thing that mattered was reaching his prey. Hunting. Eating.

His huge maw bit down. Found its prey. Crunch.

Rrgh. Not the right crunch. Crunch was supposed to be more satisfying. Supposed to feel bones snapping. Supposed to taste blood gushing out.

Something burned. In his mouth.

He ignored it. Clawed at the meal, instead. It needed to stop wriggling. It needed to give him the satisfying crunch. He thrashed his head, too. That was the best trick. Whip his neck around. Disorient. Break bones.