(gory warning) /// not sure if you care or not, but I put the warning anyway
Lucas noted her somewhat brutal fighting style. Anything he could do to further research the long forgotten hero was legendary to him— being basically a fanboy himself. He had finally come to terms with that characteristic, trying to deny it for many years. Though everyone he knew described him that way. The biggest fan of the greatest hero. Well, greatest in his opinion.
He shot out a few more knives, his body much more relaxed. He kept them all at a far off distance, not bothering to let them get any closer. He wasn’t really a “flying colors in close combat” kind of person, but didn’t mind a bloodstain on his clothes here and there. As long as the blood wasn’t his.
Just for the sake of it, he let a racer get closer. Taking out a few on the far end, he turned his attention to the one on hand. He took out two subsequent daggers, his own blood running through their engravings. A mechanic he had invented himself. The handles would stick needles into his skin, automatically drawing his blood to infuse the daggers. Thus, why he could do this:
Within an instant, Lucas spun around, bandana still tightly woven around his eyes. As he slashed down, he teleported the blade of the daggers through the racer’s chest, watching as the two blades stuck out of its back. No wounds plagued the front of it, but the thick metallic fluid spilled from its back. Lucas flipped the daggers, the end of the hilts still in his hand, yanking them back out with all the force he could muster. Bits of the racer’s tough skin and flesh went airborne, bouncing off of his own arms harmlessly. Though, the blood dotted his face and blindfold, like a diminutive constellation of crimson. He spun the blades in his hands, watching it’s lifeless body fall to the floor. Lucas sheathed the two daggers, wiping the alien’s blood from the side of his mouth.
