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backdated to mid June, before the event, cw: violence
The guard waited until he had sunk into his puddle form before attacking him with a shock baton. Altair's cry of pain was muffled as if he was underwater. His puddle of slime rippled as Altair tried to reform himself so he could protect himself. It was harder to see this close to the ground so he had no idea what was happening. The volatile mix of his rage and fear helped him push through the pain, long enough for the top of his head with cat ears to peer out of slime.
Altair briefly saw a human looming over him before another shock broke up his shape and it splashed into the puddle of slime again. A muffled chuckle rippled through his slime, growing louder as Altair stubbornly started to reform again and the top of a cat like face taunted the guard with a defiant smirk.]
Well this is a surprise. You pathetic humans are actually competent at something.
[When the guard tried to shock him again, Altair shaped his reforming arm into a tentacle, hitting his attacker with all the strength his weakened body had. The attack caught the guard by surprise but Altair's body was still weak so all it did was startle him. In retaliation the guard continued to shock him over and over again, keeping him trapped inside his puddle. The puddle rippled with his muffled screams. The ripples getting weaker as he started to lose himself under the pain.]
assuming he was caught just before entering, can edit if needed
tonight, of all nights, is especially quiet. such especially peaceful nights were one of his earliest delights upon arriving in this realm, a chance to walk amongst these foreign buildings and streets without the chaotic flurry of sounds and scents and people through which he navigated in the daylight hours.
it brings him no delight, now. it doesn't feel peaceful, not tonight. it feels tense. he can't shake this feeling that he's running out of time to stop something and he doesn't even yet know what that 'something' is. instinct tells him it's violence. a murder, a mugging, a violation in some dire and hopeless alley where the law won't bother to go. that's why he started in the inner city, but at some point along the way, his wandering (patrolling, really) had carried him out along this more residential street with its tense and disconcerting quiet. he isn't quite sure what it is that stays his path instead of turning back toward the busier city blocks... at least, until he hears the cry.
blessedly unperceived thus far, he's free to move with unchecked speed, and the rest of the block goes by in the span of a blink as he closes in on what could only be the source of the cry - cries, plural. xingchen still hears them now, a muffled gargling sort of agony and the unmistakable crackle-hum of a shock-stick.
and so the instant he blurs into view, he's straightening up to full posture with a low, sharp - ) Stop. ( though it's not especially loud, it freezes the assailant mid-strike with every ounce of the awe and fear that xingchen's nephilim magic can induce. there's a moment now in which he takes stock of the situation (the assailant, uniformed, using a shock-stick to torture a screaming puddle filled with soul) - and the guard no doubt takes terrified stock of him in return, since even with his wings concealed under his cloak, he's still eight feet tall with a pair of horns in a glowing ring around his head. in the dim of night, one can barely make out a similar light from beneath the bandages around his eyes, and as he crosses the distance between them, a glow picks up around his hands as well... hands which lift as soon as the guard is in reach, not to strike but to take the man by the sides of his face, almost the way that one might to deliver some sort of stern but compassionate lecture.
instead, the glow surrounding xingchen's hands brightens sharply, blindingly, and the guard seems to spasm, every muscle in his body gone rigid. a second later, the same light which shines from xingchen's hands bursts forth from the man's eyes, his gaping mouth, even his skin almost seems to glow for a long few moments... then the glow begins to fade and the shock baton clatters to the ground, released from a grip now entirely slack. in fact, there's not an ounce of tension left in the man whose face still lingers between his palms. not an ounce of the cruelty, the inhumanity which allowed him to strike again and again despite hearing the suffering he wrought. in fact-...
xingchen releases the man's face to cup hands around the muddy smokelike haze which hovers around his lips. the guard collapses to the ground, breathing placid, eyes vacant in between thoughtless blinks, his soul a muddied (decayed) lump barely holding shape between xingchen's palms. this is it - the cruelty, the inhumanity. and so he draws the soul close to his chest, one hand above it and one below, almost as if rebalancing his qi. he isn't quite sure what possesses him to do it, beyond that it vaguely reminds him of how he always pictured what one might find in a blocked meridian, and the fact that he can't bring himself to just turn something so rancid loose to disperse in the air they breathe. (as the soul begins to disperse instead into his palms and chest, the wave of relief he feels does more than enough to explain: it was hunger. whether or not he quite realized, he absorbed the soul to feed.)
the soul is absorbed entirely now, consumed entirely, and xingchen lets out a slow sigh of relief. the night's quiet is peaceful now. it feels... balanced, almost. he feels it thrumming through his own soul, and feels so very much lighter for it.
but this isn't entirely righted just yet.
he turns to the puddle now (or whatever shape it has taken while his back was turned), brow knitting faintly with concern. ) Are you alright? ( the words are soft, so far removed from the single command he voiced just a minute ago. )
no worries, this works great
Don't!
[His quiet voice was hoarse from screaming and he frantically tried to push himself off the ground but he slid back down with an weak, anguished cry. His slime felt like water and he couldn't get it to do anything he wanted. He craned his head upward and silently pleaded with the nephilim to stop.]
...you can't...
[Souls were precious. Don't destroy that man's soul because of me! Altair's guilt dragged his heart down into an endless spiral as he watched the nephilim absorb the man's soul. The edges around Altair's form melted as he sank against the ground, the slime making up his hair melting over his eyes, hiding his agonized expression.
It wasn't until the nephilim turned to him that Altair finally recognized Xingchen's gentle voice. That just made this all worse and Altair flinched away from his kind concern. A flash of red bled through Altair's slime as he weakly lashed out with what little strength he could muster.]
I'm fine! You shouldn't have saved me!