[Something about this scene is just plain wrong. The room is liberally splattered with gore, and yes the red, wet mess of the Emperor's thigh is steadily stitching itself back together, but a wound like that-- it ought to be healed by now. Maybe he'd been ripped into ragged pieces before she'd arrived, maybe the injuries had been so much worse than what she's seeing before her now...but this is a guy who'd zipped back together when he'd been little more than atomised particles. He'd done it like it was nothing, no signs of strain, no lagging weakness. Now he's dripping with blood-sweat like a regular necromancer and it's unnerving somehow-- but this isn't the time to try figuring things out. She’s still thinking with her muscles, here.
She's at his side in an instant, gaze carefully averted as he struggles into his pants. One hand still on her sword, the other goes for his shoulder before she can think better of it.]
I'll fucking kick its ass for it. [She says, and then, with a touch more bewilderment--] What can I do??
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She's at his side in an instant, gaze carefully averted as he struggles into his pants. One hand still on her sword, the other goes for his shoulder before she can think better of it.]
I'll fucking kick its ass for it. [She says, and then, with a touch more bewilderment--] What can I do??