[ fizz knew it'd cut mammon to the fucking core. that's why he said it. and he's glad for the distance, though the strain on his wing is quickly becoming unbearable and he has to stop pushing himself further away. his tail is lashing behind him violently, thankfully out of reach of being yanked, and he snarls in the face of mammon's anger.
see, the good thing about having robot limbs?
they don't feel anything. normally this is a shitty hand to be dealt, but right now? fucking great. it means fizz can't feel all the shit mammon's doing with his legs, and even if they come off (please don't come off) it won't hurt. ]
Just—just because he's not here this very second doesn't mean he's not here at all, ███clown! Do you really want to risk it? And you know what? If I'd never met you, at least there wouldn't be ████ing sex robots of me everywhere when I didn't want them made, you absolute ████ing freak!
[ his breath is starting to come in harsh pants: he's not crying, he's forcing himself not to cry, but he's shaking and he can feel his wing creaking at the joint in a way that makes him feel like he's going to puke everywhere.
it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter at all. ]
I don't care! I don't care what you want, I'd rather die than work for you again, ████ you, ████ you, ████ you!
[ and he makes a really, really stupid decision in the heat of the moment.
he spits in mammon's face.
which, frankly, has got to be enough to mean that there's no one in hell fast enough to save fizz's wing, which gets ripped out in a spray of—gold? wow, fucked up, actually! damn!
the thing is.
the thing is, getting your wing ripped out hurts different from getting blown up or being on fire. it's nothing he's ever felt before, it's searing, it's enough to—
—he screams. no, shrieks at the top of his lungs, hands reaching out, arms extending to try and shove his thumbs into two of those too-many eyes, but he's practically blinded by the pain so he probably misses. ]
I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT CLOWN!
[ oh. oh wow, he got so mad it got through the censoring. ]
mild gore? eye stuff? idk. dont look at me
see, the good thing about having robot limbs?
they don't feel anything. normally this is a shitty hand to be dealt, but right now? fucking great. it means fizz can't feel all the shit mammon's doing with his legs, and even if they come off (please don't come off) it won't hurt. ]
Just—just because he's not here this very second doesn't mean he's not here at all, ███clown! Do you really want to risk it? And you know what? If I'd never met you, at least there wouldn't be ████ing sex robots of me everywhere when I didn't want them made, you absolute ████ing freak!
[ his breath is starting to come in harsh pants: he's not crying, he's forcing himself not to cry, but he's shaking and he can feel his wing creaking at the joint in a way that makes him feel like he's going to puke everywhere.
it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter at all. ]
I don't care! I don't care what you want, I'd rather die than work for you again, ████ you, ████ you, ████ you!
[ and he makes a really, really stupid decision in the heat of the moment.
he spits in mammon's face.
which, frankly, has got to be enough to mean that there's no one in hell fast enough to save fizz's wing, which gets ripped out in a spray of—gold? wow, fucked up, actually! damn!
the thing is.
the thing is, getting your wing ripped out hurts different from getting blown up or being on fire. it's nothing he's ever felt before, it's searing, it's enough to—
—he screams. no, shrieks at the top of his lungs, hands reaching out, arms extending to try and shove his thumbs into two of those too-many eyes, but he's practically blinded by the pain so he probably misses. ]
I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT CLOWN!
[ oh. oh wow, he got so mad it got through the censoring. ]