Neither is likely to happen anytime soon, Andros. Or ever, by your definition.
Astronema finally gets her crackling hands on him, going right for his throat, full momentum, aiming to take him down to the floor under her weight. A morphed Ranger is strong, but she is too, and he would be far from her first to tear apart with her bare hands. She knows what she's doing, even if she hasn't gotten quite this personal about killing a Ranger since before receiving her name and title.
Hands locked around his throat, she lifts and shoves, aiming to slam his helmet against the floor with all the force she can muster. Which, with adrenaline and her own corrupted morph always on from her neck down, shiny and black...
And again.
And again.
"I want! You! To die!"
One hand lets go of his throat, but only to cock back and punch the visor of his helmet. Right where the shiny black seams into silver. That's usually the exact spot to crack them open like the shell of a crab. She's done it so, so, so many times in her life. How old had she been, the first time she'd brought a shattered morpher back to Ecliptor, her body covered in blood and tissue, her daggers properly cleaned and sharpened in her belt, and her heart full of fierce pride?
Maybe ten? Twelve?
"You have no idea who I am! What I can do to you! What I will do to you! You've never even met the real me, brother! Well, here I am!"
Another blow from her fist. SLAM! Her teeth bared and bloody, eyes wide and wild-- but still sharp, present, sane if she's ever been. Angry beyond words, but very much here.
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Astronema finally gets her crackling hands on him, going right for his throat, full momentum, aiming to take him down to the floor under her weight. A morphed Ranger is strong, but she is too, and he would be far from her first to tear apart with her bare hands. She knows what she's doing, even if she hasn't gotten quite this personal about killing a Ranger since before receiving her name and title.
Hands locked around his throat, she lifts and shoves, aiming to slam his helmet against the floor with all the force she can muster. Which, with adrenaline and her own corrupted morph always on from her neck down, shiny and black...
And again.
And again.
"I want! You! To die!"
One hand lets go of his throat, but only to cock back and punch the visor of his helmet. Right where the shiny black seams into silver. That's usually the exact spot to crack them open like the shell of a crab. She's done it so, so, so many times in her life. How old had she been, the first time she'd brought a shattered morpher back to Ecliptor, her body covered in blood and tissue, her daggers properly cleaned and sharpened in her belt, and her heart full of fierce pride?
Maybe ten? Twelve?
"You have no idea who I am! What I can do to you! What I will do to you! You've never even met the real me, brother! Well, here I am!"
Another blow from her fist. SLAM! Her teeth bared and bloody, eyes wide and wild-- but still sharp, present, sane if she's ever been. Angry beyond words, but very much here.