<div style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d">He let the young femme fatale slip with grace and guile as he bent the solid steel handle like a Twizzler.  The metal groaned as its resistance and threshold to bending and breaking was outmatched by the lion's raw power. His grip did not relent even as he turned to face a crouching Artemis. The simplest movement tore free the bar; bolts snapping in half like bones being gnashed by a hyena's insurmountable bite force.  The screws rattled across the floor and towards Artemis's feet as Acheron rose from a leaned position to look over at where Artemis now stood, his arm lifting up tossed the mangled steel to the floor at her feet. Bent to such a degree that it could no longer just be bolted back into place, no, it had to be remade in its entirety. He was definitely a powerhouse and if he wanted to, if he got a hold of her lithe frame would account for very little against that kind of raw power. He was her opposite in almost every way.</span></span>​</div><span style="font-size: 15px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d"></span></span><br/><div style="margin-left: 20px"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d"> Where she was youthful, slender with red tresses cascading down her face, and agile able to sneak up on an enemy unannounced Acheron was fully-built; muscular with a thick black 'mane' reaching down over his golden orbs which dilated into slit-like proportions before returning to the sphere shapes. His had a well-groomed, bushy beard. Thick veins bulged along the tops of his hands and made paths up the length of his muscular arms; the epidermis was swollen with blood His body hid the multitude of scars through its miraculous healing that mutilated his body in horrid timeless beauty. No matter what he did, no matter how much it hurt.  He would always return to the way he was before the grievous injury. He'd had once his arm blown off taking the scapula, and a large portion of his ribs by a tank's HE round--and still, he kept going even with his vital organs spilling or visible to the world. The depressurization of his chest cavity forced his lungs to work all the harder, but already his healing factor had kicked into gear; the bones regrew, muscle and reattaching them accordingly. <br/>
<br/>
Three minutes. His bones had regrown, including the side of his face which bore a skeletal facade; teeth gleaming, empty eye socket with tendrils of muscle and sinew. Even with no right eye. The two faces of what was an inhuman killing machine put the fear of God into the men who'd shot at him. With each footfall, his steps became heavier and heavier until he was leaving feet prints in solid concrete with his now barefoot. A mist arose from the region's healing and the dermis and muscle were regrown, slowly becoming full-fledged skin again. His eye returned to him with sharp clarity; his fingernails grew to be talons as did the nails on his toes. He had feline slits for pupils now-now he was feral. He was on the warpath, his bloodlust wouldn't easily be satiated...<br/>
<br/>
Back on the VTOL, however, Acheron wasn't feral, he wasn't angry--he wasn't even impatient which was a first. He was intrigued and padded his calloused bare feet forwards, carrying himself towards the female called Artemis with golden eyes glimmering in the dark, the reflected like true cats would. He watched her slowly upholster her sidearm, inspecting the safety before putting it down in an empty seat. Then came the knives, he knew where she would hide most, but she caught him to surprise a couple of times with the craftiness and cunning. Still, he approached. He was now only three feet away from the woman, who clasped the black zipper at the front of her black-clad bodysuit designed for stealth operations. Peeling the zipper down slowly, the tautness of her figure relented; her breasts still held in place by the sports bra, by his estimate she was a 34C, 25" waist, 35" hips. She was what a lot of males would want.<br/>
</span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#9999ff">“Do I meet your arbitrary requirements for a partner?”</span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 166, 77)"></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d">Acheron was quiet  for what seemed like forever, it almost seemed like he didn't approve until he spoke up.</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffcc99"> "Since you were so...compliant..." </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d">His hands reached for the old leather belt hold up the lower half of his jumpsuit. Unbuckling it, the rest of his clothes pooled in a heap b his feet and ankles. Torn boxers were the only thing hidining his indecency. Yet, it could do little th hide the growing bulge betwixt his legs. even only half erect it was an impressive sight to behold; what was three inches in diameter and could grow several inches long  was poking through the opening at the front exposing the thick, wide head.<br/>
<br/>
He wasn't ashamed of what he was, or what his nature called him to do. Not ant more.<br/>
</span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffcc99">"When I said strip, I meant all the way---unless you want to strip me down first..."</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d">He taunted, the smallest grin upon his face.</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffcc99"> "Just remember this: you undress me--I undress you. It's a two way street."</span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d"></span>​</div>