So, it turns out that hurling a spear made of hate and radioactive sunlight into the muzzle of a massive juggernaut-space-lazer from a few hundred feet is not the best of ideas.<br/><br/>In fact, it's a downright stupid one.<br/><br/>The resulting explosion from Donovan's projectile send the brass-armored figure crashing back to 'earth', punching through several layers of metal before landing spread-eagle near what he recalled was a command console.<br/><br/>"OW."<br/><br/>His voice rasped again in the void, a truly unnerving feat. Slowly his eyelids forced themselves open, virtually fused with the force he had screwed them up upon being bludgeoned like a badger in a hurricane. It was a strangely serene sight, really, the Collector ship sundering itself in the void, prow torn apart from within by cataclysmic system failures and gouts of green fire. He was sure there would be quite a few ash ghosts left where his spear had hit. Lit by the half-dawn breaking on the world below them all, the two wrecked ships seemed almost tranquil. No doubt anyone below would simply have seen them as so many bright flashes in the sky, not realizing the enormity of what had transpired miles above them. All there was to see it all was him, whatever survivors still clung to this barren wreck, and the corpses. So many corpses, floating in the void.<br/><br/>A brief glance at the tiny figures drifting in the void drew another mad grin from the Infernal. He Jackknifed into a sitting position, smiling down at his feet. Once more, his Anima flared a brilliant, sickly green, and every corpse that floated behind him disintegrated into oblivion. He's never tried to inhale so many fallen breaths at once; the normally invisible gasp of wind was now a deluge, a visible torrent of crimson ribbons in the wind. The force pressed him back, almost returning him to his prone stargazing. When the gale finally abated, he clambered to his feet, Stretching amiably. Nothing to do now but find a way off this wreck. No rush with so many days of air stored within him. Was that a distress beacon?<br/><br/>Donovan blinked.<br/><br/>Was that a body?<br/><br/>A few quick leaps of ZG took him over to the figure that leaned against the command console. Not a dead person, any corpse behind him -and this body had certainly been behind him when he had Inhaled- should have been dust now. His understanding of medicine was rudimentary, but Donovan dutifully stuck his fingers to the officer's neck to look for a pulse. He found one, oddly strong given that he was unmoving, Then he felt -smelled? tasted? it was an odd sensation- a jolt of familiarity.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Not-Prey</span><br/><br/>"Well Well," Donovan rasped, grin still firmly intact.  "What have we here?"<br/>He checked the oxygen levels on the officer's tank; finding them nearing empty he turned to the command console.<br/>"Tell me VI, how long 'til he runs out of air, and how long 'till help arrives. If the second is longer than the first, I'm gonna need the makeup of the atmosphere earthside, and a trajectory for a soft landing."