Lanister was thoroughly surprised Nevayah would avoid rejoining him in blood, especially with them having to witness their own deaths repeatedly like this... He expected her to embrace him willingly, that they would become one and face their doom like the tainteds that they were. Instead... Lanister was left with a hollow confusion as his lips pressed against her cheek. He stared at her, his eyes numb, questioning, peering through the red shroud of hell at Nevayah's regret-concentrated face. Heh... she never really was a great liar. He knew how badly she wanted to be with him again, but, for some reason beyond his understanding, she had decided to remain in that empty-shell of an existence that was individuality. Normally, he wouldn't need to say anything... No need to ask why or how or anything like that when you could understand... feel the impact behind each moment along side them as if they shared your life. Normally, Lanister would be able to comprehend what was going through her head and readily go along with whatever plan she had in place because he KNEW what she was thinking. All he had now was himself and his own haunting uncertainty... Uncertainty that made him doubt Nevayah's decisions and his own. He didn't know up from down, sky from dirt, hell from heaven in this blood-scented plane that was their world... He didn't understand why the world shifted and contorted back to that place in time where they were first transported, the people coming back to life, walking and talking, joking and smiling like they were once before.
Acting on impulse, those taking the place where his understanding did no longer, Lanister acted on the commands of the angel, pulling out his three-barrel flintlock revolver just a as a man bumped into him, Lanister's shoulder slamming into his side painfully. The guy seemed confused at first, angry a moment later, but that too melted away when he saw the look on the younger man's face. It was... something not easily described and identified in the wake of the moment. Lanister's face seemed.... bitter? But also strangely confused as if he didn't know exactly why he felt this way... It was as if he woke up one morning and fully realized his emotional state, but did absolutely nothing to stop feeling this way. He simply went on with his day, a silent observer to his own pointed expressions, piecing together it's significance through observation of action.
"H-hey buddy..." The man asked, his eyes flicking from Lanister's face, unable to hold his gaze. "Are you doing okay...?" Without a word, Lanister's arm curved upward, placing all three barrels of the gun against the far left of his upper chest and pulled the trigger. The iron ball tore through the man's shoulder-blade and upper rib without a hint of slowing down, hitting the next person behind him, a woman, striking her in her upper shoulder-socket, throwing them both to the ground. It seemed the bullet had struck the wall of a nearby shop before the *crack* of the gun going off erupted throughout this fake little world. It took a certain kind of person to look into something that looked, smelled, sounded and thought like a human and then critically injure it with a mere flick of a finger. He could feel the impact of the gun radiate through his arm and down into the core of his body, but around the hollow hole in his chest where Nevayah once rested. That part of him remained undisturbed, cold, windy... If one could see a physical manifestation of these feelings, one could see a gaping maw in the center of his chest with a heart in the center, beating it's rhythmic beat as it hung from the arteries that held it there. Lanister understood why he felt like this, so hollow and rhythmic, robotic, inhuman and the reason was sitting there atop a building roof, watching over them with an expression of the slightest bemusement like a god bored with her subjects.
He thoroughly believed she thought she was a god, perhaps all powerful on top of that. After all, this was her world that she can reset at will, bring them back to life and such and do it all over again... There atop that roof WAS a god, a divine being of ultimate power compared to them mortals and she was a perverse, violated, embodiment of consumption on the most incorporeal of levels. If she was anything but, there would be no reason to bring them to a place where she has 100% control when 99% was all but available on the outside. Here, she could feast on their pain until she was ultimately satisfied, spitting out new life as if it were their devoured, mangled flesh, molding it back onto their gnawed bones and, just like with regurgitated remains, getting less out of it each time. One might ask why she chose them, why she decided to torture and slowly eat them when there were literally millions of other beings out there for her to amuse herself with... But why ask that when the answer was in the possession of a god? Gods don't tell their secrets for only 2 reasons: Mortals can't understand or they like to keep it a secret for their own reasons. In this case, it was likely both. Lanister understood in that moment of command, that moment of scared hopelessness and loneliness that resistance REALLY WAS futile and that there was no real point in doing anything because, with a creature like this, no one could trust her to keep her word. She may well indeed kill their kids the moment she's done here or end her bloody game and leave their husks to make sense of her unholy presence, but it doesn't ultimately matter. In that world, they at least had one card in their favor but in this one, Amira held the whole deck.
Lanister waited for Nevayah to scramble to the aid of the fallen human-mockeries, or rather, humans, for her to fulfill her role in this god-(forsaken)ordained game. Those were the rules after all... A player turned piece, Lanister systematically, rhythmically, with only minor stops for target-choice shot down one person after another. He'd stop after every couple of people, letting Nevayah do her work, careful to make every shot as non-fatal as he could make it. What mattered anymore if death had no consequence, if life was given and taken at the behest of a demented lord? What really mattered when he was split in two and wasting away?
