[There's a flicker of puzzlement in the mask when ordinarily smooth bone plate proves to be more uneven than expected under his hand; not much, but enough to be noticeable. But it doesn't last long, there's no time to when there's suddenly fluid and damp obscuring his field of view. He's gotten used to peering through the inkblots, but with this new incarnation, a less forgiving version, it's all but impossible, and he has a choice. Keep his face on and be less capable of defending himself against the assault that follows, or remove it and accept the resulting weakness to keep the rest of his strength.
It's no contest.
There's a snarl under the mask as ink splashes, and then his free hand reaches up to pull it free, the face underneath all too human, expression twisted into pure hatred at needing to be deprived of his identity and the disfigurement that caused it.
The first few blows land before he can adjust, sending him staggering backwards, increasing distance, and when he finally loses his balance he lets himself fall, the better to sweep out with a leg when he lands to try to take the larger man's feet out from under him as well.]
[SPAM]
It's no contest.
There's a snarl under the mask as ink splashes, and then his free hand reaches up to pull it free, the face underneath all too human, expression twisted into pure hatred at needing to be deprived of his identity and the disfigurement that caused it.
The first few blows land before he can adjust, sending him staggering backwards, increasing distance, and when he finally loses his balance he lets himself fall, the better to sweep out with a leg when he lands to try to take the larger man's feet out from under him as well.]