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His head hits solid rock and the soft lull that has been playing throughout the short battle reaches its crescendo. Lights flash as he opens his eyes again, dancing to every thunderous note. They distort his vision, help cloud and conceal his attacker. There is a sound, a snicker that gets his attention, noise from outside of his damaged skull. A voice cracks through the reprieve in the music as it begins to die down once again, it says something. This something is along the lines of not thinking he would be able to live after such onslaught. He can’t be sure, the language is still too foreign, but he entertains the sentiment anyhow. Simpleton, don’t they know? Can they not see? You can’t keep a roach down.
In brief moments, he is on his feet once more. Short seconds see him become steady, his body already addressing repairs needing to be made. In his mind he can hear vocal drums, calling out to the adversary, informing them of their call to war. A smirk caresses his uneven lips. Somehow the heaviness of the upper helps convey the hilarity he finds in his opponent. No matter how big or powerful they may be, which they aren’t, the Kree Ensign Marvel will be sure to take them down. Eyes fix on the lucky soul who was able to catch the young diplomat off guard. He will be sure to give them the rightful praise for such an accomplishment. Unfortunately, he knows they won’t get to relish in their reward for long. Such a thought saddens him, because he knows just how great the gift will be.
The actual dust lingering in the air from the initial attack and brief scuffles after will serve as his cover. It isn't as thick as he would like, but it isn't as if he would need it to finish a low level rebel from a primitive planet. Cover just helps keeps things clean, keeps kills quick. Which he is, quick, built for it, never knowing a day without speed on his side. Surprise grips the face of the opponent life form as the mass over six feet tall seems to disappear within a moment. It was always so funny, the cockroach thought, when pathetic little creatures went from announcing their victories to having holes blasted through their midsection. He could have done it by hand, but this one did earn a special prize, remember?
The blood color is enticing though. Perhaps it is the most interesting thing about these lowly vertebrates. The young man finds some on his hand and watches it as it crawls down his skin. Such a lovely, deep blue he thinks. He has always found it so strange that the inhabited planets with plentiful oxygen yield the most unsavory results. His eyes rest on the blood for a short time more, it has made its way half way down his arm and sends a shiver down his spine. It felt impossibly great being so superior. But alas, that is what it means to be a Kree. The very make up of his body would reject him if it were any other way. That is why he is never sure how Merree has managed to keep her own body in check when he looks up and sees her disapproving of his delight, as she is now.
Maybe she could see the future, see the day when Noh-Varr would have an arm made of wires instead of veins creating a hole in his chest. Maybe she knew that somehow his arrogance would lead him to that path, his power, his mind, a plaything for something else.