Boba doesn't recognize the metal-armed man, nor does he expect that wild lunge, but he's certainly not complaining. He presses forward at the same time the stranger does, darting to the side with his wrist-mounted flamethrower raised, free hand fending off strikes from another of the beast's heads. He keeps his eyes on the man's knife, waiting for it to nearly cut through the neck—before unleashing a burst of orange flame right at the severed junction.
Searing heat fills the air as fire continues to pour forth. Boba makes sure to cauterize both sources of blood—the severed neck and the head on the ground. It's something he had made a point to learn, much to his own regret:
Death by beheading is fast—unless the wound is cauterized. In humans, there can be up to two minutes worth of oxygenated blood still stored in the head, keeping brain processes running before the victim eventually succumbs to oxygen starvation.
He doesn't know how many minutes a hydra's head has—but if it's the death of one head that triggers the growth of two more, then slowing down the process might buy them the time they need. Finally, he lets up on the fire. The smell of roasting flesh is heavy in the air, the hydra's neck reduced to a charred stump—one that stays a stump, even as the seconds pass. Boba lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then, he turns. "We need to burn them!" he shouts to the others, raising his flamethrower in preparation for another gout of fire. He gestures, urgently, to the metal-armed man. "Keep cutting!"
cw: beheading-related body horror/death
Searing heat fills the air as fire continues to pour forth. Boba makes sure to cauterize both sources of blood—the severed neck and the head on the ground. It's something he had made a point to learn, much to his own regret:
Death by beheading is fast—unless the wound is cauterized. In humans, there can be up to two minutes worth of oxygenated blood still stored in the head, keeping brain processes running before the victim eventually succumbs to oxygen starvation.
He doesn't know how many minutes a hydra's head has—but if it's the death of one head that triggers the growth of two more, then slowing down the process might buy them the time they need. Finally, he lets up on the fire. The smell of roasting flesh is heavy in the air, the hydra's neck reduced to a charred stump—one that stays a stump, even as the seconds pass. Boba lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then, he turns. "We need to burn them!" he shouts to the others, raising his flamethrower in preparation for another gout of fire. He gestures, urgently, to the metal-armed man. "Keep cutting!"