Hyperion's eyes follow the trail of Karkat's gaze, swift and and wary like an animal. He's looking for someone else. Which means there won't be just one death today.

They need to stop grouping together. It's a very bad idea.

"That was a big mistake, buddy." His lips stretch to show teeth, neither a grin nor fully a grimace, pulling back the knife to drive it into the stomach, pushing and twisting, his face close to the creature's, almost capable of picking up his scent. It's never a pleasant one. Hyperion can't say his is much better - there's so much blood on him already.

(It's neither a grin nor a grimace. It's just teeth.)

The knife pulls out and slits the feeble throat. The other inevitable death would have been slow. This is quick. Effective. Clean at first, a mess shortly after.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to your friend?"

Silence is starting to set it. But he doesn't mean Karkat - he's waiting for an answer.

Hyperion is looking straight at where Signless should be.