Rikyn was ready. Erebos was eager. The pair couldn’t have been a better team, setting off into the pillars and avenues of debauchery and blackguard-hood, and he couldn’t help glimpsing back towards Cathun as he ran off, as he stormed away, as he cast aside courage and took weakness into his hands. Perhaps the blue boy didn’t know enough fear, didn’t face enough immorality, didn’t taste the sense of alarm as much as the ember-lad, but he’d never felt the urge to run. He’d felt the quake in his legs and the tremble of apprehension, he’d felt the rush of panic surging through his chest, but never, never, had he turned the other cheek and coasted away, leaving the remnants of his friends, of his family, to pain and torment.
He almost said something to bring him back, to ease him away from the horror behind his eyes and the terror in his soul – but the boy shook his head, drummed away the feeling of discontent, and rummaged through the particles of strength, of endurance, of fortitude. He could do this. He had Rikyn. He had Orsino. He had the world and monsters before him. This wouldn’t be the last time.
And Aithniel, streaking along the sky, breaking apart all the worries, all the concerns he’d had for her, simply appeared, as if he hadn’t been searching for her all this time, all these months, hoping for a sign, hoping for a piece of information. His gaze went straight to her, his throat closed, and all the doubts he’d had about himself, about never being quite enough, about being a lowly, endowed, privileged cretin, rested firmly against his chest. He had so much to prove, and with his friends nearby, surrounding him, imploring him, there was no time like the present.
Rikyn launched, Aithniel attacked, and he was left to proceed, onward, forward, a meticulous bend and blend of inexperience and tenacity: trying to scheme, design, a decent plan. But everyone attacked from every side, every angle, hacking at limbs, stabbing at skin, flailing and providing all of their enchantments, invocations, to the contemptuous wake. Getting close could spell a death trap, an awaiting abyss, an invitation to quietus, because they were too swift, too hellbent, to notice anything else going on around them: a mob mentality, a zealous affair, a tapestry of rapture and lunacy.
Then Aithniel draped herself in front of them, as if she were a shield, as if she was going to protect them from anything and everything, and the fuel, the instigation, drew like a brilliant, blistering inferno inside his mind. His strides chased, they leapt, they tore into the ground until he was right beside her, nearly intertwined with her flames, with her blaze, with her luminescence (he wanted to show her something, anything, that made her regret leaving him behind, leaving them all to dust and ruin and ash like they were nothing nothing nothing, not good enough, not strong enough). All his frustrations, all his agonies, toiled and carved and clawed through his wake, and Orsino’s bestial breath crooned against his mind, and the control, the composure, of darkness flooded amidst his skull.
It was Stygian, conniving, oppressive and beautiful. His gaze fixed, his brilliant eyes in a trance, ghostly, phantom-esque, smile reaching for the flame-girl, snicker curling at the edges, audacity drumming and drumming and drumming. He reached for the petulant invocations, plucked at the strings, laced brushstroke upon brushstroke until the canvas was complete: threads of unseen potency glided from his skin, from his muscles, from his sinew, passing over the wayward embers of Aithniel’s might, past the swell of bodies fighting, and tumbling, aiming simply for the monstrosity’s cranium, lacquering it with shackles, with tethers, with mind-numbing derision. Stop moving, he commanded. Do nothing, he spoke. He wanted to watch the monster cease, he wanted to watch the deity be drained, be marauded, be harpooned with no chance, no ability, to fight back. He wanted him drowned in the wake of immorality and heartlessness. He wanted his restlessness to cease. He wanted the world, for Rikyn, for Aithniel, to see what he could do, and why he’d always stand beside them. Surely, he wanted too much.
[Summary because tldr; uses dark corruption magic to try and stop the monster’s movement]
Image Credits
@Rikyn @Aithniel [because mentions ;D] TEAM TIME GOD