[ He's not had the pleasure of fighting beside them, Luxanna and Allen both, since they'd received their promotion to rank—Luxanna, a flourishing, florid Queen (who still cares to wear the boots he'd inscribed with his King's wards months ago), wields now a wristlet of faceted gemstone, the band catching his attention no sooner than it hums to life, thrumming and alight with her manaflow. Reflexively, he steps forward where she draws back, pulling her arm well out of the reach of dozens of wooden fingers, little hands which belong to children with too-saccharine smiles and rosy cheeks, their limbs given life and motion not by any will of their own, but...
(Ah ah ah ah ah, they are not our Demon, but even so...)
...something far more sinister, far more lonely and sad. Suddenly, Allen's silence strikes him as a thing profound, the words the younger man had said before your power is a thing like this...? resonant in his ears as the children surrounding them (...four, five, six...) make offerings of sweets, chocolates rusting in their paper-wrappings as their boxes are pushed, up, up, and up by insistent hands.
Though he'd murmured it is the very least I can do upon the compliment paid, the gentle tide of his rank's magic is far from the Hero King's power—had Allen forgotten what he'd glimpsed upon the train? Sion is meant to--
(...devour them.)
--trust, for now, in his friends: Luxanna, who offers to them an escape, the potential of a path without combat, and Allen who will burgeon out of his quiet soon with no small amount of conviction.
Meanwhile, Sion bides time, testing the threat of their newly-met companions by accepting a chocolate box much to the children's delight, their giggles positively gleeful until the moment when they find the King has no intention to partake of their gift, deciding to grant him another: claws which spring forth from their hands, hooked and terrible and seeking to part the flesh of his chest (split the ribcage, tear out his heart), but meeting only with...!
Chocolate. It is the chocolate box which the Wicht's claws spear, catching well and fast into the small parcel which the King twists sharply to the side, his fingertips alight with a bout of minor holy magic as he brings his free hand down, severing talons from puppet with a resounding break and echoing snap!.
Though not yet defeated, the Wicht falls back, the giggles of the others' swelling, sharpening into a crescendo of laughter as their features twist and malign, reflecting the nature of what dwelled inside. ]
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[ He's not had the pleasure of fighting beside them, Luxanna and Allen both, since they'd received their promotion to rank—Luxanna, a flourishing, florid Queen (who still cares to wear the boots he'd inscribed with his King's wards months ago), wields now a wristlet of faceted gemstone, the band catching his attention no sooner than it hums to life, thrumming and alight with her manaflow. Reflexively, he steps forward where she draws back, pulling her arm well out of the reach of dozens of wooden fingers, little hands which belong to children with too-saccharine smiles and rosy cheeks, their limbs given life and motion not by any will of their own, but...
(Ah ah ah ah ah, they are not our Demon, but even so...)
...something far more sinister, far more lonely and sad. Suddenly, Allen's silence strikes him as a thing profound, the words the younger man had said before your power is a thing like this...? resonant in his ears as the children surrounding them (...four, five, six...) make offerings of sweets, chocolates rusting in their paper-wrappings as their boxes are pushed, up, up, and up by insistent hands.
Though he'd murmured it is the very least I can do upon the compliment paid, the gentle tide of his rank's magic is far from the Hero King's power—had Allen forgotten what he'd glimpsed upon the train? Sion is meant to--
(...devour them.)
--trust, for now, in his friends: Luxanna, who offers to them an escape, the potential of a path without combat, and Allen who will burgeon out of his quiet soon with no small amount of conviction.
Meanwhile, Sion bides time, testing the threat of their newly-met companions by accepting a chocolate box much to the children's delight, their giggles positively gleeful until the moment when they find the King has no intention to partake of their gift, deciding to grant him another: claws which spring forth from their hands, hooked and terrible and seeking to part the flesh of his chest (split the ribcage, tear out his heart), but meeting only with...!
Chocolate. It is the chocolate box which the Wicht's claws spear, catching well and fast into the small parcel which the King twists sharply to the side, his fingertips alight with a bout of minor holy magic as he brings his free hand down, severing talons from puppet with a resounding break and echoing snap!.
Though not yet defeated, the Wicht falls back, the giggles of the others' swelling, sharpening into a crescendo of laughter as their features twist and malign, reflecting the nature of what dwelled inside. ]
This is...
[ (Wonderful.) ]