[ He hissed through clenched teeth and fangs, loud in the silent hall, tugged back, face to face. Everything hurts, every single injury on fire all at once, the spike in adrenaline had made him ignore it, but it's coming to life like fire, and his eyes stay locked on him, while he promises violence and a swift end. He wondered if Vergilius knew how many times Silco had encountered that now? This close, it's the first time he's truly felt it since arriving in this land.
He is used to it β how many times had his life been threatened by gods and powered beasts far his physical superior? β how many times had they not been able to end him? Not truly. He was a survivor; but even that is a poor salve to the threat looming between them; the sword of Damocles hangs over his neck, just about to β
Drop β
It's as sudden as pulling his hair that he hovers β and then he's gone, standing and already moving down the hallway. ]
Don't worry β [ He murmured, rubbing his neck, before he lifted his fingers to run through his hair, putting it all back into place. Bloody bite wounds and a darkening bruise on his neck aside, he's already moving to stand, and pick up the knife that looks just like the one he'd gotten from a demon once. ]
I haven't once forgotten.
[ He slips into a side hall, on too silent feet. He had been too brash; he cannot still that too-loud thudding of his heart, still kicked up from the encounter with his old friend, death. He'd be happy to leave that behind him again. ]
no subject
He is used to it β how many times had his life been threatened by gods and powered beasts far his physical superior? β how many times had they not been able to end him? Not truly. He was a survivor; but even that is a poor salve to the threat looming between them; the sword of Damocles hangs over his neck, just about to β
Drop β
It's as sudden as pulling his hair that he hovers β and then he's gone, standing and already moving down the hallway. ]
Don't worry β [ He murmured, rubbing his neck, before he lifted his fingers to run through his hair, putting it all back into place. Bloody bite wounds and a darkening bruise on his neck aside, he's already moving to stand, and pick up the knife that looks just like the one he'd gotten from a demon once. ]
I haven't once forgotten.
[ He slips into a side hall, on too silent feet. He had been too brash; he cannot still that too-loud thudding of his heart, still kicked up from the encounter with his old friend, death. He'd be happy to leave that behind him again. ]