[ By all logic, Wagner should be lumbering and slow - it seems all too wrong that it's moving as quickly and gracefully as it is, darting across the chapel now that Orthrus is out of the way.
Ah. That's the blood it scented. That pale, half dead man is the one who started all of this. It only seems right that Wagner should end it in turn.
Even down to one arm, its strength is enough. It reaches Hubert and its hand shoots out to grab the bottom of his face and twist. There's the pop of bones and muscles giving way, giving all the way until both parts come apart from each other, as easily as snipping a bloom from the stem of a flower.
Hubert's head thumps to the floor.
Just one left to be done with.
The expression of its face twists into something that could be a snarl or a satisfied smirk and the beast turns towards Orthrus. ]
[ He’s powerless to do anything but watch as the monster (he has to keep thinking of it like that to remind himself to not think of it as Bryn anymore) finishes Hubert off in the most horrifying way possible. Ah. He’s failed both Hubert and Somnus now. How many more will die now? How many will he fail by sunrise?
For a moment the life goes out of his pitch black eyes. What does it matter now? He wanted to die, didn’t he? That’s what all astral beasts should want. Freedom from their endless curse. He should have died as a child, and now he’s lived too long - it’s only right he dies. He had tried to go so far as to even offer his life to Heisenberg, won’t this be enough?
No. You can’t die like this.
A voice that isn’t his keeps yelling in his mind. Just as it did at Stella’s trial, when it told him to keep the details of his own power, of the effects of his mana on others, to himself.
You have to get up! You have to get up right now!
Strange. He doesn’t recognize the voice at all, and yet somehow it’s familiar and comforting all the same.
If you don’t have the strength to get up then you will have mine!
He can tell his earring is getting hot. Hotter and hotter like a furnace.
I’m not going to let another one of you just die…!
Shakily Orthrus begins to move, pushing himself up with his arms, fueled entirely by his father’s fire and love for all of his children. ]
[ Wagner watches him struggle to his feet and what little of its expression is ready to read looks remarkably unconcerned. He hasn't posed much of a threat so far, so why not let him die on his feet?
It lets him struggle to stand for a moment longer before giving a huff of impatience and vaulting over the pews to charge him. Soon enough, this will all be over and done with. ]
[ He can’t quite stand, he can tell his leg hadn’t fully recovered yet, but he’s sitting up at least, supported by both arms. He looks up just in time to see the monster vault at him and so quickly he throws his arms up in front of himself and with it a new shield. ]
[ Another of those irritating shields. It goes up suddenly enough that Wagner staggers back but its quick to recover, ramming its remaining fist into the shield over and over.
Just give up. Drawing this out won't do either of them any good. ]
Edited (wagner while murdering orthrus: :)) 2022-05-05 07:37 (UTC)
[ He keeps the shield up but starts to feel it push back the more she punches. He can’t let it down though - for not just his sake but everyone else sleeping just a few floors below.
He only has one chance at this. And he has to make it count.
Once the perfect timing arises he reforms the shield into a lance and puts it right through her rose eye. ]
[ The shield gives and it's too quick for Wagner to lunge forward and just quick enough to keep it from skittering back. The lance strikes true, piercing through with no resistance and the momentum sends Wagner staggering away a few steps with a burble of dragonsong rising from its throat. ]
Aah... ngh...
[ It lifts a hand to paw in confusion at its face. Like that, with its expression softened by shock, it almost looks like...
But then its knees give way and Wagner collapses, scattering bloodied white rose petals as it hits the chapel floor. ]
[ As soon as the monster that was once Bryn is down and, more importantly, stays down Orthrus crumples into a heap. Like a doll being dropped he lands with his back against the wrecked pews, his eyes pointed at the ceiling.
He lays there for what feels like an eternity, before his body starts to finally move independently of him. He watches it as it manages to correct whatever was done to his leg and starts to limp across the chapel (Don't worry, your leg will be fine in a few hours, it'll be fine before the trial). Dragging itself to Hubert's body (Don't look at it) it finds the harp still hidden under the pews (You can't leave this here, they'll know it's you) before leaving the chapel entirely.
Clean up. You have to clean up.
So much of Hubert's blood is on him now, and in the back of his mind he notes a trickling down his leg. The restroom is just a floor below, it'll do. He watches his body stagger in there, surely having tracked more blood with it, and remove all his clothes before collapsing onto his knees under the running shower head.
It's so cold. The room is so cold. And yet he himself is running so hot, like a system overheating. He wants to cry, it's so uncomfortable.
Then cry. But no matter what you must survive.
He sits there under the water as the voices get louder and louder until it drowns out everything else.
Survive.
Survive.
Survive.
Someone is sobbing. Someone is wailing their heart out. Sobbing and crying and wailing and cursing and-- ]
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cw: decapitation and general gory unpleasantness
Ah. That's the blood it scented. That pale, half dead man is the one who started all of this. It only seems right that Wagner should end it in turn.
Even down to one arm, its strength is enough. It reaches Hubert and its hand shoots out to grab the bottom of his face and twist. There's the pop of bones and muscles giving way, giving all the way until both parts come apart from each other, as easily as snipping a bloom from the stem of a flower.
Hubert's head thumps to the floor.
Just one left to be done with.
The expression of its face twists into something that could be a snarl or a satisfied smirk and the beast turns towards Orthrus. ]
no subject
For a moment the life goes out of his pitch black eyes. What does it matter now? He wanted to die, didn’t he? That’s what all astral beasts should want. Freedom from their endless curse. He should have died as a child, and now he’s lived too long - it’s only right he dies. He had tried to go so far as to even offer his life to Heisenberg, won’t this be enough?
No. You can’t die like this.
A voice that isn’t his keeps yelling in his mind. Just as it did at Stella’s trial, when it told him to keep the details of his own power, of the effects of his mana on others, to himself.
You have to get up! You have to get up right now!
Strange. He doesn’t recognize the voice at all, and yet somehow it’s familiar and comforting all the same.
If you don’t have the strength to get up then you will have mine!
He can tell his earring is getting hot. Hotter and hotter like a furnace.
I’m not going to let another one of you just die…!
Shakily Orthrus begins to move, pushing himself up with his arms, fueled entirely by his father’s fire and love for all of his children. ]
no subject
It lets him struggle to stand for a moment longer before giving a huff of impatience and vaulting over the pews to charge him. Soon enough, this will all be over and done with. ]
no subject
no subject
Just give up. Drawing this out won't do either of them any good. ]
It’s time
He only has one chance at this. And he has to make it count.
Once the perfect timing arises he reforms the shield into a lance and puts it right through her rose eye. ]
eye squick
Aah... ngh...
[ It lifts a hand to paw in confusion at its face. Like that, with its expression softened by shock, it almost looks like...
But then its knees give way and Wagner collapses, scattering bloodied white rose petals as it hits the chapel floor. ]
1/2 cw: dissociation
Everything is quiet now.
He lays there for what feels like an eternity, before his body starts to finally move independently of him. He watches it as it manages to correct whatever was done to his leg and starts to limp across the chapel (Don't worry, your leg will be fine in a few hours, it'll be fine before the trial). Dragging itself to Hubert's body (Don't look at it) it finds the harp still hidden under the pews (You can't leave this here, they'll know it's you) before leaving the chapel entirely.
Clean up. You have to clean up.
So much of Hubert's blood is on him now, and in the back of his mind he notes a trickling down his leg. The restroom is just a floor below, it'll do. He watches his body stagger in there, surely having tracked more blood with it, and remove all his clothes before collapsing onto his knees under the running shower head.
It's so cold. The room is so cold. And yet he himself is running so hot, like a system overheating. He wants to cry, it's so uncomfortable.
Then cry. But no matter what you must survive.
He sits there under the water as the voices get louder and louder until it drowns out everything else.
Survive.
Survive.
Survive.
Someone is sobbing. Someone is wailing their heart out. Sobbing and crying and wailing and cursing and-- ]