He watches the face snapping toward his own is hacked away. It sprays his battered helm, his face behind it. Noxious stuff, and the metal muffles his cough.
As it vanishes, he's dropped back to his feet, and lurches, readying his sword for another foe from the sickly-sallow green light above (How to kill it how to stop it?) when Wren's looping her arm over his shoulders and guiding him. He doesn't ask questions now, with adrenaline and the fight still animating him.
Lifts his glowing hand towards the image of the rift, while it cast watery light and shade across them both. It was mesmerizing to look upon, he decided then. Like the light of the bonfire when it roared high, like the light of an embered lord.
“Raise the green light towards it. A Rift — feel it calling to you? Now cast that tie aside,” the knightess told him. His dry lips opened to ask why. If it was calling him, shouldn't he go? Was this some perversion of the Flame, like the Pontiff's evil sorcery?
But the horror had come from it too, and he was a link in the short chain of command they had made. He thought of breaking armor and the many rows of statue-knights leading to Lothric Castle, all gladly kneeling to cut their own throats on their blades.
The light crackled, grew brighter... and seemed to eat itself, vanishing in an inward, sucking motion. He sagged where he stood, and flexed his empty hand in its gauntlet.
"I am in your debt," he said at last. Quiet but emphatic. "What was it that we saw?"
❤ ❤ ❤
As it vanishes, he's dropped back to his feet, and lurches, readying his sword for another foe from the sickly-sallow green light above (How to kill it how to stop it?) when Wren's looping her arm over his shoulders and guiding him. He doesn't ask questions now, with adrenaline and the fight still animating him.
Lifts his glowing hand towards the image of the rift, while it cast watery light and shade across them both. It was mesmerizing to look upon, he decided then. Like the light of the bonfire when it roared high, like the light of an embered lord.
“Raise the green light towards it. A Rift — feel it calling to you? Now cast that tie aside,” the knightess told him. His dry lips opened to ask why. If it was calling him, shouldn't he go? Was this some perversion of the Flame, like the Pontiff's evil sorcery?
But the horror had come from it too, and he was a link in the short chain of command they had made. He thought of breaking armor and the many rows of statue-knights leading to Lothric Castle, all gladly kneeling to cut their own throats on their blades.
The light crackled, grew brighter... and seemed to eat itself, vanishing in an inward, sucking motion. He sagged where he stood, and flexed his empty hand in its gauntlet.
"I am in your debt," he said at last. Quiet but emphatic. "What was it that we saw?"