The sky was heavy.
Click, click...
The repetitious clacking of boots met slab stone. Far above, the dregs of moonlight withered under the disturbed slumber of its accompanying celestial partner; the clouds paling in the fading black. And to duet the escapade of this soon-to-be ending night, the Empyrean's Throne stared down the advancing group beneath its reigning arches.
The pounding of a drum rang her ears - badum-badum - was the heart's melody. Slow and methodic, yet blared with intensity. Her golden gaze was centered on the growing entryway of this renowned temple above, and the flow of steps below seemed endless. Upwards, the menagerie marched, wisps of hard exhales on the wind of their breathing. Velvet's form ached with anticipation, the daemonic blood pumping to a boil at the final goal only minutes away. No more did it yearn for the flesh of those at her side in this air - poisoned by his presence. Artorias awaited them.
The constant stairway came to a halt. But still, it was only an open median space, and the mountain of steps climbed ever onwards. She grunted under a breath, and the group maneuvered forth still. However, one member in particular did not reign in their complaints.
"...You gotta be kidding me..." the man mumbled with a weary look and scratch of his neck. "Who designed this monstrosity of a temple?"
Sarid's childish, while valid, mutterings greeted their ears with his sighs and moping. His lungs worked the hardest of them all.
"Aww, poor Barloc..." came the prancing taunts of the Witch aside. "He can battle hordes of ferocious beasts, but can't summon the strength to handle a few steps?" The cackling mockery continued from the trudging Magilou, despite her own figure slumped with fatigue.
"Ah yes, because you work so hard to dance around and fire off your cheap magic tricks," the half-malak retorted with agitated slump of his shoulders. "Just busted my backside trying to kill a code red myself, bloody magician..."
"Oh hear, hear! Who, I ask, would have been dead without us?"
Suddenly, the low grumble of the daemoness stomping up front silenced the bickering; "Quiet." Velvet, once brooding in focused silence, turned a sharp eye to the weary Hunter behind. "You're lucky I don't cut you up and eat you for all your irritating whining."
Sarid blew off the threat - knowingly half-hearted - and crossed his arms to stare down the beast with a lidded look. "And you're lucky I hadn't gutted, flayed and turned you into shoes, wolfy." A whistle from a neighbouring Samurai broke the tension between the two, as her bandaged limb waved off the blunt retort.
"He won't go easy on us just because you are tired."
"And let me guess, I also have to hear how 'I'm a vile traitor to humanity' as he carves me into hamburger." And still, the half-malak continued, form matted in dirt and bruises with complete dismay at who's heels he was set on tailing this arduous journey. "Great Empyreans, this is getting on my nerves..." Sarid's arms sat to his hips as he scoured the devastated mass below. And soon enough, violet pearls clocked the decapitated head of a particular beast: paled and withered on the grassland floor. It's deceptive hundred eyes were glazed and soulless, settled next to the remains of one kunai; one of six. His teeth abruptly grit with an upheaving annoyance at the gruel sight, of the shredded daemon: Argus.
"I wish I could fucking kill you twice!"
Silence. The caws of a raven blossomed as an omen to the dead night.
"Oh my, when did such a noble knight like you get so vulgar?"
The Hunter's lips drew a thin line, before he sighed and began to trek past the still group; crest billowing in the dreadful winds. "When my life became a living hell because of you all."
Despite the biting tone that threatened to appear one of contempt, the watching Velvet gazed over the figure aloft, and placed a casual palm on her hip: easily seeing through the newborn firey demeanour their Hunter had attained through the flames of battle. She wouldn't say it was an unwelcome addition.
"...You're smiling."
Even at this monumental moment in this murderous adventure, the woman felt a twitch almost encompass her firm lips. Almost. The ambling figure in battle-worn white flinched on the stairway, steps away from the grand precipice. He didn't turn, twisting his face away from the staring orbs beneath.
"I -- am not."
Once dark and dreary skies began to part far above, and the silky clouds almost glistened as light peaked over the horizon. However, as their boots clicked just over the peak of this man-made mountain, and the sharp arches draped in royal blue banners flapped in the breeze; a chill sunk into the air. And the golden glare of the blazing sun was not burning passion, but chidden bleakness.
The daemon's strong and unwavering figure clambered over this edge first - breath not the slightest dampened - and the group climbed suit, taking in the pious structure of an anomalous god.
The air went silent, and the space thick. It was almost time.
"Anyways... Velvet. What is Artorias' method of fighting?" Rokurou questioned first, the dregs of battle soon to burn the temple within.
She did not turn, steadily recounting the years of unforgiving lessons, and searing memories. "He wields a long sword in his left hand." Velvet's words were slow - and purposeful. "And he once had a malak named Seres who used fire." Finally, did she turn, and those medallions were almost ablaze, unwilling to reign in any care for the lives she had taken in pursuit of revenge. "Had... but I killed her."
The Pirate's question came next, each mind racing in anticipation for the coming battle. "And since then, he's tethered to a new malak called Innomniat to use in her place?"
"As far as I know, yes. But I can't imagine a new malak will work as well with him as Seres did."
Sarid's mutter accented the statement, the payment of reason growing ever so unbearable by the second. "...Guess it was the 'reasonable' decision."
Aside, Magilou goaded the woman's wishful thinking. "Must be pleasant to always assume the best." At which she ignored without comment.
"If I'm wrong, that's where all of you come in. The five of you will strain his tether to the malak." Her veiled limb clung close to her chest in a fist, grumbling with a scraping hunger. "Then I'll chew through it, at which Artorias becomes nothing more than a simple human."
"But, how will you get close to him in the first place?" At the Samurai's final inquiry - one of the most important - the daemoness simply cast her gaze to the nervous malakhim who looked on in his innocent stare.
"I'll use Laphicet's artes." Velvet's tone was dark, expectant of the punishment she will be racked with. "He will cut me. He will burn me. And I will keep charging forward. Your job is to keep healing me so I can stay on my feet."
"A sacrificial assault, then." Rokurou gripped his chin in thought, dwelling on the shaky idea. "Well, It's not a bad plan. There's a good chance you'll catch him off-guard."
"If you don't immediately die." The Witch's pessimism came again, always so supportive of the group's success.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sarid rolled his shoulder and stood tall; expression hardening for the coming battle. "Welp, talk about a deathwish... I guess me and Rokurou back her up close, the others support from afar. Seems simple enough."
However, one stood in objection of this reckless plan. Laphicet stepped close, verdant plates wide in unwilling surprise as his voice trembled. "B-But Velvet, you'll-!"
"That's an order."
Laphicet's words froze in his throat, and his head tilted to the ground in wordless acceptance. The soon-to-be Lord of Calamity's stare was lightless, the boiling gold voided and stern. She was taking no chances.
"...Alright."
Click, click, click...
Her steps faded as she solely approached the intimidating gateway to this reverent Throne. Velvet did not spare another look, as the young malak stood in despairing silence. With more devious words teetering on lips, the Witch stepped close with an impish smirk.
"So in the end, you're still just a tool to her. Bet that hurts."
As the heavy words snaked from her mouth only to worsen the young boy's mood - no matter if stating the cold daemon's hypocrisy - a certain half-malak had quite enough of this selfish charade.
Smack!
The hat flapped from her head, the mumble of curses seeping from mouth as she stumbled at the snapping ache siezing the back of her skull.
"Your pessimism is really pissing me off. Shut up, and let's go."
None had seen the fire that caught his lavender irises alight like that before, and remained silent as they all marched to catch the wandering daemoness ahead. Laphicet's gaze flicked onwards as the hand ruffled his head in a vain attempt to improve his mood; the ornate forearms within now burned away for all to see.
The smile the boy earned was genuine, but so, so tired.
~~~
Creeeaaak...
"He's here."
The echo of the grand door creaking shut reverberated in waves across the bright room, the natural gleam of this stone a bitter, chilling light blue. Velvet's mere presence was a stark contrast to the heavenly white basking off these engraved walls. Another door was ahead, belying the unfeeling Shepherd that awaited them on his chromatic Throne. Her steel boots clacked along the marbled ground, all senses trained on the pressure emanating behind this hefty door of chiseled rock. Silence reigned, the duet of jostling silver and tapping stone was deafening.
Velvet's fingers dug into the shadowed groove of the gateway ahead - dismissive of the splayed grandeur emblazoned at its face - and wrenched the doorway apart. It squealed, wheeling into the sides as the wide berth of this hall pierced the broken stone veil. A splendid chamber, mirroring the consistent grooves and engravings dug into walls, and the sleek marble ground below lay before them. And, as the expanse attempted to crush the intruding crew with its pale light cast by torches dotting its pillars - and pressure, the blighted figure clicked forth without care.
At the back of this gargantuan hallway, was the throne. Magnificent arches chiseled like wings sprouting from the seat's sides, many engravings and smooth shapes leading up against one great sigil cemented above. And the gilded presence of what hung to bear over this insurmountable Throne, was a circled crest, with diamonds jutting out from its outer ring. A subtle hum drawled from its golden grooves, as if the sigil itself breathed in the wall of this temple.
There he sat. Not on this throne, but at its cleanly steps did the Saviour kneel. His lone gloved hand gripped the sword scabbard fierce, and his head hung low: meditative. The Shepherd was motionless in the presence of calamity.
"Artorias!"
The daemon's figure tensed with anticipation. Years of emotion that burrowed deep culminating in the will she brought to this vacant chamber. At her side, the group similarly readied themselves, fists winding about weaponry soon bore with a chorus of screeching steel, clicking fists and bristling parchment.
Velvet's glare stabbed into his back as if it were a blade itself, centered upon the auric accents of his pure attire. The man's voice rumbled out without inflection, like no emotion came from the demeaning words.
"Daemons, malakhim and a Barloc... very unlikely companions to say the least."
Her stare was hard, and she patted right onto her exposed midriff with grim satisfaction. "Seres is here, too. In my stomach."
A sigh of acceptance - and understanding - dwindled from his lips. "So, you chose to be a mother bird, Seres." Finally, Artorias Collbrande arose from his deligated position, steadily twisting to peer deep into the ones that intrude upon his palace.
The Therion's gaze did not falter, tightening sharply as those icy eyes - empty of all compassion - stared right at her corrupted figure. "Things will be different this time! I will have my revenge... Revenge for Laphicet!"
The young malakhim's gasp at her side did not faze the shell of her focused mind. Velvet's searing pearls shrunk, as the cloaked claw festered before her; underneath the binding wraps that opposed this force of reason.
Shink!
The scabbard of valiant white and distinct gold cracked through the perfect floor, and the Saviour's firm clench of its hilt drew the blade from its slumber: the simple gleam of its untested steel ruptured from the sheathe.
"Very well..."
His metal carved air in whipping force, its splicing edge clean and unstoppable. Artorias' irises of an unmerciful sea glinted hard, and the strongest Legate of the Abbey; was ready for battle.
"It is time!"
The appendage rose above, and in a crackle and twist of blackened flesh below, emerged the hand of death itself. The claw's splintering thorns tearing out from the cloth, and it's giant crooked fingers snapping to poised place; right before dotted eyes ablaze with the fires of vengeance. The daenoness whipped the limb aside, and lunged forth with neared teeth: dregs of flowing wind at her feet in the predatoral pounce.
Pulpisating with wrathful hunger, the claw lashed out, and after all these years, the forces of darkness and light met in a sparking clash of will. Artorias' blade held resolute - and even with Velvet's unbridled daemonic strength - the force faltered, and the beast flipped past far above; the hand of calamity bearing above as she soared with golden orbs boiling. The Shepherd's eyes were a steely calm, stoic and ready.
~~~
Coalescing elements lashed the delicate brickwork of this pious temple, rumbling force pounding slab to pebble and violent steel carving wounds into stone. Charred rock graced this heretical battlefield, and from the engulfing smoke came the flailed body of a bruised and battered Velvet Crowe.
Screaming muscles begged to rest, and oxygen chugged to and from her lungs like a choking furnace, yet still her eyes lit feral and she almost sprung back into this plume of chaos, if not for the tiny arms wrenching at her ruinous coat. She could hear the words slipping forth from the young malak's mouth, and still her brain did not register their meaning. All she awaited was for the refreshing green to grace her once more, before diving back into the fight.
The smog bubbled and grew, before blasting out in a splash of pushing wind: dissipating its ugly veil. And, out leapt the ruffled duo to support the daemoness' mettle. The Samurai shook off the lacerations that dotted his figure despite bringing a huff of exhaustion to his breathing, and the Hunter looked on wary; gritted teeth affront through the tired pumping of air. Rokurou drew daggers to bear once more aside as the billowing cloud of blackness faded, while Sarid's brows narrowed with the bindings of roping verdant wind about his left forearm: kunai connected to kunai, while the broadsword sat ready in the right palm. Levelled defensively just across his chest.
Before them, stood the undeterred Saviour. Blade splayed to the side, as if unthreatened by the intruders battling to end his life. Artorias awaited the inevitable assault with still posture, only the sharp evaluating look snapping from person to person.
"Come."
Whoosh!
The resilent pair swiftly stepped aside, as a storm of dicing whirlwinds rocketed from the supporting malakhim behind. Earth cracked and gaped, with the Shepherd's loyal blade simply batting away this splicing cyclone with ease, the protruding amber that gouged from stone below were immediately split apart in a single blink. Like a winking star, his steel gleamed, and dissected their ambush with the most casual movement.
A growl of irritation rumbled, and searing orbs of violet hardened as he sheathed his sword; slinging the encircled opaque winds from around the forearm with a twirl. Tufts of white danced, and the vines of shimmering gales sprung out around the half-malak. Sarid's grip was harsh on the dagger hilt, and with this whip of bladed wind unveiled, flicked his arm left and right, lashing the bundle into a violent cast forward. The knife atop its bound end crackled to life aflame - alas - its erupting edge only blasting a bellow of smog aside at the Shepherd's resolute deflect. Nevertheless, it brought a moment of time.
It was all Rokurou needed to get close.
Clang! Clatter!
Even as the swift Samurai soared in like a gust himself, and the dividing assault of rapid slashes to rain over Artorias' crippled figure came, it was to no avail. The chill of winter was free to blow in the eyes of this great foe, and in each unfaltering deflect and redirect, the Yaksha's battle-hungry nature pumped to glisten with his daemonic iris. And still, breath rapidly run ragged, and a blinding carve dug into his shoulder.
Rokurou let out a sharp gasp, his tabi sandals sliding across the still glistening marble; the Shepherd reigning in an advance. The beastly warrior couldn't resist the thirsty smirk, even as the thick scarlet pooled across his kimono's delicate robe. The man's arms were numb, ringing with pins and needles. "So this is the Shepherd's style..."
The time for rest was over. The Saviour's armament gleamed in the floor's celestial light. He was before the Yaksha in a second.
Thwoo!
Distinct, and sharp. Artorias' eyes flicked, and the chilling blue shrunk as his face sank back, the pointed kunai tip whipping inches from his composed expression. The lashing breeze swung past, and the Samurai did not hesitate as his daggers swept past once more.
Sarid grimaced, with the inflections of intense focus on his tense gaze. The roping gale carried past, and his freed ornate fingers ripped the slim bind back. It twirled about him, the gleaming kunai aloft sweeping about in gathering momentum; and the half-malak pulled through this natural rope, wrapping it about himself and catching the stabbing kunai to sling forth again.
Samurai and Hunter: the pair worked tireless to injure this fierce adversary. Dual-knives gliding back and forth against stamina shaking strikes, and the whipping assault from behind to support this attack. Time bought for the daemoness to rise again.
And, rise she did.
Clink...
The only sound such steel could make, and Sarid already yanked back the whipping kunai for the perfect ambush. The winds wound about once more, and a line pulled taut beckoned the final stretch to whip just around the Hunter's back; dagger brimming with power again. Wordless, Rokurou halted the reckless parry, and dashed aside with a weary grin. The blazing kunai soared just above stone, and swirled across in a slice that the Shepherd was ready for. It ground across the splayed blade, until the solar energy within detonated to blind.
Boom!
Overcome within the veiling cloud, piercing gold came alight in the black. And, as did her wrath.
Shing!
Velvet pounced from the depths of this scorched cloud, the thundering crash of her wristblade slamming upon the Saviour's unbreakable guard cried out; sending the blazing remnants of air rushing out to fade. The screech of this battling steel rang eardrums, and the daemon flipped from the feeble clash, soon lunging into her own rapid assault of Shepherd Artorias. Kicks swept air, failing to strike the surprisingly swift exorcist, nevertheless remaining in their pursuit of every weakness. Springing to crack earth, carving to gash empty space, heels sparking over marble: it was fruitless.
A manic cry, and the Therion's leg spun in from a violent, twisting reverse roundhouse. Artorias simply grunted dispassionately, and the pious sword gouged forth.
Threading deep into Velvet's right calf.
The daemon's narrowed expression snapped into one of gruelling discomfort, as she cried out: a fierce mix of a snarl and gasp. However, even in the Therion's disadvantageous state... "You... will suffer..." she bit down to ignore the searing pain that pumped from her outstretched leg. "Just like he did!"
And the gauntlet-blade shot out again.
For the first time, Artorias' face twitched into one of momentary surprise, and the sword slunk from flesh in a hurry: Velvet's defiant slash barely brushing his knuckles. The boot slammed into stone, it's tremble minute as she inhaled sharply and twisted despite the injury. The other leg came in like a battering ram veiled by onyx cloth, heel careening right through hefty winds as the woman's eyes were ablaze with rage. This sudden reckless counter came rapid, and unexpected.
Bashing right into the Shepherd's unguarded sternum.
Wind boomed, racing across the marble with its ferocious roar as the daemon's foot blasted through; Artorias' boot scraping up stone as he slid across the hall. Despite the sheer rage that endowed such a rupturing blow, steadfast and unwavering did the man stand: a disappointed stare gleaming to accent the mild sting he shook off from his proud garb. Velvet's growl was guttural, agitated, as she stumbled just a step forth - the searing grip at her calf reigning back an advance.
Nevertheless, this personal duel went unheeded, and the flaying of whipped air sang behind. Whilst the comforting green aura settled at the wound from Laphicet's kind hand, the assault could not falter. Outstretched, the windblade lashed, spinning aside the half-malak's swift manuever: the kunai at the tip flung alone to gyrate in the tense winds. From the momentum did it hang, and as the whip faded, Sarid faced no hesitation to dash forth. And sighting its airborne revolve out of reach, sought a stepping stool to strike. A particular still, black and wrathful stool.
Velvet could barely react as a force was brought down upon her shoulder, and pushed off above. Aloft, the Hunter leapt with a spin, and his leg flicked out to smack the spinning dagger that began to bristle aflame. It soared, right into the swinging steel of the Shepherd's blade, deflected just above, and yet the fire erupted with a violent detonation: molten remains and scorching mana coating the Saviour's figure.
BOOM!
"Ha-HA! I'll take that~!"
Magilou's fiendish chant was announced with a dramatic twist, and towards this detonation of hellfire did the Witch's fingers whip to cross arms. With the spotlight of seething red runes below shading this magician's devilish smirk, her palms slammed outwards, and the standard plume of fire and smog was suddenly twisted violently into a spinning tornado: powerful and centered on where Artorias last stood.
Sarid's boots clacked ground at his landing, the purple glint of pride present in his eyes with a smirk of his own. Another kunai lost, but no matter: four more to go. Taking in the blazing view of the accomplishment, the man was unaware of the golden irises burning behind. "Reflexes like a cat."
Thwack!
"Agh-! Again, really?!"
A bandaged limb slapped down on the top of his blanched strands, pushing down firmly as the man's expression tightened from the sudden force.
"Did you climb on me?"
The half-malak's orbs slid away from the boiling medallions above. "...Maybe?"
Velvet groaned, wrenching the half-breed back with a frown, the intense look not lost as she eyes the swirling chaos. "Eyes up, It's not over. He wouldn't go down so easily."
Sure enough, with the swelling of this great spell, it's confines ablaze were blasted away with the thick falling veil of trickling water. As Magilou at the flank stumbled back with a shout into the Reaper's steadying grasp, the swordsman within stood in its dissipating wake: completely unharmed apart for the charred tinges of his attire.
"Boy howdy, are we dead!"
"But he has no malakhim!"
Crack...
"Remember... the plan!" The daemon's untransformed appendage plunged into rock, scoring the pious chamber with her daggered fingers beneath, and lunged. Waves of air boomed at the beast's pounce, pulled at the floor to launch herself towards the unmoving Shepherd. Wind whipped the lioness mane of darkness, and the devastated coat of night, until the wristblade sang its metallic song, and the pounding of her steel boots below leapt from stone.
Velvet zipped past, with the crackle of a thundering blow echoing alongside its golden sparks. Artorias' rested longsword barely budged at the strike. Her beastly snarl rumbled as she twisted, the screech of the woman's footwear turning aside ringing ears as did their churning clash of steel.
The ricochet of sparking yellow, the shriek of trembling armaments, the whipping of limbs soaring through vacant space; only finished by the sharp splashing of crimson etched into flesh. Velvet's breaths pumped heavy and rapid, twisting with fierce lunges and swift footwork to lead into shattering kicks. Nonetheless, each profound movement was found useless, as another blinding spin was caught by the Saviour's nimble blade. The wound tore up her back, and scarlet splattered the innocent white marble. Thigh, hip, arm, stomach: the edge slipped between every attack to decor the body as a pin cushion. The Shepherd struck with blinding speed, carving past like the brisk gale of a hurricane before the Therion even realised. One injury would burn, just as another had struck.
Overcome with that tremendous scorching ache over every inch, the daemon pushed on still, crying out with a wild, vengeful strike wreathed in flame. Artorias met this without hesitation, as the two blades crossed akin to a clap of thunder. Winds of carving force swept the opposing foes to slide back - dousing the flame that prickled harsh out in its passing - and leaving Velvet unstable, and weak. As expected, this immovable wall simply stalked forward without a hint of exhaustion or pain: silver ponytail whipping to a slow from the gales' remnants.
"At last, our bonds shall be severed..."
Click, click...
Her weary pearls flicked to the weapon profound at her forearm. The gauntlet-blade, once pronounced and ready, was dull and trembling: the mechanism within struggling to pull the steel back or unsheath it fully. Gears molten and bruised. Useless.
Artorias's sword raised high, and the woman's eyes shrunk at the falling sight.
Clang!
A miss. The Shepherd's steely irises widened minutely, a deft broadsword having whirled in from a swift and accurate throw to knock the cleaving attack aside. It clattered earthward, and the woman siezed this chance to gain ground, and with a nonetheless defiant wince, curved a unexpected boot right into the Saviour's stomach. And back did he stumble, a grunt actually slipping from lips with eyelids snapped closed.
Velvet sprung away, with a racking discomfort overcoming her stability as the floor graced her legs once more, and the woman fell to a knee; shuddering with a pulsing pain.
"Velvet!"
The young malak was at her side in seconds, the verdant glimmer sprinkling from between his open palms once more.
Two figures raced past, and as Artorias raised his vision once more, and brought his blade to bear; in came the wolfish expression of a hungry Samurai and the twin blades he bore. Rokurou, thirsting for battle, fought with aggression dissimilar to that of the ravenous beast behind, and the weighty strikes the warrior desperately fended against already whittled away the mild guard held. But, that was to be expected.
Isolated and untouched upon the Throne's marbled flooring, was Sarid's broadsword: before the snaking dregs of wind plucked the sword from its place, and swung it right back to the half-malak's grip that jogged behind. Sarid's expression was stern, and as the weapon graced palm once again, he unwound the windwhip at his side with a new knife to lash, and unbundled it skyward. "Rokurou!" the Hunter yelled out in warning, ripping back this roping chain of the elements, and whipped the kunai forth with a gritted shout.
The dance between two swift and skilled swordsmen was tense and chaotic, yet as the name rang the sense of this daemonic warrior, he grinned; grinding the twin daggers together in a desperate parry that shifted the great Shepherd back slightly. And with the dashing manuever of their ally, the soaring kunai lit ablaze - crackling with power - as it threaded the dreadful air. Artorias's eyes narrowed at its bulbous mana threatening to burst at the blade, and twisted away.
Yet, as the Shepherd's boot pulled hard from the ground, it failed to adhere. Icy blue scouring the limb, this Legate soon found small shards of amber uprooting from below to trap the adversary still, and vulnerable.
Eizen's face was dark, but stern with certain victory. His palm, having slammed upon the stone, was webbed with a brimming, auric hue.
The lashing gust traced the burning dart that soared, alight - almost crimson - and the Shepherd failed to evade the powerful blow: as its savage steel slammed into his chest, and erupted with a deafening spire of inferno.
BWOOM!
Flame howled with its own war cry, and the stampeding blackened smog raced from the origin point like a choking ghost, clambering to - and past - the weary group with the blowing force of a boiling storm. Each one guarded themselves from the fiery cloud, Velvet immediately jerking the young boy down to cover with her own - still wounded - back. The plume flailed their loose garments in its scorching current, until its strength faded, and the ugly black fell away into a translucent grey.
And, deep within the remnants of this attack, bolstered with energy, did that white and gilded garment await. Velvet sneered, a harrowed light alive in her malignant stare, and stumbled to her feet with hands curled to the point of whitened knuckles. Yet, the body screamed out in defiance, and the daemon fell back to the healing aura of Laphicet with a grim frown; teeth slightly bared with glistening, bloodied canines.
Disbelieving eyes looked on among the veiled smog that seeped from this reverent chamber, and there he stood. A sole, blackened patch charred into the central point of his otherwise unbothered garb. The cut wound within was vermillion, however the incision did not even bleed.
"The Fourth Maxim... 'Don't let your guard down, even when victorious'...? Hmph."
Shepherd Artorias Collbrande looked on with his brows narrowed, and sword tight in his grip. Steady, and undeterred.