zambo angle au underneath
Objectively, it was useless. Useful in only a tacky decoration is for an equally grating studio apartment.
It wasn't Evbo, with his blood paid stone sword, already familiar and acquainted with his violence, no, it was better. Pure, in a way.
It didn't seem to recognize the mechanisms behind violence; not the hitboxes, the timing, not even the strike— when she had aimed her trident towards it, her eyes narrowed at its lack of realization. The fear after she hit her mark, gouging its abdomen, made up it for it however. It didn't seem to know much of anything, if she had to be honest. She'd been the one to teach it how to respawn. Its only expertise seemed to just be trivial; where was parkour to be useful in PVP?
She had called it pure, when the two of them had first met, cell door slightly opened, just enough for the angel to be shoved and trapped inside. She thinks she'd caught a hint of that diamond sword of his, before Evbo had ran away. But her acessment of it was too hasty, too rushed. Innocent, yes, unknowledgeable, yes, almost worriedly so if she cared, but pure?
It was tainted, stained by the time it pushed itself into that cell, her apartment. Parkour Battles, assassinations, duels: it told her of its home, and how crude she found that civilization of its, with the gaps and missing pieces, but she could not help her fascination either. Immortality, it told her, was possible, through golden beady green eyed totems, nearly so through something as simple as diamond boots. Godhood was possible, through netherite boots and carrying if the former divine's well— it was God of that civilization, and perhaps, if only she tried, bold enough to ask, then she could be too.
But she shouldn't be too eager now.
