tw: violence + body horror !
a misstep. there’s a splash of red and an echoing shriek that shakes the earth as the crimson silhouette falls to his knees, clutching fresh gash on the side of a lithe waist. throat dry and gloved fingers shaking, the pain unbearable compared to shrapnel lodging itself into muscle and bone. eyes wild like a predator staring at its prey as he looks up at the cause of such desecration, like staring into the sun for far too long. she’s blinding ! not heavenly so, oh no. there’s flames licking the ends of his dark strands, threatening to swallow him whole lest he yield. but even without THE DEVIL’S HANDSHAKE to coerce his being he curls his fingers into a fist and presses his knuckles against earth, forcing weight upon his arm as he grits his teeth and dare to stand between the inferno. feet stumbling and double vision all at once as nausea nearly overtakes his conscience.
LUCIFER. LILITH. they didn’t matter now ; they were too far to reach. but he? far too close as he takes his first step and catches himself on all fours. stand you fool! far too close as he shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to rise. the second step excruciating as the hand that supported prior locks into place once more on his injured side and he stumbles. far too close was he to Charlie Magne as he looks up at her baring her soul out for all of the Pentagram to see as she cries tears of flames and unleashes armageddon. what a tragedy. to think that he’d seen her a few days prior singing lullabies of love and its practices to her moth friend. to think that the girl that the devil had asked him to watch over could be so naive and be so deadly that her raw power without guidance can bring about the apocalypse. and all because a certain butterfly decided to flutter away.
what was that again about chaos theory? ‘something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world.’ how ironic. wherever that damn grey moth had flown off to by her captors could wait. HELL needed to be in one piece if they were ever going to find that irritating insect.
but whatever had compelled the princess in her rampage to lead them to the edges of the Pentagram and before the pits is beyond him. perhaps the thought is self sacrifice like the tragic tale of Romeo + Juliet. absurd but would he be surprised if that reasoning were the case? no. as he opens his mouth to coerce the heir to cease her destruction he quickly takes note and watch as the flames simmer down into nothing. relief washing over his form despite the exhaustion and frustration, very pleased at the choice to yield. but then the emptiness within his chest causes a dead muscle to skip a beat as blonde locks pass over his vision and fall straight into the abyss below the edge of the cliff. weightless. unconscious. fuck.
❛ CHARLOTTE ! ❜ the name leaves his lips in a panic, the first he’s had in centuries. the pain is gone as his feet kick off dust and he’s throwing himself off the edge of the cliff. a red hand shoots out, claws grazing finger tips and catching the full length of a pink sleeve. he attempts to pull her close but they’re too close to the cliff wall. before he loses sight of her pale complexion he throws out his shadows to cushion her fall and his body hits a protruding rock that knocks the adrenaline out of him and twists his arm in an angle, pain flooding back into his body as he cries out in agony.
when they finally reach the bottom Alastor is forced to right his mangled body in a series of cracks, pops and torturous wails and shrieks. if there were tears, Charlie would never witness them for when the pain finally subsided and he’s once again left tending to the wound that his pupil gave him, the Radio Demon just closed his eyes and went to rest. compared to the events of the Trench Warfare back in World War I, his descent into the Nine Circle’s caverns had been more merciful than the hell he experienced in the mortal realm.
