@duocauda liked for a starter.
Their claws ran over the long gashes along the ruby scales. They spread their bare palms over the wounds, hands emanating a soft golden glow around the blood-stained areas. It was impossible to tell where the scales stopped and the blood started, for anyone unfamiliar with the sight. The angel looked over the cuts with a cold, detached stare, although their hands communicated caring and gentleness with their caresses. Their hooked hooves clung to the See Goddess’ scales as they rested their bare and bruised skin against her, their own blood mixing with hers. They were but a speck on the flank of the massive creature, and yet they were slowly retracing and closing her wounds which they themselves had opened.
They paused, taking a heavy breath as they looked the Leviathan over. For a moment, something flickered in their eyes-- something akin to sadness, but almost too tired to fully blossom into that. They were silent for some time, before their lips finally parted.
“This will be the last time for a while,” they said, “I promise. Until the next battle has been won, you will have time to rest.”
The younger Lord swallowed dryly, looking her over with labored breaths. They inhaled deeply, then let it out, and resumed their healing ritual. Their hands quivered every so often from the energy they expended, both from the previous battle training and now from healing such a massive creature.
But this was not the first time, and by far would not be the last. They would use the last of their strength to close the wounds they caused, then inevitably crash on top of Leviamon. In the best cases, all her wounds would be properly closed before Lucemon fell unconscious. If not, it would not be until Lilith came around to pick up the pieces that Leviamon would be tended to fully, as Lucemon would not wake up for hours afterwards, leaving any remaining wounds open to bleed and fester. More than once, the motherly demon found the two unconscious together after these Sovereign-forsaken “training sessions” Lucemon insisted on carrying out. Lilithmon hated it, all of it. And Lucemon knew that. But this? This was too important. In his eyes, weakness was loss. They could not afford to lose any more. That is what he told Leviamon in-between the soft nothings he muttered to her to give some semblance of comfort.
“My girl,” he slurred, words lose and unfocused, his consciousness already showing signs of being compromised, “My precious girl... You do me proud. Always proud.”
