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“Ranvert, of course,” they mocked. “What do you mean, of course? It’s so easy to climb inside of here, to take control, anyone could have done it.” There was a sound, clothe against clothe. Casteval couldn’t guess at what it was until Ranvert’s eyes shined through from between Erimot’s lids, red worms that gave off such an eerie glow that Ranvert could have been a bogeyman. “Come on now, you have to admit I had you going for a while.”
Casteval crossed his arms. “Get out.”
They’re hands were on Casteval’s arms, fingers drumming against his damaged skin, tracing the rips in his jacket. “Or what? I don’t think you know how to get me out of Erimot, do you?”
It was true that he didn’t but there was no way that he was going to try what Carmilla had tried. He wasn’t going hurt xim like that. He didn’t want them to hurt at all.
“What do you want?” he asked instead, “There must be something.”
“Oh,” Ranvert cooed in Erimot’s voice, stepping forward, hot breath against Casteval’s cheek, to close for comfort, too close for anything aside from a disgusting mockery of intimacy. “I just want to have fun. You do know what fun is.”
“I’m not interested in your idea of fun.” Casteval took a step back, breaking the contact.
“Fine,” they raised their hands in surrender, no longer following Casteval in the dark. “fine. Here’s what I want. I want to be Casteval.”
“What?”
He could feel Ranvert roll his eyes. “Oh come on, read a book, why don’t you? Casteval is the biggest hero in the history of heroes! Ranvert is just a cheap thrill in a paperback that had a golden best seller sticker on it that doesn’t mean a thing! The world needs a Casteval right now and you’re working on waking him up. Even from within here that’s going to leave repercussions! All I’m saying is, when you find that dumb idiot’s corpse, you put me in there instead. Let me take that body for a test run. Let me be the hero.”
That didn’t make any sense. Casteval took another step back. “What are you talking about? That’s not how any of this works.”
“Like you would know,” there was no care in his words now, Erimot sounded like something strange, foreign, inhuman, with the amount of toxins in xir mouth. “You don’t know a thing about how this world works. You don’t know the first thing about yourself. You’re a moron, through and through. I found you, told you I was a bounty hunter and you were my mark, and you never questioned why I didn’t take you in? Why I didn’t collect that delicious reward? I’ve been playing you since the very start!”
“If the world needs Casteval, it needs Casteval. You can’t replace him.”
“I’d do a much better job than you ever would and you know it. You’ve got the sword and the armor and look at you, you barely even look like him. You have no concept of how to fight, how to win, how to play the part. I’m everything that Casteval is that you aren’t.” They went quiet for a moment and Casteval could feel the steam in his thoughts start to whistle, ready to boil over into his fists, into his blade. “If I just borrowed a tiny bit of your compassion, I would be a better Casteval than the original.”
He wanted to run him through. His hand was on the hilt. There was smoke billowing between his fingers, anchoring him to it. It was seeping into his veins. The blood in his wounds was shoved out, the skin made flush once more, healing faster than it should have. His scalp itched.
“You were never a real person, you’ll never be Casteval!” he pushed through his grit teeth. “You’re nothing but a shitty writer who can’t get over the fact that his book got more popular than he was. You wanted the fame and the glory, but you went into the wrong field for that. You’re utterly pathetic.”
He couldn’t fight Ranvert. As much as he wanted to see him bleed, there was nothing that he could do. He wouldn’t hurt Erimot. He let go of the sword. The tendrils prodded at him, trying to find their way, trying to get him to act. He didn’t want to be Casteval but if it meant that Ranvert couldn’t, he was willing to at least entertain the concept.
He started to walk.
“So what, you’re not even going to stop me?” Ranvert prodded.
Casteval put his hand on the wall, following the path to the left. He hoped it was the correct one. “I’m not going to hurt Erimot, if that’s what you’re asking. You talk about wanting to be a hero, yet you’re willing to get someone hurt for your benefit. That just makes you a coward.”
There was a bit of light ahead, he could see it. It was just a pin prick, but it was light. He didn’t listen as Ranvert called out after him. He wasn’t going to hurt xim.
He couldn’t be bothered with how much of a hypocrite that made him feel.
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Casteval stared in the direction of Erimot’s faint glow. The bottle was the only light source they had. It was the thing that had kept Casteval alive in the Darkness so far. He had used it so many times. He didn’t want to break it, not for this. It wouldn’t even work, that oily thing was still wrapped around his hands. It would shield whatever light came from it.
More of them were climbing on him. He was an easy target, squirming on the ground. He could feel them pinning him with their hands. There were so many of them. His struggling didn’t seem to matter at all. He wasn’t shaking any of them off. They were safe in their shells.
He couldn’t think of any other options.
He clenched his hands, using all of his strength to clap. He felt the glass start to give, heard a shrill peeping from the oil slick on his hands, and pushed harder. His muscles ached, every tooth mark in his arms sparking, and then there was a crunch as the bottle collapsed under the pressure.
The lavender light filtered poorly and then spread, brighter than before, burning through the parasites predator, burning through the screaming snail things, burning through the darkness. There was more light than the temple had ever carried, had reflected, and he was certain those within could see the flare of it as it traveled through the tunnel.
And then he wasn’t thinking anymore.
He didn’t need to think. He didn’t need to do anything. There was no pain, there was no stress. There were children laughing and birds cawing. He opened his eyes.
The light did not hurt him, it was sunlight, coming from the two twin suns in the sky, one gold and the other violet, spinning round each other in a way that would be mesmerizing if it wasn’t blinding. He could smell salt and seaweed. There was sea foam. There were people, some with long horns and vibrant hair, others normal people, like him, lounging and playing and swimming. People were making sandcastles. Even though the sand was a slightly too red color and there were people that didn’t look human, everything was alright.
There was a sigh beside him and he turned. One of the horned people was sitting beside him, skin pale in places and red in others. They wore a swimsuit that clung to their body but there was a long red shawl on top of that, hiding most of them. Underneath the ridge of horns were some well-wrapped bandages.
Erimot lay xir head on Casteval’s shoulder. “You ever see anything like this?”
“You look different,” Casteval admitted, “Is this what you really look like?”
“Of all the things you’re experiencing right now, you chose to comment on that?” Erimot nuzzled in closer. “Do you have any idea where we are right now?”
“I was told earlier that the world I thought of as home is actually Hell,” Casteval admitted. He wasn’t much of a cuddler. People expected things from cuddling. This was nice though. “so I guess this must be Heaven.”
“No,” Erimot’s hand fell fingers intertwining with his own. “This isn’t Heaven. This is home. This is a memory, one that was dropped into a well, so that someone could move on, get one with their death, and try to live again. This is what the world was like, the real world, and I don’t know how long ago it was.”
“I was expecting it to smell like lavender,” Casteval chuckled. He wanted to rest his head on top of Erimot’s. Even though something was wrong with xim, something that Casteval was sure he knew, he still wanted to touch xim, be close to xim. He wasn’t a romantic person, he’d never had feeling of that nature for someone, but he wanted to do nice things for Erimot, make xim smile more. Here, there was already a smile, small and content. It was a good look on xim.
“Lavender isn’t the color of the memory, nor the smell, or even anything. It’s just a color to hint at the feeling within the memory. This one, it’s almost universal. This one, it’s beautiful. It’s not one that was easily given away.”
There was wetness on Casteval’s shoulder. He turned as much as he could without disturbing Erimot, raising a hand to xir face, feeling the dampness of the gauze. “Are you alright?”
“I’m the best I’ve been in centuries,” xi admitted, pulling away, just a little bit. When Casteval turned more to see where xi was going, xi changed course, pressing their lips together.
No. No, this wasn’t what Casteval wanted and he knew Erimot well enough to know that it wasn’t what xi wanted either, not right now. Xi was still in a relationship, sort of, or at least still had feelings for Carmilla. Casteval didn’t feel romantic attraction to anyone. He shoved xim off.
The bandage was coming loose around Erimot’s eyes. There was something red underneath all that gauze. “What’s gotten into you?” he wiped at his mouth. There had been a sharpness to Erimot’s teeth.
“Well, if we were lucky, we would have said you,” Erimot chuckled and that voice wasn’t Erimot’s at all.
The light faded like closing your eyes and the pain rushed back in like a wave in a storm. Casteval groaned, still lying on his back. There were wisps of something curling around him and when he moved they fell off of him like dried leaves. He got to his feet and every bite screamed at him. He bit his lip. Pain was nothing, it was fine. He couldn’t do anything about it right now anyway.
He searched the darkness for any light and when he saw it he grabbed it, snatching Erimot into the air. “What are you? What are you doing in my friend?” he growled.
Erimot chuckled. Then they let their head drop back as they laughed. Their hands came up to Casteval’s shoulders, making the pain spike, as they cackled. “Oh this is rich, this is so so rich. You mean to tell me, darling, that you can’t even tell? I knew I was a good actor, but I never expected you to fall for it so easily!”
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Casteval was barely out of the Temple when he saw xim, staggering from light to light, far too tired to make such a journey. He rushed forward, trying to catch xim before xi fell, but xi was alright, xi was doing fine on xir own, even if xi was going slowly, cautiously, through the boneyard.
“Erimot?” Casteval gripped xir elbows, steadying xim. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be resting.”
Erimot smiled solemnly, leaning forward to rest xir forehead against Casteval’s. “I couldn’t just let you stay out here on your own, could I? I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just wait fro you to return.”
“You could have laid down, slept, rested, healed up,” Casteval groaned, pulling away. “You’re not going to get any better out here.”
“Your eyes!” Erimot pulled back, looking over Casteval’s face. Xir hand traced the bones in Casteval’s face gently, as if they were lovers or something equally as intimate. “Something happened, didn’t it? What happened?”
Casteval raised a hand and rubbed at his right eye. Nothing felt any different. “What do you mean?”
“Your eyes were gray, but now, that one’s brown!” xi examined. “You’re hair, as well, it’s getting darker.”
Casteval stared at xim. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible. He pulled his hair free of the elastic and stretched it out before him. It wasn’t all getting darker, but there were obvious streaks in it, deep and dark and thick. It looked like a bad dye job, but he had never thought to do that. It was happening without his permission.
“What does this mean?” he asked, unable to hide the panic that was rising in his throat.
Erimot thought for a moment and then, oddly enough, leaned in and sniffed. “Hmm… you smell different too. You’re starting to smell more like Casteval, instead of yourself. This is just a theory but, perhaps, being here, doing all this, it’s making you more like him?”
Casteval looked down at himself. Even the sword looked more at peace at his side, the shadows spiraling around his thigh. “I’m not. I don’t want to be.”
Erimot put a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Shh. I know.”
“What can I do about it?”
“I don’t know. We’ll just have to hurry.”
Casteval wrapped his arm around Erimot’s waist and together they headed away from the Temple. Geinif hadn’t been willing to give Casteval a direction, but Palisse had. He didn’t know which of the holes was exactly the right one but when they reached it he would be able to guess. They all had symbols near them. He would be able to recognize it.
“Have you ever been to the Forest of Purpose?” he asked, “That’s where Casteval is, supposedly.”
Erimot nodded, sullen, “Only once, and for a brief moment in time. There were so many there, they all were looking for a reason to keep going. I was a target there.”
Casteval didn’t press. He knew how painful it was for xim to be possessed. He couldn’t imagine how terrible it must have been to be in a location where there were so many, combating for a body, for a reason to keep going. That was what the forest was for, different branches, different paths, different choices. Not everyone got what they wanted. It was one of the last places before being reincarnated or reborn.
Of course that was where Casteval would be. He knew his purpose but, with so many variations, knowing the end point didn’t mean that he knew the path. There was way that would have had to even guess at what he would be. Casteval hadn’t known, but he wasn’t the true Casteval. He just had to hope they’d follow the right trail.
“Hello? Hello?” came a myriad of voices, stemming from the holes. Casteval could hear them slithering around in there. “It got so bright all of a sudden, I was blinded. Can you help me?” Not all of the voices said the same thing, some were quieter than others, some couldn’t form the words as well as others. Erimot came closer, tightening an arm around Casteval’s shoulders.
“What is that?”
Casteval released Erimot’s waist, pulling out the bottle from his pack once more. “Don’t listen to them, they just want to eat those who go into the dark.”
“Look at you, becoming a regular death walker. You know this place pretty well, don’t you?”
That didn’t sound like Erimot. Casteval didn’t know what a death walker was, but that wasn’t a sentence structure that Erimot would use. Xir hand was rubbing against his chest, as well, fingers making lazy circles through the leather of his jacket. Casteval swallowed.
“How did you know where to find me, anyway?” he asked, looking for the symbol that Palisse had described.
“Ranvert,” Erimot shrugged, “the guy’s deplorable, it made me terribly uncomfortable to be in the same room as him, but he knew how to travel from one stage to the next without going through the traditional paths, and he could sniff you out. He led me straight to you.”
An arrow with three heads, carved into the stone wall. It was almost impossible to see with the embossing of snail shells, but he found it eventually. That would be the right path. He held the light out in front of him.
“And where is Ranvert now?”
The creatures in the dark screamed and skittered down into the tunnel, wanting to be away form the light. Casteval stepped inside, Erimot coming with. Some of the red lines in Erimot’s skin glowed pleasantly, intermingling the lavender light.
“Who knows?” Erimot admitted, “He told me where to go because he couldn’t babysit me any longer, that’s what he said. Something about another bounty? He was sniffing a lot. I’m guessing he went after a new target.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Casteval grumbled. “He wanted a reward from me, he never said what it was. He wouldn’t just leave without it.”
Erimot shrugged. He could feel it, even before seeing it. He could also see the snail things, trying to get away, burrowing into smaller holes in the walls. They quick, considering their shape, and Casteval realized that they didn’t have two humanoid arms but four and they scurried like spiders, walking on their hands instead of dragging their bodies around. They didn’t even leave slime trails.
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The world was crooked, when Casteval stepped into it, the entire horizon an obviously cascading fall, hanging left. He could feel the gravity pull at him, his hair and his clothes and his weight going in the way that it desired. There were other things, leaves, branches, papers, man made objects, that cascaded as if dancing on a wind that didn’t exist, falling off of the world whenever it ended.
The sky was a deep blood red, broken up by black clouds that ran as if made with a brush too heavy with water, letting rivulets of paint make their own patterns towards the edge. The grass was a dark chocolate brown, tall and itching as it slide up Casteval’s pant legs, still in the lack of breeze. There was no fog, there was no water, there was nothing of that dead gray world that Casteval had just left. It smelled of gunpowder and earth and in the distance, not too far but enough that Casteval knew it would be hours before he reached it, there was a city, entirely made up of white ivory.
Casteval turned, trying to see if there was an alternate route. He was there for a sword and, he had to assume, it was a very specific sword, the one in his hand wouldn’t do. Behind him, like graves were the red doors. Some of them stood like the one he’d come through, still wet with his blood, but most had fallen over and were half buried, using the earth as their frames. Casteval wondered if any of them would lead to a million other versions of this hallucination, or if they were as dead as they seemed, only leading to the earth beneath them.
Casteval made a fist, feeling the blood ooze through his fingers. He’d sliced through his palm, a mistake he was sure, as he pain had flared substantially. Smearing it against the door hadn’t felt much better, and he could feel the skin push apart as he’d done in. Now it was a burning flare in his skin and his nails digging into it made that flare explode into a thousand searing needles, but it was still bleeding and he had to put pressure on it. He didn’t have anything else.
He started his walk, heading towards the city.
Each step felt like ten, both in exhausting him and getting him closer to his goal. His feet hurt, his shoes made for looks and sitting at a desk all day, not for long treks through strange worlds of his own subconscious. He was going to spend a lot of time sitting after this and a lot of time at the drug test place. He never wanted this to happen again.
It didn’t take long before he could see other footprints, the grass flattened into a path or dead and fallen out to reveal the steps. There were all kinds, animal, person, and other, but they were all heading towards the city. They all had to have a good reason to go there and not just because it was the only city in sight. There had to be other cities, other doors, other areas to this place.
That gray place had been between the living and the dead, the dragon had said. Casteval wondered what this place was. It wasn’t Hell, he was sure of that, as it wasn’t all that unpleasant, but it wasn’t a good place to be either.
The ivory towers didn’t look like they were built as much as carved into buildings, a large chunk of it that had been gauged into to make the appearance of a multitude of smaller locations. The windows were glassless, just gaping holes in the sides, and, as far as Casteval could see, there were only a few still there. He couldn’t tell if they were human or not, but he was sure he saw at least one large monstrous cat strolling from room to room.
The grass was gone, all of it stomped out. There were still some marks of individuals, Casteval’s among them, but most of the ground was smooth from so many feet. The city wasn’t filled enough for this many feet. Something had happened, either to the people or what had drawn them here, for it to be so barren.
There was an archway, that let Casteval through and into the city proper, though it became immediately clear that the city worked as a labyrinth, once through the arch and past the first ring of buildings, there was another ring and another after that and there was no way to know without getting terribly lost how many rings there were, how many turns. Casteval didn’t even know where he was going.
He looked around, peering through buildings, looking for people who looked like people. He called out to the man who’s head was on upside down, with purple bruised skin and eyes on his chin but was not heard. He called out to the woman with what looked like wings but were actually a mass of arms and eyes that looked like iron but she ignored him. He called out to the children that were little more than gray shapes, transparent and squeaking. They, at least, stopped and stared at Casteval, though they did not answer.
“They’ve lost much and have much to lose still,” a voice explained, calm and warm, even if a bit weak. “You have lost nothing yet, you must be new.”
Casteval looked for the owner of the voice, finding them leaning against the side of one of the buildings, obscured by shadow. Casteval approached them, but stayed in the light, even though he’d seen no sun. He didn’t trust things that hid in the shadows, not here.
“I am. Who are you?” he tried to see some of their features. It was too dark to see, but they looked to be even more exhausted than Casteval felt, breast heaving.
“Sorry, sorry,” the figure pulled into the shadows further, “I must have scared you with that whole talking without introduction, without letting you know I’m here. My name is Eramot, what’s yours?”
“Cas-“ he cut himself off. He didn’t want to reveal himself as Casteval. He didn’t want to go through the whole thing of convincing someone he wasn’t that great hero. In the real world Casteval was a beacon of light, a role model, as glorious as he could possibly be without ascending to sainthood. Here though, more people seemed to fear the name than cherish it. Eramot already seemed frightened enough.
“A pleasure to meet you, Cas,” Eramot nodded. They shuddered and leaned forward, extending a blackened hand, filled with pockmarks and ending in terrible claws. Jewelry hung off of their fingers and wrist like dew in a fell morning.
Casteval took at and found it clammy shaking, and when they shook it was weak. “Are you alright?”
The hand snaked back into the shadows, to go to Erimot’s mouth, “I should think not,” they sighed, “I’m being poisoned.”
Casteval reached out, grabbing for Erimot’s biceps, forgetting about the blood on his hand, tossing his sword to the ivory floor. They flinched, jumping away, but Casteval’s hands were feather light, there to steady in case of falling, there to show solidarity. “Poisoned? What should I do? Where can I get you help?”
Erimot chuckled sadly, shaking their head, shaking in his hands. “The poison is to help, though it feels as wretched as you would suspect. I’m sorry to worry you. I spoke to help you, not to call your attention to my own problems.”
Casteval was glad of that, though he thought that the poison was a much more pertinent issue. If they thought being poisoned was to help them, there must have been something even worse going on. Casteval’s own problems could wait.
“I’m looking for a sword but that’s nothing, that can wait,” he pressed, “Who’s poisoning you? How is it supposed to help?”
Erimot slid down the wall into a sitting position, still hidden by shadow. They reached out and took the sword that he had dropped, looking over it with only slight interest. “I am going to guess that you’re looking for a specific sword, not this one. I was poisoned by one who loves me and I, in turn, love and loathe in equal measure. There is something inside of me that must be killed, and it must be done so slowly enough that it does not catch on. That is why I am poisoned.”
Casteval joined them in the shadow, sitting across from them, suddenly blind from the change in light. “That’s not right, even if it’s to help you, there must be a way that doesn’t hurt you too.” He wanted to reach out, to touch this person, to give some comfort. He was frightened of them, their claws had looked so terribly sharp, but that was nothing compared to how hut they were, how much Casteval instinctually needed to help.
“Methods for other things have been far worse,” they shrugged, voice catching. “Poison also lets me stay in control.”
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Eventually the tunnel split into three paths and they stopped, examining it for a moment. On the floor was a drawing of an arrow, in what looked like blood. It also sprang into three directions, but the one going straight ahead had three heads on it. That was the right path, Casteval was certain.
“Did you get the armor?” Erimot asked.
“Yeah,” Casteval smirked, “those things in the dark were wearing it.”
“Why aren’t you wearing it?”
Casteval thought on that. He hadn’t even tried to put it on. The dragon had said it would fit him if he wanted it to, if he tried hard enough. He supposed that it was Casteval that made him hesitate. How much could he look like the hero without becoming him? He already had the sword and now he was aware that his body was changing without his knowledge. The armor would make his body look like Casteval’s. That was a bit too much, in his opinion.
There was a skittering, a different kind of skittering than what the snail things produced as the hid in the holes.
“I would suggest you put the armor on now,” Erimot said, trying to keep xir voice steady, though there was a tremor in it that could not be ignored.
“What’s coming?” Casteval asked.
“You mentioned parasites. Parasites don’t live alone. There’s always something around that will eat them.”
”Femerall?” Casteval called out. He didn’t think that Femerall was the one sneaking around in here, but he wouldn’t be terribly surprised. The creature had been far kinder than they’d ever shown in the legends, but they had still tried to eat Casteval. If anyone knew what they were dealing with though, it was them.
The skittering stopped and that was much much worse. If it wasn’t moving, there was a reason. Casteval lifted the light, trying to see what was coming for them.
It flickered like a shadow against a flame, its own bio-luminescence matching the color and quality of the bottle in spots, making it look like oil reflecting light, pulled up on the ceiling. It didn’t look like anything, really, just a liquid, but it wasn’t dripping down and it was moving with them.
Casteval pushed forward, throwing Erimot ahead of him. “Go!” he called out. Erimot stumbled and fell, unable to keep xir footing here. Xir eyes were up, on that dark shape, even behind the bandages. Casteval tired to think. He couldn’t remember how blind Erimot was before, when they were in the Falling Plane or the Tower. Xi must have always been able to see through the gauze.
The shape started to peel, like a bandage on skin, screeching like a bat, just stretched out, as it did. The creak of a door over-amplified and played back on itself. Casteval started to run. The thing was fast though and it scurried on the ceiling, copying and doubling the light all the while. It chased them until another split in the path made them pause, having to read the signs underfoot. That was when it decided to drop.
It landed on the bottle, on Casteval’s hands, and as it’s light was cloaked it’s own light shut down, leaving them in complete darkness. The only light came from Erimot, but it was so faint and red that it was hardly there. If red light was safe for film, it must not have done as much against the snails.
They had been calling, on and off, from the holes in the walls. Now they were calling out louder, pushier, all of them demanding help, demanding aid. Casteval struggled, trying to pull the oily thing off of the bottle. It held onto it, onto Casteval’s hands, with a tight desire, stronger than it seemed. It had thousands of tiny feet, like a starfish, clinging to him.
“Erimot!” he gritted out.
“I’m here!” Erimot replied and xi were, but Casteval needed more than that. They needed a plan.
It was too late for one of those though, as one of the snails landed on Casteval, squirming around his arm. It felt cold against him, as if it’s body was full of ice water. It’s shell was the warmest part of it. He tried to wrench one of his hands free but the oil was holding tight. It’s idea wasn’t just to make it dark, but to make it so they couldn’t have light at all, and then let the parasites swarm. Only them would it strike and kill as any of them as it could. It was intelligent then, for stratagems. That was no a comforting thought.
Casteval shrieked as the one on his arm bit in, as more of them clung to his shoes, slowing him in their ascent. One of them was as tall as his knee and that one was climbing up his back, sinking its teeth deep into his shoulder.
He writhed, trying to shake them off, turning and throwing himself against the wall, pinning them, making them squeal. Some of them let go, falling to the floor, others held on tighter, bit harder, and he could feel his blood soaking through his shirt, deep underneath his leather jacket. They must have been biting through the leather then, any hopes he had of it defending him dashed away.
“Break it!” he heard and he glanced at the light, saw it fighting back as much as he was. Saw Erimot fighting back like he was. They were trying to eat xim too. He didn’t know what Erimot meant though. He didn’t dare ask. He could just imagine one of those things trying to crawl into his mouth.
Pain erupted in the back of his calf and his mouth was open anyway as he screamed in the surprising burn of pain and the shock of the world spinning, him falling on his back. He was slick with blood.
I'm going to go with Erimot since I haven't played around with them in a while. Erimot gets possessed very easily, to the point that they are named after it: The Living Vessel. They are mostly possessed by minor and younger gods and believe that they're dependant on their girlfriend, The God Eater.
Erimot reached out and took the sword that Casteval had so callously dropped, looking it over with a lack of interest. “You came here for something specific, not for me. It would be ideal if you were to keep your mind on the task at hand.”
“Yeah, I’m looking for a sword,” Casteval took it from them, looked at it for a moment and, with no where to store it, tossed it to the side once more. “Not this sword, obviously, but I don’t care about that right now. What about you?”
