It was rare when Monsters, especially from the Underworld, traveled this far out, but that's why, under Palutena's love and grace, she sends help from above… And that help was getting the ever-living crap beaten out of him.
Pit didn't expect the ambush, and even though he was vastly outnumbered, it did not deter him from protecting what appeared to be their target. Already, he made a mental note that this wasn't just a run-of-the-mill attack; there was an agenda behind this.
"I'm glad you're okay-icus! "
The Captain of Angels was able to gasp out before one of the leftover Mik's wet tongue wrapped around his ankle, the thick appendage pulling him away from the beautiful stranger.
"DON'T WORRY-ICUS, I GOT THIS!! EVERYTHING IS UNDER CON- WHOOOA!"
He is pulled into the thick of it, behind clustered shrubs and overgrown trees—invisible to the naked eye but not soundless. Sounds of monsters screeching and heroic, tired battle cries echo, and the ample foliage shakes and trembles, but all fall into silence and stillness. Heavy panting can be heard behind, ruffling the leaves and twigs as he stumbles in her view, bruised and bloody but victorious.
"Hah...ah... s-see? They didn't know-icus, what hit em'!"
He puffs out his chest in pride, acting as if nothing had happened, despite blood dripping from his nose to his soiled chiton, and then he faints.
The air shimmered, split, then sewed itself together again in less than a moment, depositing its traverser on the other side. A shape which is surreal, sublime, and nigh incomprehensible for only as long as the flicker which delivered her; the girl restored in all her unassuming, delicate glamour. If there'd been any mortal there to witness the affair, they might have thought their eyes played a trick on them, but be otherwise none-the-wiser...bar the fact that a pretty little lady had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
Thankfully, she'd been careful enough to choose a spot to cross back into the Overworld where even that wouldn't be a concern: quiet, even remote by most standards.
A decision which may prove a little annoying—thinking of how long it would take to trundle her way back to the nearest town on newly-restored legs—but all for the better, as traces of the planes beyond still clung to her edges; an aura, a scent, which might still beguile minds and cause a haze in curious eyes...
...and, perhaps, attracting far more than just that. It felt as though she'd hardly concealed her wings and started navigating the mossy glade when the birdsong dissipated, an unusual quiet ushered in. Mid-day sunlight trickling in between leaves suddenly feels less bright than before, and she feels their arrival before she sees anything: a thick, baleful, fetid pall which assaults the senses and sets the freshly formed baby hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
The feyling kept on for a few more paces, but fell still as the noxious aspect mounts to a peak. It seemed, despite all her best efforts, she was not as alone in these woods as she'd hoped.
As if on cue: the brush stirred with sound and presence; more sinister, by far, than the average predator lying in wait. Misshapen figures seeping out from the shadows, appearing to manifest from whatever blind-spot or crevice they could; uncanny in a way so much less enchanting than her own kind. Grotesque: all eyes, tongues, and bone; perhaps the occasional tentacle or spider-like limb for decoration.
There is a distance between them. Enough to get a head start if she wanted to run? Maybe. Maybe they'd done it intentionally, so they could enjoy a little chase before descending upon her. Either way, she wasn't about to make it easy on—
❝Ah!??❞ Stars above—what now?
What now? Why, the natural foil to the looming threat, of course: a flash of light from the sky, a visible spark, and the near-blinding glow of glittering wings enchanted by the Goddess, herself; all-but crashing into the space between. Golden flourishes and stark white cloth draped around an athletic (if a bit humble?) figure, and a weapon held tight in his hand. Why, he's the very image of a divine hero, isn't he? Down to the assuring smile he flicks her way, a confident look in his bright, blue eyes.
She's sure he was about to say something equally brave and inspiring, but his being yoinked away, rather unceremoniously, into the fray of battle sort of ruined the moment.
Not that he was going to let it fully stop him, it seemed.
"I'm glad you're okay-icus! "
He'd tumbled just close enough to chirp over a bloodied lip, gasping, only to be rewarded with a baffled blink of long lashes and a rather slimy pull back into the absolute beating at hand.
Some part of her thinks—as she watches (mostly listens) to the angel getting his blessed ass handed to him—that maybe she should try and help him... but she wouldn't want to hurt his pride, now would she? Not with him shouting assurances like that, (desperate for breath and between outbursts of pain), giving his all to the battle...
And, besides that: when the din fades and the thicket stills once more, darkness vanquished, and her 'hero' stumbles out from the brush looking like he just got trampled by a heard of wild beasts—
"Hah...ah... s-see? They didn't know-icus, what hit em'!"
—falling into a graceless, unconscious heap on the mossy floor; the fairy can only think one thing.
Oh. He's perfect.