@sculchained said: There's that all too familiar wheeze-laugh of his and the clanging of metal against ground from somewhere in the mists, but Thresh stays well hidden, for now. The very same mists that slowly creep up on the Sentinel; reaching out with a soul-chilling caress. "All alone today, are we? How's Senna, little Sentinel?"
Despite that infuriating, wicked cackle, despite the harsh dragging of the chains against barren, stony ground (which had the same insanity-inducing effect of nails against a chalkboard,) despite even the paranoia which mounted just at the slightest indication that he was nearby, Lucian did not immediately stir. His eyes did dart about, scanning the gloom with the cold, narrowed eyes of a would-be predator, but he did not move, did not react in impulse or panic; truthfully, at this point, he was never sure whether those sounds were really there or if they were a mere fabrication of his mind. In many ways, he thought grimly, he’d grown accustomed to torturing himself more than even the chain warden did. Or perhaps that was a mere part of his torture.
And judging by the stillness of the mist, by the lack of any visible facade or the sickening glow of that lantern which so horribly and innocently swung back and forth as though it were not quite literally hell on earth, he thought a moment too soon that the auditory assault was indeed a figment of his imagination. A moment of silence and he went so far as to holster his guns, and only then did he feel that cruel touch. Lucian’s recoil was enough to have made an observer think he’d been set ablaze by that clawed hand, and it was but a second before smoldering golden eyes were locked on the demon’s skeletal face, glaring with the intensity of the sun.
‘ Thresh, ’ he growled the name in a tone far more sinister than any he’d uttered towards a mortal, even in the worst of encounters. Hell, the way he spoke to ghouls and wraiths would sound like song in comparison to how he addressed the beast before him. ‘ The hell makes you think you’ve got the damn right to even say that name? ’
His muscles tensed, prepared to spring into motion in a second, and his guns were already drawn again. He knew better than to try and fight him solo; though every fiber of his being ached to pulverize the abomination before him with righteous fury, to unleash a barrage of holy light upon the ghastly creature and be done with him forever, he knew that he’d tried that so many times before— and yet here they still were, at odds. By this point, their combat was more like a dance, each dodge another step to some inaudible tune, each hit like a sudden twirl. They both knew exactly what the other was capable of doing. They read each other like books; there was little point in trying, really, even if a lack of rationale in the face of his bitter rival would inevitably convince him otherwise once he’d gotten under his skin.
‘ I’ll give you two seconds to walk the hell away before I blow you to pieces. One for each gun, ’ he grumbled. Of course, he thought resentfully, he knew the chain warden would linger. He always did.
