Indeed it was Crona, but something was different and they noticed. Young reaper noticed a difference in his friend. There was something more twisted about them and it was unnerving. A familiar BLACK mass clouds him. While everyone raised their weapons, Kid stepped forward with no fear. He’d PROCLAIMED on his coronation day that they would not give into fear. Now, he would be a PILLAR an example for everyone.
SOUL PERCEPTION. He could look upon Crona’s soul and see the BLACK chaotic mass it was. They are not the person they once called friend. No. Perhaps that person was still inside. DEEP inside there. Perhaps they still existed. Something else. A thought. Who… No. It couldn’t…?
The familiar taint of FEAR gripped black poisonous claws… He can;t show the unease on his face. It must remain a perfectly white mask of NOTHINGNESS before the escaped creature. He cannot see Crona as a person, not right now. Kid would need to either SLAY them now or find a way to force Asura’s soul to separate from Crona. Either way, it would hurt like hell for them both. He steeled ever nerve in his body as best he could.
❝ Are you in there…?
Crona…? Can you hear
me? I’ll save you from HIM. ❞
THERE WAS NO SAVING FOR THE ALREADY DAMNED, a cold hold on rot and corruption that will never, EVER seem to lose its grip as they seemingly forget all that ever mattered in the first place, all that kept them in place and left them to remain CONSTANT in their motives of which death itself would rebound from within its stark, inky clutches. There is no room for mock leaders. There is no room for the weak. To think a mere guardian of the school was poised next to such terrible omnipotence elicits them to cackle, to sneer in feigned amusement towards the other as he inches closer to his inevitable fate bearing no fear, yet still remaining hesitant to fully approach.
“ I don’t need your help. ”
Mandibles, quick in their serpents slick movements, burst out from the center of their back and impale all who were too cowardly to FIGHT, who’d rather SIT IN PLACE and quake in idle FEAR before tendrils go about smouldering every stretch of their insignificant presence through a visceral display of organs and bones torn out from their vessels so they may dissolve within the chasm of the VOID. It is their blood-- although drowned out with BLACK -- that splatters across a dry plane like a blank canvas, mixing with their own. The garbled screams of the ever present DWMA going about as natural as they draw breath, all while they bear the gall to maintain direct, unapologetic eye contact.
Crona isn’t here, not anymore.
“ --- And neither do they. ” The golem does not bother with hiding the agitation– they left hell at their own volition, hurled themselves at the deepest perdition and accepted the way out which lead through the numbing licks of hunger. Through their digression, however, he is granted a faint glimpse of the attack that draws toward the center of his being, having already pierced it with excruciating precision cleanly through his abdomen via spikes protruding from the base of their throat.
annaxmalina
titsay
yousharknotpass
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
