[162 / 24 / ?]
Quoted By:
https://files.catbox.moe/zlhesx.mp3
You kept your arms straightened and down, trying to blend as an object. Why did the demon stop? He had noticed, something. You withheld your breath and stiffened your stance, wishing not to move an inch, imitating a panoply: a suit of armour on display.
He turned his head, his face and eyes hidden by the faceguard’s swallowing shadow. He stepped towards you, his sabatons echoing against the gleaming marble floor. Stopping again, the weight of his archaic armour shifted with a clank, thrashing back and forth.
The helm gravelled his voice. “What’s this?” he asked, his tone searing your eardrums. “What an odd place for you to be at …”
He leaned closer, placing two of his iron-clad fingers on his chin, nearly grazing you through the slits of your veiling visor.
“What a mismatched mess,” he said and shook his head. “And all those dents, and marks, shoved away in this haphazard spot. This couldn’t have been at my command.” He pondered—aloud—himself. “It figures—a mistake, by one of the keeper.”
“I wonder what was the intent, yet I’d rather not raise an mass inquiry just to find out.”
He stepped back, lowered his hand, and unclenched the rest of his fingers. With an extended palm, he began to etch patterns in the air before your eyes. Amethyst streaks clung to and traced behind fingertips, a finished rune, followed by a second, appeared as if drawn on a parchment. With a forward wave of his hand, he sent the arrayed runes one by one, each striking your cuirass with a ghostly zing, branding it as if with hot iron.
He snapped his fingers, causing one of the lavender runes to ignite with light, the fiery embers sinking into the metal. On their own, by his magic, the dents in your armour began to pound out and straighten, the cracks joined and sealed without heat, impaired rivets tightened with a life of their own, and even the scratches peeled off the steel as though they were stains.
He snapped his fingers again to flare up the second rune’s sharp edges, newly lustrous energy flowing through and melding with the armour. You stifled a gasp as your armour, and you as well, lifted off the ground. The metal pressed against your skin, yet it now felt as light as a nightgown. Flicking his fingers to lift you up and down in the air, he circled with his hand to encompass and drag your suit of armour, pulling your floating form along with his demonic powers.
“That’s better. Now, let’s find a proper place to place you at. I don’t think you’ll fit in anywhere but the barracks … ”
He began walking, heading to where you came before, his heavy cloak trailing and unfurling behind him, the embroidered metallic fringes enveloping his silhouette like a net. You strained to maintain your posture, your body tense and muscles quivering with strain.
You kept your arms straightened and down, trying to blend as an object. Why did the demon stop? He had noticed, something. You withheld your breath and stiffened your stance, wishing not to move an inch, imitating a panoply: a suit of armour on display.
He turned his head, his face and eyes hidden by the faceguard’s swallowing shadow. He stepped towards you, his sabatons echoing against the gleaming marble floor. Stopping again, the weight of his archaic armour shifted with a clank, thrashing back and forth.
The helm gravelled his voice. “What’s this?” he asked, his tone searing your eardrums. “What an odd place for you to be at …”
He leaned closer, placing two of his iron-clad fingers on his chin, nearly grazing you through the slits of your veiling visor.
“What a mismatched mess,” he said and shook his head. “And all those dents, and marks, shoved away in this haphazard spot. This couldn’t have been at my command.” He pondered—aloud—himself. “It figures—a mistake, by one of the keeper.”
“I wonder what was the intent, yet I’d rather not raise an mass inquiry just to find out.”
He stepped back, lowered his hand, and unclenched the rest of his fingers. With an extended palm, he began to etch patterns in the air before your eyes. Amethyst streaks clung to and traced behind fingertips, a finished rune, followed by a second, appeared as if drawn on a parchment. With a forward wave of his hand, he sent the arrayed runes one by one, each striking your cuirass with a ghostly zing, branding it as if with hot iron.
He snapped his fingers, causing one of the lavender runes to ignite with light, the fiery embers sinking into the metal. On their own, by his magic, the dents in your armour began to pound out and straighten, the cracks joined and sealed without heat, impaired rivets tightened with a life of their own, and even the scratches peeled off the steel as though they were stains.
He snapped his fingers again to flare up the second rune’s sharp edges, newly lustrous energy flowing through and melding with the armour. You stifled a gasp as your armour, and you as well, lifted off the ground. The metal pressed against your skin, yet it now felt as light as a nightgown. Flicking his fingers to lift you up and down in the air, he circled with his hand to encompass and drag your suit of armour, pulling your floating form along with his demonic powers.
“That’s better. Now, let’s find a proper place to place you at. I don’t think you’ll fit in anywhere but the barracks … ”
He began walking, heading to where you came before, his heavy cloak trailing and unfurling behind him, the embroidered metallic fringes enveloping his silhouette like a net. You strained to maintain your posture, your body tense and muscles quivering with strain.
