The thorns of the mara waver, hesitate--recoil as if stunned, if such a thing had capacity to experience such a feeling. As it should, that vindictive part of Luocha thinks of its own volition, still heady with the cold fury of an authority refusing to be denied. Ah, if the say were entirely his own--if he were yet sure such a thing were in his power, and did not also carry with it potential repercussions too numerous to predict in this spur of the moment--Luocha would like nothing more than to purge this poison from Blade's person in its entirety. So that he would never be taken from him again--
--but, now is not yet the time to entertain such a thought, and he knows it. (It's a surprise that the desire has even arisen as fervently and suddenly as it does; something to pore over later, the implications of his own heart there...) Far more important are the results of the present, what has been affected. That Blade now falls still, as the mara does, the fire in his eyes cooling. The grip on his sword slackening. A vast improvement, over that pained struggling of earlier.
It should be enough this time.]
Good. Breathe, as you receive this. Listen to me...it is past, now.
[Heeded as he's been, the sharp command of Luocha's earlier tone softens now. Low, soothing. Reminiscent of the voice he had used that time back, on Jarilo-VI, talking Blade down through his mara in that abandoned building...a test of the past that's indeed proving quite fruitful now, applied tenfold as it is. For a few moments longer, his hand remains against the side of Blade's neck, keeping the charm pressed there; fingertips ghost in gentle contrast over the point of the man's pulse, more soothing measures, to settle him in much the same way the flickering of the healing field around them continues to.
And then, with his other hand, Luocha reaches for the hilt of Blade's sword, gently tugging it from his grasp.
A heavy thing, quite the contrast to the artisanal lightness of Luocha's own weapon of preference. Breaths slow and carefully controlled--as the fire in his side promptly makes itself known once more--Luocha pulls the blade out of his own body, in a swift and prompt motion that is perhaps a bit too well-versed...
There's only a bit more blood allowed to spill from the wound, at least, before an iridescent bloom of the Abyss flares over his frame. Mending that particular injury, at the least--though strength completely spent is another matter entirely. Hand slipping from Blade's frame at last, Luocha sinks down to his knees as he drops the sword.]
future stabbing, i see....... also pls it's okay!! u know i'll backtag into infinity 💜
He floods his lungs with air, settling with a deep inhale and exhale rhythm as if he's trying to flush out the mara from his system. The Abyss Flower, too, works its own magic, its warm and soothing sensation engulfing the entirety of the swordsman's being, leaving nothing left for the corruption to latch onto. He leans into Luocha's touch much like a dying man who's just been given his only lifeline. His fingers cling to him, unwilling to let go.
A part of him is afraid of what would happen if he did. Would he succumb to the mara and lose himself? Or will he do something much worse?
(Later on, it'll be something he has to think about: that he's more worried about hurting Luocha than his own body.)
He doesn't even notice when his sword has been taken away from his grasp, too focused on the soft glow emanating from the charm and then the sudden weight of the other man leaning against him. His hands scramble to keep Luocha steady, sinking with him to the ground as he tries to keep his steady. ]
Luocha—
[ He almost doesn't sound like himself. The concern is evident in his voice.
The likelihood of the other man being gravely injured is low considering the man's affinity with Abundance, but still... ]
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there's always room for future stabbing?? also jfc how has it been weeks since i hit this back 😭
The thorns of the mara waver, hesitate--recoil as if stunned, if such a thing had capacity to experience such a feeling. As it should, that vindictive part of Luocha thinks of its own volition, still heady with the cold fury of an authority refusing to be denied. Ah, if the say were entirely his own--if he were yet sure such a thing were in his power, and did not also carry with it potential repercussions too numerous to predict in this spur of the moment--Luocha would like nothing more than to purge this poison from Blade's person in its entirety. So that he would never be taken from him again--
--but, now is not yet the time to entertain such a thought, and he knows it. (It's a surprise that the desire has even arisen as fervently and suddenly as it does; something to pore over later, the implications of his own heart there...) Far more important are the results of the present, what has been affected. That Blade now falls still, as the mara does, the fire in his eyes cooling. The grip on his sword slackening. A vast improvement, over that pained struggling of earlier.
It should be enough this time.]
Good. Breathe, as you receive this. Listen to me...it is past, now.
[Heeded as he's been, the sharp command of Luocha's earlier tone softens now. Low, soothing. Reminiscent of the voice he had used that time back, on Jarilo-VI, talking Blade down through his mara in that abandoned building...a test of the past that's indeed proving quite fruitful now, applied tenfold as it is. For a few moments longer, his hand remains against the side of Blade's neck, keeping the charm pressed there; fingertips ghost in gentle contrast over the point of the man's pulse, more soothing measures, to settle him in much the same way the flickering of the healing field around them continues to.
And then, with his other hand, Luocha reaches for the hilt of Blade's sword, gently tugging it from his grasp.
A heavy thing, quite the contrast to the artisanal lightness of Luocha's own weapon of preference. Breaths slow and carefully controlled--as the fire in his side promptly makes itself known once more--Luocha pulls the blade out of his own body, in a swift and prompt motion that is perhaps a bit too well-versed...
There's only a bit more blood allowed to spill from the wound, at least, before an iridescent bloom of the Abyss flares over his frame. Mending that particular injury, at the least--though strength completely spent is another matter entirely. Hand slipping from Blade's frame at last, Luocha sinks down to his knees as he drops the sword.]
future stabbing, i see....... also pls it's okay!! u know i'll backtag into infinity 💜
He floods his lungs with air, settling with a deep inhale and exhale rhythm as if he's trying to flush out the mara from his system. The Abyss Flower, too, works its own magic, its warm and soothing sensation engulfing the entirety of the swordsman's being, leaving nothing left for the corruption to latch onto. He leans into Luocha's touch much like a dying man who's just been given his only lifeline. His fingers cling to him, unwilling to let go.
A part of him is afraid of what would happen if he did. Would he succumb to the mara and lose himself? Or will he do something much worse?
(Later on, it'll be something he has to think about: that he's more worried about hurting Luocha than his own body.)
He doesn't even notice when his sword has been taken away from his grasp, too focused on the soft glow emanating from the charm and then the sudden weight of the other man leaning against him. His hands scramble to keep Luocha steady, sinking with him to the ground as he tries to keep his steady. ]
Luocha—
[ He almost doesn't sound like himself. The concern is evident in his voice.
The likelihood of the other man being gravely injured is low considering the man's affinity with Abundance, but still... ]
Are you alright?
[ His apologies go unsaid. ]