It all started going downhill as soon as they stepped foot in Luofu's territory. Not only did Blade's memories start going haywire, but he kept quiet about it and didn't say anything until the mara's whispers grew louder. By that point, the two of them were already ambushed by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and soon found themselves in the thick of battle. It should have been an easy thing to win— with Blade's prowess with the sword and Luocha's healing abilities, the two of them should have swept this up cleanly.
But Blade is distracted, careless. He sees and hears things that aren't really there, ghosts from a past that was long gone and dead. It's a miracle he hasn't lost his mind just yet, but when the spear is driven right through him, the sight of blood appears to make things even worse. His vision blacks out. His body crumbles to the floor, forgotten by those who killed him in the first place. It's not long before they're hassling Luocha, demanding they're given what they seek.
That turns out to be their first mistake.
When Blade rises, he is deathly silent. There's hardly any trace of himself left in his eyes, a vibrant blood red that betrays the monster that has finally been unleashed. He cuts down the men closest to him, killing them in one fell swoop. Once the others realize what's going on, it's too little too late: Blade murders them all too. This repeats until the only ones left standing are those who were wise enough to run away and the one who brought him here in the first place.
He's now focused on Luocha, but he doesn't say anything. His whole self is covered in blood from head to toe; most of it doesn't even belong to him. The spear's blade is still in his chest, but when he moves to remove that, it's almost mechanical. Automatic. The wound starts to heal itself just like it always does when someone is cursed by Abundance.
[It's a massacre, in the plainest sense of the word. ...Not unfamiliar on an objective level, by any means; Luocha had grown long accustomed to the concept of violence in the bursts of occasion where it might occur even before he first set out to travel as a merchant, and nowadays necessary combat is ever a close shadow in this line of work. Then there's Blade's brand of violence in itself, something that had also grown familiar to work alongside of late--that unique combination of technique and careless aggression which could truly only be taken on by a man immune to any permanence of injury. He's efficient and without hesitation, when death must be delivered to the enemy...and now is no exception.
...Especially not now, it seems...
The rising of a corpse is an incredibly effective distraction, at the least; Luocha is summarily unhanded and left where he kneels on the ground, while his would-be captors become thoroughly preoccupied with scrambling for their lives. The gold-black edge of Blade's namesake sings in the air; there is screaming, and flesh rent asunder, and a great deal of blood. Luocha retrieves his rapier carefully, but with little haste. After all, he can tell--and it is already so--that by the time he slowly draws back up to his feet...
Their surroundings are already littered with corpses--that will not be rising, ever again. ...But.
For a long moment Luocha is very still, though his glance alights quite intently upon the features of the last standing man across the way. ...This is a face he knows well by now, of course. The expressions it often makes...and the eye contact it often makes, or declines to. The eyes that look back now, however...
Ah, to say nothing if how very deafening this silence is, too.
...It's a sinking sort of feeling, that accompanies a certain conclusion already being drawn. But even despite that--even despite better judgment--(even despite himself)--the blade of the rapier remains at Luocha's side, pointed downward. While his left hand is what he slowly extends, instead, the charm wrapped around his wrist loosed from his sleeve.]
Blade. ...Come here.
[This is probably a mistake. He is well aware.]
ofc, anytime 💜💜💜 more minor cw 'cause blade, dying, and violence go hand-in-hand
[ The smell of blood is thick in the air, all metallic and dangerous. It continues to drip down from the tip of his own sword, pooling at a spot near his feet. The whole sight almost feels like a setup for something more sinister, but there's a split-second where something fragile flashes through those red eyes: a flicker of someone lost until it's buried underneath the noise of mara.
He can't hear Luocha, not anymore. Seeing the charm dangling from the man's wrist should have brought him comfort, and yet— what happens is that it lures him in like a moth to flame. A moth that doused itself in gasoline, ready to set itself on fire. If only it would be easy to snuff out his own life too, but that's not a blessing he'll ever be granted in this lifetime.
Still, he walks towards the other. One step forward, followed by another, lifeless and robotic. The silence would have been deafening if it weren't for his own footsteps, but even that doesn't last forever. All it takes is another second to pass by. He raises his sword, gets into the proper position; a stance beaten into his body until he remembers it even from the grave.
He gives no warning.
And then he charges at Luocha, sword raised until he brings it down in a sweep, aiming to cut across the chest. To get rid of that arm that's trying to offer him peace disguised under the cloak of Abundance.
The only thing that shows he might have been holding himself back is how much slower this attack is compared to how it should be. Perhaps he's still trying to win against the discordance.
Perhaps he might not be completely lost. ]
just lil blade things.....our man do be goin thru it always rip
[Still no response...still not so much as a sound made. Yet there's at least plenty of information to glean all the same, from every other cue practically dripping from Blade's body alongside the actual blood. Gone are the familiar tics, the reserved cadence of his pace, in the dragging mechanical deliberation of the approach he makes now--in the absence of expression upon his face--in the blank purpose with which he readies his sword. ...But Luocha did see it, that flicker in a breath of a moment. Of someone drowning, behind the crimson in his eyes...
Someone that could yet be pulled free. If only he could be reached--
Dragging steps quicken, staccato into a charge. The sword lashes out. But Luocha doesn't draw back so much as a pace, no, because it is a slower attack--far slower than Blade would ever normally permit, when truly set upon killing intent--another small evident crack, in the mara's tightening steel grasp. (Is Blade still trying to fight it, even now? Railing against the prison of his own immortal body, overtaken by the mindless will of another?) Something tightens very strangely in Luocha's chest, in noting this, entirely divorced of the lethal danger of the sword sweeping in. ...But there's no time to review such a matter right now.
The delay is taken full advantage of; Luocha's own sword arm whips up to meet Blade's, the slender line of his rapier flashing up in a narrow parry to bat the attack aside, open up his opponent to a counter. Muscle memory, but still no easy feat; even slowed, there's still no cushioning the vicious strength of even this attempted blow, most of the impact shed sidelong but the rest still a reverberating ache through Luocha's forearm, powered through with set teeth. Act fast. This could be finished now, a coolly detached part of him says, as his glance alights upon the split-second vulnerabilities before him. The gaps in the ribcage, the tender hollow of the throat, both unarmored. Impale the heart, pierce the windpipe--succinct deaths. Kill him if the mara ever gets out of control, Blade had told him once.
Though Luocha is no longer sure if death would actually remedy this--not when Blade had just emerged from death in this state. .......And there's that other notion too, stubborn, that doesn't...want to. Snuffing Blade's life by his own hand--the idea sits surprisingly repulsive, all objective judgment aside. After all the time they've been working together. (After other feelings that have started occurring, of late.) Besides. Had they not tested this together, once before? If he could invoke his own healing here...
But he'll have to get close.
--So that's what Luocha does, in the end, against better sense. A risk taken, when he declines to drive the point of his rapier into Blade's body after all, and instead drops it once more to close the remaining distance between them instead. One step, two--reach out with his left hand, and the charm that still glints--to grab at Blade's arm, hold him still.]
Blade, listen--receive-- [--But can he invoke the divinity of the Abyss quickly enough? Even as its symbol at his wrist flares, with the Abundance's healing power...]
he's trying his best.. also feel free to decide if blade does end up stabbing him or failing!!!
[ He'd once told Luocha to not hesitate when the opportunity arises. That it's better to kill him off when he loses himself to the mara, because who knows what would happen if he's left unchecked? The opportunity comes and goes, but the opposite is what Luocha ends up doing: he engages him. He gets close. He dodges his attack, but rather than delivering the final blow, he drops his sword and destroys what little distance they had left between them.
Blade hesitates once again, as though he realizes what's happening. Fighting against the discordant noise of mara is difficult enough to do once, but doing it twice is almost impossible— and yet he does it again, in favour of giving the other man the opening he needs. He grits his teeth. His eyes flash wildly with the madness that lurks deep within. But the warm glow of the Abyss is familiar. It's salvation, he knows that. Realizes that it's exactly what he needs.
But the mara barely listens to him.
It pushes forward evermore, forcing his hand to drive his sword towards flesh. This close, it's difficult to get the momentum he needs to plunge it deeper against a solid frame, and even then, there's the added struggle of the part of him that remains lucid holding his own strength back. The blade aims to graze along the other's side, a haphazard attempt to stab the other to get rid of every obstacle that remains standing.
It's difficult to tell if Blade even realizes what's happening. If he remains lucid enough to understand what would happen if Luocha doesn't move away from him—
He wants to tell him to run. To leave him here until the mara dissipates once its hunger for blood has been satiated. But he also knows that it's the last thing the other man will do.
After everything they've been through together, it's not surprising that he hasn't left. But that's why he tries, and tries, and tries to prevent any fatal blows. ]
slaps top of luocha's head, this guy can fit so many stabbings tbqh (It's Fine he can heal!! ✨)
[It would be kinder, perhaps, to take the more sensible course of action. If not to kill Blade outright, then to at least flee when the chance was provided--earlier on, and even now, the painful flickers of hesitation that are clearly taking every ounce of Blade's stolen lucid efforts. It's not as if Luocha doesn't notice them as they happen. That he doesn't appreciate it, the immense willpower it's doubtlessly taking. When all this is said and done, he will have to apologize to the man, for the selfish route he's decided to take in insisting upon staying close.
Indeed, were it not for Blade's agonizing attempts at restraint, that sword would have likely dealt a far more grievous injury. ...But it still--
--does plunge into Luocha's side, even if it lands miraculously shy of any vital organs. The burst of pain accompanying it is immediate, nearly wrenching out a cry that Luocha just barely bites back with gritted teeth, frame shuddering as crimson promptly blossoms through clothing. --But. It's nothing new, now is it? Hardly even something major. Painful, yes, but not the worst he has known. (Nothing like the first time, under the watch of white irises, when the contract was still freshly new and he hadn't yet numbed to the thorns that would accompany it--) The hand upon Blade's shoulder doesn't loosen...tightens, even, in tandem with the other hand that now grabs at the wrist holding that sword. Not even to pull it out--can't, not yet, or risk bleeding out--but to instead drag Blade closer. Pulling their bodies near flush together, a strange embrace. The purpose is two-fold: to rob the mara of any immediate chance to properly extend Blade's limbs for another attack, and also...to bring the Abyss properly and truly to them. To envelope them both...
For this close, and in a state this heightened within Blade, Luocha can properly feel the presence of the mara for the first time. A far cry from that stirring thorny prickle in that abandoned cabin back in Jarilo-VI--no, here and now it's fully unfurled, blazes with a violently demanding hunger clawing at the body hosting it. ...It's hard to believe, but it's unmistakable, the tones of the Abundance singing through it...yet another facet, of that ravenous power. Far beyond any typical instance of mara among the long-lived Xianzhou for a fact. The potency is...practically on par with that of an Emanator--and in a vacuum that would be incredibly fascinating. But here, and now, as it tears through Blade despite his most fervent efforts...Luocha cannot help but look upon it with a vehement contempt.
How dare it try to bleed him?
As if they don't both drink from the same poisonous well. As if it has a say. As if he'll be refused. No--so long as he must carry this power--his own resolve will ever remain the same. To use it to its fullest extent, for worthwhile means. And right now, what he wants, is to speak to Blade.
How dare it try to take that away from him?]
...Quiet. Quiet. You will listen to me. [No, Blade hasn't said a word. This isn't addressed to him. There is perhaps something rather distinctly possessive about the way Luocha's hand drags from the line of Blade's shoulder to his collar, to nearly cup at his cheek in the way it curves over the side of his neck--to hold him in place, and more importantly, press the flickering rosary wrapped about his wrist practically against his pulse. The way his tone drops is uncharacteristic, even compared to past occasions of battle, a shift in key from requesting to commanding; pairing alongside it is the intensity upon his features, pain promptly forgotten, and something aflame in pale green eyes as they lock with the crimson madness in Blade's.] Stand down. Repent.
[Overpowering even the blood and death that clings to Blade's frame is the heady scent of white irises; all about their immediate vicinity, the phantom flickerings of the flowers and fluttering petals that signify Luocha's healing field spring to life, that distant sound of faint windchimes accompanying. The mending sensation accompanying it has probably always felt something like a warm breeze passing over, but this time there is a renewed fervency and intensity here. Something that means to wash over the mara, overtake it, drown it. Will it struggle?]
LSDMFOSDFLS pls......... he can't keep getting stabbed like this
[ Blade's eyes widen as he stared in shock at the sword buried in Luocha's side. The fabric of Luocha's pristine white clothes is now marred by a rapidly spreading splotch of crimson, a grotesque tableau of violence that seemed surreal in its brutality. Time itself seemed to slow down as Blade grapples with the horrifying truth of what had just transpired. What had he done? What had the mara compelled him to do?
The world around him blurrs as a disorienting wave of nausea washes over him. He feels his grip on reality slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand vanishing between his clenched fists. The anguish wells up inside him, a sickening combination of self-loathing, guilt, and a searing dread that threatens to consume him whole. The mara has taken control of his actions, forced him into this situation. It's maddening, torturous even, to be a prisoner in his own body, a spectator to his own horrific actions.
His gaze shifts from the weapon lodged in Luocha to the man himself. His eyes, usually devoid of any and all emotion, now reflect a mix of disbelief and self-recrimination. He can't bear to look at the blood staining the other man's clothes, a stark contrast to the pale purity of Luocha's whole attire. The sight of that crimson stain, evidence of his own violence, is a haunting reminder of his own mistakes.
He wants to say something, anything, to break the deafening silence that hung in the air like a shroud of despair. He wants to beg Luocha to run, to escape while there is still a chance. The words form in his mind, a plea for salvation, for mercy in the face of this escalating tragedy. But when he opens his mouth, his voice fails him. Instead of coherent words, a strangled noise claws its way out of his throat, a desperate sound that conveys his inner turmoil.
The mara, ever wicked and tenuous, lingers in the recesses of his mind, a constant and malevolent presence that seemed to feed off the chaos and suffering it caused. It whispers in his thoughts, a sinister and persistent force that urges him toward more violence, more destruction. Its sing-songy pull, like a haunting melody, has always held him captive, a seductive and destructive force that seemed insatiable.
Yet, something is different now.
Luocha's commanding tone, so contrary to his usual demeanor, pierces through the chaos in Blade's mind. It carries an intensity that he has never witnessed before. Luocha's pain seems to be forgotten, replaced by an unwavering determination that burned in his pale eyes. The mara hesitates, its vicelike grip on Blade faltering for the briefest moment. It's as if it doesn't know how to respond to this sudden change in the status quo. Fear, or perhaps shock, is evident in the mara's presence, a response Blade has never experienced before. It's as if the mara, too, is struggling to comprehend the power that Luocha holds over it. The sinister force that has driven Blade to this point now seems to waver, caught between its insatiable hunger and Luocha's overwhelming presence.
Just as the other has commanded, the mara now remains silent. Blade is impossibly still. His grip on his own sword slackens just a tiny bit, and the crazed look in his eyes has now dimmed.
This just might be the opportunity they both need to drag Blade away from its siren's call— only to lure him straight into an entirely different one. ]
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... ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
some minor gore + violence, but it's v. vague! i hope that's okay flsdkfm
It all started going downhill as soon as they stepped foot in Luofu's territory. Not only did Blade's memories start going haywire, but he kept quiet about it and didn't say anything until the mara's whispers grew louder. By that point, the two of them were already ambushed by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and soon found themselves in the thick of battle. It should have been an easy thing to win— with Blade's prowess with the sword and Luocha's healing abilities, the two of them should have swept this up cleanly.
But Blade is distracted, careless. He sees and hears things that aren't really there, ghosts from a past that was long gone and dead. It's a miracle he hasn't lost his mind just yet, but when the spear is driven right through him, the sight of blood appears to make things even worse. His vision blacks out. His body crumbles to the floor, forgotten by those who killed him in the first place. It's not long before they're hassling Luocha, demanding they're given what they seek.
That turns out to be their first mistake.
When Blade rises, he is deathly silent. There's hardly any trace of himself left in his eyes, a vibrant blood red that betrays the monster that has finally been unleashed. He cuts down the men closest to him, killing them in one fell swoop. Once the others realize what's going on, it's too little too late: Blade murders them all too. This repeats until the only ones left standing are those who were wise enough to run away and the one who brought him here in the first place.
He's now focused on Luocha, but he doesn't say anything. His whole self is covered in blood from head to toe; most of it doesn't even belong to him. The spear's blade is still in his chest, but when he moves to remove that, it's almost mechanical. Automatic. The wound starts to heal itself just like it always does when someone is cursed by Abundance.
But something's wrong.
He hasn't said a single word. ]
you're totally fine!! ty for the discretion 💕
...Especially not now, it seems...
The rising of a corpse is an incredibly effective distraction, at the least; Luocha is summarily unhanded and left where he kneels on the ground, while his would-be captors become thoroughly preoccupied with scrambling for their lives. The gold-black edge of Blade's namesake sings in the air; there is screaming, and flesh rent asunder, and a great deal of blood. Luocha retrieves his rapier carefully, but with little haste. After all, he can tell--and it is already so--that by the time he slowly draws back up to his feet...
Their surroundings are already littered with corpses--that will not be rising, ever again. ...But.
For a long moment Luocha is very still, though his glance alights quite intently upon the features of the last standing man across the way. ...This is a face he knows well by now, of course. The expressions it often makes...and the eye contact it often makes, or declines to. The eyes that look back now, however...
Ah, to say nothing if how very deafening this silence is, too.
...It's a sinking sort of feeling, that accompanies a certain conclusion already being drawn. But even despite that--even despite better judgment--(even despite himself)--the blade of the rapier remains at Luocha's side, pointed downward. While his left hand is what he slowly extends, instead, the charm wrapped around his wrist loosed from his sleeve.]
Blade. ...Come here.
[This is probably a mistake. He is well aware.]
ofc, anytime 💜💜💜 more minor cw 'cause blade, dying, and violence go hand-in-hand
He can't hear Luocha, not anymore. Seeing the charm dangling from the man's wrist should have brought him comfort, and yet— what happens is that it lures him in like a moth to flame. A moth that doused itself in gasoline, ready to set itself on fire. If only it would be easy to snuff out his own life too, but that's not a blessing he'll ever be granted in this lifetime.
Still, he walks towards the other. One step forward, followed by another, lifeless and robotic. The silence would have been deafening if it weren't for his own footsteps, but even that doesn't last forever. All it takes is another second to pass by. He raises his sword, gets into the proper position; a stance beaten into his body until he remembers it even from the grave.
He gives no warning.
And then he charges at Luocha, sword raised until he brings it down in a sweep, aiming to cut across the chest. To get rid of that arm that's trying to offer him peace disguised under the cloak of Abundance.
The only thing that shows he might have been holding himself back is how much slower this attack is compared to how it should be. Perhaps he's still trying to win against the discordance.
Perhaps he might not be completely lost. ]
just lil blade things.....our man do be goin thru it always rip
Someone that could yet be pulled free. If only he could be reached--
Dragging steps quicken, staccato into a charge. The sword lashes out. But Luocha doesn't draw back so much as a pace, no, because it is a slower attack--far slower than Blade would ever normally permit, when truly set upon killing intent--another small evident crack, in the mara's tightening steel grasp. (Is Blade still trying to fight it, even now? Railing against the prison of his own immortal body, overtaken by the mindless will of another?) Something tightens very strangely in Luocha's chest, in noting this, entirely divorced of the lethal danger of the sword sweeping in. ...But there's no time to review such a matter right now.
The delay is taken full advantage of; Luocha's own sword arm whips up to meet Blade's, the slender line of his rapier flashing up in a narrow parry to bat the attack aside, open up his opponent to a counter. Muscle memory, but still no easy feat; even slowed, there's still no cushioning the vicious strength of even this attempted blow, most of the impact shed sidelong but the rest still a reverberating ache through Luocha's forearm, powered through with set teeth. Act fast. This could be finished now, a coolly detached part of him says, as his glance alights upon the split-second vulnerabilities before him. The gaps in the ribcage, the tender hollow of the throat, both unarmored. Impale the heart, pierce the windpipe--succinct deaths. Kill him if the mara ever gets out of control, Blade had told him once.
Though Luocha is no longer sure if death would actually remedy this--not when Blade had just emerged from death in this state. .......And there's that other notion too, stubborn, that doesn't...want to. Snuffing Blade's life by his own hand--the idea sits surprisingly repulsive, all objective judgment aside. After all the time they've been working together. (After other feelings that have started occurring, of late.) Besides. Had they not tested this together, once before? If he could invoke his own healing here...
But he'll have to get close.
--So that's what Luocha does, in the end, against better sense. A risk taken, when he declines to drive the point of his rapier into Blade's body after all, and instead drops it once more to close the remaining distance between them instead. One step, two--reach out with his left hand, and the charm that still glints--to grab at Blade's arm, hold him still.]
Blade, listen--receive-- [--But can he invoke the divinity of the Abyss quickly enough? Even as its symbol at his wrist flares, with the Abundance's healing power...]
he's trying his best.. also feel free to decide if blade does end up stabbing him or failing!!!
Blade hesitates once again, as though he realizes what's happening. Fighting against the discordant noise of mara is difficult enough to do once, but doing it twice is almost impossible— and yet he does it again, in favour of giving the other man the opening he needs. He grits his teeth. His eyes flash wildly with the madness that lurks deep within. But the warm glow of the Abyss is familiar. It's salvation, he knows that. Realizes that it's exactly what he needs.
But the mara barely listens to him.
It pushes forward evermore, forcing his hand to drive his sword towards flesh. This close, it's difficult to get the momentum he needs to plunge it deeper against a solid frame, and even then, there's the added struggle of the part of him that remains lucid holding his own strength back. The blade aims to graze along the other's side, a haphazard attempt to stab the other to get rid of every obstacle that remains standing.
It's difficult to tell if Blade even realizes what's happening. If he remains lucid enough to understand what would happen if Luocha doesn't move away from him—
He wants to tell him to run. To leave him here until the mara dissipates once its hunger for blood has been satiated. But he also knows that it's the last thing the other man will do.
After everything they've been through together, it's not surprising that he hasn't left. But that's why he tries, and tries, and tries to prevent any fatal blows. ]
slaps top of luocha's head, this guy can fit so many stabbings tbqh (It's Fine he can heal!! ✨)
Indeed, were it not for Blade's agonizing attempts at restraint, that sword would have likely dealt a far more grievous injury. ...But it still--
--does plunge into Luocha's side, even if it lands miraculously shy of any vital organs. The burst of pain accompanying it is immediate, nearly wrenching out a cry that Luocha just barely bites back with gritted teeth, frame shuddering as crimson promptly blossoms through clothing. --But. It's nothing new, now is it? Hardly even something major. Painful, yes, but not the worst he has known.
(Nothing like the first time, under the watch of white irises, when the contract was still freshly new and he hadn't yet numbed to the thorns that would accompany it--)The hand upon Blade's shoulder doesn't loosen...tightens, even, in tandem with the other hand that now grabs at the wrist holding that sword. Not even to pull it out--can't, not yet, or risk bleeding out--but to instead drag Blade closer. Pulling their bodies near flush together, a strange embrace. The purpose is two-fold: to rob the mara of any immediate chance to properly extend Blade's limbs for another attack, and also...to bring the Abyss properly and truly to them. To envelope them both...For this close, and in a state this heightened within Blade, Luocha can properly feel the presence of the mara for the first time. A far cry from that stirring thorny prickle in that abandoned cabin back in Jarilo-VI--no, here and now it's fully unfurled, blazes with a violently demanding hunger clawing at the body hosting it. ...It's hard to believe, but it's unmistakable, the tones of the Abundance singing through it...yet another facet, of that ravenous power. Far beyond any typical instance of mara among the long-lived Xianzhou for a fact. The potency is...practically on par with that of an Emanator--and in a vacuum that would be incredibly fascinating. But here, and now, as it tears through Blade despite his most fervent efforts...Luocha cannot help but look upon it with a vehement contempt.
How dare it try to bleed him?
As if they don't both drink from the same poisonous well. As if it has a say. As if he'll be refused. No--so long as he must carry this power--his own resolve will ever remain the same. To use it to its fullest extent, for worthwhile means. And right now, what he wants, is to speak to Blade.
How dare it try to take that away from him?]
...Quiet. Quiet. You will listen to me. [No, Blade hasn't said a word. This isn't addressed to him. There is perhaps something rather distinctly possessive about the way Luocha's hand drags from the line of Blade's shoulder to his collar, to nearly cup at his cheek in the way it curves over the side of his neck--to hold him in place, and more importantly, press the flickering rosary wrapped about his wrist practically against his pulse. The way his tone drops is uncharacteristic, even compared to past occasions of battle, a shift in key from requesting to commanding; pairing alongside it is the intensity upon his features, pain promptly forgotten, and something aflame in pale green eyes as they lock with the crimson madness in Blade's.] Stand down. Repent.
[Overpowering even the blood and death that clings to Blade's frame is the heady scent of white irises; all about their immediate vicinity, the phantom flickerings of the flowers and fluttering petals that signify Luocha's healing field spring to life, that distant sound of faint windchimes accompanying. The mending sensation accompanying it has probably always felt something like a warm breeze passing over, but this time there is a renewed fervency and intensity here. Something that means to wash over the mara, overtake it, drown it. Will it struggle?]
LSDMFOSDFLS pls......... he can't keep getting stabbed like this
The world around him blurrs as a disorienting wave of nausea washes over him. He feels his grip on reality slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand vanishing between his clenched fists. The anguish wells up inside him, a sickening combination of self-loathing, guilt, and a searing dread that threatens to consume him whole. The mara has taken control of his actions, forced him into this situation. It's maddening, torturous even, to be a prisoner in his own body, a spectator to his own horrific actions.
His gaze shifts from the weapon lodged in Luocha to the man himself. His eyes, usually devoid of any and all emotion, now reflect a mix of disbelief and self-recrimination. He can't bear to look at the blood staining the other man's clothes, a stark contrast to the pale purity of Luocha's whole attire. The sight of that crimson stain, evidence of his own violence, is a haunting reminder of his own mistakes.
He wants to say something, anything, to break the deafening silence that hung in the air like a shroud of despair. He wants to beg Luocha to run, to escape while there is still a chance. The words form in his mind, a plea for salvation, for mercy in the face of this escalating tragedy. But when he opens his mouth, his voice fails him. Instead of coherent words, a strangled noise claws its way out of his throat, a desperate sound that conveys his inner turmoil.
The mara, ever wicked and tenuous, lingers in the recesses of his mind, a constant and malevolent presence that seemed to feed off the chaos and suffering it caused. It whispers in his thoughts, a sinister and persistent force that urges him toward more violence, more destruction. Its sing-songy pull, like a haunting melody, has always held him captive, a seductive and destructive force that seemed insatiable.
Yet, something is different now.
Luocha's commanding tone, so contrary to his usual demeanor, pierces through the chaos in Blade's mind. It carries an intensity that he has never witnessed before. Luocha's pain seems to be forgotten, replaced by an unwavering determination that burned in his pale eyes. The mara hesitates, its vicelike grip on Blade faltering for the briefest moment. It's as if it doesn't know how to respond to this sudden change in the status quo. Fear, or perhaps shock, is evident in the mara's presence, a response Blade has never experienced before. It's as if the mara, too, is struggling to comprehend the power that Luocha holds over it. The sinister force that has driven Blade to this point now seems to waver, caught between its insatiable hunger and Luocha's overwhelming presence.
Just as the other has commanded, the mara now remains silent. Blade is impossibly still. His grip on his own sword slackens just a tiny bit, and the crazed look in his eyes has now dimmed.
This just might be the opportunity they both need to drag Blade away from its siren's call— only to lure him straight into an entirely different one. ]
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. ]