who told you what was down here

// with our one foot in the grave //

Despite everything, the butcher continues to keep to his word, and it’s with a bit of disbelief (and hunger honestly the second the iron tinges the air) that Astaroth continues to pry at the rock slider’s coil with the cane — missing the bladed one he had previously. But it works well enough as he finds, because rather than clean slicing, Maea’s pressing the burning blade against the beasts hide until it finally started to panic a bit more.

Then, as Maea hits an artery, blood sprays against him and his clothes, a wrinkle forming on his nose as he notices that it’s gotten into his sleeve, but he imagines he might be able to get it out. The blood on his face and neck certainly don’t matter to him, as he steps back and removes the cane from the coil when the rock slider goes limp and in the stillness he brushes back the dark hair that’s fallen into his face, two fingers swiping against the blood on his skin, bringing them to his lips as he lets her take a moment to herself.

And after a few more moments Asta extends a hand to help her out of the pile of coils and pieces of rock slider. “I don’t have anything that can heal, unfortunately.” He offers into the quiet, though it wouldn’t be surprising that he does not.

Astaroth

// while the other one's kicking its way right down to hell //