// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //
“Did too.” Comes the jaunty little musical note from his lips – because it had been when he’d ventured off from the Climb, where he’d learned how to dress (because cannibals certainly didn’t have the fashion sense he does), and its where he’d managed to get the tools to learn to read when he was cooped up in his stony room.
But that doesn’t matter as he sinks down and fumbles for the matchbook that’s off too far out of reach for where he then has to struggle to get his fucking leg out of the maw of this horrible moss monstrosity. “Oh, I was not aware.” Asta says, pausing for a moment to look up at him with an unamused look with both hands planted on the soggy, wet grass.
He does watch, dutifully so, as the finger-gun shoots a jet a fire down toward the tangleweed still dreadfully wobbling its way up toward them. It does work, catching on half of the tangleweed with a strange almost other worldly echo of a hiss, and Astaroth is too stunned by his predicament and the awful sensation it gnaws in his stomach that he doesn’t hide how impressed he is by it when Danta offers his hand.
He takes it, and with a few more moments of fighting he does manage to get his leg free, but the dark slacks are shredded on the edges and his leg is decently sore. His nose scrunches and he snags some of the fire from the tangleweed to funnel it into the quicksand moss he’d just vacated, before flashing a charming smile toward Danta with a soft little “thank you. That was quite the trick.” Aka, he wants to see more fancy tricks, Danta.
But that doesn’t matter as he sinks down and fumbles for the matchbook that’s off too far out of reach for where he then has to struggle to get his fucking leg out of the maw of this horrible moss monstrosity. “Oh, I was not aware.” Asta says, pausing for a moment to look up at him with an unamused look with both hands planted on the soggy, wet grass.
He does watch, dutifully so, as the finger-gun shoots a jet a fire down toward the tangleweed still dreadfully wobbling its way up toward them. It does work, catching on half of the tangleweed with a strange almost other worldly echo of a hiss, and Astaroth is too stunned by his predicament and the awful sensation it gnaws in his stomach that he doesn’t hide how impressed he is by it when Danta offers his hand.
He takes it, and with a few more moments of fighting he does manage to get his leg free, but the dark slacks are shredded on the edges and his leg is decently sore. His nose scrunches and he snags some of the fire from the tangleweed to funnel it into the quicksand moss he’d just vacated, before flashing a charming smile toward Danta with a soft little “thank you. That was quite the trick.” Aka, he wants to see more fancy tricks, Danta.
Astaroth
// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //
