so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
i can give you what you crave, just not for free
He does manage to fling Danta toward them if only to keep him from biting down into his flesh again or stealing a finger for the trouble, and only once Danta’s back as his human self and goes hard on the creatures, does Astaroth really think about what happened. Everything was a blur and the day was far too fucking long, and he stands there silently while Danta goes on his fifteen minute long rampage, inspecting the wounds that have circled his bicep, the one on his shoulder that has clotted, and he sighs heavily as more and more regret start to spill in his stomach.
Maybe he was better off alone where he couldn’t continue to hurt people; by either not being what they wanted him to be or being too much of one thing. He’d reverted back into the words that hurt, reverted back into slicing Danta with them in turn when he’d had no physical objects to fight him with.
And with the obvious, very obvious bloodlust Danta needed, he’d not even paid attention to when the last time he’d eaten was.
His jaw is set tight when he looks up to see Danta relax finally in the remains of the pyrina, and only then does the butcher step forward to meet him – dark eyes tracking him but not touching, not sure if the Maverick even wants his touch. Instead, he casts a shadow, horned head angled down toward the kneeling Theocrat as his voice returns to that traditional regality (albeit, quieter) with the deep breath he takes to start it. “I am so, so sorry, Danta.” Dark eyes scan his bloodied face, needing to get the apology out first and foremost. “I did not mean what I said.”
Maybe he was better off alone where he couldn’t continue to hurt people; by either not being what they wanted him to be or being too much of one thing. He’d reverted back into the words that hurt, reverted back into slicing Danta with them in turn when he’d had no physical objects to fight him with.
And with the obvious, very obvious bloodlust Danta needed, he’d not even paid attention to when the last time he’d eaten was.
His jaw is set tight when he looks up to see Danta relax finally in the remains of the pyrina, and only then does the butcher step forward to meet him – dark eyes tracking him but not touching, not sure if the Maverick even wants his touch. Instead, he casts a shadow, horned head angled down toward the kneeling Theocrat as his voice returns to that traditional regality (albeit, quieter) with the deep breath he takes to start it. “I am so, so sorry, Danta.” Dark eyes scan his bloodied face, needing to get the apology out first and foremost. “I did not mean what I said.”
Astaroth
you know what's on the line
