go home, lie down, decompose

now i am the violence, i am the sickness
won't accept your silence

Huffing a laugh at the comment, Astaroth shrugs lightly. “Perhaps you are reminding yourself why you are above it now.” Lips quirking into a smirk. That internal thought that Danta has as he readjusts his cuffs and collar about being the reason why Asta is lucky, is entirely correct, though perhaps he should verbalize as much.

Instead, more work lies ahead of them him, and it’s with the pickaxe on his shoulder and the bag in hand that he drifts across the cavern, feeling the nudge of the Maverick’s hip as he walks past, earning a soft snort. “Very good.” He hums his agreement, and before he knows it they’ve reached the other side of the wall.

Dropping the bag and pushing up his sleeves to the point the tips of the scarring from his biceps can be seen, he starts to pick at the wall, collecting bits of tin metal ore. “I only can because it is only a portal skip away.” He assures Danta, as if proving that the grunt work for the blonde was over.

And to prove the point, Astaroth flashes a knowing smirk over his shoulder before he swings into the rock again. It only takes a few good swings to get enough to melt with the copper to make the bronze, and he slips it into the bag before hoisting it over his shoulder, his willowy, spidery frame offset by the heaviness of the bag. “However, the sooner the better.” Letting the warm chuckle escape his lips, he steps over toward where Danta lounges.

Astaroth

beg me for forgiveness