They say I'm a dangerous man, better run fast as you can
He had subscribed to the belief of choosing one’s family, despite how it had not particularly been his choice at the time. The Ancients that had found him brought him to Dygra, which had been perhaps the best thing to happen in his youth, but he’d also been automatically invited into the clan of other Ancients whether he wanted to or not. But it had made him the man he is today, the one prowling through the woods with Flora at his side, a gentleman carver at the ready. “My clan was very competitive. They wanted your success to ride on your own worth rather than whom you came from.” He explains quietly, flashing her a shark tooth smile.
They’d all had different fathers, so that part didn’t matter as much in the long run, but Astaroth’s mother in particular was known for her specific brand of brutality. One that he thinks he’d inherited, though it had not shown until he’d departed the clan.
The hunt is on, though, with an easy smile sent her way to say he’d let her take the credit for as long as he breathed for getting Danta and he to recognize what was happening and to be less afraid of it. It certainly would have made this season a living hell if he’d had the feirw shift back then if they hadn’t. And it’s with a lingering thought of that which has the butcher surging once the wolf is in view and he’s handed off the dagger.
He cares little for the blood that spills and spreads across his clothes, the way the bloodbane has torn into not just himself but the wolf in question as he launches. Fire and singed fur greet them as he does what he can to tackle it down, using every tool in his arsenal to try and bring it down further. A mouth full of fur and raw flesh is spat out in the struggle as he holds on as tightly as he can beneath the wolf, positioned in such a way that he evades the sharp maw as it snaps into the open air.
Flora, for her part, is a beautiful sight to glimpse through the struggle. All elegance and grace, even if he knows there’s some panic in there. He catches a stunning view of her as she flicks her wrist, as the dagger is sent soaring across the creatures throat, erupting through thick fur to find skin and carve open a new and fresh wound that streams and paints the butcher in blood.
Not that he’s ever going to complain, mind you. The butcher takes the opportunity while the wolf cries out to get a better position, to twist them and throw his body weight over enough to knock the wolf off balance. The second it hits the ground at his side, he’s twisting like a spider having just found a moment to attack, reaching out with blood slick hands to snap the wolf’s leg. Swiping the dagger from where he’d left it sticking out of the wolf’s side, he flips it with well practiced ease before sinking it in between the wolf’s ribs, aiming for its heart.
It struggles as Asta kneels beside it, panting with lips coated in scarlet as the aura of the hunt begins to grow more reverent. The blade twists, the wolf struggles less, and the butcher’s tail sweeps low and steady behind him through the pools of hot sticky blood. Flora’s dagger at this point is plucked from the ground with a free hand, handing it back to her with the handle slick with blood and an invitation for her to kneel beside him should she wish to as the wolf grows weaker and weaker.
They’d all had different fathers, so that part didn’t matter as much in the long run, but Astaroth’s mother in particular was known for her specific brand of brutality. One that he thinks he’d inherited, though it had not shown until he’d departed the clan.
The hunt is on, though, with an easy smile sent her way to say he’d let her take the credit for as long as he breathed for getting Danta and he to recognize what was happening and to be less afraid of it. It certainly would have made this season a living hell if he’d had the feirw shift back then if they hadn’t. And it’s with a lingering thought of that which has the butcher surging once the wolf is in view and he’s handed off the dagger.
He cares little for the blood that spills and spreads across his clothes, the way the bloodbane has torn into not just himself but the wolf in question as he launches. Fire and singed fur greet them as he does what he can to tackle it down, using every tool in his arsenal to try and bring it down further. A mouth full of fur and raw flesh is spat out in the struggle as he holds on as tightly as he can beneath the wolf, positioned in such a way that he evades the sharp maw as it snaps into the open air.
Flora, for her part, is a beautiful sight to glimpse through the struggle. All elegance and grace, even if he knows there’s some panic in there. He catches a stunning view of her as she flicks her wrist, as the dagger is sent soaring across the creatures throat, erupting through thick fur to find skin and carve open a new and fresh wound that streams and paints the butcher in blood.
Not that he’s ever going to complain, mind you. The butcher takes the opportunity while the wolf cries out to get a better position, to twist them and throw his body weight over enough to knock the wolf off balance. The second it hits the ground at his side, he’s twisting like a spider having just found a moment to attack, reaching out with blood slick hands to snap the wolf’s leg. Swiping the dagger from where he’d left it sticking out of the wolf’s side, he flips it with well practiced ease before sinking it in between the wolf’s ribs, aiming for its heart.
It struggles as Asta kneels beside it, panting with lips coated in scarlet as the aura of the hunt begins to grow more reverent. The blade twists, the wolf struggles less, and the butcher’s tail sweeps low and steady behind him through the pools of hot sticky blood. Flora’s dagger at this point is plucked from the ground with a free hand, handing it back to her with the handle slick with blood and an invitation for her to kneel beside him should she wish to as the wolf grows weaker and weaker.
Astaroth
Don't you look back, every bone in my body's bad
