// don't you fight my hold on you //
Oh, they would have been a force to be reckoned with had they been paired together. Between the way they both had to learn how to thrive, if they’d had each other to help them along in those aspects, something tells the butcher they’d have been a terrifying duo. That Danta might share his own spooky moniker, and that the Butcher of Whitebrim might have been less of a solitary ghost story, but – perhaps selfishly – a haunting love story.
For now, though, the butcher watches in pure murderous delight as his lover launches once the man’s completely avoided their gaze. The prisoner doesn’t even know what’s coming, knowing enough to turn when he hears the footsteps and panic befalls him – even more so to realize it is not the butcher darting his way, but the Theocrat himself. Asta, for his part, does not bolt over to join the fun – it’s Danta’s day, after all – instead, choosing a patient approach, watching as blood immediately pools from the prisoner’s nose with the force of which Danta’s smashed his face into the boulder he’d thought would protect him.
It is amusing, to say the least, that the prisoner’s main worry had been the butcher when the reality was that Danta was far more brutal. It’s something that Asta appreciates as he comes closer, still granting space as he knows how Danta is with his food. The man collapses, crumpling in on himself as Danta tears away at him. He’s still alive and with a burst of consciousness tries to kick out to try and loosen the hands that have started to tear into him.
It's a garbled cry that leaves him and the only way Asta does get involved – reaching out to pin his legs down to keep him from getting too loose so Danta can get the portions of him that he wants. And with each passing second, that life force within him starts to wilt and wither away as blood and torn flesh become the only point of focus for the pair.
For now, though, the butcher watches in pure murderous delight as his lover launches once the man’s completely avoided their gaze. The prisoner doesn’t even know what’s coming, knowing enough to turn when he hears the footsteps and panic befalls him – even more so to realize it is not the butcher darting his way, but the Theocrat himself. Asta, for his part, does not bolt over to join the fun – it’s Danta’s day, after all – instead, choosing a patient approach, watching as blood immediately pools from the prisoner’s nose with the force of which Danta’s smashed his face into the boulder he’d thought would protect him.
It is amusing, to say the least, that the prisoner’s main worry had been the butcher when the reality was that Danta was far more brutal. It’s something that Asta appreciates as he comes closer, still granting space as he knows how Danta is with his food. The man collapses, crumpling in on himself as Danta tears away at him. He’s still alive and with a burst of consciousness tries to kick out to try and loosen the hands that have started to tear into him.
It's a garbled cry that leaves him and the only way Asta does get involved – reaching out to pin his legs down to keep him from getting too loose so Danta can get the portions of him that he wants. And with each passing second, that life force within him starts to wilt and wither away as blood and torn flesh become the only point of focus for the pair.
Astaroth
// pour the gasoline, strike your match on me //
