[Training] lighten up

// seven, six, five, four, three, two, one //

"Thank you." A bark of a laugh leaves the Butcher as he starts to descend the fire from the top, creating that sort of dome – temporarily, of course, and he releases them as Deimos absorbs them, the grin on his face vibrant pleased with the current training spar. Loosening the hold on the fire, the Butcher re-evaluates, watching as the fire begins to move toward him.

He takes a step back, green flame flickering at his hands before he reaches out to the fire to try and pry it apart. It’s nowhere near Deimos’ strength and control over the flames, but it’s worth a try anyway. Maybe he’s distracted with the fire he’s currently handling that Asta can make a little hole at the very least.

4/4

Astaroth

// everybody's got a name, everybody's got a number //

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

If Astaroth was at his capacity from before, perhaps there might’ve been a discernment between power and skills – but as he attempted to forge a pathway through the fire, Deimos tilted his head, roughly amused. It was a valid attempt – and understandable, given the situation, but his incantations reached back, emboldened still, and closed any gap that might have been initiated.

From there, he bolstered the line of conflagrations, growing them in height and width until it seemed to be a towering, imposing, and fortress-like structure of conjoined flames. With anyone else it might’ve been overwhelming and overbearing, and purposefully done so, though he didn’t think the Ancient would mind at all, given their propensity towards heat, regardless of newly divine statuses.

4/4

DEIMOS

// seven, six, five, four, three, two, one //

As expected, the Butcher makes very little headway with trying to pry the holes of fire through the wall of flame that the Resurrected Sword creates, and with it Asta quickly gives up lest he exhaust himself faster by trying to do all of these things he knows he’s not strong enough to do yet. And he watches as Deimos starts to bolster the line, towering and imposing and honestly? Very welcome.

The heat is hot and delicious and the Butcher’s tail whips behind him in quiet delight, dipping into the flame with a quiet little hiss of the humid deepfrost air that he’s able to completely ignore. He throws up a little green flame in front of him to prevent the fire from licking against his nice jacket that Deimos had created, and through it he grins over at the Warden. “That was great. Do you need more practice or will that suffice?”

Astaroth

// everybody's got a name, everybody's got a number //

I carried my own ashes to the mountains

He didn’t even bother muffling the brief bout of laughter sticking to his lungs as Astaroth used the fiery wall for warmth. Shaking his head, he permitted the overbearing heat to remain as they talked, no need for dispersal of restless enchantments when they were committing no harm, snorting outwardly. “I think that will do. Thank you for the help,” presuming the Butcher felt the same way, especially with powers altered and changed, even in the proximity of a favored element. 

Thereafter, when they’d settled their debts, would Deimos unfurl the last bits of flame, tucking it back into his soul and heading home – productive in one state, and still perplexed in the other.

[FIN]

DEIMOS