Shit. [They're not waking up. There's nothing in the air, and -- whatever Wanda was talking about, it hadn't hit Himeka until she'd gotten too close. But he's fine. So what the hell --
He has a feeling waking them up with a pail full of water (or milk) is not gonna help. He touches their brows again, frowning, heart thumping unsteadily.
The headache hits him like a knife, right between his eyes. Piercing, with a white-hot whine in his ears. He curses, already on his knees, his nails digging into the hay underneath. Just for a moment, the trigger ripples across his skin, human turning to demon --
Then he's out.
Opening his eyes just in time to dimly hear Wanda's comment. Thanks. But he isn't of a mind to make a snarky comeback. He's staring at the portal split through the fabric of space -- bullshit, by the way, if you ask him -- at one of the few looks he's ever gotten of Vergil.
Funny. He's mostly only ever seen his back.
His fingers clench. Whether it's because he's here or he simply cannot stand to see the fear on Kyrie's face again, the memory shifts, washed away like water splashed on paint.]
Not again. Stop it. Stop it. [It isn't stopping. And he can see. Them. Himeka, Wanda. Standing beside him now, on top of the Qliphoth, stories and stories of straight air below them. It lurches under their feet, branches splitting off in every direction. Rising above. It stinks of blood, unsurprisingly.
Nero sees himself. The weight of Red Queen at his back (he misses her). He looks like hell. Has been through it. And really, this was only weeks ago now. Still so close it's like an open wound. Kyrie's voice ripples through the memory, heavy as a physical weight. You always know which path is right, and which is wrong. There's no need to doubt yourself.
Maybe it should be humiliating, having someone hear this. This -- weakness. He doesn't care. Not right now. It's enough to hear her again. I promised I was coming home.
The vision splits, jerking, moving on. The memory of himself, gritting his teeth. This time is different. I swear. I'm not letting you die! The devil breaker cracking apart, only a bare arm down to his elbow. And then his right arm, drawn out with blue light, crafting itself again. The last thing to craft itself is the symbol of the Chariot, spilling across the back of his right hand.
Just in time with the transformation taking over his body, wings unfurling. The burst of power from him is audible, physical. A whole new bolt of lightning.
Later, he'll realize how fucking dramatic all of it was. How it sucks to have someone inside your head. Your memories. But he can't help but be silent, staring, watching the memory. Waiting for that one last glimpse of the two of them. Before they were gone.]
i'm sorry these are so looong
He has a feeling waking them up with a pail full of water (or milk) is not gonna help. He touches their brows again, frowning, heart thumping unsteadily.
The headache hits him like a knife, right between his eyes. Piercing, with a white-hot whine in his ears. He curses, already on his knees, his nails digging into the hay underneath. Just for a moment, the trigger ripples across his skin, human turning to demon --
Then he's out.
Opening his eyes just in time to dimly hear Wanda's comment. Thanks. But he isn't of a mind to make a snarky comeback. He's staring at the portal split through the fabric of space -- bullshit, by the way, if you ask him -- at one of the few looks he's ever gotten of Vergil.
Funny. He's mostly only ever seen his back.
His fingers clench. Whether it's because he's here or he simply cannot stand to see the fear on Kyrie's face again, the memory shifts, washed away like water splashed on paint.]
Not again. Stop it. Stop it. [It isn't stopping. And he can see. Them. Himeka, Wanda. Standing beside him now, on top of the Qliphoth, stories and stories of straight air below them. It lurches under their feet, branches splitting off in every direction. Rising above. It stinks of blood, unsurprisingly.
Nero sees himself. The weight of Red Queen at his back (he misses her). He looks like hell. Has been through it. And really, this was only weeks ago now. Still so close it's like an open wound. Kyrie's voice ripples through the memory, heavy as a physical weight. You always know which path is right, and which is wrong. There's no need to doubt yourself.
Maybe it should be humiliating, having someone hear this. This -- weakness. He doesn't care. Not right now. It's enough to hear her again. I promised I was coming home.
The vision splits, jerking, moving on. The memory of himself, gritting his teeth. This time is different. I swear. I'm not letting you die! The devil breaker cracking apart, only a bare arm down to his elbow. And then his right arm, drawn out with blue light, crafting itself again. The last thing to craft itself is the symbol of the Chariot, spilling across the back of his right hand.
Just in time with the transformation taking over his body, wings unfurling. The burst of power from him is audible, physical. A whole new bolt of lightning.
Later, he'll realize how fucking dramatic all of it was. How it sucks to have someone inside your head. Your memories. But he can't help but be silent, staring, watching the memory. Waiting for that one last glimpse of the two of them. Before they were gone.]