The light that spills out of the form is startling, bright, a blinding flash that distracts him before his pupils dilated for the darkness can adjust. Lucifer slips free. Geralt spins on his heel; some of it is from how much he can't see past Lucifer anymore, some of it is just him: relentless, unshakable, once he's made the choice to lock himself in a fight.
And absolutely not one to waste his breath on words. Blood drips from his fingers. It does not bode well that none of the cuts or stabs register. Geralt is not too proud to retreat—he runs on pure survival—but he can recognize when he's better off standing his ground.
(That blood will probably taste of concentrated toxin, like if one poured the essence of several monsters and foul herbs together in one vial, then shook it.)
The corridor's too narrow to dodge out of Lucifer's path. He braces himself instead, the two of them crushed into a corner. His teeth flash, not quite sharp yet but close. The blade grows hot, flesh sizzling until he finally lets go with a snarl.
He's not thinking too hard when he does it. His hand goes up, grasping Lucifer's arm. The vines curled around the walls shiver, withering. For the first time, the cries go silent—sucked right out of the room, every dying scream pushed into his sole target.
no subject
And absolutely not one to waste his breath on words. Blood drips from his fingers. It does not bode well that none of the cuts or stabs register. Geralt is not too proud to retreat—he runs on pure survival—but he can recognize when he's better off standing his ground.
(That blood will probably taste of concentrated toxin, like if one poured the essence of several monsters and foul herbs together in one vial, then shook it.)
The corridor's too narrow to dodge out of Lucifer's path. He braces himself instead, the two of them crushed into a corner. His teeth flash, not quite sharp yet but close. The blade grows hot, flesh sizzling until he finally lets go with a snarl.
He's not thinking too hard when he does it. His hand goes up, grasping Lucifer's arm. The vines curled around the walls shiver, withering. For the first time, the cries go silent—sucked right out of the room, every dying scream pushed into his sole target.