The ancient stone chamber reeked of battle. Aziel navigated carefully across the floor, his boots crunching over fragnts of shattered rock. His eyes swept thodically across the devastation—walls gouged with deep furrows, pillars reduced to rubble, and blood splashes that painted macabre patterns across every surface. The broken remnants of what had once been the formidable sheepman armor lay destroyed like so sort of discarded toy of so malevolent child.
And then, he saw Jonas.
The headless corpse lay sprawled awkwardly on the floor, limbs layed limp. Jonas’s powerful fra now nothing more than cooling at. Aziel’s breath caught montarily in his throat, a slight hitch in his otherwise asured stride. His fingers twitched at his side, an involuntary spasm quickly suppressed. He permitted himself only a single, asured inhalation before continuing his approach toward Arthur.
Arthur stood near the chamber’s center, clothes torn and saturated with blood. When their eyes t, Arthur seed to shrink further into himself. His shoulders hunched defensively, gaze dropping to the blood-slicked floor as if it held so profound secret.
"I- I- I tri-" Arthur stamred, voice fracturing under the weight of whatever confession he struggled to release.
The words never found completion. Instead, Arthur found himself enveloped in Aziel’s unexpected embrace. Not tight—just a careful encircling of arms that spoke volus more than any platitude might have. Arthur froze, arms hanging uselessly at his sides, eyes wide with disbelief at this uncharacteristic display.
"It’s not your fault," Aziel murmured, his normally energetic voice softened to sothing almost gentle. "You did good."
The simple affirmation landed with physical force. Arthur’s body tensed as if struck, muscles coiling tight before gradually surrendering to the truth of those words. The tension drained from him like water through sand, and he cautiously returned the embrace, arms lifting to complete the circle.
The mont of connection lasted precisely three heartbeats before Arthur’s face contorted with confusion. He began pulling away, nose wrinkled in distinct displeasure.
"Uh, what’s that sll?" Arthur asked, reluctance threading through each syllable as he attempted to maintain so semblance of the comfort the embrace had offered while simultaneously creating distance.
Aziel’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion flashing across his bloodied features. "Arthur... we haven’t taken showers in a long ti... we stink." The statent carried the weary resignation of soone stating an obvious, if unpleasant, truth.
Arthur shook his head emphatically, dark hair matted with substances best left unexamined swaying with the movent. "No, this is different. It—it slls like pis—"
The remainder of that ill-advised observation vanished as Aziel’s arms transford from comforting to constricting. The pressure around Arthur’s torso increased exponentially, threatening to permanently rearrange his internal architecture. Aziel’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, hot breath ghosting against Arthur’s ear.
"Say one more word, I’m turning you into human toast."
The threat carried no hint of exaggeration. Arthur, face rapidly reddening from oxygen deprivation, managed to force two desperate syllables through compressed lungs: "O-ok, ok!"
rcifully, Aziel’s vise-like grip relented. Arthur stumbled backward, hands braced on knees that suddenly seed insufficient to support his weight. Each ragged inhale burned through his abused rib cage as he coughed and sputtered, gradually reclaiming the ability to breathe unassisted.
When Arthur finally straightened, he discovered Aziel had already moved on, attention redirected to the mangled remains of the sheepman. A peculiar expression—sothing between curiosity and grudging respect—had settled across Aziel’s sharp features.
"How did you beat that thing?" Aziel asked, prodding the remains with the toe of his boot. "When we fought it, we didn’t stand a chance."
Arthur’s gaze lowered, shoulders sagging under the weight of recent mory. The brutal confrontation replayed behind his eyes.
"Well, Jonas was really strong," Arthur began, voice uncharacteristically subdued. "So with his help, we managed to beat him up pretty bad and after—after he, uh... died." The final word erged broken and harsh, fragnting in the blood-soaked air between them.
Arthur swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. "I suddenly happened upon a new ability that allowed to make the darkness tangible to an extent... and on top of that, I can’t really explain why, but I got this unbelievable surge of power that helped. And once I found out the things weakness, it was pretty simple."
Aziel nodded absently, attention already drifting across the chamber’s grisly tableau. His thodical survey halted abruptly as his gaze locked onto sothing distinctly out of place. Lying several ters away, partially obscured by debris and liberally coated in congealing blood, was a human arm. Severed cleanly at the shoulder.
Aziel’s eyes darted between the dismbered limb and Jonas’s corpse, confirming that the dead man remained in possession of both arms. Confusion etched deeper lines into his already furrowed brow.
"Um, Arthur... whose arm is that?" he asked, pointing toward the grim discovery.
Arthur’s response was absurdly casual. "Oh... it’s mine."
The declaration hung suspended in the fetid air for three interminable seconds before Aziel’s head whipped around with such violence it threatened whiplash.
"WHAT?!" The exclamation echoed off stone walls as Aziel’s wide eyes conducted a frantic reassessnt of Arthur’s physical state. "But your arm is right th—wait, why’s your arm back? And why does it have claws?!"
Arthur tilted his head, a small, incongruous giggle bubbling from his throat. "You just now noticed?!" Genuine amusent flashed across his face, a jarring contrast to their gore-splattered surroundings. "Turning darkness tangible and controlling it, rember? This isn’t my real arm."
Arthur’s gaze ping-ponged between the shadow-wrought appendage currently attached to his shoulder and the all-too-real severed limb decorating the floor. His expression suggested he was arriving at so profound philosophical insight before returning his attention to his increasingly agitated companion.
"ARTHUR, YOUR ARM WAS SEVERED!" Aziel’s voice scaled upward in both volu and pitch, genuine panic breaching his normally imperturbable facade.
Arthur regarded his friend with an expression of profound disbelief, as if Aziel had just earnestly inford him that water was, in fact, wet.
"No, really?" Arthur replied, sarcasm saturating every syllable.
Aziel stayed staring at the shadow arm in disbelief as his brain tried to wrap itself around what he was just told.
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