Creepy Kids and their Massacres

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

The sky was dark, and when he tried to peek beneath the curling canopies of some decaying trees, all he could see was a starless night that was evidently a foreboding warning to the trouble ahead. He scowled lightly at the prospect, his sharp glare darkened by the shadow that his hood created. It was apparent that his travel destination dictated a rather unsettling point of interest, considering how the job request was eerie in it's own right. He earnestly wasn't eager to meet his demise at the handiwork of a child, but he'd been loitering around towns for too long now, and he needed something to replenish his stock before he permanently burned out on options. He was reaching the bottom of his well and not even a hell-bent sadistic seven year old was enough to yield him from gaining his monthly budget.

If there was one thing that particularly irked him, however, it'd be the petty fact that he was slowly succumbing to the fear that the setting induced. Darkness lingered between the spaces in the trees and road he took was hideously matted with dead grass, as if they were affected solely from the high concentration of deathly intentions that was undoubtedly leaking from the kid's twisted being. The swordsman edged his sword out of its slightly, his fingers lifting the blade by its hilt as if to allow the slightest bit of pale silver to shine despite the ecliptic darkness that was only ever quelled a little thanks to his makeshift torch. Though the flames brought a temporary shelter from the creeping fright, he didn't feel too sure if there wasn't at least one hand on his weapon. Terith made it a point to be on his best senses that night, considering that the demon he'd be fending off was extremely motivated to generate mass genocide to a fault.

And, really, the scary forests that lead to an abandoned village reminded him so much of his encounter with Wys that it wouldn't have bothered him if he was just dealing with zombies in bushes or ghost ladies in trees. The most frustrating ordeal was the fiend at the end of the road who he didn't want to put any expectations on, lest he underestimate her.

Terith would come prepared regardless, and his first bastion for that was, obviously, his mental state that he miraculously managed despite coming so far, the flames on his torch dancing with flickering shadows as he moved forward. Terith would dully kick a pebble around with his shoe the more he walked, deciding that its rotation cycle was far more interesting that the road that lead to the village.

He was a sincere man, and it took all his sincerity to admit that even he was shaken from the promise of death. Terith inhaled sharply, giving himself a chance to better rationalize the situation with a level head. Sooner or later, he'd reach the clearing that would open up to the ghost town as it was, and whatever it housed would be promptly dealt with. He'd come out alive, and be rewarded handsomely for his efforts.

'Yeah...let's go with that.' he thought, nodding his head to assert the notion clearly into his mind.

Even though the sun had not set, Dimaria - after entering the bounds of the Haunted Village - noticed the sudden difference. It was much lighter before she stepped into the village’s territory. She wondered if it was because of the thickness of the trees around, but she doubted it. Something about the atmosphere of this place told her to be wary. The Magic Council had sent her a strange letter about this job and at first, she thought it was prank from one of her funny guildmates, but the seal at the bottom of the letter was no joke. She brought the letter with her for reference. Dimaria had no idea how to fight a seven year old, be they a lunatic or an ordinary child. She would not be able to bring herself to lay a hand on her. A child of seven years. How could she do such an awful thing to a child?

A hand placed on White Chaos just in case something popped up without warning, Dimaria took cautious steps, the cold mud swallowing each footfall. It was disgusting since her boots were getting mud on them, but she could not help it. It was the rainy season and this was unavoidable. Thank the heavens she had decided not to wear a dress this time, or else it would have been a greater disaster. Imagine all the mud dirtying one of her expensive dresses. Unacceptable. She would have to wash it on her own, unlike in Winterfell where she had other people to do things like that. Her mother would not be very pleased, however, since she was a Lady and expected to be graceful in all her actions. Dimaria, however, sometimes became not so graceful as she was more of a fighter than a graceful Lady.

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

The night was becoming an unfamiliar one the more his path continued to darken, he noted, a batch of faint shuffling sounds registering into his mind from fair distance. His instincts were inharmoniously alarmed at that point, sensing a blurry presence that seemed to move with a distinct movement across a given path. The swordsman opted to move into a corner between two harmless-looking oak trees, snuffing out the embers of his torch as to remove any suspicion he might accidentally gain. He had a pack of matches in his breast pocket, anyway, so any further bit of path that the swordsman would still be lit. Why he didn't buy himself a lantern or an oil lamp beforehand was beyond him, but resulting to fire was his best bet in case he'd encounter some unwanted creatures along the way.

But it was clearly a mistake to assume that he'd be facing beasts. From his hiding position, an unknown shimmer of silver would tear itself from the shadows, tracing a sketchy clearing that broke off from the main path. The pale line would eventually draw nearer, and from its shape alone, Terith guessed that it was a form of sword perhaps a rapier judging by its decorative guard and it's thin blade. He'd later cease any importance of the sword's form and instead would focus all his willpower in ignoring the fact that there was nothing holding it up, not even an outline of a hand or figure. It was a little disturbing to behold, but even as his breath seemed to hitch violently in his throat as the rapier curved towards the oak tree, he somehow felt but an ounce of fear. Sure, his knuckles were white, but it wasn't the kind of feeling that prompted every inch of hair on his body to shiver in response; it was strangely controlled, as if he'd only manifest the symptoms but the ultimate feeling was devoid from his heart.

Then, another silver line followed its predecessor down the same route, this time sporting the appearance of an old, bloody cutlass. The more he stared at it, the more he noticed that not even strings were attached to it, and it was purely a strange 'spacial' presence that clung to it. The young blonde inhaled sharply, watching the cutlass curve its path toward the tree he claimed as his temporary bastion.

In response to the lack of an appropriate reaction to the dancing swords, Terith dragged his weapon out of its scabbard, all the while gritting his teeth as he took his stance with a frustrated underlying tone to his movement. Taking one step after another, the swordsman later retracted his figure from his hiding spot and funded all his will-power into a defensive position, one that made it possible to parry the swords if they every decided to gut him through his stomach.

But strangely enough, when he was no longer hiding, it seemed the swords ceased to exit at all as nothing but an empty space lingered between him and the forestry that surrounded the ill-lit road. Furrowing a brow, the swordsman would later retrieve his torch after tilting his head several ways for any remnants of the dancing swords, resolving to keep his etherblade unsheathed. He adopted a blank expression as he scratched one match against the box's course surface, the flame that burned on the matchstick fickle and weak. Terith popped the fire back into his torch, tossing one idle glance behind him before resuming his walk down towards the village of interest.

He wouldn't be surprised if he'd later realize that it was the child's magic that manifested the blades, since he could already make out the village gates just few blocks away from where he currently stood. Perhaps the girl had a pair of seeing eyes from the entrance outwards? That would be a highly possible premise, but perhaps the most terrifying one of all.

The swordsman clicked his tongue as his jaw stiffened in frustration, flipping his sword back as he chiseled his mind for whatever hell he'd encounter once he set foot in 'her' territory.

"Stupid kids...." he began, as if repeating a mantra, "And their stupid...obsessions."

Passing by a few vacant huts that were situated in a disorganised manner over the first few acres of the haunted village, Dimaria was now walking towards where the huts were more clustered together. There was not a hint of life and the thought made her feel like someone was running feathers down her spine. “Such a creepy place,” she muttered to herself. She was not scared, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t get the chills. The further she walked, the quieter it got and before long she could hear a noise as if it was about to rain. If it rained, she was going to have to find shelter and wait until the rain stopped otherwise it would be difficult to work when you were soaking head to toe. So she looked up to check if there were dark clouds or other signs of rain when she saw something that made her swear under her breath and rush under one of the huts.

Instead of rain, there was a bunch of spears falling from the sky. What on earth was this? A joke? Someone was playing with her and she didn’t like this. So once she heard the spearheads entering the muddy ground, she peeped through the entrance of the tiny home to see if there were more nonsensical things waiting for her outside. She wondered if the seven year old was behind this. If so, she needed to find the girl and deal with her immediately. If more spears rained down on her and there were no huts nearby, she would have thirty or so holes in her dead body. Dimaria stepped out of the hut warily, checking the sky and the surrounding before she kept walking, suddenly breaking into a sprint. She couldn’t die here.

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

The desolate village would only greet his arrival with an eerie tone. As his figure drew closer, he noticed a set of cold iron bars that coiled about, sitting in its own rust like a make-shift fence. When he inspected the gate, it appeared to have been pried open, generating a creak every time a breeze wafted by. It occurred to him that there may been others who took the liberty of coming here to deal with the girl, but otherwise, he didn't want to get his hopes up by simply assuming, so in the end, the swordsman would only take to the opened gate with a trivial sense of importance.

His free hand made a move to open it further to allow himself in, a low rasping coming from its decaying hinges, and he'd do this as slowly as possible to avoid alarming the kid, wherever she was. Talking cautious steps, he'd start walking around, spotting a most curious sight from his portion of the village as he decidedly ventured further into the rows of abandoned households that sat squashed amongst themselves. Though he didn't seem to see where they were aimed at, his eyes caught a whiff of what remained of the rain of spears, their numbers dwindling but their uncanny shine collectively luring his attention. Much like the swords he encountered earlier, there seemed to be no sort of indication of the summoner around, implying that she was somewhere else, much to his disappointment.

But the purpose of those spears seem to allude him, perplexing as it was, what kind of messed up kid would throw spells at empty space? Breaking into a run, he made a beeline for one of the houses and swung one of the doors open, keeping a clear conscience for what he may or may not see. What if she sought the life of a survivor? That sort of situation would be too dire. On the other hand, maybe another wizard really was in the fray?

Regardless, however, all he could find was an ecliptic darkness, not even an inkling of light or a mutter or anything close to what he'd been hoping for. Terith clicked at the lock and motioned to close the door, until a familiar sound came from within the house, something akin to metal being sharpened by a whetstone. He'd crack the door open just a bit further, staring back into the space and inevitably meeting the successive thrust of a dagger as it tore through the darkness in one swipe.

'Dammit!' he thought, tilting his etherblade in hopes of parrying it.

Expecting a mouthful of silver became the least of his problems, however, as his defensive measure was all for naught. The dagger never came, it seems, nothing but silence and rapid blinking as the blonde sported a confused expression.

'I don't think you should be messing around with non-existent swords.' a voice said, the spirit's expression tact and calculative.

Terith responded with a frown, closing the door with a small huff of annoyance. 'Tch. So they were illusions all along.' he whispered back, the words fluttering across the Chronicle with a palpable sense of frustration to them. 'Those spears didn't seem to be part of the play, though...'

The glassy eyed imprint would only chuckle, shifting positions so he'd sit cross-legged. 'Took you long enough.'

'S-shut up!' he spat, sheathing his weapon to prove his point. No doubt leaving something for the brunette to use against him later on.

Heaving in a sigh, the swordsman opted to forget the encounter and simply move on, seeking to follow the path as it curved deeper into a more shadier part of the town. His head whisked around a bit, picking up the presence of a magical individual right around the bend as he took generous steps towards the neighboring houses. The energy didn't seem to appear negative in retrospect, but he'd hate to compromise for something less than caution, retaining one hand on his blade as it sat in its scabbard.

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

There were voices in his head, and they weren't the kind of boisterous bickering that he'd become used to in light of how often he'd tackle the voices of his spirits, a double-edged gift catered by his magic's circumstance. Rather, these whispers had the nature of the malefic kind, words akin to grueling thoughts clawing at the base of his spine, seeking refuge in his psyche as if to wreak havoc there.

'Help....me...' one said, close to shell of his right ear that made him twitch forward in an attempt to get it out. 'Die....die....die....' the other would repeat, hovering over his left ear with a persistence unmatched. A visible vein bulged over his temple as several more gathered over his figure, the air around him increasingly getting chillier over the passing second. In his head, Souji's existence seemed to pass on the same emotion as he did, waning his essence to and fro at a frustrated pace. Terith wasn't aware that dead men had no tolerance for mind games and the mutterings of the damned. It was a funny thing to consider.

'This is getting irritating, Teri-boy. Can you go some place else?' Souji asked, his feet sinking into a lotus stance, feigning the sense of tranquility despite the noise that echoed over the Chronicle like the buzzing of wasps. 'Somewhere...less disturbing.'

Terith huffed the imprint a long and tired breath, weakly trying to swat the voices away from his ears with a hand, only to have them huddle around him more, crowding up his thinking space even as he paced back and forth between the desolate huts. 'Like I can. Everywhere is disturbing.' he stated, pursing his lips as the whispers clogged up even more, their words now blurred over multiple voices and incomprehensible sentences. 'Everywhere I go, they follow, Souji.'

'You scared?'

'Hell no.' the swordsman spat, digging his paling knuckles into the voids of his pockets, 'I have several dead men in my head already, speaking to me everyday, who wouldn't get used to it eventually?'

The spirit would only chuckle, leaning back unto the floor of the sea-like Chronicle with his arms tucked behind his head. 'Fair point.' he'd say, steadied by his vessel's words and not bothering to listen to anything else but the sound of Terith's heartbeat, thumping gently against his rib cage, which was a pleasant echo amongst the dead spirits like Souji.

And as Okita seemed to find no trouble fulfilling a more lax state, his vessel, on the other hand, was starting to lose patience over the multitude of houses that he'd passed -all very much the same, and all very much empty. There was no Lilith to behold, and no other wizard to lend a hand either. Was he truly alone, or was he delusional? Could be both, but insanity wasn't a very easy thing to swallow, in his opinion.

The swordsman considered to walk the entire length of what remained of the village road for just a little while longer, carrying the voices with him with little to no attention given. He'd be travelling to the darkest parts of the town, for sure, but perhaps it'd be easier to search for the little girl there, where the darkness was thick and the stars dimmed and the trees hung back like dead bodies, grasping at the howling winds.

Then, his vision flickered, catching eclipses of a bright figure out of the corner of his eye. It seemed feminine, in regards to the outline, whether it was human or not was a more difficult question to answer. He ebbed back, sinking into the leaves of a nearby bush in a hushed rustle, his breath sharp as he inhaled and wondered, idly, if it had been simply a premonition, or something more dire.

'It could be her....' he thought, fingers digging red crescents into his palm as his fists balled up tightly. 'I need to be careful....'

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

The onslaught of foreign voices didn't seem to falter in the slightest, even as he diverged from what used to be the original plan and had started to wonder aimlessly at a rapid clip, the mutters of the damned only beckoned to him more, stronger, increasing a crescendo every other second or so. Most were but passing thoughts of the deceased, idle and harmless, but the ones who clung to him persistently were clearly more malevolent in nature.

"....Tch."

There was no mistaking their intentions, especially the very few that screamed bloody murder close to his shoulder. Had the echoes not betrayed their fake proximity, then the swordsman might've considered running for the hills at how close they seemed to be, almost as if they were physically real enough to stab daggers into the curve of his back, if they hadn't already. It began to become increasingly harder to keep a firm, taut grip on the reality of things in his current circumstance, much less keep a steady cool when confronted with the paranormal. Terith was no coward, but there was a certain level of bravery between him and death, and judging by the horrific whispers that pursued him like a ghastly plague, he was very much dancing close to death's doorstep.

Souji sported a tight expression as his jaw moved side to side to the rhythm of his grit teeth, the sound almost collapsing amongst the noise that the whispers generated. He wasn't a spirit to regret dying, but it was at times like these where he visibly cursed his clear perception of all things spiritual, regardless of orientation. The old Shinsengumi captain felt a vein bulge over his ethereal temple, his fingers clacking at the floor impatiently. '....This is going nowhere.' he spoke, directing his point to no one but the blonde vagabond who held him captive inside his skull, 'I thought you said you saw her, Teri-boy, all we're seeing is trees, trees, and more dead trees!'

Terith made a pinch to his nose with his thumb and index finger, inhaling sharply as he clicked his tongue. 'Goddammit, I know, okay? For your information, I did see her, but because we're both bad at directions, we're lost again!'

The old imprint took to this with slight irritation, his soft-shouldered figure now tense and rigid, like freshly broken glass. 'I'll have you know that you're the one who has the legs to walk on, it's clearly your own undoing that we are here, gathering unwarranted grudges better than a Japanese horror movie!'

Kushinada seemed to all but shake under his hold, his right eye somewhat twitching in disbelief that Okita, of all people, had the nerve to betray him of his loyalties and place the shame on him. It was unbecoming of one of the most composed of spirits in his Chronicle, but it didn't seem to spare Souji of the rage that slowly clamored its way up Terith's throat.

"WILL YOU SHUT UP?!" came his scream, nearly rivaling the pitch of a siren. Once released, it prompted several crows to squawk their way out of the dry canopies, flying into the darkness of the night with an ominous tone to their natural noises. At the center of it all, the swordsman heaved his lungs to and fro, his breath labored with the uncharacteristically red-tint of his face, most probably his frustration boiling his blood vessels swollen.

In his head, Souji had his lips open a tad, his eyes wide with a surprise uncalled for, not at his vessel's sudden outburst, but from a numbing sensation that wafted from an unseen presence. '...T-Terith.' he whispered, low and strangle strangled.

'WHAT?!' was all Terith could say in reply, his episode far from ending.

'She's...here...'

'Eh?'

It wasn't until a dark, looming shadow crossed the corner of his vision that Terith began to understand Souji's remark and the dilemma-like symptoms that spread through his short words. To his right, a row of trees had parted, and standing in the silence of the new space was a large teddy bear, twice his size, almost, with glowing red eyes that bore deep into the pits of his existence.

He shivered when he noticed a small, pigtailed figure manifesting on the toy's shoulder, her legs swinging to a jolly beat.

"I fouunnnddddddd you~" Lilith breathed, her giggles like snake hisses as she eyed the swordsman from head to foot. "Let's play, big bro~"

The bear was messily strewn together, as one could tell, where flimsy bits of string kept its limbs and torso from falling apart. But it didn't seem to hinder its strength as it raised a large claw at the bewildered blonde, pushing his body back as the impact hit him hard across the chest. The force of the hit had sent the swordsman on a roundabout trip, thrashing against the forest floor before landing back first against a neighboring tree.

Around him, dried leaves scattered violently against his crippled form, and from a distance, he could see Lilith grinning ear to ear, pleased with his pitiful expression.

"Tag, you're it!"

♛

Words: 725 | @tagged | Notes:

ulla

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

Pain was a word that stung all sorts of somethings into his brain, especially then, where the excruciating numbness at his shoulders drove his focus elsewhere. His surroundings pulsed with an unfamiliar blur to them as he breathed, every sharp outline growing dimmer and dimmer until he could barely register the sounds as anything but static. Perhaps it was the effect of standing atop the borderline of passing out and consciousness, but Terith could physically feel his grip on reality diminishing with each passing breath that even his spirits were no longer responding. Was he to be stuffed by the child in his sleep? The thought honestly terrified him -but with no means of controlling his body's desires, the idea of sleep suddenly didn't seem to bad.

Until he'd hear a scream, a chorus of words that broke his daze almost as quickly as it tore through the paper background. It was a familiar sound, one that he daringly recognized by the highs and lows and with little time to spare, he'd cast the woman a glance, shakily regarding the blotch of green and black with a tight chest.

"...W-what are you...d-doing here?" is what comes through his lips first, his fingers lacing tightly over Kushinada's handle. The sound of the blade unsheathing further drew him from his slumber-like state, like a trigger pressed to his temple. Terith would groggily stab the ground with the sharp end of his sword, pushing his numb body out of the dirt with a rough expression that could only be interpreted as a mix of pain and...confusion.

His nerves were shot, that much he knew, but his instincts hadn't dulled the slightest. Though he wasn't with her for very long to truly call her important, the image of Summer going through the same agony was more than a burden he desperately he wanted to bear regardless. Perhaps he had become far too sentimental that he already upheld a sense of responsibility for a girl he'd only just met, a few moons ago -then again, he honestly didn't mind at that particular moment. What mattered was safety, and they had better get there while getting the job done, clean hands and all. Shakily, he'd raise an arm, snapping pale fingers with his eyes gnawing holes into Lilith's back, though he was admittedly drawn to her pigtails, as if he'd been staring through a filter she wore to guise herself innocent.

They were a strange shade of pink, nearly red enough to be mistaken for scarlet under the shadows. Her exterior was unmistakably a childish one, wearing a dress that was oddly pristine despite the living conditions around her. At her core, however, housed something maleficent -if she were to turn around to face him, then the image of a sweet little girl from the rear view would all but shatter violently. The space to her left was occupied by her large, unsightly teddy bear; his stuffing was pouring out of some of his limbs, and his fur was matted horribly with patches of dried blood. Terith couldn't see its face, but he didn't trust a thought as much as he did then -the image of a disturbing smiling face full of stitches and loose buttons encroaching further into his mind.

'You're...afraid?' Chiyome asked, her presence in his Chronicle both a welcoming and mysterious one.

He gave the spirit no reply, but she was always the perceptive type of soul, so much that it enabled her to pick up small signs of emotion through even the most insignificant changes in his body. This time, she read his erratic heartbeat as unmistakable fear. Chiyome folded her translucent arms beneath her chest, observing her vessel carefully.

'Is it because of the child?' she looked at her fingers, worn and foggy, and smiled, 'Or is it because you feel incompetent to protect the other girl?'

Terith said nothing, and though he was somewhat regretting his decision to usher the kunoichi into dominion over the Chronicle, he was still somewhat glad that her existence there allowed him to freely approach his target with the double-edged sound of silence.

The woman kept her grin on as she chuckled, 'Ah...how very sweet of you.' she said, her words lacing like fine silk, but the meaning escaped him, it seems, not intentionally, but because he had his eyes attached to something else to even comprehend the musings of the dead.

Above him hovered the polished steel of a replica sword, one that Masamune would've been proud to see, and with his finger's descent also came the noise of something being deftly cut by an invisible knife, sheering through the child's flesh like paper.

Lilith all but returned the favor with her own variation of noise that tore through the forest canopies, hollowing and forlorn.

"KYAAAAHHHHH! AHHH! IT STINGS!" the child rubbed an arm over her backside, reacting with a jolt to the fresh stain of red coating her pretty little dress.

"My outfit....it's ruined!"

With the lack of light, it was nearly impossible to notice the sly expression he sported, almost feeling triumphant at the small feat.

Stats n' stuff:

♛

Words: 605 |@tagged | Notes:

ulla

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

It was in his best interests, he thought, for that specific flash of bright light to have been used. He'd have to admit that past the intensity of the blind, Summer's choice of strategy was clever in its own little way, and that much was commendable. Although the chain stunt ensued by the creepy kid and her beaten up bear was a bit troublesome (and worrisome) that it gave the swordsman a significant amount of fright and frenzy, nearly driving him to actually run into the epicenter of their scuffle to personally intercept Lilith's plans to chain the girl. Thinking back, perhaps his decision to hesitate and trust her strangely confident expression was more than just a stroke of luck, seeing as he could've been crippled to an extent if Terith received the full impact of that. Thankfully his distance from them was forgiving in terms of the lighting. He could still see, albeit his surroundings were blurred out over by the steady whiplash of brightness.

The most vivid thing his head would register, however, was not the light, but the muffled screams of a child as she took a step back, the crunch of leaves beneath her mary janes, the thump of earth as her teddy falls to the ground, and the rustle of fabric as her bottom hit meets earth in an ungraceful fal. Simply by the distance of the noises, it wasn't difficult to estimate Lilith's exact location, and fortunately for the swordsman, the little tyrant wasn't too far for the advantage to lessen.

With his pulse steady and his breathing calm, Terith would swivel his wrist to the beat of a practiced angle, beckoning the old soul of Okita Souji as he did so, where the glassy-eyed brunette sat cross-legged with an expression of contentment stretching across his face. The Chronicles seemed to all but echo with the crisp sound of his fingers snapping, reverberating as Souji sent the necessary specifics of his famed Sandanzuki into the cockles of Terith's brain. From there, his instincts flared and his heart rate erupted extensively, driving his nerves to their near-singed state.

There was wiggle room for mistake, he told himself, repeatedly, as his heel dug into the soft earth beneath it. Taking stance, the blonde swordsman would then formally cast Souji's Tane with a tight scowl, watching his movements to maximize his precision as he sprinted forward. Surely enough, his loyalty to caution seemed to pay him back in full as the swordsman felt the sharp end of his blade tear back at something soft, thrice-fold, ensuring the bitter pitch of Lilith's exclaim as she writhed in agony, a voice that was unmistakably that of a child's. For a brief moment, Terith wondered if his resolve was actually blind child abuse -then he remembered the MC's reports, and thought of the amount of blood was stuck between her pretty little fingers, how much souls hung around her cute pigtails, cursing her to oblivion.

Perhaps justice really was a twisted thing. He wouldn't know. It was decidedly best to not mull over it too much.

Instead, he'd simply watch the girl limp about, her blood pooling at the tips of her nails as her other arm reached to constrict the open wound. The Sandanzuki posed lethal then, Terith realized, seeing scarlet run down the length of her shoulders, flowing in buckets somewhere along the supple skin of her collarbone. He bit his lip at the sight as a semblance of Lilith's humanity slipped a little, in-between her shivering and the silver strand of tears lining her jaw. The little girl actually started to look like a mistreated kid, and that seemed to induce a bit of guilt somewhere deep in his morality.

No...she was a murderer...right? Surely now, this much was only part of the retribution she rightfully deserved..right?

Terith inhaled sharply, approaching Lilith on soundless steps. She started to crumple a little, her figure small and vulnerable, as the blood continued to pool from her body. His legs bent as he settled down, centimeters separating the little girl from him.

"I'm sorry..." the blonde whispered, just barely enough for Lilith to hear the regret in his voice.

Her eyes, once clouded by the darkness of her hair, stared straight back at him, her pale lips trembling as stray tears bubbled over like dew on her eyelashes. "M-mercy...please..."

For once, in the short time he became a wizard, did he felt an actual hesitance for the enemy. Gone were the heinous things she committed as he stared at those wide, begging irises, hoping to be spared despite her infamy. He could feel the weight of Kushinada descend as his grip on the blade slacked, overcome by the display and too much of his morality.

And yet, as much as he felt regret for slicing her open, Terith couldn't seem to regret something as much as he did for his attempt to lower his defenses, then, as horror quickly spread through his face when a familiar outline rose from a pile of dead leaves, slowly withdrawing from its place among the shadows. It wore a smile, a familiar smile, and sported a nostalgic shade of brunette and kind, ever so kind blue eyes that easily stared into the pits of his soul.

Seeing Michelle there, his sister, with her comforting gaze, somehow afflicted more than just a curse on his thinking, but sent a great and impeding sense of guilt into his psyche that rendered him typically defenseless, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide as he stared back at the cheap imitation of his beloved sibling, of whom he abandoned on his father's death anniversary. To his eyes, she was the exact embodiment of everything he ever regrets.

"...Teri, why haven't you come home yet? Dad's waiting. He misses you." the doll asked in the most sickly sweet voice.

He stuttered, feeling a portion of his mental state snap. "...I...I..."

The doll's head tilted, eyes unblinking. "...I thought me and Giselle could rely on you. You said you'd support us."

"It...i-it was an accident...!" he screamed.

"You said you'd be there for me..."

"Stop it...!"

"You told me you'd never leave me alone..."

"STOP IT PLEASE!"

Visibly caught in her trap, Lilith wasted no time in getting up, raising her good arm with a smile that could summon demons. At the tip of her finger grew a dark and malevolent energy, pulsing with hate and lies and everything chaotic in the world. She planned to reduce him into her own little toy with the way she approached him, careful not to break the grip her Michelle doll had on the blonde.

She giggled. "Nighty night, sweet prince!"

Stats n' stuff:

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

To him, the battle that followed was drowned out by the sound of his sister's calls, beckoning him like a vice with her choice of words and the persistent cling of her eyes, gray and hollowing. At that point, the fine line between reality and illusion was visibly thinned out, causing his mouth to dry and his kneeling figure to feel chained down to the cold earth beneath him. Though he resolved to traverse Fiore with an intention of gaining strength to rival the Arashi Miko's, what was it, exactly, that he accomplished these past few months? It was painful to climb up that ladder now with the knowledge of Giselle and Michelle rearing their crumbling lives without him there as the primary foundation, especially in the face of the loss of their father.

The swordsman dug his fingers into his throbbing head, imitating an action that was supposedly aimed to stir some sense into the situation, to disperse the smoke of lies, view the illusion through a logical telescope despite that labored breath he let go ever so often. However, the more Michelle approached, the less proximity he had with his chance of breaking free of Lilith's confines.

Michelle drew a long, steady breath, her smile withering off her pale face. "Teri...please, come home with us."

The taste of insanity must've been something acquired by those who conform to it, he thinks, briefly, his existence writhing at the core. "S-shut up..." he said, the words stumbling off the roof of his mouth in a forced fashion, almost as if he was straining so much to get a few syllables out, "You're...not Michelle..." he dictates, the words questionable whether they were directed to the doll or him, to insult or to bring resolve. "She...she never uses gentle language...she's not as...lady like as you"

This Michelle made a face, though it was only half a second long and horribly hidden by the shadows of her bangs. Terith had his eyes firmly glued to her face, however, out of horror and a strange drawing force that lulls him to her expressions. His Michelle would have a distinct frown when he made off-putting comments at her, the Michelle he knew would twitch her eye and whack him over the head and tell him over and over again -'You..little..sh*t!'

But the doll showed him a distraught face, kind and gentle, never like Michelle, and the more he watched, the easier it was to mark a difference between a doll and his sister, where the former was far too girly to ever be on par with the latter's rough edges. The swordsman chuckled, the vibrations nearly mute if he hadn't forced himself, although it was hardly anything commendable, especially after the visible anger that wafted off from his sister's illusion.

And, somehow, all at once, the perfect replica of his sibling started to melt and disperse, large iron claws spilling through her fingers and white puffs of stuffing leaking through her skin. Her eyes were now buttons and her smile were stitches, and when he blinked several times over, the figure collapsed, and whatever curse that was embroidered with his guilt was washed over by a tidal wave of sorts. Terith took one, liberating breath, as if he he'd been drowning all this time. He vividly registered the nature of his surroundings, vanquishing the fog that clogged his thoughts. Slowly, he'd hear the worried clamor of his spirits, crying out to him in unison, he'd see Lilith's limbs tied up and her face drained of using so much magic, and he'd notice Summer, too, who made considerable effort to offer him something to eat.

Had she been speaking to him despite his plight with the doll? It was obvious now that the capture was her doing, that the total dispelling of the illusion was her handiwork and knowing that...elated him considerably. He returned a smile as she spoke, his jaw shaking as his real voice unhinged itself from his throat.

"I'm fine..." he started, thinking that perhaps she bared witness to his helpless state if she was able to stop the little girl, "And...you did a good job, regardless, thank you."

In his moment of relief, he'd spy the teddy bear that sat forgotten among a pile of leaves. He didn't seem to harbor any resentment for it then, as his mind bubbled up with his early memories. Turning over to the woman with him, the swordsman started mulling over his options, and as he stood from his kneel, he resolved to convey the wholesome picture of his story.

Perhaps even introduce himself by his given name, an act he hadn't done in what felt like eons.

Terith slid his hands into his pockets, furrowing his brow as he took his time choosing his words, "Hey, Summer...I'm sorry but...Torian isn't really my name."

The sentence was horribly vague, and he wasn't sure if that even portrayed what he wanted tell her properly, but it seems his gratitude prioritized stripping the careless persona he crafted for himself over his life story, first. Of course, there was no possibility that she wouldn't react negatively to it -still, he had to make an effort to try.

"It's Terith, Terith Blair." he said, drawing a sharp and nervous breath before quickly adding the follow-up, "And I...was never really born in Ishval, at all."

it may sound absurd but don't be naive

even heroes have the right to bleed

Okay was anything but the response he expected. Okay was short and simple and refined - and yet, it was by far the most liberating notion the blonde had heard in what seemed like eons of toil and tear through a foreign land, through Fiore, with a false name to bare the weight of wizardry. Supposedly, Terith's secrets were to be exposed at a definite pace, but there stood a girl who seemed to break all his petty defenses before he could even lower them for her.

If they had been in a war, then it was safe to say that he was first to surrender.

The dirty white sheet that he so purposely adorned was easily separated from the curve of his head with just a little nudge from Summer's hand, a cold draft slipping around his neck with the jerk generated from his impulsive step backward, an action resulting from the girl's spontaneous decision to ruffle his hair. It wasn't unpleasant, he dare admit, but rather something that he'd have never anticipated, though he could credit Summer with a chuckle or two for being just as surprising as her magic. And yet, Terith appeared largely unsuccessful in his impromptu act to create some sort of distance between them, his brain immediately registering the heat of another person's touch, gently grazing the slope of his cheek. If her choice of words and manner of movement weren't jarring enough, then that solitary moment of skin contact proved to be far more effective in beckoning his urge to withdraw.

"W-w-wha-?" he sputtered, several messy heartbeats going off like sirens in his head. "...I...I...."

Then, her hand retracts, the warmth scattering into miliseconds and he'd stutter there, breathless for a moment as his eyes remained wide and unblinking. Trickles of moonlight pooled lightly over their figures, only slightly skewed by dead branches overhead, forming a black canopy. Somehow, in Terith's loss for words, the man on the moon was able to perfectly push him to acknowledge that one idle thought that briefly passed his mind.

'Damn...' he thinks, involuntarily so as with both eyes settling on the younger girl's smile with dutiful attention.

Upon realizing the implication of that fleeting thought, a different heat would start to gather across his face as promptly as Summer began to re-tell her story. He'd have shaken his head twice to truly brush away any undue whimsies, passing a palm over his face in a weak attempt to dull the blush that spilled over his skin. He'd only hope that she was far too preoccupied with her recollection to notice his little slip-up.

When the spur of his hysteria dwindled to a much more forgivable amount, Terith would notice the consistency of her voice as she went over her own collection of depressing tales. If it weren't for the stray tear that traced a path down her face, then perhaps he'd be legitimately amazed at her tenacity, which was present even then as it was back in her village. To have grown into a cheery character in spite of a tragedy was something that bordered the feat of heroes, at least for him, and the more her story was outlined for him, a portion of his admiration for her general persona seemed to indefinitely rise, just a tad, enough for him to draw a smile that was discreetly directed to her.

"I...I see." he started, picking up the small signals that hinted the end to Summer's relay. "I...first, I'm terribly sorry about your village..."

For an honest man, he wasn't too sure if it was proper to start his response with that. Polite as it was on the surface, didn't she clearly indicate that she had long passed the grief was moving on? Sharing sympathies for it seemed to brew only uselessness.

God. He hadn't felt so frazzled like this in a long time.

"Uh...w-well..." the swordsman coughed, clearing his throat and, hopefully, his head would follow suite. "I know you said you're okay with it, but um...still..."

Terith inhaled a sharp and ragged breath, exhaling with a huff, confident that that was enough to stabilize his train of thought. "A-At any rate, I didn't expect you to not have been born from Ishval either...or that-" a chuckle, "-you explode. Remind me to be particularly careful with torches next time, alright?"

When the laughter all but ebbed into sincerity, Terith's words would warp a bit in visible nostalgia as he prompted his own recollection. "And, as for me, like I said...I don't really belong here, in this realm, or dimension...or whatever..." he said, "I come from a place where magic of any form doesn't exist - they only come to life in fiction, so you can guess that even the tiniest hint of Fiore's magic is but a fantasy in my world."

Fantasy was hardly the right term for it, if at all, magic refused to exist there to a point where it was anything but a myth. The denizens of Fiore were pretty profound when expressing their attachment to Ethernano and the miracles it can do, but as he mulled over Summer's confession that she, in fact, was not inherently birthed in a known location within Ishval, a little part of him wondered if she'd even be slightly taken aback by his world's circumstance. After all, she was anything but boring, and a world that revolved without so much as a small flux of magic could become the epitome of boring.

Regardless, the blonde continued, all the while keeping a protective arm attached to the blade at his hip.

"I was born to a family of three. Mother dearest passed away early on when I was too young to understand what was going on, although I had my father and my twin sisters to dot on me as their youngest quite frequently, so it's not as gloomy as it initially looks." Terith breathes, feeling his lungs disperse not just oxygen, but long-drawn out anxiety as well, "It's been a year since my dad's death, however, and supposedly, me and my sisters were to celebrate the anniversary in mom's hometown - a place so similar to Midi that there's barely any difference."

'Samurais.' he automatically mused, his tangible fanboy-ism leaking through his impulsive smile as he spoke with a chirp to his words, until her face slips into the brew, which quickly turned the taste of nostalgia into something bitter. "Along the way, I met a strange girl when I decided to visit a local shrine. She....was the reason why I ended up in Ishval in the first place."

Terith clicked his tongue to her memory, remembering the allure of her smile and how wrong it was to play along with her request to approach the offertory box. He bit a lip in response to the images that lapsed through his head, consisting of his abysmal descent from reality and the echo of the priestess' giggles. "I'm not sure if it was the work of witchery or anything of the sort, but I'm sure she was at fault for me falling through...a portal, that led me here."

His words abruptly stopped there, thinking that perhaps this was enough, he needn't tell her more - for even if he wanted to, Terith still had his own questions to be answered, for his story lacked the core essentials of everything reasonable and meaningful. Instead, he'd tilt his head, passing her a shrug and a conservative grin to compliment his solemn mood.

"Everything else just naturally followed I guess; my father's fountain pen became a sword, and that sword gave me abilities that surpass my expectations to this day." he'd laugh, dryly, a small hole piercing his chest, all the way to his back, and Terith had to blink twice to make sure there wasn't an actual knife twisting in his rib cage.

"Magic is nice, don't get me wrong, but all I ever wanted...was to go home."