Patrollogs
Ediths Ghost Banishing 250402
In the bleak and eerie confines of Arkwright Cemetery, a confrontation of otherworldly forces unfolds as Edith, supported by Takeshi and William, embarks on a ritual to banish malevolent entities manifesting from dark mists. Takeshi, with a samurai-like resolve, unsheathes his blade bound by a crimson cord, ready to fend off the demonic threats. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation and a menacing cold that bites to the bone. As Edith begins her ritual, drawing upon the necromantic energies of the cemetery, Takeshi battles the shadows with a fury matched only by his sword's lethal precision. William, using his abilities to cast illusions, confuses and manipulates the assailants, giving Takeshi openings to strike. Despite suffering grievous wounds, Takeshi's demonic resilience sees him through, his body slowly knitting back together even as he sheds blood upon the hallowed ground.
As the ritual reaches its zenith, the tension mounts with the arrival of a hellhound, a phantom beast that launches itself at Edith with a hunger for destruction. In a display of agility and wit, Edith transforms into a cat, evoking the ethereal grace of feline mystique. Meanwhile, Takeshi, beleaguered yet unbroken, grapples with a transformed William, now a ferocious wolverine lost to instinct and rage. The chaotic fray sees Edith's mastiff clashing with the hellhound, a spectral battle mirroring their masters' struggle. Ultimately, Edith's ritual culminates in a surge of magical power, dissipating the demonic mist and banishing the smoke monsters back into the void from whence they came. The cemetery, once a nexus of dark forces, finds peace again, albeit temporarily, as the trio recovers from their exertions, their bond strengthened by the ordeal yet haunted by the knowledge that darkness always lies in wait, ready to rise again.
(Edith's ghost banishing)
[Sun Mar 30 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is morning, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
There is the sudden smell of brimstone that fills the area, and along with a rising, black mist: smoke, coiling along the surface of the graveyard. It seems to form strange whorls and shapes, and as they draw close to %n they begin to look more and more like creatures -- horned creatures, with red eyes full of menace.
Takeshi stood motionless, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade pressed against bare flesh. His single eye, narrowed to a slit, fixed on an unseen point in the distance, where the darkness stretched endlessly beyond the edge of his vision. The flickering neon lights from a nearby sign cast fractured glimmers across his face, illuminating the oily sheen of his slicked-back hair. The product in it held firm, keeping every strand in place, as if defying the chaos that swirled around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension coiling beneath the surface a predator holding its breath before the pounce. One hand hovered near his waist, fingers brushing lightly against the crimson cord that bound the weapon at his side. The jet-black sheath, smooth and reflective like liquid obsidian, rested against his hip, motionless but charged with a latent menace. Bound tightly with a vivid red cord, the sheath and handle were united in a rigid embrace, the knot drawn so taut that it resisted the mere thought of being unraveled.
The binding was deliberate a safeguard, a seal. It was not a sword meant to be drawn lightly, and Takeshi knew this better than anyone. His thumb grazed the edge of the knot, feeling the rough texture of the cord where it looped back over itself, forming a lattice of precise, symmetrical knots. Each twist and pull had been executed with care, binding the blade with a restraint as suffocating as the atmosphere around him.
For a moment, he hesitated. The weight of countless unspoken warnings pressed against him, a ghostly reminder that once the blade was freed, there would be no turning back. But hesitation was a luxury he had long since abandoned. His lips curled, the faintest hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand shifted, fingers curling firmly around the handle.
The red cord resisted at first, the knots digging into his skin as if refusing to relinquish their hold. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face fleeting, but there. someone grip tightened. His thumb slid along the side of the sheath, pressing with calculated pressure against the ridge where the blade met the saya. Slowly, deliberately, he began to loosen the cord, unwinding each loop with mechanical precision.
The tension eased, and the crimson bindings slackened one by one. The last loop fell away, leaving the sheath and handle unbound. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. His fingers adjusted, curling around the hilt with practiced ease. The vivid red cord that once restrained the weapon now hung loosely, trailing from the handle like a discarded promise.
The handle was cool to the touch, the black rayskin beneath the crimson wrapping offering a stark contrast. The diamond-shaped gaps between the tightly crisscrossed cord revealed the pitch-black surface beneath smooth, unyielding, and deceptively lifeless. But Takeshi knew better. This weapon, this extension of himself, was anything but lifeless. It was a sleeping beast, bound in silence and waiting to be awakened.
The guard if it could even be called that was a grotesque tangle of black material, a nightmare given form. Twisted, claw-like protrusions jutted out at irregular angles, arching forward toward the blades edge and backward along the handle as though grasping at the void. The surface was uneven, rough beneath his fingertips, and it absorbed the scant light that touched it, drinking in the glow of the neon signs without offering so much as a glimmer in return.
And at the center, that smooth, oval bulge. A polished surface that stood in unsettling contrast to the jagged chaos surrounding it. It was curved, rounded like the closed eyelid of something that had no business sleeping. Even now, as his fingers brushed against it, there was an undeniable tension a sense that it was waiting. Waiting to open. Waiting to see.
someone grip adjusted once more, his palm pressing against the hilt as his thumb applied subtle pressure against the guard. The movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless repetitions. The blade slid free with a barely audible whisper, the sound lost to the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The sheath relinquished its hold reluctantly, the friction clinging to the polished steel as though trying to delay the inevitable.
Inch by inch, the blade emerged a glint of merciless light slicing through the darkness. The steel was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time, its edge honed to a lethal sharpness that reflected none of the chaos that had birthed it. someone eye caught the faint shimmer along the blades surface, a gleam that danced like distant starlight across the polished metal.
The blade was longer than most, an extension of his will that moved with him as though it had a mind of its own. His wrist tilted slightly, adjusting the angle as the blade cleared the sheath completely. The tip hovered in the air for a moment, a mere breath away from tasting the world. someone grip was steady, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt, knuckles whitening slightly as he absorbed the familiar weight.
The blades surface caught the dim light, reflecting it in fragments, but the reflection was distorted, almost as though the steel itself refused to reveal the truth. someone expression remained impassive, but his eye gleamed with a quiet intensity, a flicker of something deeper, darker.
The sheath hung loosely in his other hand, the red cord trailing from it like a severed thread. The cord that had bound the weapon was now a mere afterthought, forgotten as the blade took center stage.
someone posture shifted, his stance widening slightly, feet planted with calculated precision. His movements were subtle, but each one carried the weight of intent. The blade angled downward for a moment, hovering just abov
Takeshi stood motionless, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade pressed against bare flesh. His single eye, narrowed to a slit, fixed on an unseen point in the distance, where the darkness stretched endlessly beyond the edge of his vision. The flickering neon lights from a nearby sign cast fractured glimmers across his face, illuminating the oily sheen of his slicked-back hair. The product in it held firm, keeping every strand in place, as if defying the chaos that swirled around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension coiling beneath the surface a predator holding its breath before the pounce. One hand hovered near his waist, fingers brushing lightly against the crimson cord that bound the weapon at his side. The jet-black sheath, smooth and reflective like liquid obsidian, rested against his hip, motionless but charged with a latent menace. Bound tightly with a vivid red cord, the sheath and handle were united in a rigid embrace, the knot drawn so taut that it resisted the mere thought of being unraveled.
The binding was deliberate a safeguard, a seal. It was not a sword meant to be drawn lightly, and Takeshi knew this better than anyone. His thumb grazed the edge of the knot, feeling the rough texture of the cord where it looped back over itself, forming a lattice of precise, symmetrical knots. Each twist and pull had been executed with care, binding the blade with a restraint as suffocating as the atmosphere around him.
For a moment, he hesitated. The weight of countless unspoken warnings pressed against him, a ghostly reminder that once the blade was freed, there would be no turning back. But hesitation was a luxury he had long since abandoned. His lips curled, the faintest hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand shifted, fingers curling firmly around the handle.
The red cord resisted at first, the knots digging into his skin as if refusing to relinquish their hold. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face fleeting, but there. someone grip tightened. His thumb slid along the side of the sheath, pressing with calculated pressure against the ridge where the blade met the saya. Slowly, deliberately, he began to loosen the cord, unwinding each loop with mechanical precision.
The tension eased, and the crimson bindings slackened one by one. The last loop fell away, leaving the sheath and handle unbound. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. His fingers adjusted, curling around the hilt with practiced ease. The vivid red cord that once restrained the weapon now hung loosely, trailing from the handle like a discarded promise.
The handle was cool to the touch, the black rayskin beneath the crimson wrapping offering a stark contrast. The diamond-shaped gaps between the tightly crisscrossed cord revealed the pitch-black surface beneath smooth, unyielding, and deceptively lifeless. But Takeshi knew better. This weapon, this extension of himself, was anything but lifeless. It was a sleeping beast, bound in silence and waiting to be awakened.
The guard if it could even be called that was a grotesque tangle of black material, a nightmare given form. Twisted, claw-like protrusions jutted out at irregular angles, arching forward toward the blades edge and backward along the handle as though grasping at the void. The surface was uneven, rough beneath his fingertips, and it absorbed the scant light that touched it, drinking in the glow of the neon signs without offering so much as a glimmer in return.
And at the center, that smooth, oval bulge. A polished surface that stood in unsettling contrast to the jagged chaos surrounding it. It was curved, rounded like the closed eyelid of something that had no business sleeping. Even now, as his fingers brushed against it, there was an undeniable tension a sense that it was waiting. Waiting to open. Waiting to see.
someone grip adjusted once more, his palm pressing against the hilt as his thumb applied subtle pressure against the guard. The movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless repetitions. The blade slid free with a barely audible whisper, the sound lost to the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The sheath relinquished its hold reluctantly, the friction clinging to the polished steel as though trying to delay the inevitable.
Inch by inch, the blade emerged a glint of merciless light slicing through the darkness. The steel was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time, its edge honed to a lethal sharpness that reflected none of the chaos that had birthed it. someone eye caught the faint shimmer along the blades surface, a gleam that danced like distant starlight across the polished metal.
The blade was longer than most, an extension of his will that moved with him as though it had a mind of its own. His wrist tilted slightly, adjusting the angle as the blade cleared the sheath completely. The tip hovered in the air for a moment, a mere breath away from tasting the world. someone grip was steady, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt, knuckles whitening slightly as he absorbed the familiar weight.
The blades surface caught the dim light, reflecting it in fragments, but the reflection was distorted, almost as though the steel itself refused to reveal the truth. someone expression remained impassive, but his eye gleamed with a quiet intensity, a flicker of something deeper, darker.
The sheath hung loosely in his other hand, the red cord trailing from it like a severed thread. The cord that had bound the weapon was now a mere afterthought, forgotten as the blade took center stage.
"Oh, over here?" William asks as he arrives, taking a look between Takeshi and Edith and commenting, as the mist starts to rise up "I guess demonic is fitting... That over there is the gravestone of Solomon, pretty sure" He comments, pointing a finger towards one of the graves, shrugging his shoulders and saying "Would have been kind of interesting to have seen him rise for a bit"
Takeshi stood motionless, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade pressed against bare flesh. His single eye, narrowed to a slit, fixed on an unseen point in the distance, where the darkness stretched endlessly beyond the edge of his vision. The flickering neon lights from a nearby sign cast fractured glimmers across his face, illuminating the oily sheen of his slicked-back hair. The product in it held firm, keeping every strand in place, as if defying the chaos that swirled around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension coiling beneath the surface a predator holding its breath before the pounce. One hand hovered near his waist, fingers brushing lightly against the crimson cord that bound the weapon at his side. The jet-black sheath, smooth and reflective like liquid obsidian, rested against his hip, motionless but charged with a latent menace. Bound tightly with a vivid red cord, the sheath and handle were united in a rigid embrace, the knot drawn so taut that it resisted the mere thought of being unraveled.
The binding was deliberate a safeguard, a seal. It was not a sword meant to be drawn lightly, and Takeshi knew this better than anyone. His thumb grazed the edge of the knot, feeling the rough texture of the cord where it looped back over itself, forming a lattice of precise, symmetrical knots. Each twist and pull had been executed with care, binding the blade with a restraint as suffocating as the atmosphere around him.
For a moment, he hesitated. The weight of countless unspoken warnings pressed against him, a ghostly reminder that once the blade was freed, there would be no turning back. But hesitation was a luxury he had long since abandoned. His lips curled, the faintest hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand shifted, fingers curling firmly around the handle.
The red cord resisted at first, the knots digging into his skin as if refusing to relinquish their hold. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face fleeting, but there. Takeshi s grip tightened. His thumb slid along the side of the sheath, pressing with calculated pressure against the ridge where the blade met the saya. Slowly, deliberately, he began to loosen the cord, unwinding each loop with mechanical precision.
The tension eased, and the crimson bindings slackened one by one. The last loop fell away, leaving the sheath and handle unbound. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. His fingers adjusted, curling around the hilt with practiced ease. The vivid red cord that once restrained the weapon now hung loosely, trailing from the handle like a discarded promise.
The handle was cool to the touch, the black rayskin beneath the crimson wrapping offering a stark contrast. The diamond-shaped gaps between the tightly crisscrossed cord revealed the pitch-black surface beneath smooth, unyielding, and deceptively lifeless. But Takeshi knew better. This weapon, this extension of himself, was anything but lifeless. It was a sleeping beast, bound in silence and waiting to be awakened.
The guard if it could even be called that was a grotesque tangle of black material, a nightmare given form. Twisted, claw-like protrusions jutted out at irregular angles, arching forward toward the blades edge and backward along the handle as though grasping at the void. The surface was uneven, rough beneath his fingertips, and it absorbed the scant light that touched it, drinking in the glow of the neon signs without offering so much as a glimmer in return.
And at the center, that smooth, oval bulge. A polished surface that stood in unsettling contrast to the jagged chaos surrounding it. It was curved, rounded like the closed eyelid of something that had no business sleeping. Even now, as his fingers brushed against it, there was an undeniable tension a sense that it was waiting. Waiting to open. Waiting to see.
Takeshi s grip adjusted once more, his palm pressing against the hilt as his thumb applied subtle pressure against the guard. The movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless repetitions. The blade slid free with a barely audible whisper, the sound lost to the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The sheath relinquished its hold reluctantly, the friction clinging to the polished steel as though trying to delay the inevitable.
Inch by inch, the blade emerged a glint of merciless light slicing through the darkness. The steel was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time, its edge honed to a lethal sharpness that reflected none of the chaos that had birthed it. Takeshi s eye caught the faint shimmer along the blades surface, a gleam that danced like distant starlight across the polished metal.
The blade was longer than most, an extension of his will that moved with him as though it had a mind of its own. His wrist tilted slightly, adjusting the angle as the blade cleared the sheath completely. The tip hovered in the air for a moment, a mere breath away from tasting the world. Takeshi s grip was steady, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt, knuckles whitening slightly as he absorbed the familiar weight.
The blades surface caught the dim light, reflecting it in fragments, but the reflection was distorted, almost as though the steel itself refused to reveal the truth. Takeshi s expression remained impassive, but his eye gleamed with a quiet intensity, a flicker of something deeper, darker.
The sheath hung loosely in his other hand, the red cord trailing from it like a severed thread. The cord that had bound the weapon was now a mere afterthought, forgotten as the blade took center stage.
Takeshi s posture shifted, his stance widening slightly, feet planted with calculated precision. His movements were subtle, but each one carried the weight of intent. The blade angled downward for a moment, hovering jus
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Edith, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Edith can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
Takeshi s eye narrowed, his breath slowing to a measured, deliberate pace as the figure emerged from the shifting smoke. The twisted horns stretched upward, jagged and uneven like the roots of some ancient tree clawing its way out of the underworld. Those red eyes, glowing with malice, burned through the haze, locking onto Edith with unrelenting focus. The gnarled finger, crooked and rigid, pointed directly at his companion a silent accusation that echoed louder than any words.
The chant began, low and guttural, the syllables crawling through the air like serpents slithering across wet stone. Each word dragged against Takeshi s senses, heavy and unnatural, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at their utterance. The oppressive crackle of magic filled the space, distorting the air as the unseen force grew denser. The weight of it pressed down like a suffocating fog, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones.
Then he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Takeshi s attention snapped to Edith, his gaze sharpening as the tension coiled tighter. someone posture stiffened, their breath hitching, and even without a word, Takeshi knew something was wrong. The telltale flicker of pain danced across their expression, brief but impossible to miss. The fingers curled ever so slightly, clutching at their chest.
Takeshi didnt hesitate. His body moved before thought could catch up, instincts honed by relentless training driving him forward. His grip on the sword tightened, the hilt pressing into his palm as he pivoted, positioning himself between Edith and the encroaching threat. His stance widened, grounding himself like an immovable wall, the blade held low and angled, ready to strike.
His single eye burned with a cold, unwavering resolve, locking onto the creature. Whatever this thing was, it had crossed a line. The weight that pressed down on Edith was no accident it was a deliberate assault, an intrusion aimed at their very essence. And that was something Takeshi would not allow.
The chant continued, the air thickening as the unseen force tightened its grip. someone breath grew shallow, a faint tremor running through their form. someone jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his mind raced. The creature wasnt just casting a spell it was binding Edith, ensnaring them with magic that dug claws into the core of their being.
Takeshi s thoughts moved like lightning, dissecting the situation in fragments of seconds. Breaking the spell wasnt as simple as severing a physical bond. This was deeper, anchored to something intangible. But magic even this twisted, corrupted kind followed rules. And rules could be broken.
His gaze flickered to the creatures stance, the way its clawed fingers moved in tandem with the chant. The rhythm was precise, each syllable tying another knot in the binding. Disrupt the pattern, and the spell would unravel.
His muscles tensed, anticipation coiling through him. There was no room for error. The margin between success and failure was thinner than the edge of his blade.
A single breath. Takeshi s grip shifted, his wrist angling slightly as he adjusted his hold on the weapon. His pulse slowed, steadying as he focused every fiber of his being on the moment before him. The creatures chant was reaching its peak, the energy in the air building to a crescendo.
Then he moved.
The blade sliced through the air, a flash of merciless steel cutting across the space between them. His strike was not aimed at the creature itself but at the intangible threads of magic that hung in the air the delicate weave of power that connected the spell to its victim. His blade met resistance, an invisible barrier where the magic was thickest. The clash reverberated through the air, sending a ripple of distortion outward.
The creatures eyes flared, red light intensifying as its focus wavered for an instant. The chant faltered, a fraction of a second where the words stumbled over one another. It was all Takeshi needed.
His left hand moved in tandem with his right, a sharp flick of his wrist sending the sheath tumbling through the air. The polished surface caught the dim light as it spun, a streak of darkness cutting across the space before colliding with the creatures wrist. The impact was precise, jarring the clawed hand just enough to throw off its control.
The creature hissed, its voice a guttural snarl as the magic quivered. The bindings grip on Edith loosened, the invisible vice easing just enough for them to gasp, their breath returning in shallow gulps. Takeshi felt the shift immediately the weight lifting, the oppressive force retreating like a receding tide. But it wasnt over. Not yet.
Takeshi pressed forward, his blade angled with surgical precision as he closed the distance. His movements were fluid, relentless, each step measured and deliberate. The creatures reaction was sluggish, its focus still reeling from the disruption. But Takeshi didnt give it a chance to recover.
The blade arced upward, slicing toward the creatures midsection. The edge met resistance as it bit into the twisted form, the steel cutting through whatever passed for flesh with a sickening ease. A shriek tore through the air, echoing off the surrounding void as the creature recoiled, its form flickering like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
But Takeshi didnt stop. His follow-through was seamless, the momentum carrying the blade into a downward strike aimed at the creatures outstretched arm. The gnarled limb jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the damage was already done. The connection had been severed.
The chant dissolved into a guttural snarl, the remaining fragments of the spell dissipating like ashes scattered by the wind. The oppressive weight in the air vanished, the crackle of magic fading into a
"Good morning, Bill, Takeshi." Edith greets Takeshi and William. "I would ask how you are, though these things appear to be rising again-- And demons. Of course." There's a sigh and Edith takes her usual place. A tombstone is forced over, the air snapping with the crack of stone and the burst of dust from the split. Then, Edith kneels. She draws her ritual blade, it is dragged across the pale flesh of Edith's forearm and she suggests, blood sluggishly welling, "Bill on distraction, Takeshi on combat." Then Edith begins to work, the athame used to ascribe that series of runes, Edith's other palm generating, then blackening the tombstone's surface with a circle of dark magic that warps the air. William and Takeshi are adept, and Edith simply lets them act; Foolish though. Trying to squeeze life from the undead. The vampire laughs, ignoring the demonic arcanist that forms, trusting William and Takeshi to deal with it.
Takeshi s eye narrowed, his breath slowing to a measured, deliberate pace as the figure emerged from the shifting smoke. The twisted horns stretched upward, jagged and uneven like the roots of some ancient tree clawing its way out of the underworld. Those red eyes, glowing with malice, burned through the haze, locking onto Edith with unrelenting focus. The gnarled finger, crooked and rigid, pointed directly at his companion a silent accusation that echoed louder than any words.
The chant began, low and guttural, the syllables crawling through the air like serpents slithering across wet stone. Each word dragged against Takeshi s senses, heavy and unnatural, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at their utterance. The oppressive crackle of magic filled the space, distorting the air as the unseen force grew denser. The weight of it pressed down like a suffocating fog, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones.
Then he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Takeshi s attention snapped to Edith, his gaze sharpening as the tension coiled tighter. Edith s posture stiffened, their breath hitching, and even without a word, Takeshi knew something was wrong. The telltale flicker of pain danced across their expression, brief but impossible to miss. The fingers curled ever so slightly, clutching at their chest.
Takeshi didnt hesitate. His body moved before thought could catch up, instincts honed by relentless training driving him forward. His grip on the sword tightened, the hilt pressing into his palm as he pivoted, positioning himself between Edith and the encroaching threat. His stance widened, grounding himself like an immovable wall, the blade held low and angled, ready to strike.
His single eye burned with a cold, unwavering resolve, locking onto the creature. Whatever this thing was, it had crossed a line. The weight that pressed down on Edith was no accident it was a deliberate assault, an intrusion aimed at their very essence. And that was something Takeshi would not allow.
The chant continued, the air thickening as the unseen force tightened its grip. Edith s breath grew shallow, a faint tremor running through their form. someone jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his mind raced. The creature wasnt just casting a spell it was binding Edith, ensnaring them with magic that dug claws into the core of their being.
Takeshi s thoughts moved like lightning, dissecting the situation in fragments of seconds. Breaking the spell wasnt as simple as severing a physical bond. This was deeper, anchored to something intangible. But magic even this twisted, corrupted kind followed rules. And rules could be broken.
His gaze flickered to the creatures stance, the way its clawed fingers moved in tandem with the chant. The rhythm was precise, each syllable tying another knot in the binding. Disrupt the pattern, and the spell would unravel.
His muscles tensed, anticipation coiling through him. There was no room for error. The margin between success and failure was thinner than the edge of his blade.
A single breath. Takeshi s grip shifted, his wrist angling slightly as he adjusted his hold on the weapon. His pulse slowed, steadying as he focused every fiber of his being on the moment before him. The creatures chant was reaching its peak, the energy in the air building to a crescendo.
Then he moved.
The blade sliced through the air, a flash of merciless steel cutting across the space between them. His strike was not aimed at the creature itself but at the intangible threads of magic that hung in the air the delicate weave of power that connected the spell to its victim. His blade met resistance, an invisible barrier where the magic was thickest. The clash reverberated through the air, sending a ripple of distortion outward.
The creatures eyes flared, red light intensifying as its focus wavered for an instant. The chant faltered, a fraction of a second where the words stumbled over one another. It was all Takeshi needed.
His left hand moved in tandem with his right, a sharp flick of his wrist sending the sheath tumbling through the air. The polished surface caught the dim light as it spun, a streak of darkness cutting across the space before colliding with the creatures wrist. The impact was precise, jarring the clawed hand just enough to throw off its control.
The creature hissed, its voice a guttural snarl as the magic quivered. The bindings grip on Edith loosened, the invisible vice easing just enough for them to gasp, their breath returning in shallow gulps. Takeshi felt the shift immediately the weight lifting, the oppressive force retreating like a receding tide. But it wasnt over. Not yet.
Takeshi pressed forward, his blade angled with surgical precision as he closed the distance. His movements were fluid, relentless, each step measured and deliberate. The creatures reaction was sluggish, its focus still reeling from the disruption. But Takeshi didnt give it a chance to recover.
The blade arced upward, slicing toward the creatures midsection. The edge met resistance as it bit into the twisted form, the steel cutting through whatever passed for flesh with a sickening ease. A shriek tore through the air, echoing off the surrounding void as the creature recoiled, its form flickering like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
But Takeshi didnt stop. His follow-through was seamless, the momentum carrying the blade into a downward strike aimed at the creatures outstretched arm. The gnarled limb jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the damage was already done. The connection had been severed.
Takeshi s eye narrowed, his breath slowing to a measured, deliberate pace as the figure emerged from the shifting smoke. The twisted horns stretched upward, jagged and uneven like the roots of some ancient tree clawing its way out of the underworld. Those red eyes, glowing with malice, burned through the haze, locking onto Edith with unrelenting focus. The gnarled finger, crooked and rigid, pointed directly at his companion a silent accusation that echoed louder than any words.
The chant began, low and guttural, the syllables crawling through the air like serpents slithering across wet stone. Each word dragged against Takeshi s senses, heavy and unnatural, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at their utterance. The oppressive crackle of magic filled the space, distorting the air as the unseen force grew denser. The weight of it pressed down like a suffocating fog, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones.
Then he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Takeshi s attention snapped to Edith, his gaze sharpening as the tension coiled tighter. Edith s posture stiffened, their breath hitching, and even without a word, Takeshi knew something was wrong. The telltale flicker of pain danced across their expression, brief but impossible to miss. The fingers curled ever so slightly, clutching at their chest.
Takeshi didnt hesitate. His body moved before thought could catch up, instincts honed by relentless training driving him forward. His grip on the sword tightened, the hilt pressing into his palm as he pivoted, positioning himself between Edith and the encroaching threat. His stance widened, grounding himself like an immovable wall, the blade held low and angled, ready to strike.
His single eye burned with a cold, unwavering resolve, locking onto the creature. Whatever this thing was, it had crossed a line. The weight that pressed down on Edith was no accident it was a deliberate assault, an intrusion aimed at their very essence. And that was something Takeshi would not allow.
The chant continued, the air thickening as the unseen force tightened its grip. Edith s breath grew shallow, a faint tremor running through their form. Takeshi s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his mind raced. The creature wasnt just casting a spell it was binding Edith, ensnaring them with magic that dug claws into the core of their being.
Takeshi s thoughts moved like lightning, dissecting the situation in fragments of seconds. Breaking the spell wasnt as simple as severing a physical bond. This was deeper, anchored to something intangible. But magic even this twisted, corrupted kind followed rules. And rules could be broken.
His gaze flickered to the creatures stance, the way its clawed fingers moved in tandem with the chant. The rhythm was precise, each syllable tying another knot in the binding. Disrupt the pattern, and the spell would unravel.
His muscles tensed, anticipation coiling through him. There was no room for error. The margin between success and failure was thinner than the edge of his blade.
A single breath. Takeshi s grip shifted, his wrist angling slightly as he adjusted his hold on the weapon. His pulse slowed, steadying as he focused every fiber of his being on the moment before him. The creatures chant was reaching its peak, the energy in the air building to a crescendo.
Then he moved.
The blade sliced through the air, a flash of merciless steel cutting across the space between them. His strike was not aimed at the creature itself but at the intangible threads of magic that hung in the air the delicate weave of power that connected the spell to its victim. His blade met resistance, an invisible barrier where the magic was thickest. The clash reverberated through the air, sending a ripple of distortion outward.
The creatures eyes flared, red light intensifying as its focus wavered for an instant. The chant faltered, a fraction of a second where the words stumbled over one another. It was all Takeshi needed.
His left hand moved in tandem with his right, a sharp flick of his wrist sending the sheath tumbling through the air. The polished surface caught the dim light as it spun, a streak of darkness cutting across the space before colliding with the creatures wrist. The impact was precise, jarring the clawed hand just enough to throw off its control.
The creature hissed, its voice a guttural snarl as the magic quivered. The bindings grip on Edith loosened, the invisible vice easing just enough for them to gasp, their breath returning in shallow gulps. Takeshi felt the shift immediately the weight lifting, the oppressive force retreating like a receding tide. But it wasnt over. Not yet.
Takeshi pressed forward, his blade angled with surgical precision as he closed the distance. His movements were fluid, relentless, each step measured and deliberate. The creatures reaction was sluggish, its focus still reeling from the disruption. But Takeshi didnt give it a chance to recover.
The blade arced upward, slicing toward the creatures midsection. The edge met resistance as it bit into the twisted form, the steel cutting through whatever passed for flesh with a sickening ease. A shriek tore through the air, echoing off the surrounding void as the creature recoiled, its form flickering like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
But Takeshi didnt stop. His follow-through was seamless, the momentum carrying the blade into a downward strike aimed at the creatures outstretched arm. The gnarled limb jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the damage was already done. The connection had been severed.
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Edith, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Edith can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
The circle burned, Edith sets the candle, ascribing the all seeing eye of Odin around it. The candle is burned, wax melted into a clump with a wick, though its tallow remains strong. Edith lights it, then begins to draw runes and glyphs around its edges. The ankh, the hanged man, the times, the scales. Takeshi is handling the demon caster. William knows what he's capable of. Edith begins to create lines; A line within a line within a line-- The first triangle. Then that is repeated; Line within a line within a line, and the six pointed star is formed. The second caster forms and repeats the same trick as the former, but Edith is undead. Takeshi can cut it, William can distract it. Edith simply... doesn't care. Edith's heart is a cold, dead blackened thing. It makes no difference. Edith continues to generate the ritual, drawing energy from the dead of the Arkwright cemetery.
William sighs out upon seeing the demon teen charge forward, shrugging his shoulders before directly asking Edith "Does it even do anything to you? Aren't you technically dead until you activate?" There doesn't seem to be much hurry to him right now, moving slowly to stand close enough to the vampire, but keeping some distance, in case he needed to swap the target of some attack towards him, crossing his arms as he watches Takeshi take care of the spirit magic casters
The demon launches himself towards the creature as it appears in the shadows, Takeshi twisting through the air with a snarl before a whistling sweep of his blade cleaves straight through the boney, outstretched finger pointed at Edith ! His momentum far from gone after the slash, his shoulder impacts into the creatures's chest a moment later as the hurled Takeshi spills into the tall, overbearing shadow demon. Rolling through the dirt with the creature, Takeshi ends up on top, the sword cast to the side, Takeshi balls up a fistful of the shadow mage's tunic and pulls the creature up just enough for him to find a solid connection with knuckle to face, knocking it out cold.
"Focus on magic" Takeshi calls out to William and Edith "I deal with demons." Takeshi adds, seeming fully focused today as he quickly gets to his feet and pulls his sword from where it hand landed in the ground
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Edith, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Edith can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
"These do literally nothing." Edith tells William conversationally, still kneeling, more runes-- Multicultural in nature drawn within the triangles formed by the star within the ritual circle. "They do that though and they leave everyone else alone. One day they may realise the folly of their mistake." A nod is afforded for Takeshi, and Edith continues talking to William as she drops a drop of blood into the candle's flame. The flame turns crimson. The air warps and it is as though a bonfire of grey decay begins to smoke-- Not sparked yet. Not burning in an inferno yet, but roiling with phantasmal energy. "They do like this tactic today though." Edith mentions to William as Takeshi goes for this next demon, too. "I will do something before long though. This is rather daft."
"They are really trying to cause you a heart attack" William tells Edith with a little shake of his head, glancing over at the gravestones and leaning against one of the taller ones, seemingly taking it easy for now - Since Takeshi seems to be taking care of the aparitions, and Edith seems unaffected by the blood magic, he simply decides to rest for as long as he can, if he doesn't need to move a finger, he's certainly not going to run around spending energy for anything.
Instead, he might as well use the time to make some idle conversation, nothing too intense as to not to distract those who are actually working, but at least filling the silence, or well, covering the chanting from the misty figures "Well, if they try something more effective, I might be able to send them elsewhere... But otherwise, this seems like it's going to go pretty smoothly"
Taking up a defensive posture now, Takeshi slide his back foot back, holds the sheathed blade in front of him, horizontal the ground, at head height, holding it like a bar or a staff in front of him. His head snaps to the side as another demon appears, Takeshi flicking out of sight with a rapid burst of movement yet again, his location given away by the malicious snarling as he once more hurtles through the air, throwing himself into the mage's direction with no regard for his own safety, body fully coiled for a fully committed swing.
The blade, returned to it's sheath immediately after slashing even when doing so prevents him from securing his own landing, smashes through the figure, cleaving it from shoulder to hip before the hurtling cannonball of Takeshi 's thrown body impacts into it a moment later, bursting the thing out of physical form and back into the shadow it was made out of. Takeshi, having not even considered his landing, slams in the ground on his shoulder and head, bouncing off of it with a rough grunt before flipping to his feet
A trio of horned smoke-monsters advance out of the mist. They have twisted weapons formed of smoke, and they descend on Edith, howling in an incomrephensible, devilish tongue.
"They do like heart attack today." Edith agrees with William. She too is happy to simply chat; This is not taxing in the least. Edith's ritual is coming to life now, the lines and runes beginning to smoke and blaze with a roiling dark bloodlight that saps color from the air. The deleterious energy begins to burn as an inferno now, the ritual now a pyre that is beginning to manifest spirits to fight. This then means that Edith can pay attention to the three attacking monsters, but Takeshi can handle one of them. Edith places two fingers to her lips, whistles and summons her mastiff. Pointing at one, the vampire calls out, "Kill!" and the ghostly hound charges to fight beside Takeshi. To William, Edith mentions, "I aught have donned something with more coverage today. This sun is really rather painful. A jacket in future, I think."
And there goes what William had been asking for, some more direct attackers, all three of them trying to descend upon Edith to stop her attempts at ritualing the mist away. And with a flick of his arm, William starts casting illusions to have one of the misty figures confuse one of its companions with the vampire - And so, when trying to reach to stab Edith, the misty figure instead gets rid of one of its partners, reforming to mist within an instant.
A moment passes, and, having worked his magic there, the man switches focus to another of the figures, using a different trick to make it so that Edith goes invisible to them, at least for a couple seconds, making them lose sight of their target until one of the more direct offensive party members can deal with them
There's plenty of time with William's illusions for Edith to necromantically control these phantasmal fiends. An eldritch word, gutteral and breathless is spoken and one monster attacks the other. Takeshi is given an opening. Then, Edith's hound rips one monster to shreads. Edith's ritual continues to glow insidiously, left to its own means as it begins to draw heat from the air.
Pushing himself up to his feet and grabbing his arm holding his blade, he looks down at his shoulder and snarls, seeing it dislocated. With a swing of his torso and a rough shove he pushes the shoulder back into place with a sickening snap, wincing for a moment as his demonic body take a moment to stitch the fractured joint back together. Trying to not let the pain distract him too much, Takeshi begins to trudge towards the tri of horned monsters, his upper lip curled, his teeth bared, rolling his shoulder to check it was back in working condition
Walking up the smoke creatures move in first, Takeshi accepting the first slash as it opens him up, the blade raked across his stomach and splattering blood, but sending his own attack over the top of it, stepping into his opponent's blade so he could close distance and swing his own heavily committed attack, cleaving the first shadow demon's head clean off.
It seemed he hadn't even considered the other two as they had already closed in either side of him. William deals with one, but Takeshi can't turn to face the third in time as the tip of a blade erupts out of his back, having traveled the full way through his body to get there. Blood pouring from his mouth, Takeshi grits his teeth and drops his sword to place both hands onto the wrist of the hand holding the sword embedded in him. The creature would try to pull back, but to no use, Takeshi holding his hand in place, looking the thing dead in the eye's as he keeps the sword embedded inside him long enough for cuddles to blindside the thing, no way to defend it's self as the Mastiff slams into it
As the dark mists roil in the cemetery, Edith and everyone with them are struck with a sudden fear. It's cold and awful, sinking into their heart to make the world seem impossible and alone.
With all three creatures gone, Takeshi lets out a pained gasp as the sword inside him turns to amorphous shadow, blood starting to pout out the front and back of him where he'd been opened up no there was no longer a solid object to keep him plugged. Takeshi shakes his head from side to side with gritted teeth as he attempts to walk it off, the holes slowly starting to stitch themselves back together ... But ... Not after he'd already lost what looks like several pints of blood, a bright crimson path trailing behind him as he walks ...
Takeshi 's voice is weak ...
There's a pause. The fear is palpable and Edith's dead gaze flicks right-- left. She eyes Takeshi and William as though she might dash, but the ritual is close, and that empowers Edith to an extent. The hound, already a spirit doesn't care and it bays the dirge of death in its howls. "Yes, a jacket in future." Edith nods again, this time to herself. "This is very uncomfortable." A nod to Takeshi then. "The magic is working." she assures the blood-coated demon. "It will simply take a little time." The air begins to chill gradually, winter temperatures that William wont mind, though Takeshi might feel it.
As magic starts setting in, and instilling fear into the party goers, William, instead of seemingly trying to make himself smaller or trying to hide like he would have many other times, seems to grow even more focused on the surroundings. Pulse accelerating and eyes darting around, he consider for a couple seconds how to proceed, but logic isn't driving the boat right now.
And instead of growing to an immediate retreat, he starts taking deeper breaths, trying to control himself before he loses it. Body starting to contort and bend unnaturally the man growing to the ground as blood starts sprouting and bones breaking, and fur appearing from the wounds - There is no illusion this time to cover up the whole process as it happens, nothing to mask as the man changes into animal.
And then the wolverine, in panic, in fear- Seems to resort to something way different than fleeing, it start lashing out at anything that even comes near it. Fight or flight seems to have kicked in and for the man, or animal, it is fight. By the way it starts attacked, rushed, breathlessly, uncoordinated and unstopping - It's someone pushed to a corner and trying to claw and bite at anything that pushes him in there, in this case, anything that comes near him, not even distinguishing Takeshi and Edith or her mastiff from the spirits tormenting them
A twisted figure forms out of infernal smoke, shaped like a terrible canine shape. It's a hellhound, leaping towards Edith with an awful snarl. When its mouth closes on %n, it has some phantom force, sending a vision of suffering in hellfire.
"Time." Takeshi grumbles, stooping and winceing with the pain of agitated wounds not fully healed as he scoops up the blade. "Ehhh ... So cold always ..." Takeshi complains as he gets ready for the next assault of the demons, bringing his blade up besides him once more, holding it at his hip!
Takeshi darts to the side as the hellhound appears, snarling at it before, right as Takeshi had been about to intercept it, a maddened Billverine slams into him, blindsiding him!
Takeshi skids across the ground with William(Gulo Gulo) on top of him, teeth and claws mauling the boy, the blade shunted out of his hand by the initial impact and left five feet back from where they'd skidded from.
Takeshi brings his hands up to protect his face, growling in fury at William(Gulo Gulo) as he throws him limbs up at the thing, trying to catch the claws, stuff them before they impacted him, shove the snapping maw away, or simply punch the thing in it's snout as hard as he could muster.
Edith's mastiff launches itself at the hellhound. It isn't quite fast enough, though the ritual can be left alone now. Takeshi and William(Gulo Gulo) will take care of this. Edith on the other hand... Edith hisses, waits for the hound to bite Edith, then takes a tip from William(Gulo Gulo). She shifts, ducks away, leaps over the hound leaving it confused, then lifts her tail, sitting by the pyre of the dark magic inferno licking a paw. Nothing can harm cats, after all, and the spirits are rising to consume the demonic mist around Edith, Takeshi and William(Gulo Gulo). Soon it will all be over.
William(Gulo Gulo) and Takeshi and Edith(cat)'s mastiff are busy. This is fine. Edith(cat)'s ritual completes and Edith(cat) sits beside it. She begins to groom herself, tail swishing contently as all the work is done for Edith(cat). Isn't it wonderful being a feline? Such an easy life.
The smell of smoke seems to peak, and then, with a rush of magical power, it's gone. The smoke monsters in the cemetery disappear, banished -- fading away as wisps of mist in the air around $n.
As the ritual reaches its zenith, the tension mounts with the arrival of a hellhound, a phantom beast that launches itself at Edith with a hunger for destruction. In a display of agility and wit, Edith transforms into a cat, evoking the ethereal grace of feline mystique. Meanwhile, Takeshi, beleaguered yet unbroken, grapples with a transformed William, now a ferocious wolverine lost to instinct and rage. The chaotic fray sees Edith's mastiff clashing with the hellhound, a spectral battle mirroring their masters' struggle. Ultimately, Edith's ritual culminates in a surge of magical power, dissipating the demonic mist and banishing the smoke monsters back into the void from whence they came. The cemetery, once a nexus of dark forces, finds peace again, albeit temporarily, as the trio recovers from their exertions, their bond strengthened by the ordeal yet haunted by the knowledge that darkness always lies in wait, ready to rise again.
(Edith's ghost banishing)
[Sun Mar 30 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is morning, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
There is the sudden smell of brimstone that fills the area, and along with a rising, black mist: smoke, coiling along the surface of the graveyard. It seems to form strange whorls and shapes, and as they draw close to %n they begin to look more and more like creatures -- horned creatures, with red eyes full of menace.
Takeshi stood motionless, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade pressed against bare flesh. His single eye, narrowed to a slit, fixed on an unseen point in the distance, where the darkness stretched endlessly beyond the edge of his vision. The flickering neon lights from a nearby sign cast fractured glimmers across his face, illuminating the oily sheen of his slicked-back hair. The product in it held firm, keeping every strand in place, as if defying the chaos that swirled around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension coiling beneath the surface a predator holding its breath before the pounce. One hand hovered near his waist, fingers brushing lightly against the crimson cord that bound the weapon at his side. The jet-black sheath, smooth and reflective like liquid obsidian, rested against his hip, motionless but charged with a latent menace. Bound tightly with a vivid red cord, the sheath and handle were united in a rigid embrace, the knot drawn so taut that it resisted the mere thought of being unraveled.
The binding was deliberate a safeguard, a seal. It was not a sword meant to be drawn lightly, and Takeshi knew this better than anyone. His thumb grazed the edge of the knot, feeling the rough texture of the cord where it looped back over itself, forming a lattice of precise, symmetrical knots. Each twist and pull had been executed with care, binding the blade with a restraint as suffocating as the atmosphere around him.
For a moment, he hesitated. The weight of countless unspoken warnings pressed against him, a ghostly reminder that once the blade was freed, there would be no turning back. But hesitation was a luxury he had long since abandoned. His lips curled, the faintest hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand shifted, fingers curling firmly around the handle.
The red cord resisted at first, the knots digging into his skin as if refusing to relinquish their hold. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face fleeting, but there. someone grip tightened. His thumb slid along the side of the sheath, pressing with calculated pressure against the ridge where the blade met the saya. Slowly, deliberately, he began to loosen the cord, unwinding each loop with mechanical precision.
The tension eased, and the crimson bindings slackened one by one. The last loop fell away, leaving the sheath and handle unbound. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. His fingers adjusted, curling around the hilt with practiced ease. The vivid red cord that once restrained the weapon now hung loosely, trailing from the handle like a discarded promise.
The handle was cool to the touch, the black rayskin beneath the crimson wrapping offering a stark contrast. The diamond-shaped gaps between the tightly crisscrossed cord revealed the pitch-black surface beneath smooth, unyielding, and deceptively lifeless. But Takeshi knew better. This weapon, this extension of himself, was anything but lifeless. It was a sleeping beast, bound in silence and waiting to be awakened.
The guard if it could even be called that was a grotesque tangle of black material, a nightmare given form. Twisted, claw-like protrusions jutted out at irregular angles, arching forward toward the blades edge and backward along the handle as though grasping at the void. The surface was uneven, rough beneath his fingertips, and it absorbed the scant light that touched it, drinking in the glow of the neon signs without offering so much as a glimmer in return.
And at the center, that smooth, oval bulge. A polished surface that stood in unsettling contrast to the jagged chaos surrounding it. It was curved, rounded like the closed eyelid of something that had no business sleeping. Even now, as his fingers brushed against it, there was an undeniable tension a sense that it was waiting. Waiting to open. Waiting to see.
someone grip adjusted once more, his palm pressing against the hilt as his thumb applied subtle pressure against the guard. The movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless repetitions. The blade slid free with a barely audible whisper, the sound lost to the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The sheath relinquished its hold reluctantly, the friction clinging to the polished steel as though trying to delay the inevitable.
Inch by inch, the blade emerged a glint of merciless light slicing through the darkness. The steel was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time, its edge honed to a lethal sharpness that reflected none of the chaos that had birthed it. someone eye caught the faint shimmer along the blades surface, a gleam that danced like distant starlight across the polished metal.
The blade was longer than most, an extension of his will that moved with him as though it had a mind of its own. His wrist tilted slightly, adjusting the angle as the blade cleared the sheath completely. The tip hovered in the air for a moment, a mere breath away from tasting the world. someone grip was steady, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt, knuckles whitening slightly as he absorbed the familiar weight.
The blades surface caught the dim light, reflecting it in fragments, but the reflection was distorted, almost as though the steel itself refused to reveal the truth. someone expression remained impassive, but his eye gleamed with a quiet intensity, a flicker of something deeper, darker.
The sheath hung loosely in his other hand, the red cord trailing from it like a severed thread. The cord that had bound the weapon was now a mere afterthought, forgotten as the blade took center stage.
someone posture shifted, his stance widening slightly, feet planted with calculated precision. His movements were subtle, but each one carried the weight of intent. The blade angled downward for a moment, hovering just abov
Takeshi stood motionless, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade pressed against bare flesh. His single eye, narrowed to a slit, fixed on an unseen point in the distance, where the darkness stretched endlessly beyond the edge of his vision. The flickering neon lights from a nearby sign cast fractured glimmers across his face, illuminating the oily sheen of his slicked-back hair. The product in it held firm, keeping every strand in place, as if defying the chaos that swirled around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension coiling beneath the surface a predator holding its breath before the pounce. One hand hovered near his waist, fingers brushing lightly against the crimson cord that bound the weapon at his side. The jet-black sheath, smooth and reflective like liquid obsidian, rested against his hip, motionless but charged with a latent menace. Bound tightly with a vivid red cord, the sheath and handle were united in a rigid embrace, the knot drawn so taut that it resisted the mere thought of being unraveled.
The binding was deliberate a safeguard, a seal. It was not a sword meant to be drawn lightly, and Takeshi knew this better than anyone. His thumb grazed the edge of the knot, feeling the rough texture of the cord where it looped back over itself, forming a lattice of precise, symmetrical knots. Each twist and pull had been executed with care, binding the blade with a restraint as suffocating as the atmosphere around him.
For a moment, he hesitated. The weight of countless unspoken warnings pressed against him, a ghostly reminder that once the blade was freed, there would be no turning back. But hesitation was a luxury he had long since abandoned. His lips curled, the faintest hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand shifted, fingers curling firmly around the handle.
The red cord resisted at first, the knots digging into his skin as if refusing to relinquish their hold. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face fleeting, but there. someone grip tightened. His thumb slid along the side of the sheath, pressing with calculated pressure against the ridge where the blade met the saya. Slowly, deliberately, he began to loosen the cord, unwinding each loop with mechanical precision.
The tension eased, and the crimson bindings slackened one by one. The last loop fell away, leaving the sheath and handle unbound. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. His fingers adjusted, curling around the hilt with practiced ease. The vivid red cord that once restrained the weapon now hung loosely, trailing from the handle like a discarded promise.
The handle was cool to the touch, the black rayskin beneath the crimson wrapping offering a stark contrast. The diamond-shaped gaps between the tightly crisscrossed cord revealed the pitch-black surface beneath smooth, unyielding, and deceptively lifeless. But Takeshi knew better. This weapon, this extension of himself, was anything but lifeless. It was a sleeping beast, bound in silence and waiting to be awakened.
The guard if it could even be called that was a grotesque tangle of black material, a nightmare given form. Twisted, claw-like protrusions jutted out at irregular angles, arching forward toward the blades edge and backward along the handle as though grasping at the void. The surface was uneven, rough beneath his fingertips, and it absorbed the scant light that touched it, drinking in the glow of the neon signs without offering so much as a glimmer in return.
And at the center, that smooth, oval bulge. A polished surface that stood in unsettling contrast to the jagged chaos surrounding it. It was curved, rounded like the closed eyelid of something that had no business sleeping. Even now, as his fingers brushed against it, there was an undeniable tension a sense that it was waiting. Waiting to open. Waiting to see.
someone grip adjusted once more, his palm pressing against the hilt as his thumb applied subtle pressure against the guard. The movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless repetitions. The blade slid free with a barely audible whisper, the sound lost to the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The sheath relinquished its hold reluctantly, the friction clinging to the polished steel as though trying to delay the inevitable.
Inch by inch, the blade emerged a glint of merciless light slicing through the darkness. The steel was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time, its edge honed to a lethal sharpness that reflected none of the chaos that had birthed it. someone eye caught the faint shimmer along the blades surface, a gleam that danced like distant starlight across the polished metal.
The blade was longer than most, an extension of his will that moved with him as though it had a mind of its own. His wrist tilted slightly, adjusting the angle as the blade cleared the sheath completely. The tip hovered in the air for a moment, a mere breath away from tasting the world. someone grip was steady, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt, knuckles whitening slightly as he absorbed the familiar weight.
The blades surface caught the dim light, reflecting it in fragments, but the reflection was distorted, almost as though the steel itself refused to reveal the truth. someone expression remained impassive, but his eye gleamed with a quiet intensity, a flicker of something deeper, darker.
The sheath hung loosely in his other hand, the red cord trailing from it like a severed thread. The cord that had bound the weapon was now a mere afterthought, forgotten as the blade took center stage.
"Oh, over here?" William asks as he arrives, taking a look between Takeshi and Edith and commenting, as the mist starts to rise up "I guess demonic is fitting... That over there is the gravestone of Solomon, pretty sure" He comments, pointing a finger towards one of the graves, shrugging his shoulders and saying "Would have been kind of interesting to have seen him rise for a bit"
Takeshi stood motionless, his presence cutting through the stillness like a blade pressed against bare flesh. His single eye, narrowed to a slit, fixed on an unseen point in the distance, where the darkness stretched endlessly beyond the edge of his vision. The flickering neon lights from a nearby sign cast fractured glimmers across his face, illuminating the oily sheen of his slicked-back hair. The product in it held firm, keeping every strand in place, as if defying the chaos that swirled around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension coiling beneath the surface a predator holding its breath before the pounce. One hand hovered near his waist, fingers brushing lightly against the crimson cord that bound the weapon at his side. The jet-black sheath, smooth and reflective like liquid obsidian, rested against his hip, motionless but charged with a latent menace. Bound tightly with a vivid red cord, the sheath and handle were united in a rigid embrace, the knot drawn so taut that it resisted the mere thought of being unraveled.
The binding was deliberate a safeguard, a seal. It was not a sword meant to be drawn lightly, and Takeshi knew this better than anyone. His thumb grazed the edge of the knot, feeling the rough texture of the cord where it looped back over itself, forming a lattice of precise, symmetrical knots. Each twist and pull had been executed with care, binding the blade with a restraint as suffocating as the atmosphere around him.
For a moment, he hesitated. The weight of countless unspoken warnings pressed against him, a ghostly reminder that once the blade was freed, there would be no turning back. But hesitation was a luxury he had long since abandoned. His lips curled, the faintest hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hand shifted, fingers curling firmly around the handle.
The red cord resisted at first, the knots digging into his skin as if refusing to relinquish their hold. A flicker of irritation flashed across his face fleeting, but there. Takeshi s grip tightened. His thumb slid along the side of the sheath, pressing with calculated pressure against the ridge where the blade met the saya. Slowly, deliberately, he began to loosen the cord, unwinding each loop with mechanical precision.
The tension eased, and the crimson bindings slackened one by one. The last loop fell away, leaving the sheath and handle unbound. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with anticipation. His fingers adjusted, curling around the hilt with practiced ease. The vivid red cord that once restrained the weapon now hung loosely, trailing from the handle like a discarded promise.
The handle was cool to the touch, the black rayskin beneath the crimson wrapping offering a stark contrast. The diamond-shaped gaps between the tightly crisscrossed cord revealed the pitch-black surface beneath smooth, unyielding, and deceptively lifeless. But Takeshi knew better. This weapon, this extension of himself, was anything but lifeless. It was a sleeping beast, bound in silence and waiting to be awakened.
The guard if it could even be called that was a grotesque tangle of black material, a nightmare given form. Twisted, claw-like protrusions jutted out at irregular angles, arching forward toward the blades edge and backward along the handle as though grasping at the void. The surface was uneven, rough beneath his fingertips, and it absorbed the scant light that touched it, drinking in the glow of the neon signs without offering so much as a glimmer in return.
And at the center, that smooth, oval bulge. A polished surface that stood in unsettling contrast to the jagged chaos surrounding it. It was curved, rounded like the closed eyelid of something that had no business sleeping. Even now, as his fingers brushed against it, there was an undeniable tension a sense that it was waiting. Waiting to open. Waiting to see.
Takeshi s grip adjusted once more, his palm pressing against the hilt as his thumb applied subtle pressure against the guard. The movement was fluid, precise, honed by countless repetitions. The blade slid free with a barely audible whisper, the sound lost to the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The sheath relinquished its hold reluctantly, the friction clinging to the polished steel as though trying to delay the inevitable.
Inch by inch, the blade emerged a glint of merciless light slicing through the darkness. The steel was flawless, unmarred by the passage of time, its edge honed to a lethal sharpness that reflected none of the chaos that had birthed it. Takeshi s eye caught the faint shimmer along the blades surface, a gleam that danced like distant starlight across the polished metal.
The blade was longer than most, an extension of his will that moved with him as though it had a mind of its own. His wrist tilted slightly, adjusting the angle as the blade cleared the sheath completely. The tip hovered in the air for a moment, a mere breath away from tasting the world. Takeshi s grip was steady, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt, knuckles whitening slightly as he absorbed the familiar weight.
The blades surface caught the dim light, reflecting it in fragments, but the reflection was distorted, almost as though the steel itself refused to reveal the truth. Takeshi s expression remained impassive, but his eye gleamed with a quiet intensity, a flicker of something deeper, darker.
The sheath hung loosely in his other hand, the red cord trailing from it like a severed thread. The cord that had bound the weapon was now a mere afterthought, forgotten as the blade took center stage.
Takeshi s posture shifted, his stance widening slightly, feet planted with calculated precision. His movements were subtle, but each one carried the weight of intent. The blade angled downward for a moment, hovering jus
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Edith, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Edith can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
Takeshi s eye narrowed, his breath slowing to a measured, deliberate pace as the figure emerged from the shifting smoke. The twisted horns stretched upward, jagged and uneven like the roots of some ancient tree clawing its way out of the underworld. Those red eyes, glowing with malice, burned through the haze, locking onto Edith with unrelenting focus. The gnarled finger, crooked and rigid, pointed directly at his companion a silent accusation that echoed louder than any words.
The chant began, low and guttural, the syllables crawling through the air like serpents slithering across wet stone. Each word dragged against Takeshi s senses, heavy and unnatural, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at their utterance. The oppressive crackle of magic filled the space, distorting the air as the unseen force grew denser. The weight of it pressed down like a suffocating fog, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones.
Then he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Takeshi s attention snapped to Edith, his gaze sharpening as the tension coiled tighter. someone posture stiffened, their breath hitching, and even without a word, Takeshi knew something was wrong. The telltale flicker of pain danced across their expression, brief but impossible to miss. The fingers curled ever so slightly, clutching at their chest.
Takeshi didnt hesitate. His body moved before thought could catch up, instincts honed by relentless training driving him forward. His grip on the sword tightened, the hilt pressing into his palm as he pivoted, positioning himself between Edith and the encroaching threat. His stance widened, grounding himself like an immovable wall, the blade held low and angled, ready to strike.
His single eye burned with a cold, unwavering resolve, locking onto the creature. Whatever this thing was, it had crossed a line. The weight that pressed down on Edith was no accident it was a deliberate assault, an intrusion aimed at their very essence. And that was something Takeshi would not allow.
The chant continued, the air thickening as the unseen force tightened its grip. someone breath grew shallow, a faint tremor running through their form. someone jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his mind raced. The creature wasnt just casting a spell it was binding Edith, ensnaring them with magic that dug claws into the core of their being.
Takeshi s thoughts moved like lightning, dissecting the situation in fragments of seconds. Breaking the spell wasnt as simple as severing a physical bond. This was deeper, anchored to something intangible. But magic even this twisted, corrupted kind followed rules. And rules could be broken.
His gaze flickered to the creatures stance, the way its clawed fingers moved in tandem with the chant. The rhythm was precise, each syllable tying another knot in the binding. Disrupt the pattern, and the spell would unravel.
His muscles tensed, anticipation coiling through him. There was no room for error. The margin between success and failure was thinner than the edge of his blade.
A single breath. Takeshi s grip shifted, his wrist angling slightly as he adjusted his hold on the weapon. His pulse slowed, steadying as he focused every fiber of his being on the moment before him. The creatures chant was reaching its peak, the energy in the air building to a crescendo.
Then he moved.
The blade sliced through the air, a flash of merciless steel cutting across the space between them. His strike was not aimed at the creature itself but at the intangible threads of magic that hung in the air the delicate weave of power that connected the spell to its victim. His blade met resistance, an invisible barrier where the magic was thickest. The clash reverberated through the air, sending a ripple of distortion outward.
The creatures eyes flared, red light intensifying as its focus wavered for an instant. The chant faltered, a fraction of a second where the words stumbled over one another. It was all Takeshi needed.
His left hand moved in tandem with his right, a sharp flick of his wrist sending the sheath tumbling through the air. The polished surface caught the dim light as it spun, a streak of darkness cutting across the space before colliding with the creatures wrist. The impact was precise, jarring the clawed hand just enough to throw off its control.
The creature hissed, its voice a guttural snarl as the magic quivered. The bindings grip on Edith loosened, the invisible vice easing just enough for them to gasp, their breath returning in shallow gulps. Takeshi felt the shift immediately the weight lifting, the oppressive force retreating like a receding tide. But it wasnt over. Not yet.
Takeshi pressed forward, his blade angled with surgical precision as he closed the distance. His movements were fluid, relentless, each step measured and deliberate. The creatures reaction was sluggish, its focus still reeling from the disruption. But Takeshi didnt give it a chance to recover.
The blade arced upward, slicing toward the creatures midsection. The edge met resistance as it bit into the twisted form, the steel cutting through whatever passed for flesh with a sickening ease. A shriek tore through the air, echoing off the surrounding void as the creature recoiled, its form flickering like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
But Takeshi didnt stop. His follow-through was seamless, the momentum carrying the blade into a downward strike aimed at the creatures outstretched arm. The gnarled limb jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the damage was already done. The connection had been severed.
The chant dissolved into a guttural snarl, the remaining fragments of the spell dissipating like ashes scattered by the wind. The oppressive weight in the air vanished, the crackle of magic fading into a
"Good morning, Bill, Takeshi." Edith greets Takeshi and William. "I would ask how you are, though these things appear to be rising again-- And demons. Of course." There's a sigh and Edith takes her usual place. A tombstone is forced over, the air snapping with the crack of stone and the burst of dust from the split. Then, Edith kneels. She draws her ritual blade, it is dragged across the pale flesh of Edith's forearm and she suggests, blood sluggishly welling, "Bill on distraction, Takeshi on combat." Then Edith begins to work, the athame used to ascribe that series of runes, Edith's other palm generating, then blackening the tombstone's surface with a circle of dark magic that warps the air. William and Takeshi are adept, and Edith simply lets them act; Foolish though. Trying to squeeze life from the undead. The vampire laughs, ignoring the demonic arcanist that forms, trusting William and Takeshi to deal with it.
Takeshi s eye narrowed, his breath slowing to a measured, deliberate pace as the figure emerged from the shifting smoke. The twisted horns stretched upward, jagged and uneven like the roots of some ancient tree clawing its way out of the underworld. Those red eyes, glowing with malice, burned through the haze, locking onto Edith with unrelenting focus. The gnarled finger, crooked and rigid, pointed directly at his companion a silent accusation that echoed louder than any words.
The chant began, low and guttural, the syllables crawling through the air like serpents slithering across wet stone. Each word dragged against Takeshi s senses, heavy and unnatural, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at their utterance. The oppressive crackle of magic filled the space, distorting the air as the unseen force grew denser. The weight of it pressed down like a suffocating fog, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones.
Then he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Takeshi s attention snapped to Edith, his gaze sharpening as the tension coiled tighter. Edith s posture stiffened, their breath hitching, and even without a word, Takeshi knew something was wrong. The telltale flicker of pain danced across their expression, brief but impossible to miss. The fingers curled ever so slightly, clutching at their chest.
Takeshi didnt hesitate. His body moved before thought could catch up, instincts honed by relentless training driving him forward. His grip on the sword tightened, the hilt pressing into his palm as he pivoted, positioning himself between Edith and the encroaching threat. His stance widened, grounding himself like an immovable wall, the blade held low and angled, ready to strike.
His single eye burned with a cold, unwavering resolve, locking onto the creature. Whatever this thing was, it had crossed a line. The weight that pressed down on Edith was no accident it was a deliberate assault, an intrusion aimed at their very essence. And that was something Takeshi would not allow.
The chant continued, the air thickening as the unseen force tightened its grip. Edith s breath grew shallow, a faint tremor running through their form. someone jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his mind raced. The creature wasnt just casting a spell it was binding Edith, ensnaring them with magic that dug claws into the core of their being.
Takeshi s thoughts moved like lightning, dissecting the situation in fragments of seconds. Breaking the spell wasnt as simple as severing a physical bond. This was deeper, anchored to something intangible. But magic even this twisted, corrupted kind followed rules. And rules could be broken.
His gaze flickered to the creatures stance, the way its clawed fingers moved in tandem with the chant. The rhythm was precise, each syllable tying another knot in the binding. Disrupt the pattern, and the spell would unravel.
His muscles tensed, anticipation coiling through him. There was no room for error. The margin between success and failure was thinner than the edge of his blade.
A single breath. Takeshi s grip shifted, his wrist angling slightly as he adjusted his hold on the weapon. His pulse slowed, steadying as he focused every fiber of his being on the moment before him. The creatures chant was reaching its peak, the energy in the air building to a crescendo.
Then he moved.
The blade sliced through the air, a flash of merciless steel cutting across the space between them. His strike was not aimed at the creature itself but at the intangible threads of magic that hung in the air the delicate weave of power that connected the spell to its victim. His blade met resistance, an invisible barrier where the magic was thickest. The clash reverberated through the air, sending a ripple of distortion outward.
The creatures eyes flared, red light intensifying as its focus wavered for an instant. The chant faltered, a fraction of a second where the words stumbled over one another. It was all Takeshi needed.
His left hand moved in tandem with his right, a sharp flick of his wrist sending the sheath tumbling through the air. The polished surface caught the dim light as it spun, a streak of darkness cutting across the space before colliding with the creatures wrist. The impact was precise, jarring the clawed hand just enough to throw off its control.
The creature hissed, its voice a guttural snarl as the magic quivered. The bindings grip on Edith loosened, the invisible vice easing just enough for them to gasp, their breath returning in shallow gulps. Takeshi felt the shift immediately the weight lifting, the oppressive force retreating like a receding tide. But it wasnt over. Not yet.
Takeshi pressed forward, his blade angled with surgical precision as he closed the distance. His movements were fluid, relentless, each step measured and deliberate. The creatures reaction was sluggish, its focus still reeling from the disruption. But Takeshi didnt give it a chance to recover.
The blade arced upward, slicing toward the creatures midsection. The edge met resistance as it bit into the twisted form, the steel cutting through whatever passed for flesh with a sickening ease. A shriek tore through the air, echoing off the surrounding void as the creature recoiled, its form flickering like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
But Takeshi didnt stop. His follow-through was seamless, the momentum carrying the blade into a downward strike aimed at the creatures outstretched arm. The gnarled limb jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the damage was already done. The connection had been severed.
Takeshi s eye narrowed, his breath slowing to a measured, deliberate pace as the figure emerged from the shifting smoke. The twisted horns stretched upward, jagged and uneven like the roots of some ancient tree clawing its way out of the underworld. Those red eyes, glowing with malice, burned through the haze, locking onto Edith with unrelenting focus. The gnarled finger, crooked and rigid, pointed directly at his companion a silent accusation that echoed louder than any words.
The chant began, low and guttural, the syllables crawling through the air like serpents slithering across wet stone. Each word dragged against Takeshi s senses, heavy and unnatural, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at their utterance. The oppressive crackle of magic filled the space, distorting the air as the unseen force grew denser. The weight of it pressed down like a suffocating fog, sinking into his skin, burrowing into his bones.
Then he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Takeshi s attention snapped to Edith, his gaze sharpening as the tension coiled tighter. Edith s posture stiffened, their breath hitching, and even without a word, Takeshi knew something was wrong. The telltale flicker of pain danced across their expression, brief but impossible to miss. The fingers curled ever so slightly, clutching at their chest.
Takeshi didnt hesitate. His body moved before thought could catch up, instincts honed by relentless training driving him forward. His grip on the sword tightened, the hilt pressing into his palm as he pivoted, positioning himself between Edith and the encroaching threat. His stance widened, grounding himself like an immovable wall, the blade held low and angled, ready to strike.
His single eye burned with a cold, unwavering resolve, locking onto the creature. Whatever this thing was, it had crossed a line. The weight that pressed down on Edith was no accident it was a deliberate assault, an intrusion aimed at their very essence. And that was something Takeshi would not allow.
The chant continued, the air thickening as the unseen force tightened its grip. Edith s breath grew shallow, a faint tremor running through their form. Takeshi s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as his mind raced. The creature wasnt just casting a spell it was binding Edith, ensnaring them with magic that dug claws into the core of their being.
Takeshi s thoughts moved like lightning, dissecting the situation in fragments of seconds. Breaking the spell wasnt as simple as severing a physical bond. This was deeper, anchored to something intangible. But magic even this twisted, corrupted kind followed rules. And rules could be broken.
His gaze flickered to the creatures stance, the way its clawed fingers moved in tandem with the chant. The rhythm was precise, each syllable tying another knot in the binding. Disrupt the pattern, and the spell would unravel.
His muscles tensed, anticipation coiling through him. There was no room for error. The margin between success and failure was thinner than the edge of his blade.
A single breath. Takeshi s grip shifted, his wrist angling slightly as he adjusted his hold on the weapon. His pulse slowed, steadying as he focused every fiber of his being on the moment before him. The creatures chant was reaching its peak, the energy in the air building to a crescendo.
Then he moved.
The blade sliced through the air, a flash of merciless steel cutting across the space between them. His strike was not aimed at the creature itself but at the intangible threads of magic that hung in the air the delicate weave of power that connected the spell to its victim. His blade met resistance, an invisible barrier where the magic was thickest. The clash reverberated through the air, sending a ripple of distortion outward.
The creatures eyes flared, red light intensifying as its focus wavered for an instant. The chant faltered, a fraction of a second where the words stumbled over one another. It was all Takeshi needed.
His left hand moved in tandem with his right, a sharp flick of his wrist sending the sheath tumbling through the air. The polished surface caught the dim light as it spun, a streak of darkness cutting across the space before colliding with the creatures wrist. The impact was precise, jarring the clawed hand just enough to throw off its control.
The creature hissed, its voice a guttural snarl as the magic quivered. The bindings grip on Edith loosened, the invisible vice easing just enough for them to gasp, their breath returning in shallow gulps. Takeshi felt the shift immediately the weight lifting, the oppressive force retreating like a receding tide. But it wasnt over. Not yet.
Takeshi pressed forward, his blade angled with surgical precision as he closed the distance. His movements were fluid, relentless, each step measured and deliberate. The creatures reaction was sluggish, its focus still reeling from the disruption. But Takeshi didnt give it a chance to recover.
The blade arced upward, slicing toward the creatures midsection. The edge met resistance as it bit into the twisted form, the steel cutting through whatever passed for flesh with a sickening ease. A shriek tore through the air, echoing off the surrounding void as the creature recoiled, its form flickering like smoke caught in a sudden breeze.
But Takeshi didnt stop. His follow-through was seamless, the momentum carrying the blade into a downward strike aimed at the creatures outstretched arm. The gnarled limb jerked back, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the damage was already done. The connection had been severed.
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Edith, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Edith can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
The circle burned, Edith sets the candle, ascribing the all seeing eye of Odin around it. The candle is burned, wax melted into a clump with a wick, though its tallow remains strong. Edith lights it, then begins to draw runes and glyphs around its edges. The ankh, the hanged man, the times, the scales. Takeshi is handling the demon caster. William knows what he's capable of. Edith begins to create lines; A line within a line within a line-- The first triangle. Then that is repeated; Line within a line within a line, and the six pointed star is formed. The second caster forms and repeats the same trick as the former, but Edith is undead. Takeshi can cut it, William can distract it. Edith simply... doesn't care. Edith's heart is a cold, dead blackened thing. It makes no difference. Edith continues to generate the ritual, drawing energy from the dead of the Arkwright cemetery.
William sighs out upon seeing the demon teen charge forward, shrugging his shoulders before directly asking Edith "Does it even do anything to you? Aren't you technically dead until you activate?" There doesn't seem to be much hurry to him right now, moving slowly to stand close enough to the vampire, but keeping some distance, in case he needed to swap the target of some attack towards him, crossing his arms as he watches Takeshi take care of the spirit magic casters
The demon launches himself towards the creature as it appears in the shadows, Takeshi twisting through the air with a snarl before a whistling sweep of his blade cleaves straight through the boney, outstretched finger pointed at Edith ! His momentum far from gone after the slash, his shoulder impacts into the creatures's chest a moment later as the hurled Takeshi spills into the tall, overbearing shadow demon. Rolling through the dirt with the creature, Takeshi ends up on top, the sword cast to the side, Takeshi balls up a fistful of the shadow mage's tunic and pulls the creature up just enough for him to find a solid connection with knuckle to face, knocking it out cold.
"Focus on magic" Takeshi calls out to William and Edith "I deal with demons." Takeshi adds, seeming fully focused today as he quickly gets to his feet and pulls his sword from where it hand landed in the ground
Some figure forms in the smoke: tall, it has twisted horns and red eyes. It levels a gnarled finger at Edith, beginning to chant in an unknown language as the air begins to crackle with magic. Immediately, Edith can feel something like a vise closing on their heart.
"These do literally nothing." Edith tells William conversationally, still kneeling, more runes-- Multicultural in nature drawn within the triangles formed by the star within the ritual circle. "They do that though and they leave everyone else alone. One day they may realise the folly of their mistake." A nod is afforded for Takeshi, and Edith continues talking to William as she drops a drop of blood into the candle's flame. The flame turns crimson. The air warps and it is as though a bonfire of grey decay begins to smoke-- Not sparked yet. Not burning in an inferno yet, but roiling with phantasmal energy. "They do like this tactic today though." Edith mentions to William as Takeshi goes for this next demon, too. "I will do something before long though. This is rather daft."
"They are really trying to cause you a heart attack" William tells Edith with a little shake of his head, glancing over at the gravestones and leaning against one of the taller ones, seemingly taking it easy for now - Since Takeshi seems to be taking care of the aparitions, and Edith seems unaffected by the blood magic, he simply decides to rest for as long as he can, if he doesn't need to move a finger, he's certainly not going to run around spending energy for anything.
Instead, he might as well use the time to make some idle conversation, nothing too intense as to not to distract those who are actually working, but at least filling the silence, or well, covering the chanting from the misty figures "Well, if they try something more effective, I might be able to send them elsewhere... But otherwise, this seems like it's going to go pretty smoothly"
Taking up a defensive posture now, Takeshi slide his back foot back, holds the sheathed blade in front of him, horizontal the ground, at head height, holding it like a bar or a staff in front of him. His head snaps to the side as another demon appears, Takeshi flicking out of sight with a rapid burst of movement yet again, his location given away by the malicious snarling as he once more hurtles through the air, throwing himself into the mage's direction with no regard for his own safety, body fully coiled for a fully committed swing.
The blade, returned to it's sheath immediately after slashing even when doing so prevents him from securing his own landing, smashes through the figure, cleaving it from shoulder to hip before the hurtling cannonball of Takeshi 's thrown body impacts into it a moment later, bursting the thing out of physical form and back into the shadow it was made out of. Takeshi, having not even considered his landing, slams in the ground on his shoulder and head, bouncing off of it with a rough grunt before flipping to his feet
A trio of horned smoke-monsters advance out of the mist. They have twisted weapons formed of smoke, and they descend on Edith, howling in an incomrephensible, devilish tongue.
"They do like heart attack today." Edith agrees with William. She too is happy to simply chat; This is not taxing in the least. Edith's ritual is coming to life now, the lines and runes beginning to smoke and blaze with a roiling dark bloodlight that saps color from the air. The deleterious energy begins to burn as an inferno now, the ritual now a pyre that is beginning to manifest spirits to fight. This then means that Edith can pay attention to the three attacking monsters, but Takeshi can handle one of them. Edith places two fingers to her lips, whistles and summons her mastiff. Pointing at one, the vampire calls out, "Kill!" and the ghostly hound charges to fight beside Takeshi. To William, Edith mentions, "I aught have donned something with more coverage today. This sun is really rather painful. A jacket in future, I think."
And there goes what William had been asking for, some more direct attackers, all three of them trying to descend upon Edith to stop her attempts at ritualing the mist away. And with a flick of his arm, William starts casting illusions to have one of the misty figures confuse one of its companions with the vampire - And so, when trying to reach to stab Edith, the misty figure instead gets rid of one of its partners, reforming to mist within an instant.
A moment passes, and, having worked his magic there, the man switches focus to another of the figures, using a different trick to make it so that Edith goes invisible to them, at least for a couple seconds, making them lose sight of their target until one of the more direct offensive party members can deal with them
There's plenty of time with William's illusions for Edith to necromantically control these phantasmal fiends. An eldritch word, gutteral and breathless is spoken and one monster attacks the other. Takeshi is given an opening. Then, Edith's hound rips one monster to shreads. Edith's ritual continues to glow insidiously, left to its own means as it begins to draw heat from the air.
Pushing himself up to his feet and grabbing his arm holding his blade, he looks down at his shoulder and snarls, seeing it dislocated. With a swing of his torso and a rough shove he pushes the shoulder back into place with a sickening snap, wincing for a moment as his demonic body take a moment to stitch the fractured joint back together. Trying to not let the pain distract him too much, Takeshi begins to trudge towards the tri of horned monsters, his upper lip curled, his teeth bared, rolling his shoulder to check it was back in working condition
Walking up the smoke creatures move in first, Takeshi accepting the first slash as it opens him up, the blade raked across his stomach and splattering blood, but sending his own attack over the top of it, stepping into his opponent's blade so he could close distance and swing his own heavily committed attack, cleaving the first shadow demon's head clean off.
It seemed he hadn't even considered the other two as they had already closed in either side of him. William deals with one, but Takeshi can't turn to face the third in time as the tip of a blade erupts out of his back, having traveled the full way through his body to get there. Blood pouring from his mouth, Takeshi grits his teeth and drops his sword to place both hands onto the wrist of the hand holding the sword embedded in him. The creature would try to pull back, but to no use, Takeshi holding his hand in place, looking the thing dead in the eye's as he keeps the sword embedded inside him long enough for cuddles to blindside the thing, no way to defend it's self as the Mastiff slams into it
As the dark mists roil in the cemetery, Edith and everyone with them are struck with a sudden fear. It's cold and awful, sinking into their heart to make the world seem impossible and alone.
With all three creatures gone, Takeshi lets out a pained gasp as the sword inside him turns to amorphous shadow, blood starting to pout out the front and back of him where he'd been opened up no there was no longer a solid object to keep him plugged. Takeshi shakes his head from side to side with gritted teeth as he attempts to walk it off, the holes slowly starting to stitch themselves back together ... But ... Not after he'd already lost what looks like several pints of blood, a bright crimson path trailing behind him as he walks ...
Takeshi 's voice is weak ...
There's a pause. The fear is palpable and Edith's dead gaze flicks right-- left. She eyes Takeshi and William as though she might dash, but the ritual is close, and that empowers Edith to an extent. The hound, already a spirit doesn't care and it bays the dirge of death in its howls. "Yes, a jacket in future." Edith nods again, this time to herself. "This is very uncomfortable." A nod to Takeshi then. "The magic is working." she assures the blood-coated demon. "It will simply take a little time." The air begins to chill gradually, winter temperatures that William wont mind, though Takeshi might feel it.
As magic starts setting in, and instilling fear into the party goers, William, instead of seemingly trying to make himself smaller or trying to hide like he would have many other times, seems to grow even more focused on the surroundings. Pulse accelerating and eyes darting around, he consider for a couple seconds how to proceed, but logic isn't driving the boat right now.
And instead of growing to an immediate retreat, he starts taking deeper breaths, trying to control himself before he loses it. Body starting to contort and bend unnaturally the man growing to the ground as blood starts sprouting and bones breaking, and fur appearing from the wounds - There is no illusion this time to cover up the whole process as it happens, nothing to mask as the man changes into animal.
And then the wolverine, in panic, in fear- Seems to resort to something way different than fleeing, it start lashing out at anything that even comes near it. Fight or flight seems to have kicked in and for the man, or animal, it is fight. By the way it starts attacked, rushed, breathlessly, uncoordinated and unstopping - It's someone pushed to a corner and trying to claw and bite at anything that pushes him in there, in this case, anything that comes near him, not even distinguishing Takeshi and Edith or her mastiff from the spirits tormenting them
A twisted figure forms out of infernal smoke, shaped like a terrible canine shape. It's a hellhound, leaping towards Edith with an awful snarl. When its mouth closes on %n, it has some phantom force, sending a vision of suffering in hellfire.
"Time." Takeshi grumbles, stooping and winceing with the pain of agitated wounds not fully healed as he scoops up the blade. "Ehhh ... So cold always ..." Takeshi complains as he gets ready for the next assault of the demons, bringing his blade up besides him once more, holding it at his hip!
Takeshi darts to the side as the hellhound appears, snarling at it before, right as Takeshi had been about to intercept it, a maddened Billverine slams into him, blindsiding him!
Takeshi skids across the ground with William(Gulo Gulo) on top of him, teeth and claws mauling the boy, the blade shunted out of his hand by the initial impact and left five feet back from where they'd skidded from.
Takeshi brings his hands up to protect his face, growling in fury at William(Gulo Gulo) as he throws him limbs up at the thing, trying to catch the claws, stuff them before they impacted him, shove the snapping maw away, or simply punch the thing in it's snout as hard as he could muster.
Edith's mastiff launches itself at the hellhound. It isn't quite fast enough, though the ritual can be left alone now. Takeshi and William(Gulo Gulo) will take care of this. Edith on the other hand... Edith hisses, waits for the hound to bite Edith, then takes a tip from William(Gulo Gulo). She shifts, ducks away, leaps over the hound leaving it confused, then lifts her tail, sitting by the pyre of the dark magic inferno licking a paw. Nothing can harm cats, after all, and the spirits are rising to consume the demonic mist around Edith, Takeshi and William(Gulo Gulo). Soon it will all be over.
William(Gulo Gulo) and Takeshi and Edith(cat)'s mastiff are busy. This is fine. Edith(cat)'s ritual completes and Edith(cat) sits beside it. She begins to groom herself, tail swishing contently as all the work is done for Edith(cat). Isn't it wonderful being a feline? Such an easy life.
The smell of smoke seems to peak, and then, with a rush of magical power, it's gone. The smoke monsters in the cemetery disappear, banished -- fading away as wisps of mist in the air around $n.