...But no one's told him this. Naturally, he's still surprised he isn't committing the world's worst offenses. That clouded eyes show minds emptied, much as white nothing indicates. That only dried husk's remaining.
He'd assumed they'd all felt at least, wanting to kill them off quickly. Though he's imagined a lot of things. That even monsters feared their ends at times.]
So, all this time...
[His eyes lift, finally, warm relief cooling instantly watching limbs fall to pieces—the path that darker blade's moving. As if through water, the ease with which his sword extends, Hijikata's speed and strength intwining in sharp, fluid motions. A deepening split between man and student; how hours of sparring seemed meaningless, seeing a weapon in the elder's hands. Their difference in years stretched ahead of him: to push himself harder, further, twice as far for half his speed if ever he's hoped to come near to that. His desperation's igniting... But even now he's being tutored, reminded again to use his strengths, himself, the limit's edge of his fullest abilities; to use his own body. Limbs move faster than his thoughts expand, and then eyes on new targets, sprinting ahead towards another two, he's dragging his sword up.]
I understand!
[Words are all the push he's needed. Use your momentum; don't hesitate. His sweeping arc's his full force: magic trailing along its ends, bladed crescents across the skin and squire's mirrored imitation. Cutting them down as knight demonstrates—and only still shadow miming him. This isn't his first time facing the dead, but ranged assaults as repeating Ice Walls hadn't come close to "real" fighting; an impersonal distance kept between hands then and monsters. Though a corpse doesn't feel, he's told; as if this knowing unburdens him, each slash imbedding shards, snow, residual frost in molding skin remaining behind as white crystals. Splitting the heads from cooled bodies. Letting his ice seep through all of him.
A year's allowance was too much gold to waste in doubting oneself. He doesn't mean to draw back, to hesitate, but fingers sprouting beneath the rubble, tugging at pant's leg, keep him rooted in place. He brings sword up and over them, plunging down to freeze marrow, bone, the very ground beneath as if entombing things over again. Fragile glaciers left behind instead; he doesn't need to feel pity, to think on anything more than fighting, remaining alive until the next's approached. His breaking dolls apart. That empty nothings can't haunt him; his lingering sympathies meant to free them, allowing himself to go unhindered—lethal. Though he's disposed of the easy few, he's taken his eyes off another, and withering hands are too close for his swords to cut down again. His arm's up defensive, forcing his hand through thinned body, touch consuming the rest in ice and sharp explosion of needle points.
An ice iron maiden.
No one's souls left to pain over. His casting's wildly unpredictable, rendering bodies completely useless. At the least, making sure they're never used again. Sparing them one final kindness, to not lose his own again. He's promised his friend as much.]
You can rest now.
[Murmur to no one. Shifting eyes to Hijikata, whom he's drawn to, though he doesn't say a word to him, he's instinctively keeping himself close to watch.]
extra cw: impalement
...But no one's told him this. Naturally, he's still surprised he isn't committing the world's worst offenses. That clouded eyes show minds emptied, much as white nothing indicates. That only dried husk's remaining.
He'd assumed they'd all felt at least, wanting to kill them off quickly. Though he's imagined a lot of things. That even monsters feared their ends at times.]
So, all this time...
[His eyes lift, finally, warm relief cooling instantly watching limbs fall to pieces—the path that darker blade's moving. As if through water, the ease with which his sword extends, Hijikata's speed and strength intwining in sharp, fluid motions. A deepening split between man and student; how hours of sparring seemed meaningless, seeing a weapon in the elder's hands. Their difference in years stretched ahead of him: to push himself harder, further, twice as far for half his speed if ever he's hoped to come near to that. His desperation's igniting... But even now he's being tutored, reminded again to use his strengths, himself, the limit's edge of his fullest abilities; to use his own body. Limbs move faster than his thoughts expand, and then eyes on new targets, sprinting ahead towards another two, he's dragging his sword up.]
I understand!
[Words are all the push he's needed. Use your momentum; don't hesitate. His sweeping arc's his full force: magic trailing along its ends, bladed crescents across the skin and squire's mirrored imitation. Cutting them down as knight demonstrates—and only still shadow miming him. This isn't his first time facing the dead, but ranged assaults as repeating Ice Walls hadn't come close to "real" fighting; an impersonal distance kept between hands then and monsters. Though a corpse doesn't feel, he's told; as if this knowing unburdens him, each slash imbedding shards, snow, residual frost in molding skin remaining behind as white crystals. Splitting the heads from cooled bodies. Letting his ice seep through all of him.
A year's allowance was too much gold to waste in doubting oneself. He doesn't mean to draw back, to hesitate, but fingers sprouting beneath the rubble, tugging at pant's leg, keep him rooted in place. He brings sword up and over them, plunging down to freeze marrow, bone, the very ground beneath as if entombing things over again. Fragile glaciers left behind instead; he doesn't need to feel pity, to think on anything more than fighting, remaining alive until the next's approached. His breaking dolls apart. That empty nothings can't haunt him; his lingering sympathies meant to free them, allowing himself to go unhindered—lethal. Though he's disposed of the easy few, he's taken his eyes off another, and withering hands are too close for his swords to cut down again. His arm's up defensive, forcing his hand through thinned body, touch consuming the rest in ice and sharp explosion of needle points.
An ice iron maiden.
No one's souls left to pain over. His casting's wildly unpredictable, rendering bodies completely useless. At the least, making sure they're never used again. Sparing them one final kindness, to not lose his own again. He's promised his friend as much.]
You can rest now.
[Murmur to no one. Shifting eyes to Hijikata, whom he's drawn to, though he doesn't say a word to him, he's instinctively keeping himself close to watch.]