"You confessors always make your crimes sound so pretty, your disregard for others and their lives..."
Midoriya bares his fangs. He wanted to look at Paul at murder, twice over, but he will not take his eyes off the Reckoning. Every person closest to Midoriya has told him not to risk himself, knowing that he does. If the Reckoning lays a finger on Paul or Kaworu, Midoriya would do it again, no matter what happens to him. It would be a quick, ignominious end. There is nothing romantic about being dashed to the ground in pieces of red flesh, white bone, and green fabric.
Midoriya and his Patron are fundamentally opposed. Midoriya has not concerned himself with seeking justice or revenge. He is someone who saves others or shows them the right path. He is the hand that reaches out or the one that protects, not the one that punishes. And yet, his intent to save resonates with her own.
"Protector, hear me and obey. You will be an instrument of my justice, thus: Witness Kaworu Nagisa's contrition before the next moon. Humble him with the toil of atonement."
"I will," Midoriya growls, his hackles not entirely lowered, but recognizing a shared goal. The Reckoning curls her raised finger down.
"See it done, or I will. The curse as described will last until the next moon. Place your blood here."
Her fingers loom over them as she offers the pad of her thumb. When they have done so--Midoriya swiping the tar-smell of his blood tears onto it, Paul bleeding enough to eclipse that--she straightens and brings her sword in. Its movement cuts the air like a windmill, and the two boys look about as useless as a knight trying to fight one. She runs her stained thumb along its edge, drawing out a thin streak of her blood. She flips her grip to aim her swordpoint downward, perilously close to the young humans.
Midoriya tightens his hold, but Danger Sense is quiet. He breathes to Paul, "It's all right--"
She drives a third of the thick blade into the ground at her side. The soil near the edge of what John calls his property trembles and drinks the invisible curse like wine spilled on cloth.
cw: gore description
Midoriya bares his fangs. He wanted to look at Paul at murder, twice over, but he will not take his eyes off the Reckoning. Every person closest to Midoriya has told him not to risk himself, knowing that he does. If the Reckoning lays a finger on Paul or Kaworu, Midoriya would do it again, no matter what happens to him. It would be a quick, ignominious end. There is nothing romantic about being dashed to the ground in pieces of red flesh, white bone, and green fabric.
Midoriya and his Patron are fundamentally opposed. Midoriya has not concerned himself with seeking justice or revenge. He is someone who saves others or shows them the right path. He is the hand that reaches out or the one that protects, not the one that punishes. And yet, his intent to save resonates with her own.
"Protector, hear me and obey. You will be an instrument of my justice, thus: Witness Kaworu Nagisa's contrition before the next moon. Humble him with the toil of atonement."
"I will," Midoriya growls, his hackles not entirely lowered, but recognizing a shared goal. The Reckoning curls her raised finger down.
"See it done, or I will. The curse as described will last until the next moon. Place your blood here."
Her fingers loom over them as she offers the pad of her thumb. When they have done so--Midoriya swiping the tar-smell of his blood tears onto it, Paul bleeding enough to eclipse that--she straightens and brings her sword in. Its movement cuts the air like a windmill, and the two boys look about as useless as a knight trying to fight one. She runs her stained thumb along its edge, drawing out a thin streak of her blood. She flips her grip to aim her swordpoint downward, perilously close to the young humans.
Midoriya tightens his hold, but Danger Sense is quiet. He breathes to Paul, "It's all right--"
She drives a third of the thick blade into the ground at her side. The soil near the edge of what John calls his property trembles and drinks the invisible curse like wine spilled on cloth.