Paul takes Bakugou's momentary pause to listen to him as sign enough of agreement, even before he joins Paul in heated pursuit. Paul can trust in his competency as much as he trusts in Midoriya's, even with the briefness of their acquaintance - it's really Midoriya's trust that he adopts, a token of respect for both of them.
And this is what necessity demands of him, anyway, because there is no chance in this or any other universe that Paul will waste time on hesitation today. His cloak sheds behind him, sloughed off to reveal close-fitted blackened leather and cloth, a mask hanging around his neck not unlike a variation of Deku's own hero gear. The blindfold comes into sight, as does the gleam that ekes out around its edges, but it doesn't seem to affect his ability to dart across the uneven terrain to the clearing ahead.
"Understood!" Paul calls back, crisply tactical, when they're on the verge of contact with the hulking Beast that can already be glimpsed through the trees ahead by anyone with eyes to see it - and then they burst into the open space, and the situation clarifies itself.
The Bugge of legend towers above them, a solid wall of muscle under matted fur, slavering gobs of dark saliva from a maw pulled back in a rictus of hunger. In front of it, trilling frantically, quivering in every limb, is a much smaller Beast, barely larger than either of the two boys. It's a silver furred thing itself, a radial arrangement of overly jointed humanoid arms around a knuckle of a torso, with a head that is almost human in shape, except for the pair of hands that sprout from its sides and fold over its features to conceal them. On one wrist, a charred, dull band of metal sits, with a cracked stone in its setting. It cowers under the dread gaze of the Bugge, with old wounds raked across its limbs that match the thing's claws.
Next to the Bugge, Paul is a slip of shadow, his spear no more than a splinter. He skids to a halt at the periphery, levelling it at the titan, and draws his lips back in a snarl of his own.
"Alala!" His voice lashes out like a heavy chain, shockingly forceful from such a slender frame - a voice made for command, for the rallying cry. "Come here, if you want it!"
The words themselves don't matter. They mean nothing to the Beasts. But they do catch the Bugge's attention, and its baleful stare twists towards them in a wash of icy, unnatural terror.
"Come on," Paul says, with quiet, bitten off intensity, "Come on, come on -"
The Bugge snorts. It rears back, pivoting its bulk to face them, and lowers its mighty head - and then it charges.
hell yeah, let's BUGGE FITE
And this is what necessity demands of him, anyway, because there is no chance in this or any other universe that Paul will waste time on hesitation today. His cloak sheds behind him, sloughed off to reveal close-fitted blackened leather and cloth, a mask hanging around his neck not unlike a variation of Deku's own hero gear. The blindfold comes into sight, as does the gleam that ekes out around its edges, but it doesn't seem to affect his ability to dart across the uneven terrain to the clearing ahead.
"Understood!" Paul calls back, crisply tactical, when they're on the verge of contact with the hulking Beast that can already be glimpsed through the trees ahead by anyone with eyes to see it - and then they burst into the open space, and the situation clarifies itself.
The Bugge of legend towers above them, a solid wall of muscle under matted fur, slavering gobs of dark saliva from a maw pulled back in a rictus of hunger. In front of it, trilling frantically, quivering in every limb, is a much smaller Beast, barely larger than either of the two boys. It's a silver furred thing itself, a radial arrangement of overly jointed humanoid arms around a knuckle of a torso, with a head that is almost human in shape, except for the pair of hands that sprout from its sides and fold over its features to conceal them. On one wrist, a charred, dull band of metal sits, with a cracked stone in its setting. It cowers under the dread gaze of the Bugge, with old wounds raked across its limbs that match the thing's claws.
Next to the Bugge, Paul is a slip of shadow, his spear no more than a splinter. He skids to a halt at the periphery, levelling it at the titan, and draws his lips back in a snarl of his own.
"Alala!" His voice lashes out like a heavy chain, shockingly forceful from such a slender frame - a voice made for command, for the rallying cry. "Come here, if you want it!"
The words themselves don't matter. They mean nothing to the Beasts. But they do catch the Bugge's attention, and its baleful stare twists towards them in a wash of icy, unnatural terror.
"Come on," Paul says, with quiet, bitten off intensity, "Come on, come on -"
The Bugge snorts. It rears back, pivoting its bulk to face them, and lowers its mighty head - and then it charges.