[ Bold of you to assume he can't still be on the offense like this.
Because you had better believe he's using the opening -- and the blind spot -- that his sword created. Because the binds on those wrists where he had let the tether go slack, like giving a hooked fish room to run, suddenly go tight again as he yanks violently on them to pull himself forward. Lightning fast, like a cloaked ghost sailing over the fire with the smoldering tips of an increasingly ragged-looking feathers, so that he can reel himself in and slam boot first against the creature's large chest.
But not before a series of more ribbons whip out, attempting to wrap fully around its form and smother what flames it can -- and anchor himself to it. Pin them both to the wall with sharp, almost sword-like ones that stab deep into the brickwork and give him leverage from pushing back with his boot.
It hurts. Being this close even with Crown Clown -- he can feel it like rising bile from the edges of his face where the cowl presses in, his less protected legs... no. Don't think about it. ]
I'm someone... [ He takes a ragged breath, fixing mismatched eyes behind the film of his mask on the soul's, one pale grey and the other a void of black and red. It's soft but steely, his tone. And even if his expression is grimly focused, there's something gentle about that and his human eye.
Even as he reaches once again for the hilt of his sword. ]
...who wants to save you.
[ Grabbing the hilt, he pulls it free enough to twist it around -- and try to drive it into the monster's core. Deep, go deep. Deep enough to, with one good strike...
(His left eye shifts, bunching up in concentration. The scar, once so delicately cut across his face like paint strokes, suddenly twisting about restless on his face like smoke. The pentagram-star shifts, twists. Trying to lock eyes with that person's soul, just so he can--) ]
1/2
Because you had better believe he's using the opening -- and the blind spot -- that his sword created. Because the binds on those wrists where he had let the tether go slack, like giving a hooked fish room to run, suddenly go tight again as he yanks violently on them to pull himself forward. Lightning fast, like a cloaked ghost sailing over the fire with the smoldering tips of an increasingly ragged-looking feathers, so that he can reel himself in and slam boot first against the creature's large chest.
But not before a series of more ribbons whip out, attempting to wrap fully around its form and smother what flames it can -- and anchor himself to it. Pin them both to the wall with sharp, almost sword-like ones that stab deep into the brickwork and give him leverage from pushing back with his boot.
It hurts. Being this close even with Crown Clown -- he can feel it like rising bile from the edges of his face where the cowl presses in, his less protected legs... no. Don't think about it. ]
I'm someone... [ He takes a ragged breath, fixing mismatched eyes behind the film of his mask on the soul's, one pale grey and the other a void of black and red. It's soft but steely, his tone. And even if his expression is grimly focused, there's something gentle about that and his human eye.
Even as he reaches once again for the hilt of his sword. ]
...who wants to save you.
[ Grabbing the hilt, he pulls it free enough to twist it around -- and try to drive it into the monster's core. Deep, go deep. Deep enough to, with one good strike...
(His left eye shifts, bunching up in concentration. The scar, once so delicately cut across his face like paint strokes,
suddenly twisting about restless on his face like smoke. The pentagram-star shifts, twists. Trying to lock eyes with that person's soul, just so he can--) ]