monday's child is fair of face (2/2)

[palfriday]

CW: death, probably gore, possibly more TBA

[and that’s what you missed on glee.

and so, there “Friday” is, standing on the roof of the bar. the attention of the party has surely turned to her by this point, but she doesn’t care about that. she just needs one person to still be a little too distracted to stop what was coming next.

Monday snaps her fingers, and Jenny disappears from wherever she was standing before, reappearing directly in front of Monday, who embraces her from behind, an arm wrapped firmly around her middle. those with enhanced senses might catch what she whispers, seconds before she snaps Jenny’s neck so hard it hangs at a 90 degree angle as Monday kicks her, her corpse toppling forward onto the deck below.]

Surprise, bitch.

[well, there. unfinished business settled. onto more pertinent matters.]

Let’s get a little more comfortable first, hm? Can’t waste too much of her magic, but audiences love a quick change.

[she snaps her fingers, and Monday finds herself in an outfit that is far more to her taste. now. time for her grand performance.]

Greetings, foolish mortals! You may or may not have noticed that things have been a little bit different this month. While the Captain is off having a good old bitch cry about whatever it is he’s so upset about, poor little Friday was running herself ragged keeping this shitheap floating! She was so distracted, in fact, that she happened to have a little accident, while fixing something in the elevator shaft! [a laugh] I guess even clay bitches can break their necks! And there I was, sitting in Fucking Nowhere, doing Fucking Nothing, feeling Fucking. Nothing! And I saw her empty shell. And I was, like, hey, free real estate!

Whatever tear in the veil that your whiny little Captain just didn’t feel like fixing? I ripped that fucker right open. And you’ve all met a few of the sorry little fuckers that fell out already, hm? [another snap] Not all of them, but, hey, that’s what now is for, right? Because, see, we all kinda got together a little bit, and we were like… You know, just borrowing some shitty bodies to have some fun for a few weeks? What a waste! And we still have a lot of bitches we need to spring from jail!

And that! Is where you assholes come in! And, trust me, you are all assholes. Have you even seen some of the psychotic shit you people have said and done to us? Like, yeah, Mary is legitimately insane, but she’s still a kid! Even I’m not gonna call a fucking nine year old a bitch!

You can try to run, but I fucking hate running in heels, so I made that a little bit… difficult. So. Why don’t you nice people just lay down and let us kill you. I’ll be gentle. Promise.

[perhaps people have tried to flee already. they likely have. and they’ve found that the entire party area has been blocked off by the same sort of barrier that surrounds the realm, an invisible orb holding them captive.]

Now. Let’s get the actual party started!

Comments

[wimdy]

[ this is exactly what he means when he rages against the pretension of the gods. ] Are you kidding me—

You think I haven’t fought? You think I’ve just rolled over and presented my belly to the Captain, to any other bastard that faced me in those games and trials, to any trap and punishment and torture that fell on us on this ship?! [ all the battle royales, all the backstabbing, all the fire-forged alliances and betrayals and mercy kills and pain beyond measure and she thinks he doesn’t want it as much as every other pathetic asshole here? what, does she think jenny survived because she was strong??? jenny sold them all out! admittedly, he would too if the idea occurred to him, but then again his luck would probably fail at the critical moment, jenny got fucking lucky and that’s it—

how warm and soft and spring-like venti’s winds are. and now instead they howl and tear practically like physical weapons or more. the divine winds that could cut through rock and stone and mountains, the highest peaks of the continent that once towered above dragonspine. barbatos’ winds had once carved them out entirely, far-flung them to sea. winds cold as winter, the never-ending blizzard that could just about bury mondstadt entirely in a freezing grave but for a tyrant god’s fortress walls. the cold and fury scream at her, storm and sea wind that rip towards her in that attempt to pull her into the crushing gravity of black void.

if he could craft his god’s form it would be artificial, mechanical rather than natural, massive, purple metal, reminiscent of the inazuman homeland even if he holds barely anything but spite for the country and its goddess. as if this body yearns for its own homeland, the creatures, the deities there—the wings are of the wind vishap’s, dvalin’s plumes and claws tipped on his hands. the severed wing that falls, spattered with draconic blood. andrius’ mane ruffles on his neck, he howls with rage and rejection against the gods and the realm and the battle they’ve found themselves in. rejection against death and disappearance. ]

I don’t need the gods’ help or your holier-than-thou mercy! This archon died over and over again because he was weak—his suffering will pale compared to what I’ll put you through!

[ there is, actually, some strange amount of preservation he holds towards this body: not just wanting to keep it for himself, but something odd when venti himself has always always wanted to protect the image of it. still though, sheer rage has him meet the blast of pollux’s sword, like lightning, with a massive gale of wind from all seven of his wings. the star’s strike crashes into the floor to destroy it; the impact of it staggers ‘venti’ with a crumpling of two more wings.

the fury of him propels him upwards at his own breakneck speed towards pollux, to grab or impale her with outstretched claws as wind drags her towards his strike. ]

[nyktifanis]

Then what sort of perverse thought had you believe we would accept defeat?

( everyone here has their own lives, and if she allowed them to allow this plague of ghosts to take over their bodies then she would have failed many of the people she promised to protect. besides, this isn't right, if the other had his own body then he could act however he wanted even if people would put a stop to him, but to do unforgivable acts within venti's body is pushing it on all accounts. to harm humans, to treat him like a monster rather than a god who wants the best for those around him; this ghost doesn't deserve the body of a god. they hardly deserve to be alive in the first place, and so pollux's need to get rid of the filth before her eyes grows and grows.

they will give back venti if it's the last thing she does.

her fingers flex open as miniature stars begin to hover under her palm, and the sword that had crashed into the floor starts to disperse into stars, but not too far off there's unfamiliar symbols appearing— a lightening-type strike rushing down to the ground as well, breaking off areas and pieces that light hadn't already shredded through. the floor level may drop, but she doesn't care for her surroundings as she keeps the other in her sight while calling back her weapon—

it's not as fast as she likes with the wind pushing at her rear, and with the speed of determination fueled by hatred, there's the sensation of talons cutting through her side; the tips peeking from out the other side. it's a watered down scream that fills her lungs, blood finding its way as a burning sensation sends shockwaves through her body. her hand falls onto venti's arm, fingers twitching in pain as she glances down at her stomach, noticing the other's fingers puncturing her. )

— Ah... ( her voice sweet and soft, dedicated to her cause as she whispers it to the others. ) I'll kill you... if it's to protect what they love.

( he can feel the way her body breathes in and out, the fresh blood that pours onto his talons to make it glisten in the light of the room that flickers. rather than pull out, she shifts to the side allowing his claws to hold her flesh, and the disgusting wet sound of skin and muscle tearing is audible between them as she pulls herself away from venti, and a nice chunk of her body torn off now hanging to "venti"'s claws. floating off to the side, pollux brings a hand to her visible would where the open mass seems a bit bigger than a baseball, but blood rains down her side, rolling against her leg and has stained her garments. )

[wimdy]

[ oh please, you know this asshole would make so much better use of this body than some wishy-washy bleeding-heart libertarian laissez-faire sit-on-his-hands (insert more shittalking here) bard!! you said so yourself, he should totally keep this for good--

he only distantly notices jade and rita's duel but for a twisting smirk, yeah that sure sounds like mithos raising some hell all right, and rightfully so! hopefully he's smiting a few idiots just like he himself is doing so right now. speaking of twist, would pollux mind juuuust a little if he just grabs at some guts and viscera and wrenches it from her body with an ecstatic laugh that just sounds pretty damn wrong in venti's melodic voice. the laugh a bard might give after a lovely rousing performance, after sharing a lame joke with good reception, after perhaps looking at his own failed attempt at a cake because of how bad it is.

the specter crushes flesh in his palm in a clawed fist, laughing in venti's voice when it extends to go maniacal. ] You're still talking so self-righteous even now, you deluded bitch! [ if any genshin is gonna breach the language rating, it's going to be this guy. the chunk of pollux in his hand spatters blood onto his face and cheek, the unhinged glow to his eyes, the wild grin to his face.

never mind that he's lost three wings and his flight is erratic and pollux can heal, that just means he needs to press the advantage and take her the fuck out now. whether it means leaving her body in usable condition for a shipmate to take over or not.

he dives straight at her with claws outstretched again, this time to aim right at her neck or swipe her head clean off. yeah, enough with the bow and ranged fight. time to bring this up close. ]

Death is evil. We can take it from the gods, for if death were good the goddamn gods would die!

[ all the poetry venti has read--the specter knows them now too. ]

1/2

[nyktifanis]

Venti... if you can hear me...

( she mutters with a hand to her side, the exposed flesh of hers stinging as the tips of her fingers feel the amount of damage done to her body. the gore and viscera that's been ripped, the immediate shock to her body as it heaves tiredly. she's already draining her master dry to lessen the pain that she's feeling, but she's still conscious enough to keep going. she is the son of zeus, a being that was blessed with a body that was invulnerable to damage, and so she has to keep going. for the people here, and for the god that isn't here to have control of his body. )

It'll be fine. ( like it's a mantra, a reminder even though she knows that he can't hear her. ) This is it...

( the poem doesn't go unheard even if she feels her heart echo in her ears, it all clatters together as the room tends to grow louder and louder with a worried look on her face as the other strikes with abandon, the specter closing the gap at amazing speed. if he manages to attack her head, then she knows that her days here are over— damage to her spiritual core will alarm her brother, he'll know instantly of her demise, but if this world acts differently by splitting them when they first came here then maybe he'll remain even if...

2/2

[nyktifanis]

...ah, there's no reason to think about that is there? a smile instantly pulls at her face, eyes bright once the other has gave up on keeping distance between them as stars and sparks quickly build in her free hand. rather than heal the damage in her side, her sword shines bright, burning with light as she quickly swipes her arm up, bent at the elbow to slash her blade across "venti's" arm, cutting that hand away with ease.

this is it, her chance is what she meant. )

No word or work of mine — nothing can be revoked. ( entitled as it is, she is her father's daughter, the blood of zeus runs through her veins, and so she speaks to the person before her like a lower being. hell, she's surprised that she's even acknowledging him. ) I meant it when I said I would kill you; now allow me to cast judgement...

( without any hesitation, she uses a burst of energy to hover herself up above "venti", and with her free hand she rears it back to punch directly in his face with enough force that would send a human barreling downward to crash into the fifth deck's floor. )

[wimdy]

He can't hear your whining, you utter--

[ and then

well

he sure deserves this. this sure can be a case study in don't let down your guard even after ripping a hole in the enemy but what can he say, even a harbinger can be an idiot. just look at childe. all right, someday he can stop dunking on childe just maybe...

he barely has the breath to react when his hand is cut off, great just great, that fucking hurt!!! and it cuts his clawing-people's-faces-off ability in half though of course he has exactly ONE priority when it comes to who he wants to rip the face off of and she is standing there right in front of him.

and packing a divine punch to spike him straight into the ground. like a tennis or volley ball. he falls like a meteor, impacting a heavy crater into the considerable debris... another wing breaks, bone shattering through matted feathers, but he's going to be kind of too knocked out for a second here to care. unfortunately she didn't quite one-punch him to death like a shonen hero.

but maybe she still can if she comes down to land and finish him off. ]

[nyktifanis]

( that punch takes a lot out of her, the way her body begins to drop in the air, and every so often she manages to catch herself from plummeting. slowly she hovers down with a hand against her side to hold in anything that feels as though it may escape her— her body trembles, but she allowed for that to happen, some sacrfices are needed for a better outcome. once she manages to come to the bottom, she slowly walks towards venti's body, her steps staggering slowly as she attempts to catch herself from falling. )

...

( she stares down at his body, and part of her wonders if he'd be able to forgive her after this? no, he doesn't have to, because this is what she felt was right. it was for venti, for jinx, and for the people here that she had to protect, but also the person inside is undeserving of the body that they have. it's a toxin inside of his body, and she knows better than to allow it to stay— purge the sickness, and part of her wish asclepius had been here to do so.

yet, she tires, her body trembles, and down to her knees she falls as they bracket against venti's sides to keep him in place on the floor as she stares down at his unconscious body? pollux makes a seat on the lower half of his body, her blood seeping out warm and onto the male's own clothes tainting it a dark red.

it's with her blade that she lays it across venti's neck, pressing the sharp of it against the skin. )

Wake up. You'll acknowledge your death.

[wimdy]

[ he'll acknowledge Jack shit if he has any say in this.

he does stir as he senses her straddle him. hello. here he is sans a hand, half of his wings out of commission, the skyward harp fell somewhere though he supposes he could rematerialize it, but then again he was kind of shit with it, he isn't naturally a bow user. what is he, exactly? that could be a mystery still even as she demands he wake and he does almost as if on command, the blue of his eyes like the eternal sky and sea here.

here he is at her mercy and she is still making demands of him. a slow smile comes to his face, then a wheezing laugh, pained. his face is a mess, his body is entirely bruised and much of it must be broken more than wings and yet still he laughs. ]

The superiority and gall of gods really is never ending.

I'd rather die than let you kill me.

[ ........ this probably means to sound much more defiant than nonsensical but his head is ringing from that punch, maybe he can't reason that well.

but what he can do is still he's not going to make this easy for her. his laugh echoes even as his shaking has the blade cut just a sliver into his throat--and then his neck starts to unravel from the point of the injury.

she knows he can turn into wind right??

his mocking laughter is the last to fade as he disappears into an anemo gust. on one hand, he's not going to flee like some coward. on the other hand, he can strike now from any moment--he'll have to make this last attack count. ]

[nyktifanis]

Gods are meant to protect their people, and every individual here falls under my domain.

( inhabiting a god's body doesn't mean that they'll share the same will, she had already saw it from the others actions when attacking a poor, human girl. the desire that he has to live is right, but his methods are wrong, and so she couldn't support him in the slightest. her hand grips tighter on her sword, nails brushing against the handle as she parts her feet from one another. punching will do no good when it's just the wind, so she'll opt in on using her weapon that stays by her side. )

If you don't wish to die, ( she flinches, hand pressed against her side to stem the bleeding. it's not helping as it only drops more onto the floor, mixing in the water. ) then release him from your grasp. Return back to where you came from, but if you choose not to...

( closing her eyes, pollux steadies her breathing so that she can listen to her surroundings. dodging strikes of wind is easy enough, but if he wants to do true harm to her, he'll have to strike properly. he's already lost blood, wings and even a limb— where should she strike? the heart when it's visible, or should she remove the head?

rather, she'll deal with both. it takes only so many strikes to puncture the heart, and only so many swings to sever the head completely without making a mess. if she can do this right without accumulating anymore nasty damage then... )

You'll remain a fake god, and your name will never be spoken properly. Just another creature crushed under my heel.

[wimdy]

[ the wind is a whisper, but not quiet and melodic like usual. instead the cold and almost poison of it steals around her, the sharpness as if of ozone or static electricity in the air within a storm. almost primal spite somehow in a natural phenomenon. ]

You could claim everyone here in this realm under yours. The greed and demand of you staggers the mind. And if that were true, the two of you have done a piss poor job in your so-called domain.

[ that she breathes in an attempt to remain calm, perhaps even as the little clawed hole through her had completely ripped into a lung if deities would deign to be so organic…

the wind, the air, it sustains life and existence so. what if it were the enemy? the divine wind that coils and hovers around her like the poisonous gas he’d used in his homeland. the temperature drops still, air pressure like a stone as if she were high in altitude like on the mountain of the gods or the peaks barbatos had once sliced off the face of the earth, to sea.

he could steal and draw her very breath from her, choking, a mortal would get so high on oxygen deprivation to die. ]

The cold and heartless goddess who so carelessly created me never gave me a name. The cold and unloving goddess I pledged myself to gifted me a title. The mortals and men and women and children I encountered… some called me country slayer, such is my power.

You should be so lucky to fall to the likes of me, a god who would judge all equally.

[ with the divine fate of death. ]

[nyktifanis]

( the shift in the air causes her to body to still, eyes slowly opening as she stares at her surroundings— the water that leaks, the debris, and even the floor above that still crumbles to give off an effect as though raining. she can still the blood, the smoke, and ocean water that pools into the area. it's then her senses come to a halt— the need to smell, the need to breathe, it's instantly gone as god, let alone a servant, has no need for such human luxuries. her chest no longer raises up and down as she turns around towards the direction where the voice seems loudest.

there's no need for air when mikazuki's playfulness towards releasing the limiter on their mana consumption and human prayers course through her magical circuits with a pop and a snap, energizing her as she takes a step forward. )

Fool. We are the breeze that gently caresses their shoulder, the light in the distance that they can follow.

( another step as the wind speaks to her. ) The methods of how they choose to move forward is by their choice, and if fighting against impudent creatures like you is their decision.

( she points her sword out to the wind, to nothing at all, hell who knows where the entity could be hiding— what matters is that she knows that he's still here to meet his death. )

Then I shall support them.

[wimdy]

A fool would choose to struggle and die fruitlessly and in agony. Then again, I would serve that fate to you and everyone else regardless.

[ how special she is that she doesn’t need to breathe. but then again she is of the stars, space… and he could recall how the goddess of ice would look to that island in the sky, her ambition to pull the celestial gods down from their lofty thrones and heavenly principles. are all gods of the stars so fucking self-righteous?? or maybe it’s just a god thing in general but of course not for him, he who would generously serve death to mortal or deity in his path.

if she might breathe and he could summon a void in her lungs and tear her insides from within—maybe he gave up the game by going immaterial like this. this bard plays defensive and supportive rather than pure damage but he was a god, he had created those blessed weapons. the bard prefers the bow but right now he’s without a hand to draw the arrow. there is the skyward claymore and blade, but when it comes to weaponry the specter prefers—

the wind sweeps into the form of him, shadowed but with eyes blazing blue as anemo swirls to his hand in the form of the skyward atlas, the cloud atlas that had once terraformed an entire country to blow the eternal winter away. a blessed book that could control the very skies and weather: the wandering clouds, condensed from the water drenched to the floor by the pool, curl into thunderclouds in readiness to smite her.

the book hovers above his one good hand: his smile at her is mirthless and full of teeth. ]

They can follow you straight to hell.

[ three stormeyes converge straight at her, the book’s spells that would home in like his arrows of light and then detonate into void. if she’s of the stars he can be like a black hole, swallowing all light. ]

[nyktifanis]

( the wind twists and turns disrupting the flow of air that it's rough against her skin, and the stormeyes coming in for all angles with no chance of escape. a step back, and the sound of the attack doesn't go unnoticed from either end, no matter where she decides to escape to— that path is blocked. the attack collides, a water, smoke, and debris mix together that it causes steam to waft up in the air mixed with the smog, it blacks out everything around them that it's hard to see through the density of it. with an attack, pollux should be finished, truthfully taking three of those at once doesn't bode well for someone unprepared, and the specter saw it himself that she had nowhere to go and accepted her death gracefully.

the smell of blood evident in the air...

it's when the smoke starts to clear up, through the darkness there's a faint sparkle that peeks through the air, and there's a a white veil that's wrapped around pollux that seems to have given out towards the middle part of her body, having took the brunt of the attack before disappearing from around her. stars fall, snapping in and out of existence as she stands with a smug look on her face— eyes glaring at the other once the skill ends.

quickly, she wastes no time dashing towards the other, bending her knees so that she hops up, bottom of her heels balancing against the book that the other uses to cast— )

To hell with you and your book! Allow my blade to read your sins and pass judgement!

( rearing her hand back with her blade, she forces her weapon straight down towards the other's good arm. light encases the edges to easily cut through the flesh of the other's shoulder, energy extending from the tip, and the blade long enough that it'll cut between one or two wings behind him. she'll remove every limb, strip him of his ability to do anything— further and further she pushes her weapon down, the heat of light causes the blood to boil and pop.

if he's smart, he'll back away before he loses that entire arm. )

[wimdy]

[ she really does shine bright like a star, while his power is over wind, like control over space to fire black holes. the question might just be whether light or void would prevail.

also how dare she step on the book!! venti would be slightly scandalized if he knew but admittedly, he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on. or rather, maybe another arm, more wings sliced off and falling to the ground. she really is just snipping his wings in the most literal sense but he does start to fall, clutching at her to drag her down with him with a crazed laugh. maybe the last vestiges of sanity starting to leave him as it really sinks in, this might not be winnable. a prospect that he’d rage and deny to his dying day or moment, which might be soon, but he can barely think straight beyond just wanting to live, keep this body, stay, he can’t go back to the nothingness—

his arm is just barely hanging on by tendons, by sinew, practically by sheer faith which is rapidly running out. the wound burns like hellfire. still though, his talons clench right at her shoulder, sinking deeply into flesh with dying strength. if he had any more control of his arm he would try to rip out her heart. ]

If I’m going to hell I’m taking you with me.

You and me. Goddess of false stars dragged down with the Shouki no Kami.

[ the shogun never gave him a name. the tsaritsa blessed him with two titles. his victims could call him ‘destroyer of countries’. how many names and aliases he’s had, but he’s only ever tried to make his own when he reached for godhood.

if he were in his own body perhaps he totally could have won. he could have gloatingly sneered his god’s name and title to her as he crushed her face into the dirt under his heel. or is that just fantasy? no escape from reality, etc…

his entire body is heavy like the weight of a collapsing star: he would make this vessel itself his last stormeye and kill them both, crushing them to nothingness. maybe even the entire ship if he could muster the power. if he has to return there, he’d take her or deal as much damage as he can to the last. like a kamikaze, the twisted divine wind. ]

[nyktifanis]

( false stars this and false stars that. here, there, everyone makes a comment about it; then what does that make the dioscuri? they are stars, the only set that happens to be real, tangible, a source of light that others can look towards. that's why every time he mentions their authenticity, it irritates her further and further. the father of the gods had granted them their spot among the stars, he stated that their love and bond was strong enough that they could have a place above those that lift their head to the sky where they make wishes and send prayers.

it's this reminder that keeps her going, she can't die here when her brother is waiting for her wherever he is. it's not desperation, but the will of who she is, her principles, and the love that she has to offer. there are people she wishes to see, others that she wishes to check on— smiling face of shi qingxuan, the irritation of rita mordio, the undying exhaustion of israel hand. those good hearts of people that she hasn't gotten enough of seeing— she wants to see her brother the most, though, as she can't imagine a death if he's not the last person she sees.

his claws sink into her body that sends a shiver down her spine, electric enough that she groans in pain, but soon after her teeth grit together. the underworld wouldn't be an unfamiliar place for her, hell, her uncle resides over that domain— the sea of stars, the disasterous blackholes, and the heat of passionate love... those belong to the dioscuri, it's all she's seen and will never lose to, because to them that only makes them even more powerful.

she doesn't release her blade as the blood splatters between them, down her body and onto his clothing, and she mirrors his actions with her own blade. pushing it into his body so that crimson mixes with crimson, god's blood, and a rarity when combined. )

This love of mine isn't fake at all. You must not know love, and for that, I pity you.

( her place in the sky with her brother is founded on love, and yet the other speaks so cruel of them. fake, non-existent, then she'll have to show him that those stars exist. that love does exist, and it's with those final words that the air picks up around them, the self-sacrifice that this specter offers, and in turn pollux's own body glows a blinding white— that energy being sent to her sword that begins to glow wider in width that slices more and more through "venti"'s body, and it's her forcing the blade up— cutting up from the heart to the neck, her attempt to sever the head from the body happens to be her chosen, final strike as stars twinkle off from her blade— snapping and popping right before the other's eyes. )

OBTAINED: 2x Dvalin’s claw, 3x Dvalin’s plume (or whole ass wings), a bunch of arti fodder (jk)

[wimdy]

[ the stars and sky are a hoax, a lie. the revelation he’d encountered that day might as well have shattered his world.

death is very real and he could feel the coldness, the nothingness that awaited him as cold as uncaring space even as the sword sears, cutting through his neck, and isn’t this a rather full circle way to die. he could not speak, all his power and ability this body had… it had been running on fumes through the battle and fading fast all this time anyway. this archon called himself the weakest god after all. and he’d lost his gnosis.

but he’d wanted so fucking badly to live. he clutches at her with a dying grip, the blue green glow fading from his eyes, choking on blood when he can’t even laugh anymore or speak. strength and power leaving him when he can’t even create another stormeye. the winds dying abruptly around him, weakening, anemo feathers flickering into the air like dust motes or stars. it’s a terrible thing to know he will die and there’s nothing he can do about it, through vain rage and denial and despair. and this goddess is still so holier than thou about… what the hell is love, what did love ever do for him?

he thinks of his creator, his maker, the goddess who abandoned him to an underground domain. katsuragi, who’d supported and advised him. that young boy who died and left him, that delicate friendship.

there was a time he’d also wanted to be close to people, long ago. forgotten about, under spite and fury at the world. and there’s a song that this bard knows that rises to his memory now, save me my creator, I'm not clever enough to know better. I will crumble because that's my nature, just like you—

shouki no kami, for a sinner who failed to be brought to the right path and salvation. he chokes out a last breath as his ruined body crumples to the ground and his head falls. beelzebul has a devil put aside for me… ]