pop rocks

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[ By the time Sebastian reaches out in Communion, he’s already felt the fullness of his rage and taken it out. Viciously. It’s an occasion where he’s grateful for what Ryad provides, lest he had to express it in a more troublesome way.

Sebastian’s usual affect is warm and friendly, if with a polite distance, but today, it’s ice cold. His Communion is always expressed as something dark, but there’s a secondary sensation that comes today as well. It’s the unsettling sensation of being watched that makes someone’s hair raise. After all, there’s uncountable eyes in that abyssal dark. ]

I shall be brief. Someone broke into my home a few days ago and left a “gift” most unwelcome. A Shard belonging to someone from my home. Yet, though I kept it isolated to inspect it further, that did not seem to matter. It infected the Shard that Lady Yima gave me. A Shard that is now no more, for it burst. The soul that was in that little rock is no more.

[ His voice becomes more tense at that last sentence. It’s clear he’s very intentionally holding back his temper significantly. ]

I make this announcement for my fellow Zenites’ sake that they might destroy any they come upon immediately. Also to inform them that there is a way for these Shards to be tampered with that has been exploited. But let me also be clear.

I will find whoever was unwise enough to step into my home and play with my pet. I went through great lengths to obtain that soul, and I do not take kindly to being robbed of it. But there is no need for threats beyond that, is there?

[ So he says, but it’s crystal clear—Whoever it was, they’re in grave danger if they’re discovered. ]

Comments

cw vicious animals fighting :tired:

[redsoil]

No, I would not accept.

[ Meanly, his mouth twists. Sebastian isn't issuing a threat, but he bristles all the same; a god ought to, and to not would be evidence that he was trying too hard to be something he was not. He could say that they were as much his "contractees" as Sebastian's masters were, but as he was not a demon in full yet, it would ring false and hollow. Instead, he twists against Sebastian's claws and snaps his teeth against his face, biting into cheek and jaw towards the facsimile of bone below.

That should be enough to tell him that he's struck true. Maybe it will satisfy Sebastian a little, to know that the mortals have value. Enough to make Set angry, too. ( He wants to pretend they're all little meals, validating him and nothing more. He can't, and it's dangerous that he's grown so close to them. ) ]

Your loss is not a personal matter — you chose Zenith, you accepted the Shard from its leader, and you took a Master who will feed you the soul you are working for. You would not have had this issue otherwise, as you would have just gone home to that soul you have now wasted. Moving against any of the Meridian will be an act as a Zenite, and I will support my allies. As you would.

they're so normal

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[ It’s not like he can get out of the way without withdrawing completely, so it’s easy for Set to bite him. It pulls out a sharp noise of pain, and Sebastian lurches forward into the bite, but mostly to prevent Set from tearing into it further. Set could snap the bone if he wanted, he imagines, just as he could dig in further and rip out whatever organ his hands grabbed first. Is that more of an insult to Set, he wonders?

He spits out a glob of blood that gathers while Set speaks, but it’s another small sign that he’s listening that it’s to the side rather than lobbed directly at him. Still, though. It’s probably only Set that could handle this, for many reasons. His eyes are still wild, his posture as tense as a bowstring about to snap as he’s curled over Set. Even a formidable human would probably be cowed under such an intense gaze. ]

Is it a god’s nature to be soft towards the little mortals that covet your attention?

[ It’s a question that’s not meant to be answered. It’s just as mean and mocking as pointing out that obvious weakness in the first place. All because he hates the single word wasted. At this point, he would truly never want to return to his world, since the freedom he has here is too much to ever want that, but it’s just that idea of the other chance that he’d missed. That if he’d picked it, he could still have what he so deeply wanted. He would give up his contract with Silco in a heartbeat to possess Ciel’s again.

It's a tense moment of silence after the barbed question. Sebastian doesn’t move a muscle. He’s poised to strike and just continue fighting and shedding blood until he’s less furious.

But his hand relaxes, and he removes those claws from where he’d embedded them into Set’s side. ]

You are mistaken. I assume it was one of your allies, since it makes the most sense. They may have been inspired by this war. But I am not. I would tear Zenite meat from bone the same as Meri. They have overstepped.

[redsoil]

You cannot claim that was a line not to be crossed in hindsight, Sebastian. Just because you got sloppy after tasting the freedoms given to you for being Zenith's does not mean I will immediately agree that you are due anything over your own mistake.

[ Sebastian hates weakness. Set knows this. To point it out is tantamount to asking to fight to the death, yet he does it regardless — because, seeing the normally preternaturally-composed demon so very, very unhinged is both enticing and frightening. He's furious, and Set isn't against taking advantage of this wrath, pressing on it like a bruise welling beneath the skin and urging him to think. To be himself, remember his priorities and realize: ] You let Yima give you what you already earned.

[ He feels the wet ( and simultaneously dry? ) drag of claws from his body and twists, mouth full of dark ichor and shadow and mock-blood as he drags his lips into a dire frown. Upset, a little, on behalf of the soul who was destroyed, but pressing it into a shape that makes him look sympathetic with Sebastian. His hand cups over his side, which aches and screams with pain even after the demon withdraws his fingers, his voice a rasp, a hiss of vicious daring. He could be destroyed for this. Sebastian is capable of it. ]

You were mislead and used, as I see it. I promise I do not dare to insult you with pity this time — it is only that there is no worth in Zenith's immediate gratification if there is no guarantee. What an empty promise you were given, in exchange for your dutiful service.

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[ Sebastian bristles again with a sneer that bears his teeth when Set calls him sloppy, since that’s an insult that digs into his pride in a particular way. It’s easy to read on his face that he’s thinking better of removing his claws from Set’s side. If he puts them back, he’s going to puncture a lung just to hear less of these insults. Perhaps more than that, at this rate.

But that insult is still something that Sebastian can accept, in a way. He hates it being pointed out, but even he knows, deep down, that trying to hunt down the culprit and string them up is a short-sighted idea. What does Ciel’s soul even mean, truly? He might have been a decadent meal, but in the true grand scheme of things, he’s nothing. Pushing back on that feels acceptable, if only from Set.

But Set pushes past that. This conflict over Ciel’s soul is petty. But pointing to his decision to ally with Zenith this way—

Shadows snap out from under Set and wrap around him tightly, and it’s far more of them than he’s seen before. It’s holding him in place, but more than that, they’re a substance where Sebastian and Set are similar, in a way. He can turn to sand if he wants. The shadow can still catch every grain and pin it in place because of how they both operate as more liquid than anything else. They nearly envelop him, like Sebastian were going to just swallow him up into a void and eat him whole, but they’re only restraints. Still, though. This isn’t something he’s used for anyone else so far.

His hot, feral anger has cooled in an instant to something icy. If Set hasn’t already crossed a line, he’s dangerously close to it, but he already expected that. Sebastian grabs Set’s face with his unclawed hand, which also happens to be the one bearing the mark of his Covenant with Silco. For once, the symbolism of the choice isn’t intentional. ]

What bold words. Are you daring me to swallow your Shard up instead, Set?

[ There’s notably no honorific. But it’s just as notable that he hasn’t already done so. Sebastian may like to play with his prey, but not when he’s as serious as this. He’s felt the stirring in his soul, after all. Or, weakening, more accurately. ]

Or do you imagine this is when I so gratefully say “Ah, how right you are, what a fool I have been.” How convenient that losing the price paid for my loyalty would push me to the alternative. What a clever scheme that would be… And what sweet words come from the trickster god’s mouth to sell such a story.

[ His grip doesn’t tighten, but his gaze is so intense that it feels like he’s boring into Set’s soul by looking at him. ]

Was this your plan? Or were you involved in it? And do not insult me by attempting to lie to me.

[redsoil]

[ He knows enough about Sebastian by now, to know when he's pushing too far ( too fast, too hard ) and this is one of those instances. Like every other inch of him, Set's tongue is as deadly a weapon — perhaps one of the deadliest, made and molded into a knife, a hammer, a wedge that seek to find the gap in the demon's impermeable armor. Finding it is one thing, surviving the retaliation after he exposes it is another. Because physically, he might maneuver free of it. He might grapple with the shadows by turning to sand and slithering free. He might shelter his Shard if Sebastian thinks to dissipate him simply to release the brunt of his ire — but no, he is restrained.

Held down. Pinned in place. Controlled and trapped. It sparks a terror within him that he cannot, will not, let Sebastian get a read on. Even as his mouth snaps shut and his eyes pin wide under the edge of that grasping hand, seizing his face. The dark pupils within red irises thin, and Set thrums below the restraining shadows like he's preparing to lash out. To try and buck Sebastian off of him. He cannot use his mouth, but there still is Communion. He opens his mind, privately, to the demon astride him. ]

It would be a great loss for you, if you did.

[ Would it? He's banking on his utility, on Sebastian's enjoyment of his existence, to allow him to survive for longer than he might — a god does not, at any point, possess the mentality to imagine themselves possessed of the ability to die. They've had the discussion before, after all. The density and weight of Set's soul is akin to an ocean, even if it is packaged up in a manageable bite. He thinks it would, at the least, change something about Sebastian, if not rupture him. ( But, would it? If it is within a Shard, and perhaps not part of his whole, then would it not be a bite-sized morsel now? ) ( And demons, he has come to know, devour for power. ) ]

I knew nothing about this, Sebastian Michaelis.

[ He's not lying in the least, either. This is not one of his schemes, though the spark within his soul — black and deep, shines gleaming like sharp teeth — and is enough of a hint to a demon that living within him, there is something that doesn't mind seizing the opportunity it has presented to him. It's not a lie, to point these things out. ]

It is convenient, that is without a doubt... but, it is also disappointing. To know how much you pride your power and freedom, and to know you would not have had to face this, had she not played into your desires so effectively. Learning the lessons of hell from you has been eye-opening, dear teacher.

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[ At least a small mercy is that Sebastian doesn’t find Set’s reaction strange. He’d surely be straining in the same way if their positions were reversed. He has him thoroughly pinned, since those shadows are ethereal and weightless, but they’re every bit as strong as Sebastian himself. It’s why he rarely uses them this way, lest someone realize their true utility as one of his last resorts.

Yet, it’s almost worse when it’s in Communion, because it’s clearer when he’s not speaking to an audience just how deeply this loss and this conversation affects him. His mind is always shadows, a cool, dark abyss that Set has luxuriated in before, but it’s more chaotic now. The eyes and teeth that had appeared once when Hayame had destroyed his eye are all out to bear, but they’re not lashing out in animalistic frenzy.

The countless eyes and teeth of as many beasts are focused on Set. The eyes stare at him like they’d be able to just see a lie, and the hungry mouths drip with ichor and grin as they wait to tear him apart. Set had seen Sebastian’s true face, yes, but this feels like it just as much. It’s something chaotic and ugly that the otherwise orderly demon took great care to keep out of view.

It’s tense as he listens, and more tense still as a silence lingers. That last little comment gets Sebastian’s grip to tighten, and his fury is ice instead of fire. It seems like a push too far to turn his “lessons” back on him like a mirror.

Yet—

It’s a weighing in his mind of which wound to his pride is worse—that he would be fooled, or that someone else would point it out. Both sting in a way that’s equally worthy of retribution to a demon, but one is more rational than the other. He’d already realized the flaw in his bought loyalty the first time that Set pointed it out here. It’s from those cracks that Zenith is ebbing out of him now. Maybe Set can even feel it—the doubt that’s coiling like a blight around a purple flower.

It's only moments that feel like an eternity, but the dark calms. The eye and mouths close, and the restraining shadows retreat back to the eaves that they had sprung from. His hand quivers as he does it, but he lets go of Set’s jaw. That’s all answer enough, and it seems like Sebastian stubbornly might not say a word. But surprisingly, he does, though his voice is quiet. ]

It may well be something she regrets.

[ It’s as close to a “you’re right” or an “I believe you” as he’s going to get. ]