[ It comes as a shock, actually. Not Byleth wielding flames — for he has seen, and survived, the connection of Ragnarok's fire with the incendiary gasses within the Beyond. Not that, but the fact that he so immediately reaches between them in Communion, in the manifestation of their joined minds, and attacks the memory-specter of Set's own making. Barely a moment is wasted, between Byleth's posture changing and the nigh-instinctive assault — which leaves Set a little shaken, not by the violence ( never by the violence ) but by how unquestioning the motion was.
As if Byleth didn't care to hear anything from Osiris's mouth, words spoken in a voice intimately familiar to Set, but ultimately born from within him. There is no true Osiris in Kenos, only a memory, and that memory is so lively and realistic — turning over Set's own vulnerabilities and doubts with practiced ease. It is, all the same, his own mind turned against him, in the shape of the one who frightens him beyond measure.
He holds onto Byleth's arm, feeling terrible in one distant corner of his mind for seeking the point of contact as he watches flames spark in the joining of their mind. ] Ah.
[ A startled, strangled sound. What can he say, before such a display? ]
— he's, not real.
[ He knows that, but. It still feels horrible enough. Set reaches out to Byleth's outstretched arm, the one he cast those flames from, and touches into the crook of his elbow. ]
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As if Byleth didn't care to hear anything from Osiris's mouth, words spoken in a voice intimately familiar to Set, but ultimately born from within him. There is no true Osiris in Kenos, only a memory, and that memory is so lively and realistic — turning over Set's own vulnerabilities and doubts with practiced ease. It is, all the same, his own mind turned against him, in the shape of the one who frightens him beyond measure.
He holds onto Byleth's arm, feeling terrible in one distant corner of his mind for seeking the point of contact as he watches flames spark in the joining of their mind. ] Ah.
[ A startled, strangled sound. What can he say, before such a display? ]
— he's, not real.
[ He knows that, but. It still feels horrible enough. Set reaches out to Byleth's outstretched arm, the one he cast those flames from, and touches into the crook of his elbow. ]
You couldn't get rid of him if you tried.