[Already jagged and rough at the edges, the tetrahedrite right underneath Mamoru's sternum digs deeper and sharper, threatening to empty out his lungs. Whatever this larger creature is doing, it's terrifying, and he has half a mind to double over and kneel for a second as he watches the chaos unfold. The shriek hits as an unheard wave, and not even his shades can capture it
Apnea, is the only thought that he communes, scattered indiscriminately, like a helpful hint, before his mind goes completely shut. One may think he has died, with the way the connection is so sharply cut, lingering only what could be similar to the fading blink of an old television being turned off.
But that's only because, at that time, one of the first smaller creatures leaping through the portal has pounced in his direction, long claws and fangs and tongue ready to pierce and tear at him.
Perhaps fluidly (cw: slight gore), but definitely much too fast even within the human realm of capability, Mamoru is seen standing with a long, razor-thin blade in one hand, and his walking cane in the other.
Now behind Mamoru, the monster squeaks, trying to make heads (ha!) or tails of what happened until one of its faces slips off like a magnet has lost its pull. It falls to the floor with a slick—and honestly disgusting—plop.
The swordsman rolls his shoulders. Grouses as though he's aching all over. A small blessing: being healed with magic doesn't, apparently, numb the pain of recovery.
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Apnea, is the only thought that he communes, scattered indiscriminately, like a helpful hint, before his mind goes completely shut. One may think he has died, with the way the connection is so sharply cut, lingering only what could be similar to the fading blink of an old television being turned off.
But that's only because, at that time, one of the first smaller creatures leaping through the portal has pounced in his direction, long claws and fangs and tongue ready to pierce and tear at him.
Perhaps fluidly (cw: slight gore), but definitely much too fast even within the human realm of capability, Mamoru is seen standing with a long, razor-thin blade in one hand, and his walking cane in the other.
Now behind Mamoru, the monster squeaks, trying to make heads (ha!) or tails of what happened until one of its faces slips off like a magnet has lost its pull. It falls to the floor with a slick—and honestly disgusting—plop.
The swordsman rolls his shoulders. Grouses as though he's aching all over. A small blessing: being healed with magic doesn't, apparently, numb the pain of recovery.
(???)] Get behind me.