EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE (PT 2)

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne Pt 2

ESCAPE

As more and more of the prisoners awaken to the Pleroma's power, it soon becomes clear that conflict is inevitable. Strength that was locked away blossoms once again, and simply waiting is no longer an option; those that remain in the cavern have made their choice, and they will not be kept there so easily.

By means that may not be immediately apparent, the Pleroma have found themselves able to cast a spell that will ensure their freedom... but only if they can last the half hour it may take to complete. Whatever this power, Xishen, the Aion orchestrator of the Kenoma's ritual, seems able to sense it. As it begins, she will appear at each of the Kenoma's sides.

"The Pleroma has taken hold of them," she says. "Stop them now, or when you see them again, it will be as your mortal enemies. If you believe in the Kenoma's promise, take a stand. The Regent is watching."

For those that heed her, it will not be hard to find the congregation of Pleroma, the first seeds of their teleportation magic taking form. What's more, the fires of their hope have been stoked by this new chance at survival, granted them a surge of energy born of the Pleroma, compensating for the poor state of their bodies. The tension comes to a head, between those that would follow the Regent's path towards a better universe, and those that would seize the wild power of the Pleroma to escape.

Whatever violence ensues, eventually it will come to an end. Despite the Kenoma's efforts, the teleportation spell will come to fruition, enveloping the Pleroma in a sea of light and warmth. The Kenoma can only watch as fractals of blinding color whisk the Pleroma away.

VALLEY OF INNOCENCE

You will find yourself at the Shrine of the Innocent, surrounded by a valley of flourishing wildflowers. As you step from the shade of the monument, you will find your arrived here just in time to enjoy a warm spring spring morning, the sound of birds and gentle breezes tickling your ears. The sun slowly drifts past the horizon, its rays reaching out to you, as if in comfort. The air itself is alight with a strange aura of peace, as if committing violence here would be a sacrilege. There are no man made structures as far as your eyes can see.

Flowers of all shapes and sizes can be found here, and so can fresh water and various fruits and berries. All of them are safe to eat, and seemingly grow in abundance. There are animals here as well, all the common types one would expect from a place like Earth, with the occasional odd addition. While you can try to hunt them, you will find yourself unable to follow through on any attempts to hurt the creatures here. In turn, they regard you as familiar, and will fearlessly wander close as they inspect these new arrivals. In the distance, you may even catch sight of what appears to be a unicorn, only for its ephemeral shape to disappear from sight just as quickly.

The Pleroma will find safety and comfort here for a time, before they recover enough to travel onward. At some point during the afternoon of the first day, they may spot the occasional humanoid figure moving in the distance; when attempting to move in their direction, they will find an assortment of clothing set out across the grass as if in offering. It will come in many sizes but in mostly plain colors, fitting a general aesthetic of 'things a fantasy peasant might wear'. There will also be some blankets, wrapped cheese, jams, jerky, and bread left alongside them.

While there are trees and brush enough to find shelter, the Pleroma will find they hardly need to while resting here. The weather will be picturesque, a comfortable temperature even at night, and there will be no disruptive rain or aggressive wind. Of course, nothing lasts forever, and even though there could stay here for days, what if the Regent's forces are on their way? Once again, they must find the strength to carry on.

THE TRIWATER

As the Pleroma vanish, those claimed by the Kenoma are left in the darkness of the throne room. The Hylician soldiers are clearly agitated by the fighting, but Xishen herself seems unflustered. She will only sigh before quietly coming to the aid of any Kenoma that still need it, providing some light healing magics and explaining that their work here is over. With the Pleroma gone, all that's left to do is to return to Achamoth.

Things move quickly from there. The camp grounds are packed up, and soon enough the Kenoma will be ushered towards the river at the edge of the forest, to board a particularly large river vessel. As the Hylician soldiers prepare to go their separate ways, you will be told that you are to take the Triwater river to the capital city of Achamoth, where you will finally meet your new master, the Regent. The vessel is big enough for all of you, and it will set off the moment everyone is boarded. Suddenly, the world of entrapment and ruins you've been living in since your arrival will be left behind, leaving you to ponder the nature of your future.

The boat itself is well equipped and comfortable for what it is. A variety of colorful hammocks are hung in the lower decks and are open to be claimed for the journey back, which will take a day or two. The Kenoma will be offered a change of clothes of a similar style to what they already have if necessary, and there are plenty of blankets and cushions available to make life in the hold more comfortable. There are dice available for games of chance as well as some mystifying decks of cards that seems to have twelve suits with five cards each, themed around the Legacies. The twelfth suit is for the Regent.

Though the sailors controlling the vessel will mostly keep to themselves and leave the Kenoma alone, one of them will occasionally play harp music on the deck. Though they probably don't actually need help running the ship, they will let the Kenoma help them with chores and ship running tasks if they are so inclined; generally speaking, these sailors just seem like normal people, albeit a bit shy of their passengers. If you're polite to them, they may even gives you a river tour of Horos. On this ride alone, you'll get to see several magnificent bridges spanning the Triwater's width. At night, you are treated to a clear spring sky filled with stars.

As you make it closer to Achamoth, you'll notice the landscape shift, becoming mountainous and dotted with more and more military watch posts. The land becomes increasingly lifeless in a way that's hard to put your finger on, nature giving way to man-made creations of impressive architectural prowess. Soon, you will meet the person behind it all.

QUESTIONS

Can my Kenoma character fight against other Kenoma and/or help the Pleroma?
Yes, though if you do this you must describe what your character has done in a reply to the "Committed Actions" top-level below. This way, the mods can be aware of what happened and have your character treated accordingly. They are unlikely to receive immediate consequences if they don't hurt their fellow Kenoma, but their choices will follow them into Achamoth. If a Kenoma vs Kenoma conflict escalates into serious violence (attempted or successful) committed by the Kenoma rebel, Xishen will intervene and consequences will happen immediately which may restrict their actions until the next event post.

Can our characters leave the valley?
They can, yes, but really this event is just meant to cover the day or two they spend recovering before finding a more permanent place to go. You are free to have your character investigate the valley and probe the spaces beyond it, but please save any plans for large scale travel to the next event, which will be happening on April 2nd. The game will move into a 1:1 time ratio as of then.

Can our characters leave the boat?
Technically yes, but any Kenoma who wander too far will get in trouble. You are expected to report to the Regent, and behaving as if you are considering doing otherwise will not make an good impression.

Does the hope-based Pleroma boost last into the valley?
The boost to Pleroma characters will fade shortly after arriving in the valley, like coming down from a high. They'll have to recover the normal way from there.

Comments

makoto | kenoma

[affal]

( ooc: only closed starter(s) for this part of the event! for makoto's part, he's going to be (very ineffectually) attempting to save face by harrying (or appearing to) the Pleroma folks during the pvp portion — he's available to get roughed up, but he will probably try to get away before he gets too hurt! as for the boat portion of the event, he'll just be... out and about, recuperating, picking people's brains on whatever topics cross his mind, and maybe trying to practice flying (because he's not very good at it yet). please feel free to contact me via pm, discord (sharisper#0002), or lycanthropic if you want to discuss anything. i'd be happy to write a starter! )

for dextera:

[affal]

( the cavern is already chaos, the malaise of those that had suffered with the Kenoma crawling through their veins filling the air like an invisible gas so that when the spark of hope that the Pleroma instilled in them ignited, it all burst to flame. when makoto is approached by the Aion in camp and told to prevent the pending escape, his first reaction is... frank dubiousness. just because he's accepted to aid the Regent doesn't change anything about who he is — how can he be expected to just do something like that when he's never been the type to do well in any sort of combat before? it's simply not his place. it's not who he is.

but he is very distinctly given the impression that such an excuse would not be enough to prevent suspicion from falling upon him if he did nothing at all. so he thinks about it for a few minutes, and then he formulates a plan.

he'll just have to make a show of it. he's not fond of pain, but he can withstand it when it's necessary for him to do so. and if he's going ahead with doing all of that, he might as well try to make good on a promise and kill two birds with one stone.

wherever dextera is in the tumult, a sudden gust of wind and a flurry of beats from huge draconic wings isolate him from the rest of the fray; the way that makoto lands on the stone floor of the throne room is almost dainty, though that's in sharp contrast from the fearsome wings that flare out on either side of him. he's not incredibly well-versed in their use yet, but he can at least use them to help detect if someone is approaching from his sides or from behind — as of now it seems that no one is trying to get a cheap hit in as he arrives, so he focuses the keen attention of his pale eyes on dextera instead. )

A shame that you're trying to leave so soon. ( he takes a step forward, hands splaying upwards in a gesture of faux-regret. one is empty, but the other one carries a weapon: a small but lethally sharp dagger. ) And all before I could settle my debt.

( a blade is not completely out of place in makoto's hands. he knows how to use one — knows where best to sever the muscles and ligaments, break the joints between bones, and lay bare the human body's innermost secrets. but that knowledge did not and does not intersect with a combat scenario; he has no idea what to do when opposed by someone who was ready to fight to defend themselves. that would probably be obvious enough to dextera, with his experience, in seeing how makoto handles the dagger without any.

but, again, that's purposeful. he handles the blade loosely as a flag, and one that he hopes that the other young man might understand, both from his words and from his demeanor. he's here bearing a gift — all dextera has to do is take it from him, and make it all look convincing to the eyes of those watching. )

[passio]

[ dextera has been surprised by some of the returning faces. those felt like betrayals, even if he can objectively understand why people would pick a force that seems to give them no choice.

but makoto, “m,” draws a different emotion out of him. considering their last encounter, it feels strangely like pity—but with a better handle on his own communion skills in the wake of that surge of hope that’s come with the pleroma, he at least doesn’t project that with anything but his face. he instead—merely, or wholly—radiates a confidence he didn’t before. he doesn’t seem frightened of makoto’s wings, nor quite so anxious about the world around him. his eyes dart to the dagger in makoto’s hand, and his frown deepens. ]

…

[ there’s a determination about his silence. whether or not he understands that makoto is offering the weapon freely doesn’t really matter. luckily for makoto, if it can be called luck to be able to see someone’s movements, speed and stealth are not dextera’s style. his fighting experience has been built up over countless lives of taking creatures head on, and that’s no exception now.

dextera rushes makoto lithe to throw a punch at the vulnerable softness of the stomach. he’s not the snatching type; his goal is to wind makoto and collect the dagger after it falls from makoto’s loose grip. his hands have done much worse to people than this, and with that knowledge he thinks of himself as holding back even if no physical strength is suppressed.

it’s a kindness, perhaps in the acknowledgment of their debt after all, that he does not suffuse godhood into it. ]

[affal]

( ah, but it's a good thing dextera hides it well enough that makoto doesn't pick up on any of that pity — the honor of a demon was a fickle thing, after all, and it hinged greatly on capricious moods and perceived sleights. it can be freeing to be hated, beneficial to be underestimated, but there is nothing more grating to him than to be pitied; it tries to take away what little personal agency he still has, to wrench it away and then put it under the scrutiny and judgment of someone who quite frankly had no room to do so. instead makoto reads what little he can on dextera's face as disappointment, perhaps, and newfound steel of determination.

interesting, but not altogether surprising. he had been timid and avoidant their first encounter, insistent and somewhat cagey in their second, but there is nothing that he sees now that he wouldn't have believed lie somewhere beneath what he had seen before.

even if the understanding isn't perfect between them, it didn't matter if he could architect the outcome to be the same. and it seems like it wouldn't be too hard; scarcely a few more heartbeats pass before dextera lunges toward him head-on. makoto's never had any training in combat, but perhaps one could say his blind, animal instincts aren't necessarily bad in this instance. the wings shift, gathering back in a beat that sought to carry his body backwards and out of the range of the thrown punch. it might have, perhaps, if it were quicker. as it is, he still catches the blow in the gut, right below the diaphragm, though its force is reduced by his interrupted movement backwards. it carries him a few feet before he skids to a halt, wheezing and coughing for breath, free hand clasped over where the punch had been sunk a moment past.

it makes him vulnerable. in another snap of thoughtless instinct, he pulls his right wing across his body before lashing out with it in attempt to buffet dextera in a "backhand." makoto might be physically unimpressive, but the demon these wings had originally belonged to was another story — there's a decent amount of power in them, even if it's probably not enough to deter dextera for too long. it'll just delay him — and make it seem like makoto's actually putting up a fight. )

[passio]

[ there’s no defense in the way dextera fights. he never learned how. for someone who manages to come across as wilting on his best days, he receives the strike of makoto’s wing the way a person might appreciate a cold downpour on a summer day. it invigorates him, even if after the weight of it swipes across his body his whole side stings.

as hoped, it stops him from advancing. ]

Hgh!

[ even in the face of that pain, dextera truly doesn’t want to fight makoto. he remembers the vulnerable look on makoto’s face when he offered that heart, and with it, a more metaphorical piece of himself. he’s more certain than ever that he could kill makoto if it came to that, but there’s a kind of distant condescension—the same place from which his pity extends—tightly wrapped up by actions that look like kindness and mercy in a better light. they are kindness and mercy when he isn’t being twisted into situations he can’t find a way out of.

he reaches his hand out to attempt grabbing at makoto’s wing before it can completely unfurl back behind him. if he can get it, he’ll drag it—and if he can’t, it’s a lesson learned like any other that makoto’s human features are the parts he needs to aim for. ]

[affal]

( he stays dextera's inexorable advance for just a moment, and to someone like makoto, that's a minor victory in and of itself. even if it does end up coming at a cost.

he's not a creature meant for fighting. it's why he had taken to being a demon in his own version of hell so well — given the opportunity he was given, he had soon realized that he didn't need the overwhelming strength that others might rely on to gain power and leverage over others. all he needed was knowledge, a clever and deceitful mind, and time. any demon that couldn't force out the syllables of his name wouldn't dream of lifting a hand to him. there were many reasons that makoto would be happy to know someone was disincentivized to fight him. fear, of course. respect. value. suspicion. but pity? condescension? understanding? ah, but he would rather be reviled. if he had gotten the sense of any of these from dextera, he would have abandoned his mission of settling his debt and instead attempt to turn the dagger on him in earnest, so that he might incise whatever foolish part of him was extending such a dreadful emotion to the demon.

as it is, he's far too fledgling in his use of the wings to be aware that they could be at risk of being grabbed in such a way. dextera grabs hold of one of the delicate "digits" that the leathery webbing stretches between, and it's inherent in the sickening feeling that makoto gets when he attempts to drag him that a new fear is born in him. when he had his head torn from his body the first time (and every time after that), there came with it the horrible sensations of the connectedness of the skeleton stretching and shearing, the pull and snap of muscles and ligaments, the wide-scale tearing of blood vessels. but the wings that had once belonged to kieran do not connect to his body in the same way his limbs and head does. there is no skeletal or muscular system to support them; no, there's nothing more than the stitches he'd used to attach them and the magical bond allowing him to use them that keep them tethered to his body.

so when dextera pulls, he feels them pull with it, threatening to loosen and snap. makoto goes rigid at this realization, his breath escaping him in a fearful gasp. he does nothing to resist skidding back a foot or two, even edging a little bit closer (foolish) to lessen the strain on his wing. and it probably wouldn't be too difficult for dextera to pick up on either; it's not like pulling someone along by their arm, but instead more like beginning to pull the wing from an insect. )

Let go, ( he hisses, the urgency underlined by how he lifts the pinned wing as much as he can so that he can slash at dextera with the dagger through the space made beneath it. )

[passio]

—?!

[ it's almost as sickening to dextera to do it as it is for makoto to feel it. there's a difference between hurting someone out of perceived necessity, as a god or guardian might, and hurting someone with the casual, unknowing cruelty of a child. dextera had thought to take makoto's head right off his shoulders when they met, but that was the impulse of mercy. makoto's urgent demand assures the worst—ripping off his wing would hurt them both, and the only benefit in it would be merely physical and temporary.

dextera lets go. simple, obliging, apologetic. he doesn't want to injure anyone. ]

Mm...

[ it could be a whimper, it could be a name.

he needs to get that dagger before he does something he'll regret. he can already feel, in makoto's presence and with his power restored, the revulsion to corruption and the need to reshape it. he's far from anyone who would make demands of him, but it seems that the burden follows him wherever he goes.

although makoto has come closer in trying to free his wing, dextera puts distance between them to collect himself. ]

[affal]

( relief saturates him in an almost overwhelming flood as dextera lets go of his wing; he pulls it back to himself defensively, skittering away in a hasty backstep. his narrow chest rises and falls with rapid, harsh breathing, his strange eyes thrown wide and wild with the comprehension of a fear made all the more visceral by the novelty of his awareness to it. an ironic fear, mind you, considering how exactly he had come across these wings in the first place —

just as contradictory, somehow this act of mercy only instills in makoto a flare of genuine anger. it writes itself in the harsh slash of his mouth, the tense line of his jaw, the furious burn in the pits of his pale eyes. as much as he feared pain, and as sickening as the thought of having one of his wings torn from him had been, somehow the thought of dextera pulling his punches draws his ire from a deeper well than if he had actually tried such violence. did he pity him? did he think him fragile? for either of these reasons or any others, did he not want to hurt him? regardless of the veracity of any of these thoughts or how well they might be earned, it angers him all the same. makoto is a creature who seeps himself in deceit, but to stand contrary to someone in combat and yet fail to commit to actually hurt them is a lie he can't stomach — and perhaps it's because it tastes too much like an insult.

whether motivated by love or envy, J and kieran had never hesitated in writing their intentions of him in pain, and unfortunately those had been the lessons that makoto had learned from.

the powerful wings flare out in a single, wild beat before folding tightly behind him; he stalks forward one pace, then another; the way he wields the dagger now is far different than the lackadaisical way he'd held it before, as if this were all some play they were putting on with an ending not quite having been written out yet. on the fickle wind of his moods, the conclusion he might have written is already altering itself. )

Don't tell me you've lost your nerve so easily.

( artless, he lunges forward with a hasty stab, though his aim is far more informed than his actions are: right of the sternum, where he knew he would find the space between the top two ribs, above the heart. )

[passio]

[ dextera hadn’t even considered the tactical advantages or disadvantages of giving into what makoto asked of him, but even if he had, he probably would have made the same choice—leading to the same result he’s suffering now, with makoto angry and humiliated for a reason dextera doesn’t have the time to dig into. as much as he’s thought of himself as a kindred spirit, they don’t know each other. it’s impossible to know someone so intimately, so quickly, without killing them outright.

just as before, dextera doesn’t want to do that. he doesn’t want to kill makoto, and yet he suffers the burning urgency in his blood nonetheless. it isn’t a matter of pleroma or kenoma; they aren’t enemies in the sense that they face each other on the precipice of a war. dextera is being shoved along this path by a higher power he longs to please. makoto is distorted—not necessarily tainted, not corrupted despite the fact that dextera is poised to purify him—by his experiences and desires, and the only way to free them both is for dextera to indulge his power.

it is an act of mercy, then.

with the archangel’s mocking voice in his ear calling him a martyr, dextera suffers the pain of grabbing the dagger. one hand curls around the blade to attempt to deflect it, and the other hand reaches out just a little further for makoto’s wrist to stop the advance. with purification already on his mind, and his defensive instincts raised with blood trickling from where the dagger cut into the callused flesh of his hand, he can’t help that holy light rising to the surface. before rational thought can suggest he stop this, the convergence of needs brings him to instinctively attempt to burn out the rot that god—even so far away from this place—has asked him to take care of in her place.

light seems to seep from the skin of his palms, an altogether different substance than the inky dark that haunted them all before. ]

Ngh!

[affal]

( there's almost no point in trying to source the whims of makoto's capricious nature. the surface of his heart is treacherous ground, marred by abrasions put there both accidentally and intentionally, so it is often surprising what words or actions might be met surprisingly well or extremely poorly. even for one that might claim to know him fairly well, it might be a stretch for them to understand how he rationalizes past torments that he had suffered: that, regardless of how much they might have hurt or humiliated him, that he had at least been of enough importance to its perpetrators in the moment to fall under that attention.

the forward motion of the dagger is already in a state of arrest, even before dextera's fingers encircle the entirety of makoto's narrow wrist. perhaps he should, but he hadn't expected him to grab at the blade; the sensation of the blade becoming trapped in a cage of flesh and bone even as it cuts into it is a novel one to him, and it causes his heart to stagger in its relentless war march. the heady copper scent of blood fills the air, and it — along with the ready willingness to accept pain for this outcome — puts him into a state of pause just long enough for the holy light to begin to pool in the palm of dextera's other hand.

he notices it by sight first, then by sensation: a vague tingling, then a bristling, then sharp. for the Kenoma that has taken root in makoto's soul, it has no effect — it merely causes it to coil in displeasure before lashing back out at the source of the invasive force. but it wasn't the only thing in makoto there was to rattle with the decree of purification. whatever J had done to him, both in transforming him into a demon and bringing him into hell and then everything after that, had its own indelible mark upon his heart and soul. where its effect on the Kenoma was displeasure, the attempt at purifying that from him is more like hundreds of needles being driven beneath the skin, of an acidic wash thrown over the substance of his soul, threatening to burn it all away. his breath hisses through his clenched teeth before he makes an undignified gasp of pain. he yanks his hand back and out of dextera's grasp; completely numb from what he'd done (and the additional shock of it), the dagger topples out of his grip and clatters to the stone floor of the chamber, still painted in dextera's blood.

makoto staggers a few paces away from him, staring at his hand in shock and horror before returning his wide-eyed and wild gaze to dextera. )

What was that? What did you do? ( because it put far more frenzied and feral fear into him than any simple tug of the wing might ever do. )

[passio]

[ if dextera had sense, he would grab the dagger and run. he would leave makoto behind entirely and forget they ever shared a single word, and he would not let himself fall prey yet again to these urges that frighten him. and yet—there’s no obligation for him to answer makoto’s frantic question, nor is there really an explanation he could give that would satisfy the demand, but there is nonetheless the fleeting desire that they might talk it out and resolve the problem.

idiot, the archangel chides in his mind. the desire disappears with the sound of his voice. dextera wraps his hand around the back of his bloody one, pressing the knuckles concave around the wound in the hopes that his skin will think to stitch itself back together. ]

…

[ he had felt the kenoma, but that’s not what makoto is asking about. no one would make that expression over something just given to him, and for all that he doesn’t know makoto, he has to assume that makoto would not grow protective over the distortions caused by whatever they were fed. the purification targeted something personal and sacred, measuring far beyond the power dextera had put into his attack. something buried deep.

his eyes dart to the dagger. he makes the decision instead to face makoto and digs his heel into the hold of power he’s managed to dig out from this situation. mustering the courage—or cruelty—he’s learned from his time as an enemy of the world, he meets makoto’s expression with confidence.

it could mean anything. dextera’s stoic wordlessness is a blank canvas for people to project their fears onto, and the fact that he chooses now not to even attempt to respond is a calculated move. ]

[affal]

( what are words but the building blocks to more problems? some in the right order and construction might build a bridge, but others arranged in a different manner would rupture the dam and break the river's banks regardless.

makoto also wishes that dextera would take the dagger — that he would turn it upon him to wound just grievously enough that he would be able to take to the defensive for the rest of this conflict and be able to justify it. even that comes with great trepidation; he doesn't want to allow him close enough to be given the chance, too wary that he might reach out to try again... whatever it was that he had just done to him. recalling it causes his stomach to twist violently. he'd sooner have his head wrenched from his body — at least then he knew it was a reversible harm, regardless of the pain or indignity that went with it.

he has been learning to study the negative space in the compositions of dextera's replies — his sphinxian silence is not always easy to navigate, but here, where he makes a stand in not replying, the essence of his answer is still easy enough to distill. makoto goes still, jaw clenching. after a moment, he replies in a venomous voice, ) If you try to do that to me again, I will tear the life from you.

( his wings flare out. they give one beat, and then he angles them; they largely eclipse dextera from the view of many of the other combatants and the lookers-on.

makoto drops his voice low enough that the noise of combat — impact, roars of anger, and cries of pain — threaten to drown it out: ) Now pick up the weapon. ( he continues through clenched teeth. ) Before I change my mind.

[passio]

[ dextera believes that makoto would try. even if he has some esteem toward his own abilities, that doesn’t mean he wants to throw himself into the teeth and claws of a cornered animal just to prove a point. his hand throbs where the dagger had sunk in deep, an unpleasant but helpful reminder that his body is human even if the pieces that make him up aren’t.

he doesn’t have enough pride to fight further on this matter. makoto is attempting to repay a debt, and acknowledging this give-and-take is paramount. whatever it leads to. ]

…

[ dextera exhales, and under the shield of makoto’s wings, he dips forward to snatch up the dagger. rather than pausing to express gratitude or something else that might give makoto away, dextera wrenches his whole body back for distance; when there’s enough space between them that he isn’t open for an evident attack from behind that someone might notice isn’t being taken, he escapes.

blood drips behind him, evidence enough that something happened. ]

[affal]

( makoto isn't blessed with much of an innate constitution. he has never honed his body into any sort of physical power, and even the loss of his humanity hadn't offered him any magical ability that he could use to defend himself. up until this point, his resourcefulness has kept him alive, and his bull-headed determination and perseverance have propelled him forward. it isn't incorrect for dextera to question how capable he was of carrying out the dire promise he makes in vicious undertone here, but that isn't necessarily the full extent of said promise. any oath that makoto makes is one made into perpetuity. their circumstances aside, he has all the time in the universe, and he has nothing better to do than using it to find some way to make good on all debts he owes and oaths he swears in blood.

he remains static as dextera darts forward to claim the blade for himself, every line of his body etched with tension. it's good that he decides not to overstay his welcome — just as dextera slips away, he might feel the whoosh of the air displaced just behind and above him, as makoto had stepped forward to lash out with a wing once more, this time with the talon at the finger joint extended to gouge at whatever part of him he could get a hold of.

as it is, he gets no such hold, and dextera slips away. makoto makes to pursue before artfully allowing the rest of the fray to get behind him — he feigns irritation (most of which isn't feigned at all), and then he launches himself into the air once more, seeking out opportunities to make himself at least half-useful. )