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Entry tags:
- !event,
- #npc,
- abel nightroad: martyr,
- akua sahelian: sovereign,
- amos burton: lover,
- caitlyn kiramman: champion,
- ciel: martyr,
- emet-selch: champion,
- himeka sui: wanderer,
- howl: celebrant,
- jayce talis: visionary,
- johnny joestar: firebrand,
- koriel xii (dextera): lover,
- misa amane: lover,
- rand al'thor: martyr,
- syrlya: champion,
- tartaglia (childe): firebrand,
- yuuta okkotsu: lover
EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (GODSBLOOD)
Sovereign Citizens
GODSBLOOD
At the height of the Sovereign's moon, Vaeka Lovenskol's execution is announced. Outside of the City Hall, a dignitary of Achamoth is flanked by an entourage of Kenoma, reading the words of Regent from an unfurled letter: Vaeka stands accused to conspiring against the Regent and abetting the fugitive menace known as the Pleroma. Though the details are not made public, rumors spread quickly, some far more wild than the actual truth. The full truth, after all, is something only the Regent's agents and the Pleroma themselves know, and even to them the manner of her exposure is unclear.
Though losing a proud daughter of an influential family, there seems to be little that the people of Godsblood can do besides accept it. After all, they are still a city of the Regent's empire, and for all the freedom they've enjoyed, there are limits. If she was truly aiding the Pleroma, the sworn enemies of the Regent - and in an organized manner, if the rumors are to be believed - can they truly object? Or would challenging the Regent's claim simply invite more death?
As with many things, the families of Godsblood are torn. Tensions are thick for the five days leading up to Vaeka's appointed execution by hanging, with everyone having an opinion and few wanting to go on record talking about it too loudly. As such, the people's frustrations come out in other ways. Bloodites are uncharacteristically unfriendly to strangers in this time, keeping to their own and treating everyone else with overt skepticism.
Those that have arrived as part of the Regent's official envoy, or seen guarding Vaeka, will receive a particularly icy reception. No longer are the Kenoma curious wanderers on personal business. Now, they are here as the hands of the Regent; few of the Godsblood citizens are foolish enough to challenge them outright, but they are ever an honest people.
Early on, the Kenoma and the rest of the Achamite contingent sent with them will be able to take over a jail in downtown Godsblood to hold Vaeka until her execution, clearing out all other Bloodite prisoners and employees in the meantime. This means they have a relatively secure position to guard their prisoner from, which is a good thing; after all, the Regent did outright invite the Pleroma to stop them, and Pleroma are nothing if not stubborn.
EXECUTION DAY
After five agonizing days of waiting and several high visible conflicts between the Pleroma and Kenoma, finally the hour of Vaeka's execution arrives. A gallows is set outside of City Hall, ready to welcome its newest victim, and a massive crowd has gathered in an spirit of anxious anticipation. Some worry that violence may break out in the streets, even without the Pleroma's agitation, but gradually the minutes tick by and the gallows remain empty.
First one minutes passes. Then five. Then fifteen. Slowly, it becomes clear to the people of Godsblood that Vaeka will not be arriving. Are the rumors true? Has she been saved? Have the Pleroma been successful, despite all odds?
As the hours pass and the crowds disperse, Vaeka Lovenskol is not officially reported as either living or dead. Fortunately, Godsblood is a place where information has a way of getting around, whether those in charge like it or not. Some are saying that she was seen being whisked away as if by powerful magic, following a bloody fight at the jail in which she was being held. Where did she go? Maybe her supposed connections to the forest people did her good, some surmise.
The days following Vaeka's failed execution carry a strange and uncertain energy. Where before there was tension and distrust, Godsblood now finds itself in a surreal reality where the Regent's word is apparently not absolute. Then again, do they really want a repeat performance?
First one minutes passes. Then five. Then fifteen. Slowly, it becomes clear to the people of Godsblood that Vaeka will not be arriving. Are the rumors true? Has she been saved? Have the Pleroma been successful, despite all odds?
As the hours pass and the crowds disperse, Vaeka Lovenskol is not officially reported as either living or dead. Fortunately, Godsblood is a place where information has a way of getting around, whether those in charge like it or not. Some are saying that she was seen being whisked away as if by powerful magic, following a bloody fight at the jail in which she was being held. Where did she go? Maybe her supposed connections to the forest people did her good, some surmise.
The days following Vaeka's failed execution carry a strange and uncertain energy. Where before there was tension and distrust, Godsblood now finds itself in a surreal reality where the Regent's word is apparently not absolute. Then again, do they really want a repeat performance?
QUESTIONS
What is the best way for Aions to travel to Godsblood?
For Pleroma, this is very easy, as they are likely to either already live there or be able to easy take Greentruth's portal. For Kenoma, they may come directly from Achamoth by boat as part of the Regent's envoy or arrive via Eustace's portal which is set up in a shed a fairly long jaunt outside of town. Once there has been some time to get established, Misa will be setting up another portal leading straight to the prison where Vaeka is being stored.
Are the Kenoma permitted by the Regent to kill other Godsblood citizens?
Though the Kenoma are authorized to kill any Bloodites that try to physically fight them, they are expected to keep things clean. The Regent prefers to only punish the guilty, and having the lines be clear will create less of a hassle in the future. Generally, Godsblood is not in a state where physical resistance is likely to happen unprovoked.
For Pleroma, this is very easy, as they are likely to either already live there or be able to easy take Greentruth's portal. For Kenoma, they may come directly from Achamoth by boat as part of the Regent's envoy or arrive via Eustace's portal which is set up in a shed a fairly long jaunt outside of town. Once there has been some time to get established, Misa will be setting up another portal leading straight to the prison where Vaeka is being stored.
Are the Kenoma permitted by the Regent to kill other Godsblood citizens?
Though the Kenoma are authorized to kill any Bloodites that try to physically fight them, they are expected to keep things clean. The Regent prefers to only punish the guilty, and having the lines be clear will create less of a hassle in the future. Generally, Godsblood is not in a state where physical resistance is likely to happen unprovoked.
dextera • pleroma (lover)
[ dextera, against all reasonable odds, is still trying to hide his own aion identity in godsblood. he knows it can’t possibly be much longer before they’re all exposed, considering one of their own was made public before this and now vaeka has a target on her head… but he’s still being cautious in the city he’s made his home. what this practically means is that he’s using an assortment of the traps and other small devices he’s made to try to put soldiers and aions alike out of commission in advance of vaeka’s scheduled execution.
he can’t let it come to pass. that, he refuses to entertain.
he doesn’t set off any explosions in the city, afraid of harming the regular citizens; instead, the traps he uses are a bit more localized and a lot more quiet than a bomb would be. it doesn’t necessarily make them less incapacitating, though—while he settles for milder effects for the human guards that might get in the way of the pleroma, he reserves the less pleasant options for those he knows and recognizes as the enemy.
this means hallucinogens primarily, a burst of mushroom spores taken from the lohkimareen forest for this particular purpose. or… maybe he gets his powders mixed up and you just end up leaking tears and sweat. it’s not exactly effective, but it is embarrassing, isn’t it?
either way, the creator isn’t far from his creation; those who want to find the source of the little metal object that just diffused spores everywhere won’t have to look hard for dextera cautiously lurking around a corner. ]
[ just because dextera is good at making things doesn’t necessarily mean he’s good at using them.
inevitably, there are times that a kenoma passes by or over one of his traps without triggering it, and dextera follows soon after to check it out. he doesn’t think about how badly this will go for him when he starts to press his fingers into the ‘button’ mechanism of the trap—which means his face is greeted with a full-on dose of his own medicine. ]
—!!
[ so much for being stealthy; dextera coughs up a storm, more surprised than suffocating. it’s only a matter of time before his own work catches up with him. ]
( for everything else! i’ll also be posting closed starters as needed, and/or we can plot something specific or you can give a twist to one of these prompts to personalize it or whatever. i’ll also be happy to do any aftermath threads here as well, i just didn’t want to make a prompt that was “come bother him!” even though that’s the situation he’ll largely be in. his plotting comment is here, but i’m also in the game discord and on plurk at
sabotage, day 3
And it pays off, because he doesn't even need the telltale sign of the Pleroma clinging to Dextera from his shard — he knows that guy. Should be easy enough to grab—
It's while he's looking right at Dextera, advancing right in his general direction, that the trap goes off, and before Amos knows it he's inhaling mushroom spores and what the fuck. What the fuck. He stops moving, trying to get his bearings — why does it feel like the ground is shifting out from under him — why does his body not quite feel like his — and.
He could've sworn Dextera was just right there.
Where the hell did he go, Amos wonders, as the world seems to start to swim around him, and his heart rate starts to tick up in response. ]
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the other part is, of course, that it’s the man he saw in godsblood before. it may have been the regent’s order, and they all explicitly saw that, but dextera can’t help but feel the catalyst lies with amos. maybe the regent wouldn’t have targeted godsblood, wouldn’t have been looking here, had amos not drawn their eye. ]
…rrgh!
[ the frustration from being on such high alert since the regent’s address surges as he takes amos’ stature in full view. maybe he wouldn’t follow through on this impulse, were amos as collected as their first proper meeting—but dextera knows what he must be feeling now, having been through it himself in his various tests. he knows that even if it hasn’t sunk in all the way, the city will soon warp and pulse in unnatural ways that make it impossible to stay grounded.
it’s so, so petty. but instead of taking the opportunity to escape an obvious encounter out of his favor, dextera throws all his weight behind a shove. ]
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Something hits him and Amos stumbles forward. It's a miracle he manages to keep his balance, doesn't have to break his fall on injured hands, but he's definitely feeling prone now. The ground sways from underneath his no longer steady feet, the building closest to him looms above at an unnatural curve like it's threatening to either collapse on him due to the unrealistic architecture or reach down and swallow him whole—
Amos turns, looking over his shoulder, behind him, the direction that something came from and blinks, baffled. That's. He knows that guy, right? Things are a little warped now, a little bleary, and narrowing his eyes doesn't seem to help but—
He still tries to plant himself on solid ground, but the way his legs feel weak and it's shifting almost like a small earthquake from under him makes it hard. Either way, though. This is what Amos came out here to do. He came out here to capture Pleroma, and that white aura is so bright it's practically blinding, it didn't always used to be that bright did it, as he reaches out in Dextera's direction, tries to grab him with a newly maimed hand, down his outermost fingers, not even thinking. He's right-handed. Not enough time has passed to get used to the idea. And as long as he can get ahold of Dextera, he's pretty sure he can just apply pressure, keep ahold of him, bring him back with him.
Though on top of the recent injury and displaced sense of being, who even knows how good Amos' depth perception is at this stage, anyway. ]
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[ dextera is able to get a clean, if unexpected, look at amos’ injured hand. he’s largely kept away from anything and everything involving vaeka’s rescue, but with how fresh the wound seems—at least, he certainly didn’t have it the last time they saw each other—dextera has to assume it was the casualty of an encounter with one of his fellow pleroma.
good, he thinks. it’s an unusually malicious thought, but the blame is easy to direct amos’ way. though the hate he holds may be unfair, it’s true in the moment.
he doesn’t even want to use his sword for this. he has it on him, strapped to his back for a moment’s withdrawal, but it’s his hands he relies on. every time he wakes up anew in front of the tower, all he has are his fists and the purification behind them. with amos increasingly faltering, dextera can surely make his mark.
amos’ hand gets close to him, enough that his remaining fingers drag across the front fabric of dextera’s shirt. rather than ducking out of the way, dextera grabs amos’ arm with both of his hands and squeezes. his frail appearance belies his strength, built up over a few months now of working in the docks of godsblood, but it’s not physical strength he’s summoning. it’ll take him some time, but a heat that will soon be searing builds under his palms. there’s no communion to speak of, not explicitly, but in that grip and between their legacies there’s the distinct conveyance of deep, reckless frustration.
after all, he’s aware he’s only able to even try this because amos is affected by a powder dextera can barely estimate the longevity of. ]
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When his sensory processing catches up with what's actually happening, it's not pleasant.
Deep, reckless frustration he gets. It's almost comforting, like he's feeding off of Dextera's emotions, helping provide a feedback loop for them. Amos has been recently maimed and the world feels like it's threatening to fold in on around him — at least someone else feels this way.
The burning, though. That earns something of a yelp when it registers, gets to be too hot, and Amos pulls his arm back with as much strength as he can muster, like he's hoping to shake Dextera off as though he were a bug. That's enough to send him off balance, bringing him crashing to the ground right on his tailbone as he looks up with wide eyes, pupils dilating, no clue as to what's real or what. ]
The fuck?
[ It comes out as a pained hiss; what is even happening here. How did he get into this. ]
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their separation causes dextera to stumble back with the inertia of it. his logical mind tells him to keep going with that inertia, take the opportunity of amos down on the ground to run without looking back. his logical mind has been telling him this since he first noticed amos’ pursuit, but unfortunately, there are still just a few more things he needs to get out. ]
Ngh!
[ he barely catches himself. with the little bit of distance he did think to practically gain, he rips his own shard out of its place under his clothes and stares back down at amos with a trembling gaze. his voice comes through the power of communion, strong and clear, a parting message when amos is in the space to receive it. ]
You did this!
[ another step back. maybe he is realizing he should run. ]
I hate you! [ it’s so petty. so childish. he knows that. it’s no different than the way he lashed out at the twisted ones who mocked and frightened him when he first awoke, though—and amos is the perfect target for everything that’s built since he arrived. when amos does get to listen, it won’t be just these words. it’s a cacophonous echo of emotions, made ten times more salient by their legacy. ] I want you to die… you and the Regent both! Get away from here!
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He wouldn't have known why or where from. The words swirl together as a mixture of nonsense tinged with understanding: he hasn't done anything; he doesn't want the Regent to die; he does hate himself, but it's never come up so explicitly; part of him has always been ready for death, but it's rarely been an active want.
But the mess of those emotions. The way they hit him, and the way he instinctually understands them. There's a lot that goes over his head when it comes to picking up the feelings of other Lovers; there's a lot that never pierce the shell his comprehension. But Dextera's rage and frustration slam into him and a part of him is immediately receptive, curls around it, wants to absorb it into himself. In a way, the clarity it brings is soothing.
Then the rest of him is just confused, enough so that the feeling should rush out to meet the feelings hitting him. Amos stares up without seeing in Dextera's metaphysical direction, where he thinks he can feel all of this coming from. And... what the fuck did he do?
The sound of the air and the particles that make it up dull, quiet. The ground starts to feel steady beneath him. His skin feels almost slick from exertion — a comedown — something — and he distantly brings a hand to wipe at his face. It becomes less distant, the feeling of it clearer, and when he looks up again proper, the buildings are where they should be. The world is returning to what it actually is. And there's a spent trap lying a few paces in front of him.
Amos slowly gets back to his feet. Parts of him are sore now, heavy, but... at least he isn't in any real pain. Not like the night before. He's just... he doesn't understand, and turns out very little of it has to do with the hallucinogens he'd been dosed with. ]
What the fuck was that?
[ He looks around him, asking it to himself, to anybody within hearing range. He's never felt someone's sheer hatred directed towards him like that; never taken it on so strongly it became a part of him.
... Weird. ]
wildcard ~ day 1
...Except for this time. From high above, Howl spots a shape moving within an alley only a few buildings away from the jail. He peers at the vague blob, unsure whether he recognizes the person or not — until it moves to kneel with arms outstretched, and he can see that his suspicions are correct.
Deep in his chest, where his heart once was, a heavy feeling sinks into place. This day was always going to come, but... now, it's here. It's right now. As Howl circles high above, he debates with himself what to do. If it were any other Pleroma, the correct course of action would be obvious: attack. Drive them away at a minimum. But... this is no random Pleroma. And that is enough to push back against the cold, obedient mentality that Howl has cloaked his mind with since arriving in Godsblood.
While still in the air, he pulls his Shard just outside of his chest with one of his feathered and clawed hands and slowly starts to descend in wide circles towards the alley. ]
Hello, little bird.
What are you doing down there?
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a face he knows, if not a form. ]
…
[ howl must know that they’re obligated to fight if they see each other. that’s why, when dextera cautiously clutches his shard under his clothes, his response is sharp and urgent. ]
Go away!
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[ Howl's mental voice is soft, disappointed. He takes no pleasure in what they're about to do. He'd hoped, over the past several weeks, that maybe the next time he saw Dextera he could convince him to come to Achamoth. Hoped to... save him, essentially, from the fighting that would someday come. But that day is now and there is only one acceptable course of action now.
Two black taloned feet hit the ground with a whumpf as Howl's weight lands in the gravel of the alleyway. The wizard is covered from head to toe in black feathers, and his proportions are lengthened in such a way that he has a vaguely unnerving appearance — torso too long, head too small, enormous wings oversized for his thickly-coated body. He sets his empty blue eyes on his friend and has no smile to offer. His hands are at his sides, and somewhere within the jungle of feathers, his Shard is back in place. ]
I can overlook your presence if you leave now.
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for howl’s sake? maybe. but dextera can’t call himself kind in seeking that kind of point. it’s cowardly, if anything, to want a reason tell himself he’s right. ]
…
[ his own shard goes back in place. they’re both playing a defensive game now that had been far from their minds when they last met, but there’s no longer a space for such vulnerability. howl will take his shard if he can get it, and dextera is obligated to do the same.
he steps away from the traps he’s set and roughly draws his sword out of place. ]
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...Then I'll have to take you back to Achamoth with me.
[ The words are spoken flatly; there is no daring, no sense of banter, no pride in what Howl has declared he must do. Because it's simply what he has to do — isn't it? As empty as resigned as Xishen and her detached explanations. No misery or regret — just facts. Again, the time is now. The time for them to stop pretending that they can stay friends.
For now, Howl doesn't move. He digs his clawed toes into the ground and hunches forward slightly. He seems to be watching Dextera, curious about what he might choose to do first or what he could be capable of, but he isn't inactive either — it quickly becomes apparent that Howl's form is growing. His back and shoulders bulge as his neck starts to stretch forward, with dozens of new feathers sprouting from the increase in bulk. Even if Dextera does not act first, Howl will. ]
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—?
[ dextera knows howl has wanted him to change sides. it was an altruistic desire, as much as dextera could tell. howl had the interests of his friend in mind, but he had understood that dextera had his own reasons for denying that offer. although they were bound to meet like this, dextera never thought this is the turn howl’s loyalties would take.
it’s wrong.
dextera’s knuckles turn white around the hilt of his sword as howl’s form changes. it’s wrong. there’s cold dread leaking out from his stomach, crystallizing in his blood as the power of god—a power he never asked for—responds to howl’s transformation and lingering threat. he will not go to achamoth, but neither will he run. he will save howl from himself, or whatever it is that the kenoma has done to him. this is not his friend. these are not his motivations.
threads of searing light run up the strange length of his blade, and dextera lunges. ]
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You're really going to fight me, Dextera?
[ The question seems rhetorical — Howl's voice is still detached, soft and gentle yet emotionless — but it isn't a taunt. The wizard actually is a bit surprised to see him so eager to fight him. Hadn't Dextera wanted to get away from fighting? To find some peace in his life? Howl had told him back then, too, that such a dream wasn't going to be possible as an Aion, but it's still surprising to see Dextera launch an attack at him so sincerely.
In the back of his mind, something struggles to break free. A part of him knows this is wrong, but it's been gagged. He can't hear it, and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to listen to its message anyway. He has to take Dextera back with him. It's the only way they can stay friends. The only way to save him from being slaughtered by the other Kenoma. Right?
Having let go of the opening he had, Howl hops backwards, a distinctly bird-like movement, and eyes his friend carefully. There's more he can do, more magic tucked up his metaphorical sleeve, even while channeling his power into assuming this form. Beside him, a rotting wooden box pushed against the alley wall lifts into the air and hurls itself at Dextera. He doesn't expect this to disarm him, but he does want to see how he reacts. ]
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—…
[ still, he’s able to recover from the surprise of it quickly, even if it physically takes him longer to make up the ground from missing howl’s smooth glide away from his sword. he’s never fought an enemy like this, and the way he learns won’t do here; he can’t die to the same creature dozens of times before he figures out their patterns this time. every fight must be fought as if it’s his only chance.
but old habits are hard to break. he can only pay attention to so much at once, and strategizing is beyond him right now when he’s got so many things he needs to focus on just to ensure he comes out alive. he doesn’t know that howl won’t kill him, after all, as much as he wants to believe. ]
—hhgh?!
[ there’s suddenly a box being thrown his way. the weak wood, rotten from weather and neglect, doesn’t hurt on impact but it does break against the shoulder he lifts to protect himself at the last moment. though he stumbles, howl’s assumption was right: dextera weathers it with only a wince, his grip on his sword tight as ever as he bats away the impromptu projectile. ]
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He'll surely try to strike back at him with it somehow, even if he manages to pin him, but it's a risk Howl is willing to take. He does, at a minimum, have a considerable size advantage. If he's lucky, he can end this quickly with a single merciful blow and spare both Dextera and himself the anguish of what they're doing. ]
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he hits the ground so hard it knocks him breathless and dizzy, but the hardiness that’s carried him through several lives keeps his head above water and his hand on his sword. the blade itself serves as the only protection he has between his flesh and howl’s talons. ]
Hahh…
[ it’s a shuddering, shallow breath as he shoves back at the monstrous avian creature now on top of him. too bad for dextera that he knows merely shoving won’t be enough. he doesn’t have the kind of raw strength that would be necessary, and even if he did, there’s a coldness of heart required to tear a limb off a friend that would prevent him from following through anyway. instead, the blade lights up again: this time, wherever it touches howl, even if it only lays flat against him, it burns.
dextera puts his all into this blinding flare of purification, enough that he mindlessly attacks even the kenoma deeper within howl. he’s learned already that it doesn’t work, but it’s an instinctive desire to protect a friend. howl may feel it—under the pain, the swirling darkness suffusing his shard bats away dextera’s purifying influence, reflecting some of dextera’s own attack back up through his hands.
he groans, but he doesn’t relent. ]
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The sword does not even pierce his body that deeply... but this agony doesn't come from the cutting of flesh. It's the Kenoma itself being pressed against, and although it weathers Dextera's attack easily, the pulse of purification runs along the chains it's wrapped around Howl's soul and reverberates. He can feel it, even as the Kenoma protects him from it, and it's horrible.
This is precisely the kind of unexpected move that Howl had been so cautious about avoiding. Seems he's failed, he manages to think to himself for a split second, but he knows he hasn't lost yet. As his body reflexively hauls itself away from Dextera, his talons flex, grabbing him around his belly and arm and threatening to plunge his claws into his body like a dozen knives. And yet, he doesn't — conspicuously so — instead, simply carrying him along as Howl gnashes his wings and flails within the pain.
Why?
He should end it now. Tear his guts open, drag his intestines out into the dirt like strings of garland. But — no. No, he can't — he mustn't. This is wrong. This is wrong, isn't it? — but, why is it wrong? They're going to destroy this world, so why? ]
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howl’s talons take dextera with the movement of his body, each one alone sharper than any blade dextera has ever held in his hands. his power comes from light, after all, even the sword he’s now thrust into howl only a conduit for that power. he’s aware that if he moves or if howl decides to make it happen, he’ll be gutted and his shard fished out from his human corpse until the body disappears; he doesn’t understand why it hasn’t already happened.
dextera tries. whether he realizes howl is wavering or not has no bearing on the attempt. he just doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want howl to be the one to kill him. it would be easy to assume each gasp as the purification flows in and the kenoma fights back are just wordless sounds of pain, but there’s a roundness in the way he ends one such breath.
perhaps, a name. as close as he can get to one with his limitations. ]
H… ow…
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His talons open, releasing Dextera from his grip, and Howl springs backwards with all the force he can push down with using his long legs. Still pinned underneath him, Dextera takes the brunt of that squishing, crushing force, but whatever injury it might cause him is unintentional in the moment. The jump backwards necessarily yanks Howl's body away from the sword piercing him, sending a spray of blood across his friend and the ground as it pulls free.
Howl's head is cartwheeling. What is he doing here? What are they doing? Why isn't Dextera dead — why hasn't he killed him yet? What is this horrible pain? This skull-crushing headache? ]
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[ although howl isn’t trying to hurt him, the force with which he springs back is enough to pierce through dextera’s flimsy clothes. he hadn’t gone into this expecting a true fight, and ‘armor’ has never been on his list of requirements—the neuro tower has never provided anything like that for him, either, only ever littered with the inventions of the research angels for a more magical slant of protection.
none of those things would have stopped howl’s talons, even if he had them. dextera drops his sword and cradles his stomach, already beading up with blood. experience suggests no internal organs were pierced, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. it’s a pain he hasn’t yet endured here in horos—his eyes brim with tears as he squeezes them shut.
if howl wanted, he could kill dextera now without a problem. howl’s escape, however, gives dextera a moment to breathe. ]
…
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There's too much Howl doesn't know about what just happened for him to risk continuing this fight. He has a job to do, not just today but for the next several days, and dying would be the fastest, easiest, stupidest way for him to screw it up. That immovable sense of obligation, as artificially forced onto his psyche as it is, is the polestar that manages to shine through the clouds of confusion and pain.
Gasping through clenched teeth, Howl gives Dextera one last long, uneasy look before launching off the ground with a hard, powerful beat of his wings. Blood spills and splatters from his wound as he speeds away, mind still racing. ]