( liem grappling at makoto's arm, trying to wrench it away so to relieve the pressure of the knife's edge from biting at his throat, only makes him increase the tension and put on more. as close as the two of them were to the edge of their strength or the edge of their consciousness, this is the time that makoto draws paradoxically (contrarily) stronger, the strength exerted by his negligible slight frame both surprising and disproportionate. he can very nearly feel the hum of the words through the contact that the steel makes with liem's throat, and it's in those few split seconds after he makes his last plea to hayame that the demon realizes what the man intends on doing. no. he's not going to let you squirm out of his grip this time, liem — where others might hesitate and allow such a thing to come to pass, makoto felt no such qualms.
the jinba's strident words hang in the air like a banner, billowing and snapping in the wind, and she turns to do as he said, to gather the innocent young woman and her child and escape with them to safety. and in the very same moment, before he can vibrate out of existence, makoto draws the keen edge of the blade in a sharp slash through the man's throat, spilling blood — blood, but dark, thick, and slow — over his hand and down his front.
he isn't necessarily sure if that's even enough. he tangles his hand into a fistful of liem's clothing at his back, as if that would stop him from vanishing should he get his spell off. he isn't sure what the requirements for it were, but now even if he tried to slip away, makoto would be able to say he had done all that he could do. now, even if he tried to slip away, he would do so with his life's blood (un-life's blood?) streaming from his throat. )
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the jinba's strident words hang in the air like a banner, billowing and snapping in the wind, and she turns to do as he said, to gather the innocent young woman and her child and escape with them to safety. and in the very same moment, before he can vibrate out of existence, makoto draws the keen edge of the blade in a sharp slash through the man's throat, spilling blood — blood, but dark, thick, and slow — over his hand and down his front.
he isn't necessarily sure if that's even enough. he tangles his hand into a fistful of liem's clothing at his back, as if that would stop him from vanishing should he get his spell off. he isn't sure what the requirements for it were, but now even if he tried to slip away, makoto would be able to say he had done all that he could do. now, even if he tried to slip away, he would do so with his life's blood (un-life's blood?) streaming from his throat. )