Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

48

Chains encircle his form, and he snarls violently, throwing himself against the binding glyphs that hold him.
They strain, but hold fast, refusing to break.

What was he expecting? The foolish boy cast this spell with his life. He sacrificed himself to bind them this way.
Halo growls, feeling his descendant's warm, protective magic wrap his limbs.

He despises it, hates the sensation of Darryl's very existence.

If he could extinguish every light that was like the boy, he would. The world burns too brightly, and not even the remnants of the creature from long ago were enough to break gaps into this world's wall of light.
There was too much hope, too much love. It stabs like shards of glass, through his mind and heart— if you could call it that.

He remembers the comforting darkness of the world he had found, and focuses on it, wrapping himself in layers of the silky, kind darkness. His mind eases as he's enfolded.
There is little he can do to break Darryl's glyphs for the time being. He simply must wait for the desperate spell to expire.

It won't be all that long; casting with a pathetic twenty-five years could only go so far.

He kneels beside the body, pressing his fingers to the neck, testing; as he suspected, no pulse. Once the spell has broken, there is no longer a spirit in the body to prevent him from controlling it.

Nothing between him and the world he intends to extinguish.
All he wants to do is leave this place, to go back to the darkness he had come from so long ago, the darkness that Halo had so ignorantly stepped into, unaware that he would leave it changed. The darkness that he had sealed away, with his last breath of humanity and his very human life as it was.

Purgatory was something, he could say that much; an expanse of ash to some, a garden to others...but all he truly saw of it was a void that stretched ever on.

There was nothing in purgatory for him. Nothing except Darryl, that is; when the boy let himself slip into a state where he could be lured away...

Oh, the way darkness had swallowed up his bright soul was beautiful.

* * *

Sapnap slowly comes to, feeling something press into his chest, something shaking against him. Skeppy.

He glances at the hunter's distressed expression.

Can't catch a break, can we? He wryly thinks, shaking his friend awake. He jerks up with a yelp, and Sapnap waves at him to quiet down.

"Good morning," he murmurs to the other, whose dark eyes dart around the room. He seizes Sapnap's shirt collar, and tugs on him desperately, almost yarding on him.

"Ni-Nick, Nick I couldn't find him—" His tone is desperate and heartbroken. "There was nothing there, he just slipped away and away and I couldn't see him any more, just darkness—"

Sapnap's eyes widen and he pulls him close, rubbing his friend's back gently.

"Hey, hey, breathe," he murmurs softly. He knows what his friend is describing.

The absolutely emptiness, the crushing sensation of loss; except from the way he's acting, it's far worse than Sapnap's has ever been. Meaning...
He doesn't want to finish that thought.

He holds him as he begins to sob, but he's acutely aware of a presence settling in his mind, pressing the sensation of Skeppy's emotions firmly into his friend. Unease begins to creep through him, and he softly asks,

"Skeppy?" Upon receiving no reply, "Zak? Are you...using magic? On me?"

Skeppy lifts his head from Sapnap's shirt, sniffling, and shakes his head when his words fail him
Yet...Sapnap can still feel the magic being used. He wants to ask if Skeppy's certain, but he stops himself when Tommy peers into the room, rubbing his eye.