( he has to stop thinking of them like curses. they're not curses, but they look just like them: strange shapes, odd shapes, things that shouldn't be able to move, shouldn't be able to bounce around or slide across the floor, here and there, as though they still have agency. is his opponent creating them to puppet them around, or do they simply work under his command? do they have any kind of free thought? well, if they are like curses, then likely not: they respond to chaos, more than anything else. a single-minded desire for destruction, maybe, fueled by his companion's anger. or is it hatred? it's hard to tell what the mix of emotions is: is he enjoying himself, or is he miserable? or is it both?
they seem to splatter out into nothingness when they're destroyed; they don't really leave behind actual bodies. even in the mess that he's created, the mass of destruction that's now a lump of tables and chairs and glass and splintered wood, he doesn't see any of these creatures squirming around, trying to escape. it's like all of the ones that he's pulled away from guests and doors have just ceased to exist; but again, he can't feel any cursed energy from them. it's peculiar: and he loves peculiar, loves to reason and puzzle things out himself, but his friend here isn't really giving him the time to.
he teleports out of the mess, before it all collides, before it crushes him--and he had expected just as much, but the easy win, denied from him, earns a click of his tongue in dismay. )
I suck at making friends. ( he says, matter-of-fact, as he brushes off his sleeves, taking a few steps back to put more space between them; unlike vanitas, he doesn't have a weapon at his disposal other than himself and his techniques, and he wants to stay out of range of that odd, key-shaped blade as much as he can. it won't do anything, not with his infinity around him, but even so: there's something about it he doesn't like.
the six eyes easily size up the new additions; similar to the others, really. other techniques can't get through limitless, so whatever it is these creatures can do...he's not particularly concerned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still on edge.
he's really going to have to either knock this guy unconscious, or kill him. that should stop the onslaught of new creatures, and give the remaining humans in the room time to escape out the doors; even now, there are still some people working their way out of the area, and the noise is so loud that he has to tune it out. people yelling, screeching, shifting furniture, crunching on glass as they run; the golden peacock speakers are still playing music, despite the destruction, and it's all a little overwhelming.
one hand lifts--fingers poised, his eyes awash in that bright blue, but it's a trembling, flickering ball of red that launches out from his fingertips; rather than at the new arrivals, he sends it spiraling towards vanitas himself, hoping that at least he'll block it with that key-like blade: otherwise, the force of the cursed technique will likely shred away at his clothes, whipping through skin and bone, if he has any of it underneath. the power of that repelling energy pushes, urged on by his own irritation--dragging vanitas back, off the table, through the remains of a few behind him, back further, splintering through pillars and beams and anything that might stand between him and the wall at the back of the room. it's only once he's collided into it that he drops his own hand; a quick teleport has him in front of vanitas and whatever rubble he's caused with the collision, jaw locked.
he doesn't reach for him: he can't, not if he wants to keep infinity up. he's solely focused on vanitas, now--the six eyes tell him a little about those monsters he left behind, but he's discarded them as useless. not worth his focus. he may or may not be right about that. )
Are we done yet? ( his head tilts; one of his hands lifts, but it's only to wipe at his own nose, like the amount of cursed energy he's hitting again and again might be inspiring some kind of nosebleed--it doesn't, which means his healing is working as intended. ) You're not winning this, no matter how many friends you want to bring to the party. Accept defeat gracefully, or you'll accept your own death with less grace than the last person I killed.
( of course, it's said with the smear of a smile--but it doesn't meet the tremoring superiority in his gaze. )
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they seem to splatter out into nothingness when they're destroyed; they don't really leave behind actual bodies. even in the mess that he's created, the mass of destruction that's now a lump of tables and chairs and glass and splintered wood, he doesn't see any of these creatures squirming around, trying to escape. it's like all of the ones that he's pulled away from guests and doors have just ceased to exist; but again, he can't feel any cursed energy from them. it's peculiar: and he loves peculiar, loves to reason and puzzle things out himself, but his friend here isn't really giving him the time to.
he teleports out of the mess, before it all collides, before it crushes him--and he had expected just as much, but the easy win, denied from him, earns a click of his tongue in dismay. )
I suck at making friends. ( he says, matter-of-fact, as he brushes off his sleeves, taking a few steps back to put more space between them; unlike vanitas, he doesn't have a weapon at his disposal other than himself and his techniques, and he wants to stay out of range of that odd, key-shaped blade as much as he can. it won't do anything, not with his infinity around him, but even so: there's something about it he doesn't like.
the six eyes easily size up the new additions; similar to the others, really. other techniques can't get through limitless, so whatever it is these creatures can do...he's not particularly concerned, but that doesn't mean he isn't still on edge.
he's really going to have to either knock this guy unconscious, or kill him. that should stop the onslaught of new creatures, and give the remaining humans in the room time to escape out the doors; even now, there are still some people working their way out of the area, and the noise is so loud that he has to tune it out. people yelling, screeching, shifting furniture, crunching on glass as they run; the golden peacock speakers are still playing music, despite the destruction, and it's all a little overwhelming.
one hand lifts--fingers poised, his eyes awash in that bright blue, but it's a trembling, flickering ball of red that launches out from his fingertips; rather than at the new arrivals, he sends it spiraling towards vanitas himself, hoping that at least he'll block it with that key-like blade: otherwise, the force of the cursed technique will likely shred away at his clothes, whipping through skin and bone, if he has any of it underneath. the power of that repelling energy pushes, urged on by his own irritation--dragging vanitas back, off the table, through the remains of a few behind him, back further, splintering through pillars and beams and anything that might stand between him and the wall at the back of the room. it's only once he's collided into it that he drops his own hand; a quick teleport has him in front of vanitas and whatever rubble he's caused with the collision, jaw locked.
he doesn't reach for him: he can't, not if he wants to keep infinity up. he's solely focused on vanitas, now--the six eyes tell him a little about those monsters he left behind, but he's discarded them as useless. not worth his focus. he may or may not be right about that. )
Are we done yet? ( his head tilts; one of his hands lifts, but it's only to wipe at his own nose, like the amount of cursed energy he's hitting again and again might be inspiring some kind of nosebleed--it doesn't, which means his healing is working as intended. ) You're not winning this, no matter how many friends you want to bring to the party. Accept defeat gracefully, or you'll accept your own death with less grace than the last person I killed.
( of course, it's said with the smear of a smile--but it doesn't meet the tremoring superiority in his gaze. )