[ there’s no way down unless they fall, or float— however water works. eren’s claws coil against the edge of the stair’s final steps. he lets go to raise his arms, hold the membranes of his wings until they’re fully fanned. the dragon hooks his head under the seraph’s feet, pushing him to straddle his back before he has full intent to push off and glide.
It’s heavy, nothing like the swiftness of air. they’re sluggish, but eren’s tail swings behind him to propel along with a downwards drag of his wings. he almost— wishes he could be as surprised. a little tense, perhaps, but walking into a battlefield aftermath . . . . mm. ]
They have something on them.
[ his eyes catch the shine One their muddy cloaks like the shimmer of a blade. maybe that’s actually why he sees them to start ]
[Mikleo makes a soft noise of surprise as Eren rises up and basically pops him right up onto his back. He finds a place to hold on, though, as he's slowly getting used to this. The corruption is still thick... and even thicker, and his legs are wobbly again...
But touching Eren seems to help, even if they're both dream-selves and not real selves. Right now, it feels real enough.]
Ugh. I don't... Are those Witches?
[He needs to get closer, but his body dreads the idea.]
Careful. [ he says this immediately once they land. awkwardly, a bit, it was hard to tell when he’d sink and when he wouldn’t, water was weird af.
mikleo can tell eren says it out of caution, avoiding the stragglers but . . . giving them as much of an inspection he could without touching them. smelling them— ]
[Now that they're closer, Mikleo can see how their limbs are twisted and broken, causing the pain that gives them that unearthly wailing. They're suffering but in a strange dreamlike way, neither dead nor alive, or at least near enough to death to not matter. Mikleo has seen suffering before. He's seen people die in front of him from all sorts of gruesome wounds, but misery on this scale is something he's only witnessed a few times, and never quite like this. A plague is different from this waking nightmare of torn limbs and bent bones.
It's so terrible. It's terrible, and the corruption is so deep here that he can barely breathe. He buries his face into Eren's neck and tries not to scream. He can feel their pain, too, with the heavy burning of the Cwyld. He's safe as long as he's with Eren, but it still... hurts.
The anguished moans from around them seem to echo this. It hurts so much.]
[ for someone who’s lived quite less than the seraph, eren has seen more broken, mangled bodies than one may have in a single human life time (technically, he’s lived through the memories of three other than himself). he won’t start counting them on his claws, but there’s something distinct that he attempts to achieve at the pull of mikleo’s empathy: he detaches himself from involvement with the phantoms, the best way he could from their suffering, forming an emotional pillar for him and his bonded to remain sturdy against.
it’s not as if he doesn’t feel for their pain, or worry for it— he does. eren was a good man, with good intentions, but he has a growing sense of priority that funnels into objectivity. it could cloud his judgement when he can’t afford it. there’s . . . a call. a call that says if you want to save them, you must— before he can’t quite make out the rest. ]
We’re not. If we could figure out what happened— [ eren hisses and jolts, his turn a sluggish slip that accompanies a flurry of bubbles to see one of the weeping shadows drag at one of his tail spines from the ground, their grip withered and agonizing, as if moaning please. is it them, or were they all beginning to come toward them?
the water’s pressure felt heavier, and the blackness of the ghosts spread like ink. ]
[Oh no. As the ghosts come closer, bringing their corruption with them, Mikleo actually falters. He scrabbles at Eren's neck for purchase only to miss the mark entirely and slip right off. Mikleo isn't one to lay there like a damsel in distress, though. He fights to right himself.
He knows the spell he wants to cast. He doesn't know the words, but it doesn't matter. He knows what he wants and he reaches inside himself for it, reaching despite the burning, for a circle that would sanctify the area around them and repel the presence.
There's a flash, a circle of light sketched quickly in the water around them. But it flickers and dies just as soon as he casts it. It seems he's doomed to be useless in this dream.]
Damn it!
[And he's not happy about it.]
Why can't I-- [He makes a noise of frustration and tries to address the ghosts despite his growing anxiety and pain.] What do we need to do? Tell us!
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no subject
It’s heavy, nothing like the swiftness of air. they’re sluggish, but eren’s tail swings behind him to propel along with a downwards drag of his wings. he almost— wishes he could be as surprised. a little tense, perhaps, but walking into a battlefield aftermath . . . . mm. ]
They have something on them.
[ his eyes catch the shine One their muddy cloaks like the shimmer of a blade. maybe that’s actually why he sees them to start ]
no subject
But touching Eren seems to help, even if they're both dream-selves and not real selves. Right now, it feels real enough.]
Ugh. I don't... Are those Witches?
[He needs to get closer, but his body dreads the idea.]
My magic isn't much, but maybe I can still help.
no subject
mikleo can tell eren says it out of caution, avoiding the stragglers but . . . giving them as much of an inspection he could without touching them. smelling them— ]
They’re . . . All from The Coven.
[ the badges are there. all of them. ]
no subject
It's so terrible. It's terrible, and the corruption is so deep here that he can barely breathe. He buries his face into Eren's neck and tries not to scream. He can feel their pain, too, with the heavy burning of the Cwyld. He's safe as long as he's with Eren, but it still... hurts.
The anguished moans from around them seem to echo this. It hurts so much.]
... We're too late.
no subject
it’s not as if he doesn’t feel for their pain, or worry for it— he does. eren was a good man, with good intentions, but he has a growing sense of priority that funnels into objectivity. it could cloud his judgement when he can’t afford it. there’s . . . a call. a call that says if you want to save them, you must— before he can’t quite make out the rest. ]
We’re not. If we could figure out what happened— [ eren hisses and jolts, his turn a sluggish slip that accompanies a flurry of bubbles to see one of the weeping shadows drag at one of his tail spines from the ground, their grip withered and agonizing, as if moaning please. is it them, or were they all beginning to come toward them?
the water’s pressure felt heavier, and the blackness of the ghosts spread like ink. ]
no subject
He knows the spell he wants to cast. He doesn't know the words, but it doesn't matter. He knows what he wants and he reaches inside himself for it, reaching despite the burning, for a circle that would sanctify the area around them and repel the presence.
There's a flash, a circle of light sketched quickly in the water around them. But it flickers and dies just as soon as he casts it. It seems he's doomed to be useless in this dream.]
Damn it!
[And he's not happy about it.]
Why can't I-- [He makes a noise of frustration and tries to address the ghosts despite his growing anxiety and pain.] What do we need to do? Tell us!