their eyes slip to her palm for the flame, and the space betwixt their brows darkens.
the corners of swollen, sallow eyes tighten tellingly and their upper lip whips from smile to snarl; slides over their gums and curls with blatant disdain, accentuated by a menacing rumble clambering up their throat. “no reason?” a discordant hiss untangling from between the cage of their slavering teeth, eyes dangerously slanted beneath the testy downturn of their brows. “we requested a simplistic task of him. if he was to complete the task, we would leave him be — would have gladly left him be, if he hadn’t had the audacity to attempt to fool us. we don’t take kindly to those who underestimate us, as you are both clearly doing. what do you intend to do with that machete? lob off our head, burn us to a crisp? your warlock may have been able to injure us starved, but fed?”
they shove close as if the lick of inferno encapsulated in her hand did not faze them and, in truth, it did not — if they were able to withstand the flame of a seraph fed, a demon’s flame would be a mere pinch, a flicker of an irritation. “our patience has been tried time and time again. we have come to claim what is rightfully ours — that which roils like a disgusting worm just beyond, dizzied with our blood. you’re lucky he did not intake more, or he may have turned on you, blunt teeth ajar.” a bark of raucous laughter. “sniveling thing that he is, to be so swayed by just dapples. how much has he eaten? has he screamed during the night? you underestimate us even as you see the effect of simply our blood on a man normally sane, level, reduced to crawling and frenetic consumption and clawing at his own ear drums.
you have already lost.”
The words hit home. This was her fault.
She had messed up and landed them in this position. And Leo— Look at what had happened to him. It unnerved her, made her uncomfortable and with someone who she had learned to be comfortable around, someone she found she loved.
The plan had failed thanks to her inadequcies, nevermind that it had been Leo’s idea, he was going slowly insane because of her, they had already lost because of her.
In her hands, the flames began to flicker slightly as her shoulders slumped a fraction of an inch, the grip on the machete losening.
No.
When did she ever give up? She would give up when she was dead, when this thing killed her, and maybe that’s exactly what would happen. If that was the case, she wouldn’t die cowering in fear, no matter how strongly she felt it. There was nothing for her to say - it wasn’t her style, anyway - as she straightened. His face was near her hand and she shoved the flames right into those grotesque features, flaring it up. Even as she did so, the machete swung up, aiming to hit his shoulder.
YOU WILL FAIL. LITTLE PIGLET…
COWERING BEFORE THE WOLF.
IT WILL ALL BE OVER SOON, YES–YES.
WHEN WE SINK CLAWS INTO YOUR FLESH.
AND PUT YOUR HEAD ON A SPIT.
Leo tried to ignore the mockery. The sounds of slurping and whispers in an ancient language that set him on edge. Though he could hardly hear past the incessant chittering of the hive mind, he kept his eyes on them and Mic. With a sharp exhale, he rose to his feet and fought a wave of vertigo that threatened to shove him back down to the ground.
He rested his head on the wall a moment, glancing up just in time to see her flames being shoved into his face, and he knew he needed to act. So he closed the distance, bottle in hand, and splashed them with nearly a quarter of the jug of Borax. If it had nearly the same effect as saffron did to warlocks, he could only imagine the burn.
