The attacks are not done. The Reaper tries to cast, throws out a Holy spell in retaliation, but the spell is blocked by a wall of stone, raised in defense, a summoned dragon's breath deflected only just enough to leave him stunned, not dead, stone around him dripping into molten slag-
He looks down, at the blade protruding from his gut, a knife thrust deep and then withdrawn. He falls to his knees, and Zidane steps back, growling. "It's over, Kuja."
Pain. Pain was always a large factor, pain and fear of death and the adrenaline rush that came with battle. For a moment, there's real fear in the Reaper's eyes, as he feels the cold of death encroaching on his vision, a low gasp of pain... Had he miscalculated?
No.
Something in him changes. "The time is now." The eight seem to realize it, as the Reaper begins to stand again, his body glowing, magical energy arcing off him and grounding itself in the stone around him, hair and feathers darkening to the red of blood. The light fades, before long, but now he's rising into the air, arms spread wide. "Trance... shall I show you all its power?"
Frisk's assessment, it seems, is nearly correct. A single orb of azure flame is conjured, and flicked into the sky. It splits, arrows of light scattering across the battlefield, decimating everything in sight and reducing the hardened stone to rubble- and the assembled heroes to their knees. The Reaper's expression is nothing short of exultant, laughing with sheer, unbridled joy at his newfound capability. "Yes! This! This is the power I've longed for! The power of souls! They assault any threat that tries to destroy them!"
Thankfully, perhaps, Kuja takes this opportunity to land the Hilda Garde, inexpertly, behind the three observers. There's a shriek of metal and a ladder hurriedly tossed overboard. "We have less than a minute, everyone on the ship!"
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He looks down, at the blade protruding from his gut, a knife thrust deep and then withdrawn. He falls to his knees, and Zidane steps back, growling. "It's over, Kuja."
Pain. Pain was always a large factor, pain and fear of death and the adrenaline rush that came with battle. For a moment, there's real fear in the Reaper's eyes, as he feels the cold of death encroaching on his vision, a low gasp of pain... Had he miscalculated?
No.
Something in him changes. "The time is now." The eight seem to realize it, as the Reaper begins to stand again, his body glowing, magical energy arcing off him and grounding itself in the stone around him, hair and feathers darkening to the red of blood. The light fades, before long, but now he's rising into the air, arms spread wide. "Trance... shall I show you all its power?"
Frisk's assessment, it seems, is nearly correct. A single orb of azure flame is conjured, and flicked into the sky. It splits, arrows of light scattering across the battlefield, decimating everything in sight and reducing the hardened stone to rubble- and the assembled heroes to their knees. The Reaper's expression is nothing short of exultant, laughing with sheer, unbridled joy at his newfound capability. "Yes! This! This is the power I've longed for! The power of souls! They assault any threat that tries to destroy them!"
Thankfully, perhaps, Kuja takes this opportunity to land the Hilda Garde, inexpertly, behind the three observers. There's a shriek of metal and a ladder hurriedly tossed overboard. "We have less than a minute, everyone on the ship!"