It is not the language they spoke in the Eternal Palace, but it is so much closer than anything he has heard in thousands of years.
Asmodeus is not, in this moment, Asmodeus. He is a shimmering blue flame, crackling playfully; he is a thousand beautiful fireworks; he is a blazing seed of possibility, full of wonder and joy. Then he is real, and he is beautiful still but he is burning, the flowing mane of copper-bright hair catching fire and hardening into two spikes that spiral back around his ears.
It is real, but it is not now; he doesn't need to sink to the floor in the wake of it, gasping and shuddering as his form ripples again. (Not Evandrin, no, but younger than the last, both less human and more vulnerable.) It was a truly galling level of exposure, but there's no need not to take advantage of it.
Zerxus, in that moment, felt the seething contradiction of his nature more keenly than ever before; he looked almost molten, ever-shifting and shot through with cracks of starlight, flexing wings of flame. It leaves him stunned and breathless and aching, but that doesn't stop him from rushing forward. There's no hesitation in kneeling down and reaching out, even now after everything.
It is a lie, when Asmodeus accepts the compassion, but perhaps not as fully as the first time.
"I saved us, then. I couldn't do it again."
"We'll find a - " Zerxus's voice almost breaks, but he does stop himself from promising too much. He doesn't expect it to be taken well.
Asmodeus laughs, wry and soft. "He is teaching you something. Well done, godling."
Re: Narrenschiff, Day One
Asmodeus is not, in this moment, Asmodeus. He is a shimmering blue flame, crackling playfully; he is a thousand beautiful fireworks; he is a blazing seed of possibility, full of wonder and joy. Then he is real, and he is beautiful still but he is burning, the flowing mane of copper-bright hair catching fire and hardening into two spikes that spiral back around his ears.
It is real, but it is not now; he doesn't need to sink to the floor in the wake of it, gasping and shuddering as his form ripples again. (Not Evandrin, no, but younger than the last, both less human and more vulnerable.) It was a truly galling level of exposure, but there's no need not to take advantage of it.
Zerxus, in that moment, felt the seething contradiction of his nature more keenly than ever before; he looked almost molten, ever-shifting and shot through with cracks of starlight, flexing wings of flame. It leaves him stunned and breathless and aching, but that doesn't stop him from rushing forward. There's no hesitation in kneeling down and reaching out, even now after everything.
It is a lie, when Asmodeus accepts the compassion, but perhaps not as fully as the first time.
"I saved us, then. I couldn't do it again."
"We'll find a - " Zerxus's voice almost breaks, but he does stop himself from promising too much. He doesn't expect it to be taken well.
Asmodeus laughs, wry and soft. "He is teaching you something. Well done, godling."