"Thank you, but I..." His voice growing distant, as if he was about to faint, he looks at her and continues smiling. Without anything bright to reflect, his eyes are dark again, as shadowed as a midnight forest without moonlight. He turns his hands to the side and raises them further up with an elegance unbefitting even of him. For a moment, one can see his hands tremble.
How pathetic, he judges himself absentmindedly. Has the time in between really made him this unpolished? Well, he should keep it in mind for the future. But even that thought spreads itself out, as lonely as a deceivingly clear stream both dammed too often and damned by its fate of no longer deserving to be complete, as he sees what others cannot.

"Please excuse me," he manages to say to everyone. Or at least, that is what he attempts to do. In truth, he can't hear their responses. He can't feel them, either. In this state, really, everything else was beyond bearable. And then, he continued questioning himself.

How long had it been? In his haste to live through what he was allowed to experience, he tarnished his own sense of time until it was a useless blemish. Now he was looking for it again, and it refused to come out.
Had it been one year? Two? He traced his memory of his own silhouette walking away from a girl he thought he was never to see again. But then, sometime after that, he recalled her, a deity of ice, running into a fire that was too big for her to even be able to see.
Really, him doing this was nothing. It was likely not even substantial. She would experience more in her life that he did not deserve to be a part of and could not be a part of. But for now, when he did allow himself to do something, perhaps he could ease her burdens--and the burdens of those who would be beside her for longer than he.
The Fallen Angel, constructing a dream for himself, struggles to keep his eyes from dimming. He struggles to keep his smile from dropping.
This is, after all, only a beginning.

The inferno grows louder. This time, he walks into his own fire.

The sound caused Germaine to turn around abruptly. The hand on her chest tightened until it clutched through clothes and held on even to skin. 
"ECHO!" she shrieked, but the sudden sight had left her rooted to her spot. 

Why...why...why had this happened?
She was supposed to keep Echo safe. Her heart hurt at seeing the goddess in agony.
This shock was nothing like herself. She'd usually be able to react. She tried hard to will herself to move.
But...Germaine did not know what to do.

(Gonna stall a tiny bit to let for more POVing. I like how the song sounds like a heartbeat's going through all of it. Very cool)

His figure looms over her. His eyes are blank, but he's still smiling down on her, as if he is performing some sort of judgment. He isn't even blinking. 


He's swimming. Or, more accurately, that's what he would presume he is doing. 
Really, he's flying, but the air is laborious to move through in a way he has never experienced, trying to drag him down like air moisture would a fly. 
He's back there, near that building that he pushed down in his haste and foolishness, trying to move towards the moving black silhouette. A "Hunter," though he is the one who is hunting them, and though they're not the one he's truly focusing on. No, blurred as his vision may be, he is staring at her unconscious face, watching it go further and further away, realizing that for him, failure has its own taste. Though, that taste is not necessarily distinguishable at the moment--rather, it's combined with other flavors. Rage. Guilt. Realizations. Stupidity. There are many, but he isn't focusing on those, either. Instead, he's imagining her fear, her pain...and her "anger" when she realizes that he let her down again. 
"Back then," he bit down on all the tastes and pummeled forward. Now, he stops swimming.
The flavors die on his tongue in a single instant.
It is simple, really. It's just that this simplicity is one that he does not usually embrace. 
He watches them take her away, smiling, his arms still near his sides. His wings fold back, and then he drops. 

He's back on the ground. This time, above all, he can taste dirt. 
And blood, of course. But unlike the blood of others, he can taste only its lingering presence. Still, it's very strong. 
So many things are stabbing into him that he can no longer tell what part of him has not been sliced through. At the realization, he almost feels his own horror. He pulls it back and instead just examines the situation.
It's, admittedly, difficult.
Was this at the beginning? He's not quite sure. The arms were cut off quite a few times. It's strange that he can remember the order of the limbs--left and right--but not the specific times. 
He focuses on the right arm. 
Part of it is smoldering still. He reckons that to the mortal nose, the air would reek of flesh. But...well, that's not important. 
The fact that he cannot actually turn to see the scene is proving inconvenient. He would have preferred going by the actual reality rather than his imagination, but if this was how it was, then so be it.

----

I am...
...the embodiment of sin.
He mouths that inadvertently towards the girl:
Words she once heard but has since forgotten;
Words she once did not believe but will see for herself their meaning.
Or perhaps she can no longer see him? 
That might be more fortunate or unfortunate. For him, that no longer matters. Still, there is that little realization in the back of his mind that chuckles at the irony--that the one who is answering her plea is exactly this.
There is also the realization that he, though unintentionally, maybe, perhaps, conceivably, lied......


He's still smiling when it feels like a wedge is driven into the flow of all the new sensations Echo is feeling. She can perhaps feel some sort of ebb somewhere within, though it's far from reassuring. If she had the time to actually ponder it, it actually feels quite...unnerving. 
Well, one can only guess how much longer his smile will be able to stand.

(Thank you wjdjwjkfd I'm glad you guys enjoy the song)

(:D welcome to RPing with me!)


Alma tore across the area, slipping on his own blood and hitting the ground hard. He continued on, hissing in pain but ignoring his body's protests against moving so harshly. Alma needed to get to Echo, he needed to get by her side as quickly as possible.

Silence stared. They stared at Echo's arm that had fallen off, then they stared at Echo. Blank, their face was blank and unreadable. They didn't move. They didn't feel anything. Silence just watched, they watched their little sister bleed out. They couldn't move. Something about this...

Silence watched.

Malaika looked around, searching for what could be the cause of Echo's arm falling off. Her whole body tensed, she prepared herself to fight. She didn't see anyone, but whoever was doing this-

The hell fire all around grew in height.

Lumi couldn't move. What he had witnessed froze him in place. What should he do? What can he do? Lumi's mind only bubbled with empty thoughts as he kept his eyes lingering on Echo.

Lumi didn't know what to do.

Echo's own pain went down as Hitan helped. A gasp let out before Echo moved. She fell to her side, the left side, the side with her arm, and curled up. Next there was the sound of a sobbing shriek, her pain going from not letting her make noise to allowing her to wail the torture out. It was hard to tell if this was worse. As she screamed, ice covered the ground and grew in thickness with each passing second.

Echo took a breath, closed her eyes, and sobbed, her lungs barely registering the air coming in as she gasped rapidly. He tears were starting to bubble, evaporating into thin, wispy steam.

Home. Echo wanted to go home, Echo wanted to sleep. She wanted someone to hold her.

Someone touched the side of her face, muttering out calming Spanish, patting her hair in an attempt to comfort her. Echo sniffled, struggling to move her working arm as she wanted to reach out to him. She rolled onto her back, yelping out in pain. It felt like her bones shattered into tiny fragments, she felt like a beaten, broken porcelain doll. Alma gently took her hand and casted a healing spell. Echo opened her eyes, opening her mouth to speak. Still, she couldn't utter a word. Instead a sound from pain came out.

Alma kept his tears back, he kept his horror hidden. If he kept calm, then Echo would stay calm, and Alma could help her. Spanish, Echo liked and understood Spanish, he would talk to her using Spanish. Alma sang a little as he talked, patting her hair like his mother did when he was crying. It was soothing, it was helping. Okay, now he needed to figure out what happened.

Because the Narrator is not fluent in Spanish, the Narrator is just going to put what Alma is saying in italics.


"Hey, hey, I'm here," Alma said. "I'm here. I'm not going to go anywhere, I'm here..."

Echo closed her eyes again, coughing from crying so hard. Alma reached over and moved Echo's jacket, revealing that most of her t-shirt sleeve had seemed to burned off. From the remnants of the sleeve poked out melty flesh, everything inside fused together. Blood was still pouring out from the wound.

Alma casted another healing spell, trying to stop the bleeding. The bleeding slowed. Alma felt his lungs starting to fill up again.

Alma's voice came out watery, gurgling almost. It was hard to speak, and his chest felt uncomfortable. He transitioned from sing-talking to actual singing, casting more varients of healing spells. He sang a soft lullaby.

Echo stared up at Alma, who only smiled back. Alma was covered in more blood than Echo was, his torso still ripped open and bleeding. He was covered in wounds, and Echo could tell something was wrong when he sang. Echo closed her eyes once again, trying to block out everything around her.

The world was scary. Even the people helping her were in pain, weren't they?

Germaine watched as Alma comforted Echo. How good it was that Echo had people who cared about her. 
But even then, the efforts to protect her hadn't been perfect. The result hadn't been failure, but it was not a good outcome.
How? What had happened to make Echo suffer like this just now? Why?
Thoughts ran through Germaine's head. And yet, she didn't move from her place.

(Idk what to do with Phantom atm, ignore me it you need to lol)

((idk he'd just be like standing there tho))

Regeneration was something very common for angels. Demons...well, demons...hmm. Demons. 
"Demons."
It wasn't like there was anything to explain.

The fire spits blood, becomes blood, and leaps for blood. Hitan's figure disappears in their flames, but if anyone focuses, they can see a flicker of his silhouette once in a while, as spontaneous as the fire he has engulfed himself within.
It's a strange fire, really. It doesn't burn anything else now. But as its silent roar, a colossal, terrible ring that sounds yet does not sound, a miracle seems to happen.
Fatigue disappears. What was not to be comes to be again. What is supposed to be disappears and disappears and disappears. At the same time, past and persisting wrongs pass and persist, and the feelings of losing, of being wronged, and barely reaching the edge of a sentiment bleaker but purer than any descriptor of darkness and despair, continue.

This fire is too weak. Then again, if his wings got burnt off again, surely, at least one--no, no. Two...three...? Those "someone"s would not be very happy, provided they could somehow see through the inevitable ruse.
In all seriousness. It can't even char his clothes. Then again, maybe it wouldn't be very good if his clothes got charred.
It would be...unfitting. Embarrassing? Perhaps. Just maybe...perhaps.

...To him, no one else needed to burn.
Truly, this mindset is problematic.

Alma took a moment to reply, his eyes staring off. He registered Phantom, but replying was becoming hard. What did he need?

"Alois," Alma muttered. "Get Alois... and someone watch Echo... I can't see... very well..."

Malaika ran over, sitting down on the other side by Echo. She didn't say anything, unsure of what to do or even if she could do something to help. Lumi slowly made his way over, but very hesitantly.

Alma muttered out, "...need Alois..." He mumbled for a bit after, the word 'apologize' being in recognition and a short, unsteady laugh sounding out.

Alma's expression changed a bit. He traced something beside him with a shaky hand before asking Phantom, "Three times... in a row? As loudly as... you can..."