Methuselah
Tendrils of darkness emerged from his stump and kneaded together in order to mold an imitation of his flesh, repairing and replacing his severed forearm with shadow. His body was just a shell, a vessel meant to bear the meaning of void, but it was troublesome. He wouldn't die so easily, but she could kill him. An inexplicable feeling of rage drowned the recesses of his mind as the pain washed his consciousness away, only to have it crash back to bring him back to the present.
Suddenly, an arrow crashed into his barrier of darkness, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it weaved through it, like a bullet going straight through an egg made of nothing but smoke and striking its heart before. The egg dissipated like an illusion, and the dark one was blown back by the projectile plunged straight in his ribs.
Cut away so mercilessly, his self was starting to leak out of its shape. He couldn't allow this, more than anything, even if he considered her a friend he had come to realize why that blade of hers caught his attention earlier. To him, such a weapon was anathema. Not for his life, but for the peace of mind he so desperately sought after.
He had asked her to cease, because he didn't want to hurt her. This was why he detested conflict, abhorred violence. More than anything, he didn't want to revert to his old self. But none of it mattered before the enemy he was facing.
For a moment it looked as if he was about to pass out, but almost like he had been dreaming until now, he woke up. Stopping right in his tracks, barely a foot above ground, he panted and wheezed weakly. Then, all of a sudden, he grabbed the arrow and ripped it out of his chest with all his might, letting out an inhuman roar.
The forest and the forest alone darkened, as if a shroud of night suddenly befell it. Even the cover she had cast over him began to decay and melt into nothing before the surge of dark power. Beneath it was a divine beast, a God made of jet black, and his eyes flared like crimson stars.
I won't lose.
As soon as he made his decision, he crushed the arrow, shattering it as if it was made of rotting cheese. No, it was rotting, as if his very touch was enough to rend it into nothing. Very well, he was mistaken to make such a request in the first place.
Tendrils erupted from the shadows of the forest surrounding Rafalia, a dozen of massive tentacles ravaging their surroundings and moving to rip her apart and destroy her. One of them would be easy to dodge, perhaps even a dozen, with her skill. However, surrounded by so many trees, it wasn't such a simple task anymore, but if anyone in the world could face such an assault it would certainly be her.
