[ They've equipped the others with what they need to escape, their hunger and fury overtaking the sentries with ease and stealing their weapons to beat back fresh guards as they stumble in, confused and in disarray. The freed prisoners do more work than Dimitri can with a single club, though part of him hesitates to leave the din all the same. It takes a moment to convince himself to follow Laurent, and perhaps only because he's taking off alone, in more danger on his own than the escaping throng of prisoners here.
And he did say he'd protect him.
...As it turns out, navigating a dripping, dark cave of a ruin as they are, that was probably the right move. Dimitri only hums in agreement, the dank, stale humidity of their surroundings suggesting that this is some underground channel of sorts, but he's more focused on squinting into the dark at what might possibly, maybe be a passageway?
But it only takes the length of that one sideways glance for something to go awry; his attention snaps back at the sound of Laurent taking a hard fall, the luminescent plants capturing the vague, writhing outline of tentacles.
And—for better or worse, a brute is exactly what he is. And it's only another instant before he answers the call of violence with violence, eyes flared wide and digging his nails in to get a grip on the slippery, mottled tentacle that's pinned Laurent's arm; something wakes then in his blood then, dozing and sealed away as it'd been in their cell, the barrier's effects finally flagging. It takes one tug to tear the tentacle off the Abysmal's main body as his strength answers him. It rips viciously free in rubbery sinew, dark blood—the monster rears back with a ripple of motion and limbs and unholy noise and he chases after its momentum like a hound, unyielding.
A stray bolt of electricity or two arcs off of Dimitri in the meantime, flashing bright enough against the mausoleum walls for Laurent to find that knife of his—or, even better, an exit. ]
no subject
And he did say he'd protect him.
...As it turns out, navigating a dripping, dark cave of a ruin as they are, that was probably the right move. Dimitri only hums in agreement, the dank, stale humidity of their surroundings suggesting that this is some underground channel of sorts, but he's more focused on squinting into the dark at what might possibly, maybe be a passageway?
But it only takes the length of that one sideways glance for something to go awry; his attention snaps back at the sound of Laurent taking a hard fall, the luminescent plants capturing the vague, writhing outline of tentacles.
And—for better or worse, a brute is exactly what he is. And it's only another instant before he answers the call of violence with violence, eyes flared wide and digging his nails in to get a grip on the slippery, mottled tentacle that's pinned Laurent's arm; something wakes then in his blood then, dozing and sealed away as it'd been in their cell, the barrier's effects finally flagging. It takes one tug to tear the tentacle off the Abysmal's main body as his strength answers him. It rips viciously free in rubbery sinew, dark blood—the monster rears back with a ripple of motion and limbs and unholy noise and he chases after its momentum like a hound, unyielding.
A stray bolt of electricity or two arcs off of Dimitri in the meantime, flashing bright enough against the mausoleum walls for Laurent to find that knife of his—or, even better, an exit. ]