Kincaid wondered for a moment if the universe, or the Viskar, were toying with him. Shop burning, cursed sword, poor spellslinging, a vorax to the face… and to wrap it all up, he didn’t get to show the demons how appreciative he was for their audience. None of this had turned out as enjoyable as he wanted.
Then again, he hadn’t expected the spider-demons. Or this new one.
Recovering from the near-collision with the vis-predator, the thief began weighing the devil from a distance. His rain was beginning to let up, and in a moment his spell would fizzle and fade. Still, there was enough time to….
To….
Grass green eyes fell on the knife in the devil’s hands.
Now what kind of knife is that? The thief wondered, his dull eyes regaining some of their usual liveliness, but only for a moment. It died again when the curse rolled over him again, and the screams sent a horrible shiver down his spine. Kincaid tried to shake it, but to little effect.
The boy was stammering, and if Kincaid were in his usual mood he’d have found the whole ordeal funny. After all, what threat was a demon to Kincaid? But he wasn’t in his usual mood. He could barely manage a grin.
It was weak, lacking in the bravado he so casually tossed around, but between the cautious gaze of Corvus, the anger of Dominic, and the fear of Cassius, it looked positively arrogant.
“A helping hand, eh?” His voice sounded flat, but he needed to talk. Needed to move. Needed to do something, anything, besides stand still and stay quiet. “If all you needed was a helping hand, all you had to do was ask! After all, Kincaid is a name well known for lending a hand…. Though, usually I’m paid if the jobs interesting enough.”
He paused and considered the devil for a moment, assuring the creature, “...You meet the criteria of ‘interesting.’” As if there were any doubt.
Looking down at the cursed blade in his hands, then back to the devil, Kincaid heaved a sigh and strode towards the creature, attempting to look unaffected by the curse as much as possible. For the most part he thought he was doing better than some. “Normally I’m not one to complain, Smokey,” he said as he approached, stopping just out of arm's reach. He lifted his sword hand out to the devil, offering up the cursed blade, “but I’m not a fan of the color.”
[2995]
Then again, he hadn’t expected the spider-demons. Or this new one.
Recovering from the near-collision with the vis-predator, the thief began weighing the devil from a distance. His rain was beginning to let up, and in a moment his spell would fizzle and fade. Still, there was enough time to….
To….
Grass green eyes fell on the knife in the devil’s hands.
Now what kind of knife is that? The thief wondered, his dull eyes regaining some of their usual liveliness, but only for a moment. It died again when the curse rolled over him again, and the screams sent a horrible shiver down his spine. Kincaid tried to shake it, but to little effect.
The boy was stammering, and if Kincaid were in his usual mood he’d have found the whole ordeal funny. After all, what threat was a demon to Kincaid? But he wasn’t in his usual mood. He could barely manage a grin.
It was weak, lacking in the bravado he so casually tossed around, but between the cautious gaze of Corvus, the anger of Dominic, and the fear of Cassius, it looked positively arrogant.
“A helping hand, eh?” His voice sounded flat, but he needed to talk. Needed to move. Needed to do something, anything, besides stand still and stay quiet. “If all you needed was a helping hand, all you had to do was ask! After all, Kincaid is a name well known for lending a hand…. Though, usually I’m paid if the jobs interesting enough.”
He paused and considered the devil for a moment, assuring the creature, “...You meet the criteria of ‘interesting.’” As if there were any doubt.
Looking down at the cursed blade in his hands, then back to the devil, Kincaid heaved a sigh and strode towards the creature, attempting to look unaffected by the curse as much as possible. For the most part he thought he was doing better than some. “Normally I’m not one to complain, Smokey,” he said as he approached, stopping just out of arm's reach. He lifted his sword hand out to the devil, offering up the cursed blade, “but I’m not a fan of the color.”
[2995]