Not that Mikka could give voice to the question anymore, and it was debatable if Emet could even see past that blinding Light to see it in his gaze. He didn't have the time to worry about that, or to try and force the words out as the little Miqo'te seemed to reach the tipping point, a shriek erupting from him as he tensed, body curling in on itself as if to defend against the pain of the Light tearing through his soul for all there was no external source.
It was a horrible sort of momentum that built from that- without the Warrior able to fight the corruption anymore the transformation was brutal in it's suddenness, the sounds of it a horrible cacophony under the ring of Light, all the more dissonant for the way it echoed off the cool pale stone of the plaza, for the twilight surroundings of the underwater monument to a long-destroyed place.
Hard to say if it was better or worse, to recognize him still. Too many arms surely for his small frame, but the gold brambles that seemed to be growing from the deep hollow in his chest wound around and up each arm, lashing around his wrists to end in wide gold blooms against the palms. Almost pretty, if not for the porcelain eyes in the heart of each flower, to say nothing of the unblinking blossoms otherwise decorating the thorny vines that wrapped the Lightwarden's limbs, trailed up his throat, an unadorned end curling against the edge of the blank half mask that hid where his eyes would be, the trails of gold from underneath the only hint that they might still be there at all.
The creature's movements were jerky and unnatural, and if Emet were watching for it he might notice the shift of brambles that heralded each movement, tensing and moving against limbs in a way that was almost directing the movement, down to even the tensing of the curl against the side of the Lightwarden's face directing it's unseen gaze even as the blossom eyes turned as well towards the Ascian as if assessing him. Positively glut with aether but... the Darkness was repellant, and they recoiled with a baring of fangs, ears flicking to a wary half-mast as they edged back, gold dripping onto grey stone where the bramble's thorns dug into 'skin' in the Warrior-turned-Lightwarden's movements, a faint wisp of aether curling from the fallen drops, each sprouting into a gold and porcelain flower not unlike the night-blooming sorts that the little Miqo'te had so adored.
They were hungry. Starving in fact, but clearly would find no meal here. No, better to go elsewhere, leaving naught in their wake but the forgotten satchel, and that trail of gold and flowers to mark they'd ever been there.
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Not that Mikka could give voice to the question anymore, and it was debatable if Emet could even see past that blinding Light to see it in his gaze. He didn't have the time to worry about that, or to try and force the words out as the little Miqo'te seemed to reach the tipping point, a shriek erupting from him as he tensed, body curling in on itself as if to defend against the pain of the Light tearing through his soul for all there was no external source.
It was a horrible sort of momentum that built from that- without the Warrior able to fight the corruption anymore the transformation was brutal in it's suddenness, the sounds of it a horrible cacophony under the ring of Light, all the more dissonant for the way it echoed off the cool pale stone of the plaza, for the twilight surroundings of the underwater monument to a long-destroyed place.
Hard to say if it was better or worse, to recognize him still. Too many arms surely for his small frame, but the gold brambles that seemed to be growing from the deep hollow in his chest wound around and up each arm, lashing around his wrists to end in wide gold blooms against the palms. Almost pretty, if not for the porcelain eyes in the heart of each flower, to say nothing of the unblinking blossoms otherwise decorating the thorny vines that wrapped the Lightwarden's limbs, trailed up his throat, an unadorned end curling against the edge of the blank half mask that hid where his eyes would be, the trails of gold from underneath the only hint that they might still be there at all.
The creature's movements were jerky and unnatural, and if Emet were watching for it he might notice the shift of brambles that heralded each movement, tensing and moving against limbs in a way that was almost directing the movement, down to even the tensing of the curl against the side of the Lightwarden's face directing it's unseen gaze even as the blossom eyes turned as well towards the Ascian as if assessing him. Positively glut with aether but... the Darkness was repellant, and they recoiled with a baring of fangs, ears flicking to a wary half-mast as they edged back, gold dripping onto grey stone where the bramble's thorns dug into 'skin' in the Warrior-turned-Lightwarden's movements, a faint wisp of aether curling from the fallen drops, each sprouting into a gold and porcelain flower not unlike the night-blooming sorts that the little Miqo'te had so adored.
They were hungry. Starving in fact, but clearly would find no meal here. No, better to go elsewhere, leaving naught in their wake but the forgotten satchel, and that trail of gold and flowers to mark they'd ever been there.