#rfdq
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elsword | dlrg | 614 words
demon king dl
MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH
OK? Ok, you may proceed.
Noblesse’s corpse lies face-up the floor in a puddle of her own blood that seeps into her pristine snow white hair and porcelain skin. Royal Guard is ashamed that it took him this long to realize blue-blooded demons bleed red like humans do. All this time he thought her blood was as royal as her demeanor.
The chains around his shoulder fall to his wrists with clinks and clanks and jingling because no one exists to tether them anymore. The loyal dog without a master sits on his knees, staring at his former master, reaching out for her bloodstained hand, clutching the ribbon she had given him before she submitted to her fate.
It was for his sake. Were neither of them poised to survive such an encounter, Noblesse wouldn’t have relented. It’s his fault. The tears won't stop pouring from his cheeks, and the ribbon, still stained with her blood, feels like it would float away if he didn't hold on tight enough.
He messed up. He was the one who killed her.
The bullets in her heart and forehead might as well have been his.
A moment later, the barrel of a gun is pressed to her forehead, digging into her flesh as if it would uncover some dirty secret. With a sarcastic whistle, the bullet leaves the chamber and enters her skull. The sound echoes in Royal Guard's head, magnifying itself into something he keeps replaying over and over until it rattles his soul.
There’s nothing left in that carcass that could be called Noblesse anymore.
His chains are being pulled on by someone else, tethered to another master who doesn’t even ask for permission to share his soul. The other yanks him to his feet, but his feet refuse to move and his body is still trying to adjust to the new energy that surges into him. The raw power that he drowns in is familiar but uncomfortable in a completely different way. It's his, but it's his.
It’s violent, this contract, tearing into him and his humanity and feeding on his reluctance and restraint. It is hellfire, it burns with an intensity that etches marks into the human container. It is unnatural, this horrid curse that makes him want to carve his mortal shell off his skeleton in an attempt to escape. The chains keep him here, bound by the hand that keeps him grounded, a victim of a newer, crueler master.
Tears still welling up in the corner of his eyes, he looks up at Dreadlord just in time to watch the last streak of blue leave his hair. The two demonic horns that are gathering around his crown have not yet become solid, but just the faintest outlines of blue have settled around them as an imminent sign. The pristine white of his hair now matches Noblesse's bloodstained strands on the floor.
There’s nothing human about Dreadlord anymore.
Dreadlord coos with the barrel of a gun underneath Royal Guard’s chin, “You belong to me now.”
Royal Guard averts his eyes, “I don’t want you.”
The gun digs into his throat, and Royal Guard feels himself gag when Dreadlord wedges it a little too roughly against his windpipe. “If dogs don’t get to choose their masters, why should you?”
Whether he chokes on his tears or because he simply can't breathe, Royal Guard doesn’t know, because Dreadlord has his arm tightly gripped against Royal Guard's arm, digging his nails into the sleeve. The gun at hand is quickly dismissed, and Dreadlord kisses him in a cruel mockery of the typical contract with a demon.
But Dreadlord's hunger carves marks into his soul, and Royal Guard feels himself fraying.
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elsword | apee | 319
a kees
Underneath the gnarled, aged oak tree in the courtyard heavy with leaves, Apostasia kisses him.
Erbluhen's eyes widen, but he doesn't pull away or kiss back. When Apostasia finally pulls away, Erbluhen's face turns complete and utter red as he tries to hide behind his hands.
Apostasia watches with amusement as Erbluhen refuses to be drawn out of his hands. Gently, Apostasia grips his wrists and tugs them away. Erbluhen relents but tilts his head off to the side so Apostasia can't see his embarrassment.
"You..." Erbluhen begins his sentence but fails to find the willpower to continue. Instead, he leaves the word hanging in the air, and the silence falls upon them like the fall leaves on the cloud. With a visibly troubled expression, Erbluhen finally grumbles out, though he refuses to stares Apostasia in the face, "You kissed me."
He glances out of the corner of his eyes and finds himself dazed by Apostasia's smile. It's unusual. Apostasia almost never smiles, and it's dazzling in a way. The value is in its rarity. Erlubhen stares back at him with a still-troubled frown.
"You're... You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
Slowly, Apostasia nods, and Erbluhen's brows knit together.
"You look nice," Apostasia replies softly, raising his hand to pull a leaf out of Erbluhen's hair. "Like that."
"Like, what-"
Apostasia leans in and cups Erbluhen's cheeks with both hands, and presses his lips against Erbluhen's. Immediately, his eyes widen again, and at that moment Apostasia pulls away, leaving Erbluhen a bit befuddled. "Like that."
Watching Erbluhen splutter with an attempt to process everything, Apostasia's smile slowly re-forms on his face. Erbluhen places one hand on Apostasia's cheek, and leans in to kiss him in return.
When the blush slowly sets in on Apostasia's cheeks in return, Erbluhen matches his smile. "You look good like that, too."
"Oh." Apostasia's voice is soft and quiet, barely a whisper, let alone audible.
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elsword | lw | 555 words
very short character study from like late january i think
2nd person.
In one word, he describes you as "empty" and you pretended in that moment to not understand what the word means.
You pretend with all your might and all your heart as if it would make a damn difference.
You pretend you can imitate his light, and the twists of emotion on his face when he sees your ragged appearance tells you you've failed horribly in the attempt. You pretend he isn't disgusted with how far the corruption has spread on your body, and you pretend the shoddy bandages aren't over your face.
Anpassen adjusted them once for you so they could fit around your head without you being worried the would fall over but- that was a long time ago and you don't remember how to do it anymore. Whatever you've done will have to be enough.
Erbluhen promises you that it will get better. he cradles you in hs arms and warms your hands with his own body warmth. You didn't even recall suddenly freezing like that. He promises you that he will come to understand your conditions, and he has such conviction that you think for a while that maybe, yeah, he would come to understand your condition.
His arms are so warm around you that you actually believe him when he encourages you to clap your hands to create some noise in this empty space.
You clap your hands and pretend the void doesn't eat sound like it eats up everything else. You clap again, a lonely rhythm that only you can hear.
When you tire of that, you sleep. There is little else to do in this space but to think and wait for the end. It'll come, but even then it wouldn't be soon enough. Eventually, Ishmael will come to meet you and then you could ask her for what reason you were created- that is if you don't crush her with your hands.
Erbluhen's heartbeat is steady, and it's strange that even as an angel, he would still have a heartbeat. It doesn't bother you that Erbluhen won't use his spiritualism form when you are together because you understand it's an attempt to maintain his own purity in the face of the void.
He runs his fingers through your hair and you know you're so undeserving of his love and attention but you want it so bad after his cruel words. He's too good to you and patient with you. The two of you sit there in the void for who knows how long, time after time.
How good would it be for the world to just end like this, to have Erbluhen here, to have the world outside be destroyed in a single crunch? To be here in Erbluhen's arms as the world ended? How sweet would it be to understand the despair of Ishmael's face as you brought the fall of man and the desecration of Eden?
And there would be the look on Arme Thaumaturgy's face when you got the final say on your timeless argument. It doesn't matter who Erbluhen would stand beside when that time because when the end was at hand, you would have already won.
Erbluhen places his hand on your head, and you dismiss your thoughts to turn your head towards him so bask in the warmth of his smile.
#can you tell im like slowly tilting towards the possessive ap>ee headcanon bc its delicious and i love it#i dont know what the word happiness means dont look at me#rfdq#tsu tries to fi#elsword
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professionalism | elsword: reinarnation AU | ath>ee | 771 words
@dezimaton brought up an au where ATh is a doctor and EE is his patient and tells ATh about his dreams of his past life. I love pain so I wrote it.
"Erblu, when we spoke on the phone the other day you said you were having strange dreams?" Arme settles into his chair and taps his pen against the checkboard. Though there is nothing to check off, it feels better to have something to do when he talks to this particular patient.
"Yeah," Erblu nods, folding his hands on his lap and speaks with a soft tone as always, "They're always dreams of this beautiful place that I know isn't our world and the scenery changes but they're always part of the same world."
"I see. How long ago did these dreams start?"
"Around the time I started seeing you. I didn't think they were a big deal since they used to be one-off, but they're becoming frequent enough that I wanted to talk to you about it."
Arme stops tapping his pen. Instead, he knits his hands together and leans forward. "What kind of dreams are they?
"Well, they're usually dreams about an adventuring party, and I'm with a group of people, right? There's a few kids, and some adults, but... there's only two that I remember very well." He brushes a stray strand out of his face, "One of them, at least... I'd like to remember the one better, but for some reason I just can't."
Erblu describes places Arme knows as Ruben, Elder, Hamel, and all the other towns in between with vivid detail that he can see the way the sun lights the red rocks of Bethma, and the fires burning in the Velder night sky. He speaks in a clear tone that's like telling story, and Arme supposes that their past was very much like a tale they tell in video games or books and movies. Normal people didn't have dreams like that, and when they did, they weren't recurring dreams.
"One of the partner members had red hair, he's always really positive and he keeps everyone motivated even during really hard times. He was... important to me. He was really important to me." He looks into the distance, like recalling a very fond memory. "And the other... the other always had some sort of light to him. In these dreams, I'm in love with him."
Arme stops breathing. "How do you know you're in love with him?"
"Our dreams feel real while we're in them, right? It's only when we wake up we realize it was all a dream..." Erblu sighs, "I'm not sure if I should be revealing the intimate details of my relationship with someone in my dreams out loud."
"I'm your doctor, I'll keep it confidential."
"Yes, I guess so. I trust you." Erblu shifts in his seat, "Well, he makes me feel wonderful just by being around him. The way he radiates light and the way he calls my name fills me up with joy, and... I know I share some sort of connection with him that's hard to put into words. I know he serves a goddess named Ishmael, and he speaks of her with such high regard that I wonder if he loves me back."
"I'm sure he does." Arme replies in a voice that comes out unintentionally kind.
Erblu's face softens into a smile, and a luminescent pink blush spreads across his cheeks. "When I talk to you, I always feel better."
"I'd hope so, I'm your doctor, after all."
"No, I mean.. Nevermind." Erblu waves his hands to try and dismiss the conversation at hand. "Anyway, I'm ready for my check up, doctor."
When Erblu leaves, Arme stares at his information on the medical file. Of course he wears the soft expression that matches the memory in all of Arme's memory, and of course, his eyes are full of warmth and his even his goddamn name is the same. Arme brings his fist against the wall with no real intent. Erblu said he was in love with him in those dreams, then back when they were still serving Ishmael, did Erblu love him then? Or was he just imposing those wishes and desires on someone who may not have felt the same?
If Erbluhen loved him in that life, would he love him in this one?
Even if Erbluhen loved him back, this relationship couldn't be. His professionalism was at risk, and he wasn't going to let his personal feelings get in the way, no matter how ancient and deep these feelings were. All the same, these human feelings and this human vessel are so painful and it hurts to think that Erbluhen loved him once and he dismissed his actions like he dismissed gossip and small talk.
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elsword | eedl | 610 words
ee subdues a demon.
warnings for violence.
"Don't touch me," Erbluhen hisses, shaking Dreadlord's hands off and pushing them away from his hips. "Try that again and I'll cleave your hands from your wrists before you have the chance to reach for a knife."
The dangerous look of anger is so familiar like the other angel, that it makes Dreadlord's spine tingle in excitement. Even if his last encounter went badly and he can still feel the ache in his hand as he approaches the other, he can't help but walk straight into danger.
He plasters one hand against the wall behind Erbluhen and leans in. His breath smells of mint and tobacco, an absolutely disgusting combination that befits such an atrocious being.
"You angels all say the same thing and threaten my well being with all bark but no bite." He leans in, his breath is even more foul now, "What kind of god's messenger are you if you can't even subdue a demon?"
Erbluhen stomps down on his foot, and Dreadlord winces but doesn't pull back. The obvious disappointment on the angel's face, however, makes his smile return. Erbluhen brings his knee up to slam a kick into Dreadlord's stomach instead. It doesn't connect because Dreadlord's pulled his hands back to defend from it, and now they're back to where they've started, but Erbluhen already knows he's in a disadvantageous position because even though Dreadlord pulled back, it's not enough space to go into spiritualism.
Words aren't necessary to deal with this one.
He raises his hand, and Dreadlord snatches it.
"You can't summon your eids," Dreadlord twists his wrist, shoves him back against the wall with full force. Erbluhen's frustration is once again, clear on his face because he clearly doesn't like being touched like this.
In his other hand, Dreadlord has a knife at the ready, and Erbluhen notices he's still missing the one from last time they met. "I should pay you back," His voice drops to a whisper with a husky tone, and then he slams the knife down.
It just barely misses Erbluhen's cheek and draws a thin line across this cheek. The blood oozes out of the cut, and Erbluhen hears his own breath grow shallow from the surprise. Mockingly, Dreadlord catches Erbluhen's eyes and places a kiss on the back of Erbluhen's wrist.
Erlubhen narrows his eyes, and Dreadlord pulls out another knife to wedge it into Erbluhen's sleeve, pinning it to the wall. Then he settles one hand along Erbluhen's hips, skimming the top of his belt. His grip tightens on Erbluhen's wrist, and twists and twists until he hears he hears Erbluhen scream in pain.
He lets go of the snapped wrist, and it falls limply to Erbluhen's side. Erbluhen gazes at him with a look of pure hatred that sends tingles down his spine and pools at their base.
When Dreadlord raises his hand to tear off the clasp on Erbluhen's shirt or to whisper another few taunting words, Erbluhen headbutts him with such force that it actually dazes him and forces him a few steps back. Perhaps the pain was a trigger, because Erbluhen also tears himself from the wall and the knife leaves only a shred of his white coat behind.
His arm now freed, Erbluhen takes a step forward into space Dreadlord previously occupied.
The natural smile automatically renews itself, and Erbluhen's eyes flicker from green to white. The single eid dancing on his fingertips becomes five that lights up the space behind him in an arc.
"Are you ready?" His voice echoes, even though they aren't in a place that could have natural acoustics, "Then, to the tune of my melody."
notes
this was supposed to be hatesex at one point.
last time
this doesnt count as stabbing no one got stabbed.
#eedl#will dl ever win? will ee ever not hate dl? idk stay tuned to find out#tsu tries to fic#rfdq#elsword
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elsword | luciels | 302 words
i’m sorry.
"Why." Royal Guard says, deadpanning as he stares at the ceiling.
"Why not?" Dreadlord responds, also staring at the ceiling. The grin on his face makes Royal Guard feel like he shouldn't have asked, he just feels sorry for the victim of Dreadlord’s heinous crimes.
"I think it's a great idea!" Chiliarch butts in, "It keeps Diabla out of our faces for however long it'll take her to get a pair of scissors to cut him down."
"We don't have the time for-" Royal Guard tries to explain, but shakes his head. Why does he ever try to reason with these two? Chiliarch and Dreadlord high-five each other, and Diabla just yells incomprehensible nonsense at them. The two of them pay her no mind, she huffs and her cheeks blow up like an overloaded water balloon.
Finally, Demonio's voice comes from the ceiling behind layers of duct-tape. His voice is quiet and reluctant, as if resigned to his fate of being an eternal punching bag. "Help." He pleads, and Royal Guard almost misses it.
Dreadlord seems to have wandered off by now, satisfied with his handiwork and leaving it for someone else to clean up. The only thing Royal Guard can do now is to whip out his gun and fire a string of bullets into the duct tape confining Demonio to the ceiling.
As he descends, Diabla holds her arms up for him so she can catch him.
This is absolutely ridiculous, Royal Guard thinks, holding his own arms out in return so that when Demonio won't squish poor Diabla. It would serve her right to be squished, maybe brought down to size, but it doesn't take an idiot to figure out that if Demonio was the one who squished her, his head might be on a pike the next day.
#elsword#rfdq#tsu tries to fic#SORRY DN I LOVE YOU#i made a post for this as to who i would duct tape between lp ap and dn and twitter voted dn
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elsword | dl-centric, luciels | 662 words
2nd person. DL reflects on DN, character study.
You meet your alternate at a tea party Noblesse hosts.
He is white and weary, and you are as white but not so weary The tired bags under his eyes, you echo less closely, though you know the tired circles are under your eyes as well. The way your words melt off your lips like you're constantly ready for a fight, he does not echo at all.
He does not speak.
But the demon breathes in a way that mirrors your own, already more monster than man, and for a split second there is panic in your fearless heart.
If others heard the way your heart stopped, they would undoubtedly laugh. The great Dreadlord, afraid of nothing, except himself? The demon counterpart does not laugh, does not smile and the constantly blank look on his face makes you wonder if you were ever going to look like that. You wonder if you could.
In your most intimate moments, does Royal Guards see it, the fear in your eyes and the trembling of your hand around your blade? If he does, and there are few things Royal Guard misses, he never speaks of it. Your confidence is a mask you've built up in all your years, and if someone was going to dent a hole in it, you knew it wasn't going to be Royal Guard.
It's not that he doesn't care, he does, and very much so, and this fills you with some sort of comfort. But it's because he's probably too consumed by thoughts of and aware of his own humanity that the slightest breath the demon exhales makes both of your spines prickle with goosebumps, terrified for your own soul.
You look past Diabla and straight to the demon beside her. Even if she is the successor of that midnight blue, monstrous beauty in horn and in claw, you cannot acknowledge her as the small girl you once knew as Lu.
You did not think that in any universe there would be an instance were Noblesse or Chiliarch could and would consume your soul to feed her own.
The thoughts in your mind are fleeting, but the ideas and impact behind them stay for ages. Outside your mind and directly beside you, Chliarch speaks of sandcastles and Diabla's replies equate them with death and destruction and the utter pulverization of all sandcastle society. No one carries on that conversation anymore.
You meet the eyes with the demon with the empty blue eyes, and wonder if Diabla asked for, in their contract, to have him give her all of his humanity, or if the surrender had been willing and painless.
You pretend it doesn't matter and it doesn't bother you that in some world somewhere there is a Ciel, a you, who was not satisfied with with his own power and demanded for more. Was this power not enough for you at some point?
A tea part is not the best place to think about matters like this, you brush the thoughts aside to await the next ridiculous demand Chiliarch has, and you look down at your cup an find it empty. Finally, you pick up the tea pot and pour yourself a cup. The role of a proper butler had been lost upon you when you stopped being Ciel and started being Dreadlord, though at least, you still recognize the brand of tea.
You think about your first meeting, when it was just you and Ciel and Royal Guard and the Lus. The number has since grown to eight, but the quiet, implicit understanding between you has broken. The spark in the air with this unknown factor is not something you can pretend doesn't exist. You won't forget that the temperature in the room is chillier than it should be.
You briefly wonder, taking a sip of the tea, finding the eyes of the last 'Ciel’, that aside from the number of people here, how much has changed?
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elsword | dlrg | 383 words
i love ee i have to wedge him into everything until i am satisfied.
There is something fake about that look on Erbluhen Emotion's face.
Perhaps fake isn't the right word, maybe it's something more like hollow. The angel that's standing only really very closely to Rune Slayer but not anyone else in particular wears his expressions like one would a mask or a facade. When he smiles, it's just placid enough to be an unsuspectingly human, but Royal Guard doesn't buy it. It's some feeling in his gut after so many years of being on the streets telling him Erbluhen Emotion isn't as honest with his name as he says he is.
Dreadlord puts his hand on Royal Guard's shoulder, and he nearly drops the plate in his hand as he snaps back to reality.
"You're spacing out." Dreadlord plucks the plate out of his hands and puts it into a cabinet. "You okay?"
"Sorry, I'm fine." With a quick apology, Royal Guard nods his head, dismissing the thoughts on his mind in favour of the chores he had to do. Dreadlord doesn't press him for an answer, and lets Royal Guard do his thing. Royal Guard, however, finds his thoughts wandering off again, thinking of the way Erbluhen's lips are curled but the smile doesn't get reflected in his eyes.
He glances up to tell Dreadlord to fuck off so he can sweep the area, and catches the smile on Dreadlord's face in the process. For a second, Royal Guard swears that the angel is sitting at their kitchen table. He pauses, shakes his head, and it's Dreadlord sitting there instead.
"Sure you're alright?" Dreadlord calls, already rising from his chair, "Don't need to talk about anything?"
Dreadlord's brows are knit in worry, and Royal Guard allows himself a relieved smile when he sees Dreadlord's face change. Of course Dreadlord's smile is different, because Dreadlord has so many other emotions and feelings that only Royal Guard has seen. There's no way the amused smile Dreadlord wears is as placid as the one Erbluhen wears, and he's so stupid for ever suspecting it when they've entrusted each other with their feelings.
"I'm fine," he replies, "Next time you come into the house, take your shoes off."
Dreadlord's worry melts to brief confusion, and then finally, an understanding smile that assuages the worries in Royal Guard's chest.
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elsword | dlrg, mentions of ath | 494 words
royal guard is jealous. takes place sometime during this fic. this fic is mentioned.
Royal Guard has been avoiding him lately, Dreadlord thinks, staring at Royal Guard's retreating figure in the halls, cautiously looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is looking at him.
There's only ever one way to solve Royal Guard avoiding him, and that's to chase him down and gut it out of him.
So Dreadlord stalks through the halls, following Royal Guard's footsteps and fleeting coattails. He has no idea where Royal Guard might be going at this hour, but if he thought avoiding Dreadlord was going to solve any problems, then he would be sorely mistaken.
Royal Guard stops in front of his door, and Dreadlord waits. Royal Guard raises his hand, and then lets his wrist drop and tucks it away with a small sigh. He turns on his heels to leave and comes face to face with Dreadlord, nearly smacking their heads together.
"Ah-" His breath catches in his throat. Dreadlord merely stares at him with an amused expression. His gaze turns away, and he's trying to look somewhere else, anywhere but on Dreadlord himself.
"Why are you avoiding me again?" Dreadlord asks in a neutral tone, "I thought we went over this last time."
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm just, busy."
"Stopping by my room for the usual and wondering if you should knock doesn't sound like 'busy' to me."
Dreadlord smirks at Royal Guard's inability to come with an answer. He tilts Royal Guard's chin with his hand, forcing him to look at him. A few seconds pass by, and Dreadlord notices the slight red tinge to his cheeks, the way his eyes look everywhere but at him and the thought finally passes through his mind of his session with the angel last week. "Are you... jealous?"
"I am.... I am not." Royal Guard clear his throat, trying to secure an escape route but failing because all of his vision lights up Dreadlord.
"If you're jealous, why didn't you say so?"
"I.. I am not, jealous."
Dreadlord's laugh makes Royal Guard's face flare up completely red in contrast to his deep blues. Dreadlord lets go of his chin and snakes arms around his waist instead, leaning into rest his chin on Royal Guard's shoulder, "I would have made it up to you if you were," Dreadlord whispers into his ear.
Without giving Royal Guard the chance to respond, Dreadlord gives him a kiss. When Royal Guard does not resist or push against it, Dreadlord edges him back against the door frame and frees a hand to unlock the door and whispers a quick, "Inside."
Royal Guard, swallowing a gulp, backs into the room where Dreadlord eventually shoves him against the bed. As Dreadlord's hand goes to the buttons on Royal Guard's vest, he grins, "I'll be extra kind today, you won't have the time to even think about the angel."
Then there is of course, the shine of his blades as their edges catch in the light.
#elsword#dlrg#what is mmde i only write dlrg now#rfdq#tsu tries to fic#I STILL WRITE MMDE I SWEAR but theres not as much banter plus im trying to decide how to incorporate quantum leap
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Quick Arme Thaumaturgy study.
261 words.
When Apostasia admits he was once known as Ain, Arme Thaumaturgy feels a chill run down his spine. Only when he thinks about a little more, he realizes it wasn't a chill but a shiver of disgust instead. Knowing that thing was once known as the being Ainchase Ishmael makes him feel like he's been betrayed and violated.
So he vows to never call that thing Ain, or even acknowledge it as ever having been Ain or having any sort of connection with the goddess. It is simply Apostasia, the apostate, the heretic deserter of his reason to be. He does not ask Ishmael her thoughts, deciding that she probably wouldn't want to hear it and he need not trouble her anyway. He reports to her once, that someone had deserted, and she had simply acknowledged it existed.
But if she even so much as uttered a command, he would destroy 'himself' for her.
It's worse when Erbluhen Emotion decides for the both of them without any sort of permission whatsoever that Apostasia is welcome to do as he likes as Ainchase Ishmael. No matter if it's a front or some sort of gestures of fake diplomacy, Erbluhen's chameleon act is getting on his nerves. How dare he call himself Ainchase Ishmael when his powers, his blood, his entire being has been corrupted by humans?
The way those emotions and desires corrode his soul is no better than the corroded flesh on Apostasia's limbs.
Out of the original three 'Ainchases', only he is worthy of being the goddess's sword and judgement.
#elsword#rfdq#tsu tries to fic#i dont remember my fic tag so its rib fics done quick now#ain#ATh#apparently thaumaturgy isnt a word on chrome so i had to keep checking to see if i mispelled it
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