One: Maruki's mind goes perfectly clear. Still and quiet. Placid as the surface of a pond. He wonders, sometimes, what it's like to be inside Akechi's mind. What a labyrinth (hah) of confusion and deception and desperation it is. How loud it must be. His own can get crowded at times, an overthinker even when he's at rest, but he's learning that when the chips are down, silence takes over.
It was the same against the Green Knight– mostly. In the heat of battle, his mind would slide into pleasant blankness to meld in with Azathoth. But it was his first true battle, and he couldn't maintain that flow state at all times.
He's trained quite a lot since.
It's easy to slip into. Easy to stay in. His mind turned to one great white palace, cavernous empty rooms, spiraling stairs. A bird flapping its wings the only motion. Peaceful. Eden.
Two: He calmly steps out of the way of Akechi's incoming barrage to let a mass of the lesser tentacles come between them.
Azathoth is fast. Brutal. Doesn't need to be told what to do, because who's in control when they share the quiet of his mind like this is always in question and always in flux. The tendrils wrap around Akechi's ankles and feet to anchor him to the ground and stop his advance on Maruki – around his torso to keep him from trying to lunge forward with the momentum he has left – around both arms, because Maruki knows by now that he can wield just as efficiently in his non-dominant hand–
And then one snakes around the hand holding the knife. Not to get him to drop it, to keep him gripping it tight as they bend his arm back until the blade points toward himself.
Force sufficiently amplified, he could easily strike Akechi when he's temporarily a sitting duck.
Doesn't. The attack lingers in the back of his mind. Maruki tips his chin down, brows coming together to meet in the middle, voice taking on an edge of placating sympathy. ]
How it feels for an ego to splinter so unevenly that multiple personas form from it... What kind of stress a psyche must undergo to develop not one, but two senses of rebellion against an unjust world. I wonder what that's like, Akechi?
no subject
One: Maruki's mind goes perfectly clear. Still and quiet. Placid as the surface of a pond. He wonders, sometimes, what it's like to be inside Akechi's mind. What a labyrinth (hah) of confusion and deception and desperation it is. How loud it must be. His own can get crowded at times, an overthinker even when he's at rest, but he's learning that when the chips are down, silence takes over.
It was the same against the Green Knight– mostly. In the heat of battle, his mind would slide into pleasant blankness to meld in with Azathoth. But it was his first true battle, and he couldn't maintain that flow state at all times.
He's trained quite a lot since.
It's easy to slip into. Easy to stay in. His mind turned to one great white palace, cavernous empty rooms, spiraling stairs. A bird flapping its wings the only motion. Peaceful. Eden.
Two: He calmly steps out of the way of Akechi's incoming barrage to let a mass of the lesser tentacles come between them.
Azathoth is fast. Brutal. Doesn't need to be told what to do, because who's in control when they share the quiet of his mind like this is always in question and always in flux. The tendrils wrap around Akechi's ankles and feet to anchor him to the ground and stop his advance on Maruki – around his torso to keep him from trying to lunge forward with the momentum he has left – around both arms, because Maruki knows by now that he can wield just as efficiently in his non-dominant hand–
And then one snakes around the hand holding the knife. Not to get him to drop it, to keep him gripping it tight as they bend his arm back until the blade points toward himself.
Force sufficiently amplified, he could easily strike Akechi when he's temporarily a sitting duck.
Doesn't. The attack lingers in the back of his mind. Maruki tips his chin down, brows coming together to meet in the middle, voice taking on an edge of placating sympathy. ]
How it feels for an ego to splinter so unevenly that multiple personas form from it... What kind of stress a psyche must undergo to develop not one, but two senses of rebellion against an unjust world. I wonder what that's like, Akechi?