[Diluc draws his claymore. The red and black blade is scarred from many battles. Wolf’s gravestone, a blade of ancient times.
As he balances it on his shoulder. And drops all wards. The fine point to his ears returns. His fangs glint in the moonlight. His eyes burn and widen as he takes in the shape of blades he hasn’t seen in a long time.]
I will never insult you by giving you a poor battle. [Of all things, he smiles. He takes a step then he charges forward, hurling the blade and sending it spinning at Childe.
It’s a distraction. He intends to get in close and hit him with his monstrous strength.]
no subject
As he balances it on his shoulder. And drops all wards. The fine point to his ears returns. His fangs glint in the moonlight. His eyes burn and widen as he takes in the shape of blades he hasn’t seen in a long time.]
I will never insult you by giving you a poor battle. [Of all things, he smiles. He takes a step then he charges forward, hurling the blade and sending it spinning at Childe.
It’s a distraction. He intends to get in close and hit him with his monstrous strength.]