@ElderGod-kirky group
Beneath the cool and unfeeling anger coursing through Sláine, that same protective and fearful man was begging to go back and be by Eurion. To protect him from death as if he had the power to do so, to give him comfort and hold him and say it would all be okay. But none of it was. Just a few days, and Eurion had solidified himself into Sláine's life to the point he already couldn't imagine going on without him. It wasn't supposed to be like that. They were supposed to make it to the Fae lands, to have their fun at Skyfall, and slowly explore one another and who they were beyond the bond. The prince's past, the cause of his nightmares—his assassin was supposed to be the first to truly know what they were and why they existed. And Sláine was supposed to protect Eurion from his past and swear to fight for his freedom from the Gods.
They weren't supposed to end from just a fucking arrogant ass witch that wanted a quick snatch at coin. They weren't supposed to be feeling like this. Like Eurion was being torn away from Sláine and taking a part of his soul with him. A blanket of his magic was spared to touch the assassin's cheek, mimicking the weight and feel of the prince's skin. It was the best he could do at the moment, because there was one thing he had to do first before he returned to his partner's side.
Sláine didn't spare the witch any words. The felines shifted into cackling hyenas, and they scampered away with howling laughs when the prince cocked his head. With reality, the very rules of nature could be twisted into something else entirely. Like the sky is green, gravity flows upwards—and the fire of a witch burns the wielder. The prince's magic constricted around their flames, bullying them until they bent to his will. And he stalked closer. And closer. The ever-shifting beasts circled the witch, until they erupted into cackling and howling bursts of magic and wrapped around them, tearing apart the very fabric of their being in a rough, messy, and untrained way.
The prince wanted them gone, so he would make them gone. A sword made its way into his hand, and his grip was white-knuckled. "Fight me, then," he taunted, cocking his head. This wasn't him. But it was. It was just enough. "If you're so big and bad."