our inheritance is death!“Don’t touch me,”our inheritance is death!
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is the first thing Nidhogg says to her after they pull him back from abyss-space.
Then he rips off her outstretched arm in an effortless flurry of teeth, his face crumbling into eye-studded static.
She screams, of course. Lafayette is not invincible in the least, for all her iron silence, the mangled bloat of corpses she’s left behind as a magician; she screams because it is red and twisting sinew past her elbow, rainfleck blood misting on the observation glass.
And because she is Lafayette, the scream is strangled between clenched teeth, loyal kill radius unsheathing in an electric whine of light. It captures a smattering of hydrogen, and she sets him on fire in that same, terse second.
He spasms and twists away from her, making an awful shuttering noise, like a thunderstorm through the radio. Lafayette advances regardless, warmth on her face. There is nothing in her mind when she pulls down her projectile array and drives four, then five meta