"P...pretty?" Cythril said in response to Lisami calling his name that. His ears perked up, he rose to his feet and he scratched his cheek in light embarrassment. He was trying to come up with something to say, but no words came to mind. It didn't seem like the goddess was too bothered by it as She continued to talk shortly after, even without his input. It caused another headache for Cythril, the pain assaulting him shortly after Her mention of the void's wraiths. He had to clutch his head and shut his eyes tightly to not get overwhelmed by the migraine. Flashes of memories assaulted him, taking complete control of him for a moment.

He could remember it all. The smell of blood. The impact of the weapon in both his hands slicing through any who stood in his way. The feelings he had at the height of battle, and his [i]hatred[/i] for the gods. Cythril wished death unto every last one, an unrelenting paragon and martyr who lead the people in an unholy crusade.

But he couldn't remember what he was holding. It was like there was some part of him that's missing, a hazy blur among all the crystal clear stills.

He spontaneously stumbled on his feet. Guided by instinct, he backed away a little from Lisami. "What was... am I...?" he muttered, but without being able to find any words to finish the thought. Cythril repeated phrases like it a few times, each with a short break, trying to sort out his memories.

All he wanted before entering this garden was a chance, but [i]what[/i] chance? Another swing at Lisami? A chance to run away from his own mistakes? Redemption? Cythril looked up at his... enemy. He should be fighting Her. Trying to [i]kill[/i] Her... but he couldn't. He didn't feel at ease. The emotions of what he'd done screamed at him to lash out, to spill the goddess' blood. No matter how much it yelled at him, Cythril wouldn't be able to. He no longer had his weapon... and no longer felt the way he had.

"I... [i]have[/i] changed," he replied.

They talked. It was comforting. Cythril felt terrified of Lisami before, but the more She entertained him, the less he felt on edge. It was only a small comfort; his memories kept coming back to nag at him. No matter how much the man tried to take his mind off it, he couldn't ignore these revelations. Even though they were mere flashes, they were undoubtedly real. The cynic inside him screamed not to trust Her, that She had gone mad. Cythril didn't want to listen. Even if his memories are true, the Lisami in front of him is not what the stories painted her to be.

What his memories told him She was.

The goddess had to excuse herself at some point in their conversation and left the man on his own. Cythril didn't like the sound of the "uninvited guests" she used as the excuse. Without Lisami around, his eyes were drawn to the object he'd noticed before. It was Her 'trophy' buried in the center. He stepped over to it, the handle that stuck out of the floor almost beckoning him. More pain assaulted his head as he got closer. The object was nostalgic. Cythril knew it belonged to him. He slowly started to reach for it in trance-like state, but a sudden rustle snapped him out of it. Cythril glanced over in the direction that said rustle had come from. From the hedgerows. Two figures popped out them.

"What are you-?"

Cythril never got to finish the question. A shockwave caused the attire of the all the garden's visitors to flutter in a gust of wind. Cythril turned his back to the other two, but still took a few steps in their direction. It put the 'trophy' in front of his face. He glanced at it for a moment, right before his instincts kicked in. Danger. It took him no time at all to crouch down and a keep his head low. Something swooped by and missed him by a hair's breadth. He looked up, scanning for his assailant. It didn't take long to find. A giant dragonfly, twice the size of a person. It wasn't looking at him. It didn't even seem to [i]register[/i] him. The bug's beady eyes were transfixed on the two females that had entered the domain. Protecting it from trespassers.

'[i]I don't need to do anything here,[/i]' Cythril thought. He could just let the two of them deal with this. He ignored the commotion, turning his eyes back to the object. '[i]I don't need to, but...[/i]' his thoughts trailed off again. No. This wasn't right. He still hadn't made sense of those memories. He needed to draw it out. That extension of himself. It was the only way.

Cythril stepped closer. He wrapped both his hands around the shaft.

A pain first assaulted his hands, then his arms. It started as a light shock, then bony tendrils sprouted from the object to stab into Cythril's skin. Was it testing him? Were they trying to repel him? He didn't care about those questions. This object was [i]his[/i]. Damned be that a nobody resigns themselves to nothing.

With a mighty heave, Cythril pulled out his very own Excalibur. That said, it was no sword. The long, wooden shaft ending in a curved blade... it could only have been a farmer's scythe. No ordinary weapon, just a tool. A blade meant for reaping wheat. That's all he had, once. The one thing he'd been able to get his hands on. In order to defend himself... to rage war against the gods. It felt [i]right[/i] in Cythril's hands. It made him feel tingly, nostalgic.

With his scythe in hand, he could feel a hint of the arcane flowing through him. It wasn't much, but it was familiar. Cythril once used spells and techniques. Now, he'd use them again.

He turned back to the dragonfly, gauging its behaviour relative to the two newcomers. His scythe was crying for blood. It wanted to revolt, to lash out against [i]something[/i]. Thousands of voices all gathered in his head, crying out in a singular purpose: [i]Battle[/i]. Cythril could ignore himself no longer.

The arcane magic that ran through his body began to flow into the wooden handle of his scythe. It all gathered on the edge of its blade, and as it did, Cythril dashed off to the side. He wanted to find the opportunity for a clean shot at the unaware foe. The magic coursing through his weapon first formed to coat the blade in raging flames, then those flames quickly morphed into the crackling of electricity. Cythril spun his body around to slash the air with his scythe, sending a bolt of lightning crashing straight toward the oversized insect. Unfortunately for him, not only was he was clumsier with his weapon than he had been, but the insect had also caught on. It moved to the side, Cythril's lightning harmlessly striking one of the walls.

The situation started looking bad now that he'd lost the element of surprise. Even if there was distance between the two of them and even if it was three-on-one, this dragonfly was nimble and quick to react. Cythril didn't have time to charge another spell, so he brought his scythe up closer. He needed to reposition, but his first worry was to dodge any counter-attack his self-made adversary would launch.