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[sup][@Pyromania99][@Rune_Alchemist][@PaulHaynek][/sup][/center]
This was certainly out of Isidore’s realm of expertise.

As the black slab filled with ever-increasing light, he watched with restrained curiosity, hand firmly on Augusta’s shoulder. The woman herself was excited, while in the distance, the footfalls of the titan grew further and further away. It hadn’t spotted them, and the trio that he had seen in that other building hadn’t made their way over here either. Good news all around. He too began to feel the energy flowing, an electric tingling that shot through his veins. Continuous and exhilarating, a tension that caused the hairs on the back of his arm to stand on end.

His beautiful companion’s efforts and courage, however, were not awarded so readily.

Though fainter, Isidore felt a strange tugging sensation at the same time that Augusta’s expressions warped from confidence to confusion. Her body began to change, the shoulder on which he held her feeling strangely without substance. It was almost uncanny, and he reflexively wanted to hold on even tighter, concerned that he may lose her altogether to this strange phenomenon. But the Goddess had proven to be selective in those who she plucked out from a deathly respite, and rather than tear herself away from this, Augusta doubled down on her own efforts. Through her skin, Isidore could feel her energies tense up, gathering and tensing in response to whatever had awakened within the black stone. If she would commit to this, then what cowardice would possess him to not do the same?

He thrust his sword into the ground, before placing his other hand onto her shoulder as well. Unwilling to close his eyes, especially when a terrible, mechanical roar resounded in the direction the titan went in, the dark-haired youth instead focused on what physical sensations he could still feel from the translucent elf. The suppleness of her skin, the warmth of her blood, the pulse of her heart, the electric energy that suffused within. He felt it all, and through that, felt her pull. Two opposing forces, two opposing wills, each forcing the other into a different realm.

[b]“I’m watching,”[/b] Isidore murmured into her ear.

The Lady of the Moonlit Waters knew his past. Knew the difficulties. The blood spilled. The lives ruined. It wasn’t just sin that he was burdened with. It was responsibility, the weight of trust. The trust of bastard politicians and police, who left his men unbothered so long as he enforced his own creed. The trust of truants and delinquents, who stayed on the straight and narrow because he promised them honest work that could support their families, so long as they kept their oaths. The trust of dealers and thugs, who risked their lives, their bodies for his operations, because he would save them, avenge them, shelter them. He was a monolith then, the weight of thousands upon his shoulders, and he was a monolith now, the life of one in his hands.

Drawing in a deep breath, Isidore furrowed his brows as he began to visualize his own energies, vespers of breath that seeped into Augusta’s own. Link by link by link, he focused on the imagery of chains, connecting his light to her own, leashing them both onto good, honest, tangible earth. To pull was her challenge, but to anchor was his own.

He braced himself, and continued to watch.