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Chev He was as ready as he was going to be, and this wasn’t his first rodeo. The moment the first shoe dropped, Daimon sprinted forth, keeping low and to the sides. The big guy—Baron? Baron—began to unleash hell.
Perfect, he thought, slipping into better positioning now that their attention was pulled toward the rapid fire.
“Lackland!” The summoning cut through the din. Daimon watched the meta-flames burst forth and manifest the entity named.
“I’ll keep you covered! Get in there!”
Daimon nodded once and darted forward. With Baron drawing the Orthrus’s attention, he moved toward one of the Garm instead; thinning the pack would shift the momentum early.
He leapt with all his will, sliding the blade from within his robes into view, feeling only a subtle vibration as the edge kissed the cloth. He angled it and plunged it into the Garm’s back, letting inertia slide the blade free as he continued his arc. As he touched down, he let the momentum roll him forward—hands to the ground, legs kicking up—springing back onto his feet in one fluid motion.
He reached into his robes and revealed his phone, the screen glowing crimson beneath his thumb.
“Persona!” Daimon roared.
The presence resonated through him—radiant, grounding, powerful. He felt the surge not as chaos, but as harmony. Resonance. Daimon let the light suffuse him, then directed it outward in a focused flare, aiming it directly into the fresh wound he’d carved into the creature’s dorsal side.
Perfect, he thought, slipping into better positioning now that their attention was pulled toward the rapid fire.
“Lackland!” The summoning cut through the din. Daimon watched the meta-flames burst forth and manifest the entity named.
“I’ll keep you covered! Get in there!”
Daimon nodded once and darted forward. With Baron drawing the Orthrus’s attention, he moved toward one of the Garm instead; thinning the pack would shift the momentum early.
Attack
He leapt with all his will, sliding the blade from within his robes into view, feeling only a subtle vibration as the edge kissed the cloth. He angled it and plunged it into the Garm’s back, letting inertia slide the blade free as he continued his arc. As he touched down, he let the momentum roll him forward—hands to the ground, legs kicking up—springing back onto his feet in one fluid motion.
Makouha
He reached into his robes and revealed his phone, the screen glowing crimson beneath his thumb.
“Persona!” Daimon roared.
The presence resonated through him—radiant, grounding, powerful. He felt the surge not as chaos, but as harmony. Resonance. Daimon let the light suffuse him, then directed it outward in a focused flare, aiming it directly into the fresh wound he’d carved into the creature’s dorsal side.
