[ Chrono and Lenalee might have had a sombre conversation about things-in-common when it comes to the necessity of turning off gag reflexes. Holy water splitting and scorching legion is something humans can endure as "but it's only a demon"; Chrono has no such armor.
These- creatures- still aren't quite the worst, if he doesn't think too hard about where they came from.
Having no substantial weapon to his name, Chrono makes do with the knife he keeps tucked in his boot at all times, and the ruthless efficiency of speed, claws and brute force strength that does not even border on refined. It's why he pays no mind to the other transports around him, other than to avoiding driving a knife into their flesh should they put themselves even remotely in his way.
Pays no mind until something burns into his senses, at least, and then his attention is dreadfully splintered. He half-turns in time to see Lenalee's boots cut through air and festering flesh alike, and there's scarcely enough space in this narrow hallway to prevent the heat of it (holy, he'd know it anywhere) from slapping him in the face. It isn't until Lenalee speaks that his attention is drawn up from those boots, to the person attached to them. Lenalee. What-
So busy is he with staring at Lenalee like she is the zombie—round-eyed, half-steps drawing him back and away—that he doesn't even notice the creatures approaching from behind. ]
c whoops :')
These- creatures- still aren't quite the worst, if he doesn't think too hard about where they came from.
Having no substantial weapon to his name, Chrono makes do with the knife he keeps tucked in his boot at all times, and the ruthless efficiency of speed, claws and brute force strength that does not even border on refined. It's why he pays no mind to the other transports around him, other than to avoiding driving a knife into their flesh should they put themselves even remotely in his way.
Pays no mind until something burns into his senses, at least, and then his attention is dreadfully splintered. He half-turns in time to see Lenalee's boots cut through air and festering flesh alike, and there's scarcely enough space in this narrow hallway to prevent the heat of it (holy, he'd know it anywhere) from slapping him in the face. It isn't until Lenalee speaks that his attention is drawn up from those boots, to the person attached to them. Lenalee. What-
So busy is he with staring at Lenalee like she is the zombie—round-eyed, half-steps drawing him back and away—that he doesn't even notice the creatures approaching from behind. ]