NIKE, Inc.

The demon before them was far more interesting anyway, carrying death with him in the form of that sword and the outlook of a child. Shouichi hummed a simple agreement to Aomine’s complaints, almost amused in spite of the situation – did he not realize how terrifyingly powerful he was? Was he really lamenting prey that chose to run instead of fight, while proving how quickly the fight would be over? Were it an option, Shouichi would have left as well.

But it seemed they were firmly in the demon king’s sights, now, the new arm not prompting more violence but instead curiosity, a far more chilling outcome. They gave no resistance, let Aomine poke and prod at the regenerated limb, and considered their words carefully before dealing with his cascade of questions.

“…Ya weren’t wrong, callin’ me a snake.” Honestly, it had taken an effort to not laugh. “That’s about the whole of it, really. Just a prophetic snake that grew inta some new limbs.” This didn’t feel like the time for a life story – not that there was much to tell, Shouichi had always been an observer, their life a series of anecdotes about other people, a role that suited em just fine, thanks – and it was difficult to pick out the necessary bits of information to sate the demon’s curiosity without boring him. The fresh limb was still tender from regrowth, sensitive in a prickling way, but no attempts were made to extract it from Aomine’s rough touch. Total compliance and acceptance was clearly the smartest (if not only) option here.

He slid a foot closer to Imayoshi making the narrow catacomb even smaller, staring at them with child-like fascination edging on menacing, “so a snake -- can you be a snake with limbs? Lizard? Newt? -- that can “do magic” and tell the future, not to mention regenerate limbs, that sounds like a wholesome list of talents, I guess I had you pegged wrong for a very lucky palm reader.” It felt as though with every word that fell off his tongue, he neared closer, building an image of a predator closing in on its prey wasn't far from the truth.

“No need ta worry yerself about me,” he answered as he passed by Aomine, careful to not sound too relaxed (or worse, relieved). The dark had never bothered Shouichi – in the old days, he’d preferred night to day anyway, his senses were made for it – and it felt odd to consider that a demon king might need a light in the darkness below the castle, but he wasn’t here to save energy, and he liked to keep the illusion of humanity anyway. “I’ll hafta make a light, purely harmless, promise,” he said as he lead the way fully into the basement levels, and the wall reformed itself behind them. “Wouldn’t want me trippin’ on some loose rubble and snappin’ my neck before ya find yer man, would ya?”

Luckily this was an easy spell, and one hand wasn’t much of an issue either, so he made quick work of it as he walked, and then the party of two was being lead by a small ball of light bobbing along just below the ceiling. Rather than make small talk, Shouichi focused on the forks and twists of the underground, made to confuse and trap invaders before they could find the myriad of rooms down here, secret and otherwise.

Finally he stopped short in front of an expanse of wall that otherwise appeared just like every other, and had to reel in the ball of light that was still floating away before he faced Aomine with a grin. “Here ya are! Just a moment and I’ll have yer prey served up on a platter.” He wasted no time and launched into the spell he’d performed two dozen times before, hands moving with practiced ease as they caught their magical traction–

The maggot before him shakily ordered some command to strike however Aomine stood firm, watching the six elite iron-clad guards circle him from each corner of the cubbyhole, only to fall in piles like slabs of meat in a butchery. Aomine’s swordsmanship was inhuman, which went without saying, nearly invisible to the naked eye. The black blade hissed with the blood being fed into it, hungering more which Aomine complied. It pierced straight into the fleeing back of this so called king, who’d run past in a pitiful dart for the only exit, eyes tearful, clinging to the sleeve of his once trusted ally (a sleeve of an arm that shouldn't be there per-say) before another thrust pulled him to his knees.

“What could a traitorous guy like you even see in such a pitiful king...” Aomine muttered, kicking the corpse off his one more clean blade. “It’s so dissatisfying when they don’t even put up a fight, y’know? Like going through all this trouble for chasing a rat that won’t even bite when cornered--” Aomine complained to this sorcerer familiarly, although, pale tips slipping through their bloodied sleeve was enough to catch his attention. Wide eyed, he stepped over like a curious animal, sheathing his sword to lift the previously severed arm over the oracle’s head by the wrist inspecting it curiously before reaching for their other arm to hold in the same manner to be sure he didn't mistake it.

LISTEN X    ART X

BANQUET BLOC PARTY

STICKS AND STONES THE PIERCES

NO TRACE MS MR

YOUNG GOD HALSEY

BETTER THAN HEAVEN BLOC PARTY

BONES IN THE WATER BATTLE OF MICE

RUN THIS TOWN JAY-Z RIHANNA KANYE WEST

HIT AND RUN LOLO

FAIRLY LOCAL TWENTY ONE PILOTS