it aches . it burns . it all screams for her to drop the weapon— to look at herself . before her lies an unsurmountable wall, one far more experienced than her in all walks of this life she has tried to learn from him . teeth grit to try holding back a hiss as the claymore plunges into the electrope beneath her feet— desperate times call for desperate measures, as she has so intently learned from him .
a holographic screen appears before her, shimmering blue clashing aggressively with the sharp red of a button in the middle, a large exclamation point fading in &. out in the middle . without hesitation, the hand not keeping herself up hammers her fist down upon it, &. at once, she stiffens .
augmented regulator atop her head flickers to life, emitting that same angry red before abruptly shifting to purple . sparks hum to life, audibly popping in the air where they arc off of her attire . there, amidst the scent of blood &. sweat &. metal, arises the scent of ozone &. perhaps burning flesh, too . she convulses for a moment, the hologram aside her flickers out of existence, &. then ?
it's all numb . her fist grips the handle of her weapon with renewed vigor— she cannot feel pain . it has vanished so suddenly— nerves overwhelmed by volts &. volts of electricity .
Gale knows how the dark arts feel, how they sear and burn to keep him alive. The darkness by now has become a close friend, even when it tries to swallow his very soul. And yet. It isn't until such a critical moment like this that it hits him. In her efforts to recreate the dark arts, Shale wasn't using the darkness of the abyss as he did, the more technical explanation of her own process much more complex than he anticipated, a tad too much for him to grasp with his extremely limited knowledge. Perhaps very wrongly, he had assumed her own version would be safer, knowing it wasn't the darkness itself powering her strikes.
It's only hitting him now, like ice in his veins, that he doesn't know how this version of the Living Dead works. He has Fray to cover him, to take over when he's truly surpassed his limits in the most self destructive way and reel him in and back to safety, a stubborn shard of his own soul that persists even through the worst he has endured. Despite his own unique circumstances, he knows it is not all that different for other dark knights, second presence within the soul aside.
Shale lacks that selfsame darkness fueling their arts. He doesn't know how this works, if this is even the same Living Dead.
"Shale, wait—!" By the time he registers what, exactly, she's about to do, it's too late already. There's static, then electricity, then... "Shale? Can you— can you still hear me?" He knows the answer already, and yet—
You know how your own Living Dead arts work, what they do to your body. Different method or not, what doesn't change is what this will do to her in the end.
Gale looks back at the massive elemental, still crackling with wild electricity of its own. Weaker, but not felled just yet. The more he takes to think about it, the worse this situation looks.
( he doesn't have time to think, he needs to act— )
Gale brings a hand up to his chest, letting the darkness flow freely. The arcane sigil opens, the shade summoned, freed from its chains. He's not supposed to manifest the shadow of Fray so frequently, not with the kind of strain it becomes, much less push himself past his limits to let the shade linger longer than it should, but...
"Fray. I need your help." The shade only raises its mimic of a sword in answer. Either this fragment of his soul that is Fray will make this fight a little easier on him, or he will be feeling the worst of this stunt in a while, but hey— desperate measures and all that, right? He can at least try and hope for the best outcome. ( as if things ever go according to plan, but when there isn't much of an alternative left... )
"Shale, I need you to hear me out and stay with me, please—!" A feeble attempt, waiting for a reaction and hoping it's the right one, but until she snaps out of the trance that is pushing your own body near the point of death, it's all he can really do with his lack of any healing magicks.
( all he has to do is fight as he's always done, and be more careful than he usually is. he can do this. he has to— he's not letting anyone else fall when he can do something about it, isn't that what he's promised himself long ago? )
"Keep this thing busy while I try to— I don't know, do something about Shale—" and this is offhandedly reminding him to stress out a little more just how dangerous some of these arts can be. Oh, he's a terrible mentor, Sidurgu would be yelling at him by now, and that's nothing compared to what's waiting after making it out of here— ( the if is not a thought he allows himself to linger on right now. )
When he hurries to approach the elezen, Gale keeps his sword low, maybe against better judgement, but the very last thing he wants is to hurt her, let alone unintentionally threaten her. What can he even do now when his own memories of the Living Dead in use are blurry and messy at best?
This really isn't good, is it? Much worse than he expected, too—
