[Vessels that they are, both Grimm and the Knight were created to endure. For different reasons that ultimately mean the same: to contain the God sealed within. The Hollow Knight was the one unfortunate to receive a God who did not wish to be sealed away.
Unwilling. All of these battles are unwilling.
The nail cracks Grimm's shell and more smoke escapes, warm and whispering sweet nothings to the one breaking the God's vessel. Almost welcoming to be broken, for this is merely a dream and those dreaming must wake.
This dark dream must end. It is not the first time nor the last this will happen, but there is no choice.
Yet Grimm does not buckle under the pressure. He keeps going even under such stress as if it is not the first time. The Troupe Master is not the first to bend the Ritual into combat, a stage where flame and blade must meet. All Masters of the Troupe changed it as they saw fit and that was his choice.
(It is not the first time he has burned until his flesh melted away.)
The God of Nightmares raises his hand and the air becomes filled with--
...the smell of rotting flesh.
It happens far quicker then one may expect. The light simply vanishes and takes with it the sun and the pretty, fluffy clouds. It takes the light within the Heart of Grimm and removes the protection on the veins.
It takes and takes and takes.
The Heart sputters and beats erratically, at a lost of what to do without its other side. The patchwork on the floor begins to tear itself to pieces and belch flame as the veins begin to melt. The world itself shudders and begins to crumble. It is rotting.
It is dying.
And Grimm knows it. Unmindful of the nail that may still be imbedded in his shell, the Troupe Master moves towards the Heart. He looks...scared. Frightened.
Lost, as the Nightmare King once looked. The moment of betrayal in his mind. The moment the Radiance cast him down.
no subject
Unwilling. All of these battles are unwilling.
The nail cracks Grimm's shell and more smoke escapes, warm and whispering sweet nothings to the one breaking the God's vessel. Almost welcoming to be broken, for this is merely a dream and those dreaming must wake.
This dark dream must end. It is not the first time nor the last this will happen, but there is no choice.
Yet Grimm does not buckle under the pressure. He keeps going even under such stress as if it is not the first time. The Troupe Master is not the first to bend the Ritual into combat, a stage where flame and blade must meet. All Masters of the Troupe changed it as they saw fit and that was his choice.
(It is not the first time he has burned until his flesh melted away.)
The God of Nightmares raises his hand and the air becomes filled with--
...the smell of rotting flesh.
It happens far quicker then one may expect. The light simply vanishes and takes with it the sun and the pretty, fluffy clouds. It takes the light within the Heart of Grimm and removes the protection on the veins.
It takes and takes and takes.
The Heart sputters and beats erratically, at a lost of what to do without its other side. The patchwork on the floor begins to tear itself to pieces and belch flame as the veins begin to melt. The world itself shudders and begins to crumble. It is rotting.
It is dying.
And Grimm knows it. Unmindful of the nail that may still be imbedded in his shell, the Troupe Master moves towards the Heart. He looks...scared. Frightened.
Lost, as the Nightmare King once looked. The moment of betrayal in his mind. The moment the Radiance cast him down.
This is that moment.]