PapiTan

Deal with Devils (An occult take on Magical Girls)

Popping in to report for my contractual obligation hahaha
Created net gain in suffering, no regrets

Destiny Reborn!

Two Paladins and a Revolutionary

---

“Anything suited for being here ought to be left here comrade.”

Harlow didn’t give themselves the benefit of tensing. It wasn’t the worst thing they’d been told, though the degradation normally came from people like Bradly. To say that it hadn’t managed to sting a little despite Harlow’s expectations would have been a lie. Regardless, it wasn’t like he was entirely wrong. It was enough to silence Harlow again, the weight a little heavier than it had been before as their guide rambled about the futility of their quest.

Then, the crying drew the scout like a siren call. Harlow’s brow furrowed as they followed. Losing sight of their guide was sure to be a problem and adding another member to the missing persons list hardly seemed productive. Their center of gravity adjusted quickly to the slope—at least a lifetime of maintaining a careful balance had given them that much—but something about the sobbing struck Harlow as… off. Hazel eyes narrowed, trying to pinpoint what it was that bothered them about the wailing as Preston called to the white-clothed victim.

‘…wait.’

It was loud. Too loud for the situation. The white fabric was too pristine, the wailing too intact. In a place like this? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Too many pieces didn’t fit into place when they measured it against experience.

Impulsively, Harlow held an arm out to try and halt their companions from advancing, making sure to move forward enough to try and block Preston’s path.

“Wait. I’ll go first.” Hazel eyes remained locked on their wailing victim as their volume dipped lower, enough so that it wouldn’t carry too far from their group. “There’s something off.”

Thalorian’s eyes narrowed as they surveyed the scene, their instincts screaming caution. The air was thick with tension, and every shadow seemed to hide a potential threat. Despite his deep respect for Harlow’s intuition, the situation felt profoundly wrong on multiple levels. The eerie silence was only broken by the constant sound of water dripping, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.

Stepping closer to Harlow, Thalorian placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder, his other hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “I trust you, Harlow, but let’s be careful. I’ll be right behind you, ready to step in if anything goes wrong." Thalorian offered a reassuring smile, hoping to bolster Harlow’s confidence. The heat emanating off their touch was a stark contrast to the cold, foreboding environment around them. "We need to get through this together.”

Thalorian’s gaze remained fixed on the crying figure, every muscle in his body tense and ready for action. The figure’s sobs echoed through the desolate space, each one a reminder of the potential danger lurking. He knew Harlow’s rebirths provided a significant advantage, but the potential danger still gnawed at his conscience. The memory of past battles and the scars they bore served as a constant reminder of the stakes.

“Let’s proceed with caution. Your instincts are usually spot on, but we can’t afford any mistakes here.” Thalorian’s voice was steady, but there was an underlying urgency that couldn’t be ignored.

With a determined nod, Thalorian signaled their readiness, prepared to support Harlow in whatever came next. The bond between them was unspoken but strong, forged through countless trials and shared hardships. As they moved forward, Thalorian’s senses were on high alert, every fiber of their being focused on protecting Harlow and ensuring their mission’s success.

While they were discussing amongst themselves, the figure continued to sob, the cacophony of weeping had simmered into a softer, pained weeping. The wailing only breaking between a few words. "Help." "Help me..." Their voice began to sound muffled even, as if her own mouth had been covered with a cloth. "Please...help me. It...It hurts!"

As the final words were spoken by the kneeling figure it was hit by a gust of wind strong enough to blow a normal human against the nearby wall. Renauld had been focusing on finishing the spell that normally enabled his flight while his two companions were speaking. At least, that was its usual purpose. Hopefully the gust would be enough to reveal whatever the figure was beneath its garb without injuring it too badly if it happened to be a normal human being.

However, he doubted the last bit enough that he was already moving to grip his sash, ready to fling another spell at whatever he had just pissed off.

The figure was pushed against the wall by the force of wind, its pale hood parting to reveal the face of some middle-aged woman, curly black hair, screaming only further in pain. There was some sort of...fleshy appendage attached to her lower half, which seemed to stretch further into the darkness of the hallway.

"Oh the pain!" She wailed, her unusually pale voice growing that much more sickly, until it started to..deteriorate? Her facial structure sagged and inverted, almost like a balloon that was losing air. Her cries continued as her form crumpled. "Help me! Please! Help!" Through the pressure of air against her, the shrinking figure attempted to reach out to her attackers, but the arm couldn't get far as it shrank to nothing beneath the robe. And some seconds later, the form of the woman was completely gone; Only the strange white cloak remained, and the appendage attached to it- which now began to rapidly retract itself further down the hallway.

'Did that face look like a missing person's?' Harlow wanted to ask. If so, then she could be considered dead--most of the missing could be considered dead. Instead, their body started to move. They didn't consider themselves smart by any means, but they spent enough time on the job to know of rumors and posters. A look back to Renauld, brief and expectant--he probably knew the bounties better than them, right?--was all that Harlow gave themselves the time for before they took off in pursuit of the lump of flesh.

The monk, wasn't it? The thought made Glory's fire burn hot, too hot--the discomfort crossed into pain.

Protect the guide. Follow the appendage. No benefit in adding a fresh corpse, but they might find some of the others. Probably not. Maybe it was a good thing it was the three of them and not another group. Harlow had plenty of things they could have said, but thoughts rarely ever managed to condense themselves into words when they belonged to Harlow.

As Harlow began to run, Thalorian followed suit, unsheathing his sword and letting it slice through the air behind him. His shoulder was poised for defense, ready to react if necessary, as he trailed Harlow’s soft, warm path. The creature they pursued was no longer human—if it ever had been. Could it have once been one of the missing people? Perhaps it was genuinely crying out for help. Was that grotesque appendage controlling them, or merely using them like some parasitic fungus? Thalorian’s mind raced with questions. All he knew for certain was that this abomination was exploiting people for some sinister purpose, and he was determined to uncover the truth.

Destiny Reborn!

---

There were plenty of places that Harlow would have preferred to be than in the dark, cramped waterways beneath the city. The similarities to their final memories of a prior lifetime were unpleasant at best. Harlow had been doing their best to ensure that unpleasant was all that they remained as they walked with quiet footfalls that came in a steady rhythm. Every so often, they allowed their attention to drift toward one of the untaken paths, an uncomfortable pressure resting across the back of their neck. Across their back. Phantasmal weight threatening to crack their ribs and cripple their breathing. Mental, they knew, but still too close to real.

At the very least, Glory continued to keep them warm, even when the stagnant air should have long become too chilly to be comfortable.

The scout’s question brought Harlow’s thoughts back to the present, eyes darting toward the group’s temporary guide. There were plenty of reasons why Harlow had come despite their misgivings with being in the sewers. 300 silver wasn’t much, especially to someone whose time was often spent on higher value jobs, but it was probably all that the ones making the request could afford. It was unlikely that anyone else would take the job for a pittance, and for as much as Harlow wanted to be anywhere except the sewers, they could hardly deny the request in good conscience.

After all, if they, a grown adult with little reason to fear danger, were so unsettled by their current location, then the victims were certainly worse off. Cold. Alone. Cramped. Suffocating in rot. Unsure if they would live. It was a bad place to spend one's last moments.

'…ah. Is it too late to answer…?' Harlow realized they’d kept their silence for a moment too long as usual. It wasn’t like their reasons for taking the job were all that important in the end, right? And more than that, they couldn’t do something like speak for the other two, even if they doubted Thalorian’s reasons would be very different.

And how were they supposed to put all of that into an answer? Was the guide genuinely interested in their thoughts? Renauld probably wouldn’t appreciate the reasons (or perhaps excuses) either. Was he mad at them? Harlow wouldn’t have blamed the sorcerer for being annoyed. By then, the silence had dragged out even longer than before, driving another wedge of uncertainty into Harlow's decision.

"It’s the right thing to do."

Harlow’s back stiffened slightly, their head turning to glance back at Thalorian as he spoke. It was a comfort, in a sense. He was familiar as ever, enough that Harlow’s usual rigidity was lightened with a soft exhale on their part. Life in Ceosia wasn’t as predictable as life back on Earth, but Thalorian’s steadfast adherence to virtue was a constant that could be counted on.

And, at last, they found their voice.

"…I don’t like the idea of people dying down here alone." Though their words lacked in expression, Harlow’s hand found itself gripping part of their coat, fingers curling until the fabric was balled up tight in their fist as they pushed away unwelcome memories. Easy. Breathe. Nobody liked it when they got emotional. As if in response to Harlow’s attempt to smother it, Glory's heat burned a little hotter for a moment before settling down. "My body is likely better suited for being here than most either way."

Destiny Reborn!

Biff boff, into the tab it goes!

Destiny Reborn!

Consumed by Candlelight

𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙻

———————————————————————————
★❜ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ⊱ wub Harlow
★❜ ʀᴀɴᴋ ⊱ wub Silver
★❜ ᴄʟᴀss ⊱ wubPaladin
★❜ sᴇx ⊱ wub w“Unimportant.”
★❜ ᴀɢᴇ ⊱ wub w25

𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴

———————————————————————————
★❜ ғᴄ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ ⊱ ORIGINAL by Enaa

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ 173cm ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ --kg
ʜᴀɪʀ Ash Brown ᴇʏᴇs Hazel

★❜ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ⊱

• Harlow spends most of their time in their paladin form, oddly enough. That said, there aren’t many physical changes to their body in their transformation. When outside of their paladin form, they typically wear basic clothing provided to them by the order.
• One can tell when Harlow has recently been “reborn” because they’ll have a small tattoo of three trees on their right forearm. It disappears within the day.
• Disgustingly nice skin thanks to the nature of their power. Can’t be scarred (in theory) and never suffers from usual skincare malaise.
• Harlow’s weight varies depending on how long it’s been since a rebirth. They start at about 54kg, but will typically target a weight of 65kg through training and diet as per the recommendation of their trainers.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈

———————————————————————————

"Harlow’s a good student. He’s diligent and trains hard, rain or shine. He doesn’t complain about training or orders—or anything at all, thinking about it. It is a bit concerning, the way that he won’t stop training without an outside force, but he may be taking advantage of the way his abilities work. Still, when it comes to effort, there’s nothing lacking from Harlow."

Mentor Albrecht

"She’s awfully quiet, isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say much on her own—usually just answering questions or asking them. Mostly the former, honestly. I’m not sure if Harlow doesn’t like people or thinks that conversations aren’t worth having. I imagine it helps her keep her distance from others, but I doubt that’s going to be a benefit long term. "

Mentor Prentus

"They’re a little intimidating… they’re always training and whenever other people approach, they usually back off. I’ve seen them fight and spar a few times, and I could swear that they’re just not bothering to avoid a blow. It’s… a little horrifying, actually, seeing the way they’ll pursue a target until they’ve finished their job or been told to stop by someone else. And they don’t even talk or join anyone at camp! I wonder if they just prefer acting alone or something.

…well, they did make sure that everyone had something hot to drink before they left the camp though. Maybe they’re not that bad…?"

Squire Wesley

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳

———————————————————————————

La Sylphide

They used to dance.

Harlow didn’t know how much they liked it. They enjoyed the dance, certainly, but the stage didn’t want their presence. They’d known that for a long time as they starved themselves two days before the weekly weigh-ins for their school. The instructors would give a snide comment, and the other prima donnas would shout bitter venom in whispers hidden behind a hand, and Harlow would remain quiet as someone else told them they were born wrong for the passion they wanted to chase. Too tall to play at being a girl, too small to play at being a man. Everything about them was wrong.

Surely, there had to be passion there before. Nobody would have lasted without it. Mika used to hum condolences as she raked short-nailed fingers through Harlow's ashen hair. She'd never say as much during practice, but Harlow liked to hear it.

They thought of her as they died, cold and alone in a storage room filled with things they’d bought together for a future Mika decided she didn’t want anymore. They thought of her despite their numb acceptance of heartbreak because they had no one else to think of, and to die with no one in their thoughts sounded worse than dying with memories of an empty relationship. When prayers to a god Harlow didn't believe in had failed, when their voice could no longer be raised in search of a miracle, at least they could keep themselves warm with that.

At least, that was what the bird watching them said as numbing chill started to settle in. It was… soothing, in a sense, to be sung into eternal slumber by creature with such vibrant plumage and such a gentle voice. Reassurances and sweet nothings to take the edge of the hunger and thirst away after the cold had long since turned into biting heat.

They woke in Ceosia shortly after the start of the cataclysm, told they were destined for greatness. A hero, of some sort, even. They even provided the training and education needed for this—well, they would have if Harlow’s situation hadn’t been “an anomaly” by all means. Still, they trained as they were asked to, the same way they practiced their dances before. Over and over again until they were allowed to stop—it might have taken the mentors a little too long to notice what that actually meant.

They’d never really fought before, but they were better at controlling their body than most. It was probably the first time they didn’t feel morbidly out of place in a group effort.

In the past year, they’ve earned a reputation, and the mentors at least tell them it’s a good one. They don’t know if being a paladin is quite what they’ve wanted, but it seems like they’re… probably helping? They don’t really know, but at least they’re not alone.

𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚁𝙸𝚃 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃

———————————————————————————
Glory
Once, there was a phoenix. Wise, old thing it was. A streak of flame lit the skies then turned to embers in cycles until the day it decided it was time to choose an eternal roost. It lowered its head, a slender neck exposed for the sting of an executioner’s touch. If the paladins of that time knew what the blaze known as Glory sought in its sacrifice, they never spoke of it. One can only wonder if the human it chose might be able to learn.

Its new form is a white blade that gains a scarlet ombre the longer that Harlow has gone without releasing their bottled fire. The more that Harlow releases, the more the crimson fades from the blade. The white ribbon tied to the hilt can be considered like a wick—the shorter the ends have burned, the closer Harlow is to being born from ashes again.

Of course, the blade rarely, if ever, sees any actual combat, considering Harlow’s transformation into their paladin form necessitates plunging the blade into their body to absorb it to begin with. Due to the nature of their abilities, Harlow has always assumed they can only return to their natural state when their body enters a new cycle of rebirth. They have little desire to learn what happens if their wick burns out while they are not fused with Glory.

Flickering Light

CANDLELIGHT
——————————————————

Harlow compares themselves to a defective candle, the flame burning internally instead of externally. While in their paladin form, the warrior runs hot. So hot, in fact, that it could be considered agonizing to Harlow and uncomfortable, at best, to those around them. The longer the candle burns in its container, the stronger Harlow seems to be. Unfortunately, an inferno is ill contained in a human body. Too long without release, and their body ignites from the inside out.

Such self-immolation doesn't kill Harlow--at least, not permanently. Like the crimson-plumed Glory, Harlow's flames are regenerative in nature, and in this particular case, such healing is intensified. While the fire may turn the paladin to ash, from the ashes of their demise, Harlow is reborn, their body physically reset to the state they were in at the time Glory's contract was solidified. Some consider it a boon, for who wouldn't want a chance for an easy reset? But to reset their body means that the fruits of their labor have also been lost. Muscles have to be retrained, memories carved back into habit--even if the rebirth didn't hurt, Harlow would be hard pressed to want for it to happen.

To avoid such a grisly fate, Harlow need only maintain a balance by expelling the fires from their body. Unfortunately, such a balance becomes harder to maintain as time passes and Glory's radiance grows. With no interference, the ignition begins within two weeks of Harlow's most recent rebirth.

SPARK OF LIFE
——————————————————

Fire burns in Harlow's veins, and it appears that the words may be taken literally. Whenever an open wound is inflicted on Harlow, a flash of fire spills from the injury. These flames are restorative in nature--at least, they are to Harlow. These injuries close quickly as a result and must be consciously kept open in order to release the growing blaze contained within their body. Once released, Harlow has a small degree of manipulation over the flames, though they don't think it's anything as grand as their peers. As of yet, it doesn't appear that these flames carry the same regenerative nature for anything that isn't Harlow themselves.

As one might expect, such powerful restoration makes Harlow incredibly difficult to kill while they are in their paladin state. While the healing process may be agonizing in the best of times, there's no denying that it has allowed Harlow to survive injuries that would put greater beings into their graves.

CAUTERIZE
——————————————————

Minor, perhaps, to those whose abilities allow them to rend mountains asunder or to bring the moon down from the sky, but Harlow has always found the restorative nature of their flames to be convenient despite the pain they inflict. In their paladin form, it appears that Glory's searing light burns away pollutants and contaminants in Harlow's body at a rapid rate. They are nigh impervious to most illnesses and can even stave off the deterioration caused by overexertion or a lack of sleep for far longer than can be considered "healthy" by others. Even poison struggles to take root for long in such a hostile environment and is often purged in short order, though it would be wrong for Harlow to say they were immune.

Destiny Reborn!

Consumed by Candlelight

𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙻

———————————————————————————
★❜ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ⊱ wub Harlow
★❜ ʀᴀɴᴋ ⊱ wub Silver
★❜ ᴄʟᴀss ⊱ wubPaladin
★❜ sᴇx ⊱ wub w“Unimportant.”
★❜ ᴀɢᴇ ⊱ wub w25

𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴

———————————————————————————
★❜ ғᴄ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ ⊱ ORIGINAL by Enaa

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ 173cm ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ --kg
ʜᴀɪʀ Ash Brown ᴇʏᴇs Hazel

★❜ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ⊱

• Harlow spends most of their time in their paladin form, oddly enough. That said, there aren’t many physical changes to their body in their transformation. When outside of their paladin form, they typically wear basic clothing provided to them by the order.
• One can tell when Harlow has recently been “reborn” because they’ll have a small tattoo of three trees on their right forearm. It disappears within the day.
• Disgustingly nice skin thanks to the nature of their power. Can’t be scarred (in theory) and never suffers from usual skincare malaise.
• Harlow’s weight varies depending on how long it’s been since a rebirth. They start at about 54kg, but will typically target a weight of 65kg through training and diet as per the recommendation of their trainers.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈

———————————————————————————

"Harlow’s a good student. He’s diligent and trains hard, rain or shine. He doesn’t complain about training or orders—or anything at all, thinking about it. It is a bit concerning, the way that he won’t stop training without an outside force, but he may be taking advantage of the way his abilities work. Still, when it comes to effort, there’s nothing lacking from Harlow."

Mentor Albrecht

"She’s quiet awfully quiet, isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say much on her own—usually just answering questions or asking them. Mostly the former, honestly. I’m not sure if Harlow doesn’t like people or thinks that conversations aren’t worth having. I imagine it helps them keep their distance from others, but I doubt that’s going to be a benefit long term. "

Mentor Prentus

"They’re a little intimidating… they’re always training and whenever other people approach, they usually back off. I’ve seen them fight and spar a few times, and I could swear that they’re just not bothering to avoid a blow. It’s… a little horrifying, actually, seeing the way they’ll pursue a target until they’ve finished their job or been told to stop by someone else. And they don’t even talk or join anyone at camp! I wonder if they just prefer acting alone or something.

…well, they did make sure that everyone had something hot to drink before they left the camp though. Maybe they’re not that bad…?"

Squire Wesley

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳

———————————————————————————

Hider

They used to dance.

Harlow didn’t know how much they liked it. They enjoyed the dance, certainly, but the stage didn’t want their presence. They’d known that for a long time as they starved themselves two days before the weekly weigh-ins for their school. The instructors would give a snide comment, and the other prima donnas would shout bitter venom in whispers hidden behind a hand, and Harlow would remain quiet as someone else told them they were born wrong for the passion they wanted to chase. Too tall to play at being a girl, too small to play at being a man. Everything about them was wrong.

Surely, there had to be passion there before. Nobody would have lasted without it. Mika used to hum condolences as she raked short-nailed fingers through Harlow's ashen hair. She'd never say as much during practice, but Harlow liked to hear it.

They thought of her as they died, cold and alone in a storage room filled with things they’d bought together for a future Mika decided she didn’t want anymore. They thought of her despite their numb acceptance of heartbreak because they had no one else to think of, and to die with no one in their thoughts sounded worse than dying with memories of an empty relationship. When prayers to a god Harlow didn't believe in had failed, when their voice could no longer be raised in search of a miracle, at least they could keep themselves warm with that.

At least, that was what the bird watching them said as numbing chill started to settle in. It was… soothing, in a sense, to be sung into eternal slumber by creature with such vibrant plumage and such a gentle voice. Reassurances and sweet nothings to take the edge of the hunger and thirst away after the cold had long since turned into biting heat.

They woke in Ceosia shortly after the start of the cataclysm, told they were destined for greatness. A hero, of some sort, even. They even provided the training and education needed for this—well, they would have if Harlow’s situation hadn’t been “an anomaly” by all means. Still, they trained as they were asked to, the same way they practiced their dances before. Over and over again until they were allowed to stop—it might have taken the mentors a little too long to notice what that actually meant.

They’d never really fought before, but they were better at controlling their body than most. It was probably the first time they didn’t feel morbidly out of place in a group effort.

In the past year, they’ve earned a reputation, and the mentors at least tell them it’s a good one. They don’t know if being a paladin quite what they’ve wanted, but it seems like they’re… probably helping? They don’t really know, but at least they’re not alone.

𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚁𝙸𝚃 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃

———————————————————————————
Glory
Once, there was a phoenix. Wise, old thing it was. A streak of flame lit the skies then turned to embers in cycles until the day it decided it was time to choose an eternal roost. It lowered its head, a slender neck exposed for the sting of an executioner’s touch. If the paladins of that time knew what the blaze known as Glory sought in its sacrifice, they never spoke of it. One can only wonder if the human it chose might be able to learn.

Its new form is a white blade that gains a scarlet ombre the longer that Harlow has gone without releasing their bottled fire. The more that Harlow releases, the more the crimson fades from the blade. The white ribbon tied to the hilt can be considered like a wick—the shorter the ends have burned, the closer Harlow is to being born from ashes again.

Of course, the blade rarely, if ever, sees any actual combat, considering Harlow’s transformation into their paladin form necessitates plunging the blade into their body to absorb it to begin with. Due to the nature of their abilities, Harlow has always assumed they can only return to their natural state when their body enters a new cycle of rebirth. They have little desire to learn what happens if their wick burns out while they are not fused with Glory.

Flickering Light

CANDLELIGHT
——————————————————

Harlow compares themselves to a defective candle, the flame burning internally instead of externally. While in their paladin form, the warrior runs hot. So hot, in fact, that it could be considered agonizing to Harlow and uncomfortable, at best, to those around them. The longer the candle burns in its container, the stronger Harlow seems to be. Unfortunately, an inferno is ill contained in a human body. Too long without release, and their body ignites from the inside out.

Such self-immolation doesn't kill Harlow--at least, not permanently. Like the crimson-plumed Glory, Harlow's flames are regenerative in nature, and in this particular case, such healing is intensified. While the fire may turn the paladin to ash, from the ashes of their demise, Harlow is reborn, their body physically reset to the state they were in at the time Glory's contract was solidified. Some consider it a boon, for who wouldn't want a chance for an easy reset? But to reset their body means that the fruits of their labor have also been lost. Muscles have to be retrained, memories carved back into habit--even if the rebirth didn't hurt, Harlow would be hard pressed to want for it to happen.

To avoid such a grisly fate, Harlow need only maintain a balance by expelling the fires from their body. Unfortunately, such a balance becomes harder to maintain as time passes and Glory's radiance grows. With no interference, the ignition begins within two weeks of Harlow's most recent rebirth.

SPARK OF LIFE
——————————————————

Fire burns in Harlow's veins, and it appears that the words may be taken literally. Whenever an open wound is inflicted on Harlow, a flash of fire spills from the injury. These flames are restorative in nature--at least, they are to Harlow. These injuries close quickly as a result and must be consciously kept open in order to release the growing blaze contained within their body. Once released, Harlow has a small degree of manipulation over the flames, though they don't think it's anything as grand as their peers. As of yet, it doesn't appear that these flames carry the same regenerative nature for anything that isn't Harlow themselves.

As one might expect, such powerful restoration makes Harlow incredibly difficult to kill while they are in their paladin state. While the healing process may be agonizing in the best of times, there's no denying that it has allowed Harlow to survive injuries that would put greater beings into their graves.

CAUTERIZE
——————————————————

Minor, perhaps, to those whose abilities allow them to rend mountains asunder or to bring the moon down from the sky, but Harlow has always found the restorative nature of their flames to be convenient despite the pain they inflict. In their paladin form, it appears that Glory's searing light burns away pollutants and contaminants in Harlow's body at a rapid rate. They are nigh impervious to most illnesses and can even stave off the deterioration caused by overexertion or a lack of sleep for far longer than can be considered "healthy" by others. Even poison struggles to take root for long in such a hostile environment and is often purged in short order, though it would be wrong for Harlow to say they were immune.

Destiny Reborn! A Dark Fantasy Isekai with a twist.

Mayhaps, bninch.

Decibitus

---

~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

Amelia took a long moment to consider her situation. The people were enthused, which was good! Eliot was very unenthused, which was bad. In fact, she was beginning to suspect he might be quite upset with her. At least Aron had played into her scheme masterfully, clearly sharper than she'd given him credit for. Good, and refreshing, to have a partner on her same wavelength.

"...worry not, dear Eliot! I can explain." She grinned widely, hopping off the table and patting the poll box with a nod to her fellow reapers. "You see, the rail is not running, and so the newcomers are walking. We discovered this on our way to find Miss Death, who confirmed it to us, because we are your most resourceful team."

"And as I was saying, our dearest MD wishes to speak with the Necromancer, for he might have the knowledge to end this rail crisis ahead of time." Amelia shrugged. "She asked us to see if other reapers might agree, and so, democracy is the obvious solution. Though, for the record, I think we should refuse and take the FUN OPTION!"

Her voice raised, as to be heard at the end of that sentence. Reverse psychology required commitment. At least she knew the other two would know what she was doing.

"No. N-no! I am not involved in this!"

Aron hurried to his desk as soon as Amelie's shoes left them, assessing the damage and brushing off crusted mud from the deep creases of his documents. He looked to Eliot pleadingly.

"The boss just needs to meet the Necromancer to discuss the situation. I don't... I don't know what this is!" He flapped a wild gesture towards Amelie.

"Democracy is at its best when implemented suddenly, with passion." Amelia looked to Eliot, not even approaching apologetic. "She wanted our opinions: it's an urgent matter, and this was the fastest method."

There were a number of thoughts that Elliot had in that moment. It was hard to choose which thread to follow, so he chose to sigh instead. Mochi, on the other hand, took to pawing at the shoes of the reapers before him for entertainment while his assistant was busy with such a choice.

"Right. Can you... go back a few steps here?" So they'd found Miss Death... which was good. They hadn't brought her back, but that was another problem entirely. "Miss Death thinks the Necromancer will--you know what? I'll work my way up to that one. People are deciding to walk the rail? Who... How did you find that out? Are there more people trying to do this?"

"I dunno, it's what the kid at Uchi's place said. Hu...go...?" Aron crossed his arms, trying to scuttle away from Mochi. Argh, he still had those cookies in his pocket too. Now was not the time!

"I named him Hugo. It was a good name for him." Amelia nodded, before crouching down to pick up Mochi in both, very seriously addressing the dog as she held him up, "but yes. The strange blond child mentioned it, before he let us in to Uchi's shop. I would have found his real name, but there was free food. You understand, no, Mister Mayor?"

The mayor in question gave a 'wuff' and wagged his tail with gusto, his nose wriggling as he sniffed the air--no doubt trying to find the source of a particularly tantalizing scent.

His assistant, on the other hand, looked entirely like he might like to defenestrate himself.

"I... will have to ask Uchi about this er... 'Hugo' later, then. Nobody's tried walking the rail since Miss Death as far as I know. I can't imagine they'll be successful." He really, really wished that he could put off the next topic by about a thousand years, if possible. Eliot took a moment to carefully piece his next question together. "And... regarding the Necromancer. Does Miss Death really want to talk to him?"

There was a note of desperation not often found in the man's voice, one that carried all his dread at the answer he was entirely expecting.

Aron simply scratched the back of his head. His mouth twisted into a grimace instead of offering an answer.

"If they do speak, can I watch? I'll be quiet."

If one were perceptive, they might have seen the corner of Eliot's lips twitch. If one wasn't perceptive, they probably still would have seen the moment where a chill crawled down his spine, taking much of the color from his face with it.

He didn't want to admit it, but Miss Death might have been on the right path.

"Absolutely not." He really, really didn't want to admit it. "I mean, I--that's... maybe? This isn't--I mean, at least she wouldn't be alone?"

It wasn't like anyone could stop the woman if she really wanted to go. Whether he meant Amelia or Miss Death was hard to determine.

"Huh." Aron blinked. "Is that... kind of a 'yes'?"

The look on Eliot's face could only be described as a strained grimace.

"Frankly, I don't have the authority to stop Miss Death if she wants to do something. Or the power." The brunette tried very, very hard to ignore the fact that Mochi probably did have the authority he needed. "She's just being considerate in not doing it without asking."

Amelia looked far too happy about all of this, lifting Mochi a little higher in celebration before returning him to the floor. "And I can go too? This is why you're my second-favourite boss, Eliot! Can I bring Mochi?"

"No. Mochi's not going anywhere near the Depths," Eliot said while protectively nudging the corgi behind him with his leg at the thought. "And if--that's a major if--she ends up going, it will be with a full team of reapers on standby."

He frowned as a thought occurred to him.

"You know, after Uchi inevitably guts everyone involved like a fish for letting it happen first."

"Eh, we'll get better." Amelia shrugged off the possibility with remarkable ease, "so, are we still doing democracy? I have a very good speech lined up."

Aron looked to Eliot. "Please say no."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but his answer was drowned out by the sudden and thunderous sound of someone slamming into the doorframe, blonde hair flung fecklessly in the wake of the collision. The impact didn't so much as phase Sigrun--rather, the doorframe looked to have taken more damage than the girl herself.

"Bad news in Paris! Like, totes bad!" Sigrun pointed at the two reapers in the room. "You two! Arch! Now! Take stickers!"

She raised a hand to quiet Eliot's immediate objection.

"Ban doesn't matter right now, they need more reapers like, ten minutes ago!"

The grin that immediately spread across Amelia's face was borderline maniacal as she grabbed a sticker, "Siggy, if I had money, I would owe you a lot of drinks, but Eliot will have to cover it."

With a whoop of excitement that doubtless quelled everyone's fears, Amelia set off towards the Arch at a breakneck pace.

"Umm. Ahh." Aron's head whipped between Eliot and the after image of Amelia. "Thanks, Siggy, cute stickers, bye!"

He raced after the other reaper, though not before remembering to hurriedly toss the sleeve of cookies at Mochi's feet.

This day couldn't get any more frantic.

Decibitus

---

~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI

---

There were certain things that Elliot was getting used to while on the premises of Lucema Regini, most of which were things that he was entirely certain he shouldn’t be getting used to. Still, Miss Death had never been picky in her hires. Over the course of time, of course there would be a few odd reapers here or there, and of course the vocal few tended to stand out more than the silent majority.

And then there were the ones with such telltale signs of the problematic ones. Telltale signs like the sound of yelling in French and a number of desk jockeys or off-duty reapers starting to gather in a very specific location. That was most certainly a specific sign of a specific individual.

Elliot sighed before he could stop himself, pressing the fingers of one hand to his temple, applying enough pressure to pretend the mounting migraine wouldn’t come to pass. Mochi, however, gave an excited snuffle, paws tapping against the floor in response to the tension in the air.

“Okay. Okay.”

It was certainly not okay. It was so far from okay that Elliot almost wished Miss Death’s magic wasn’t at work, translating every word coming out of Amelia’s mouth as she stood on some commandeered desk.

“Amelia.”

She kept going.

”Amelia.”

What did she mean Miss Death wanted to speak with the Necromancer? And why was the alternative being offered somehow even less appealing?

“Amelia!”

At last, the woman looked in his direction, but before Elliot could open his mouth to speak, the situation got worse. Between the clamoring of the workers over the spectacle and the concerned whispers, there was the other one that had gone to find Miss Death. And he was right, things were already hectic without following Amelia’s advice. Hectic enough that--

“Wait, what?!”

But Elliot’s exclamation was lost to the crowd as a surge of noise rose in a cresting wave as tensions rose in conjunction with excitement. The situation was going to get out of hand—no, understatement, it was already out of hand. Sighing deeply to himself, Elliot buried his face in his hands for a moment, grudgingly acknowledging what he had to do next if he wanted to get any semblance of answers from a single damn person in the room.

“ ≪ QUIET DOWN. ≫” The Vertan words carried despite Elliot hardly speaking any louder than the commotion, largely because where they traveled, a forced silence followed. It was a short-lived spell, one that was well practiced but rarely used. The moment of quiet did its job in stunning the majority of the crowd into a speechless stupor. Which was fine. Enough. He just had to ask his question.

…

There were so many questions.

“Where exactly is Miss Death?” No, that wasn’t the one he really needed to know. He could figure from what was being said. “Wait, no, what in the world are you talking about raising the tension? And what do you mean people are walking the rail?”

Finding his anxieties growing with each word, Elliot pressed his hand to his temple again.

“I sent you to find Miss Death, how did that end up with this?”

---

@banjoanjo@Lasrever

Decibitus

With my ass finally posting that collab/update-ish combo wombo, the mod prod counter starts again!
Because I was particularly slow with this set, anything that was done past the prior timer will count for this period, but y'all have been pretty good at keeping up even without the prods, so this is really just a formality lol

The next mod prod is scheduled for March 24, 2023. As usual, we will try to push it as late as possible, but depending on availability, the prod may occur sooner.