You use the pandemonium — panicked, screaming; human cries shrieking over gargantuan HONKS of the godzilla-sized swan monster — to slip away from Rosie. She's carried away with the fleeing crowd, while you wedge yourself into an alcove.
Fuck.
He's not here. You can hear human voices crying out for him. "Where is he? Where's the Knight? He'll be here any second! He'll save us!"
He's not here. You're on your own. You close your eyes, reaching for your magic. (Still so weak, so limited, but that's okay, it'll be fine, you just have to buy as much time as you can.) Between one breath and the next, you let slide your veneer of humanity.
You burst out of the alcove in a rush of feathers and beating wings, your cry of challenge echoing out across the water. It's a musical sound, joyous and fierce and free, rallying the hearts of the humans below even as it stops the monster in its tracks.
"Unisonya!" The humans gasp, "It's her, it's Unisonya!" A cheer goes up.
You can do this. You can do this.
The swan recovers, kicking up a gust with its thrashing wings, lunging forward with a hair-raising hiss of rage. Its huge, serrated beak gapes open wide — but it never gets close. You call, heart and will entwined in song, and the water responds. Chains of water lash around its wings, its neck, holding it fast.
8
Fuck.
He's not here. You can hear human voices crying out for him. "Where is he? Where's the Knight? He'll be here any second! He'll save us!"
He's not here. You're on your own. You close your eyes, reaching for your magic. (Still so weak, so limited, but that's okay, it'll be fine, you just have to buy as much time as you can.) Between one breath and the next, you let slide your veneer of humanity.
You burst out of the alcove in a rush of feathers and beating wings, your cry of challenge echoing out across the water. It's a musical sound, joyous and fierce and free, rallying the hearts of the humans below even as it stops the monster in its tracks.
"Unisonya!" The humans gasp, "It's her, it's Unisonya!" A cheer goes up.
You can do this. You can do this.
The swan recovers, kicking up a gust with its thrashing wings, lunging forward with a hair-raising hiss of rage. Its huge, serrated beak gapes open wide — but it never gets close. You call, heart and will entwined in song, and the water responds. Chains of water lash around its wings, its neck, holding it fast.
For now.
"Unisonya! Unisonya!"