[And as the votes come in, the lights go out, once again casting long, quickly-blackening shadows over the room until the only small sources of light left to pierce the darkness come from behind the buttons on the podiums in front of you; as usual, however, they don't last long before those, too, blink out of existence, plunging the room into a darkness that likely only seems thicker and more oppressive as more of these trials go on.
But the pit will illuminate itself eventually, casting a sharp white light into the room as a whole, so bright it's almost blinding; with the light comes the realization that Mikazuki is no longer among you in the podium circle. There's another realization to be had, however, along with the fact that Mikazuki is gone – that would be the fact that so is the cryobomb made by Silver and Guzma, taken with him down into the pit.
This is only confirmed as that now-familiar soft grinding noise emanates from beneath Podium Eight, and Mikazuki doesn't hesitate in entering the pit from the door that opens there; what he's about to face may be terrible, it may be horrifying and unbearable and hideous, but he remains steadfast and true to the thoughts he'd held before he was sent down here.
He has no fear.
He only just enters, however, he doesn't make his way to the center, as it quickly becomes obvious that he doesn't intend to fight; he meant what he said – he fully intends to take responsibility for what he's done. Properly, and with the calm grace befitting his title. However, he's been granted a gift, an opportunity, and it would be a dishonor, disrespect, to not utilize what he's been given. And that's why, when that familiar darkness begins to appear, he readies the jar he's been given in his hands; as soon as it's close enough – and it's learned to not trust people holding jars, jars lead to interesting reactions in this place and none of them are good – he spikes the container at the thing, hard, aiming for the spot where the tendrils usually start to form, somewhere toward the center of its mass.
The jar breaks, and the reaction spreads quickly.
The outer layer of the entity is quick to harden, a spread of what looks like thick frost streaking along and throughout it, and for a moment it seems almost disoriented; it swirls hard, probably the closest to resembling a pain reaction that's been gained so far, and for a moment Mikazuki looks conflicted – there's no relief in his expression, if anything he's gone strange and blank again, like he's not altogether sure what he should think of what just happened.
And then the darkness draws back before gathering itself up to move back toward him; Mikazuki draws a deep breath before just stepping back and pressing his back against the wall, breathing deeply and trying to regain his composure as he braces for the inevitable.
This, too, seems to give the entity pause.
Mikazuki continues to breathe, deeply and evenly, waiting for an onslaught that doesn't seem to be immediately forthcoming; the pause is long, almost as though the entity is considering something – despite the attack, Mikazuki doesn't seem to have any genuine fight in him, he's simply accepting of whatever comes next, and after a moment one of those dark tendrils reaches out, wrapping around Mikazuki's hand and wrist almost gently before slowly winding its way up his arm.
It finds its way to his shoulder, down his chest; there's nothing violent about it, though it does speed up the process eventually, just for the sake of getting it over with.]
Goodnight, Elegant.
[The Wordsmith's voice can be heard, as inflectionless as ever, before the darkness surges forward; it presses up against Mikazuki's body in one quick go, enveloping him entirely and consuming him whole.
And then the darkness flattens out quickly, pouring back downwards and pooling on the floor; there's a brief pause before the Wordsmith speaks again.]
I suppose you've done well, if you've done anything at all. For now, there's nothing more.
ACCOUNTABILITY.
But the pit will illuminate itself eventually, casting a sharp white light into the room as a whole, so bright it's almost blinding; with the light comes the realization that Mikazuki is no longer among you in the podium circle. There's another realization to be had, however, along with the fact that Mikazuki is gone – that would be the fact that so is the cryobomb made by Silver and Guzma, taken with him down into the pit.
This is only confirmed as that now-familiar soft grinding noise emanates from beneath Podium Eight, and Mikazuki doesn't hesitate in entering the pit from the door that opens there; what he's about to face may be terrible, it may be horrifying and unbearable and hideous, but he remains steadfast and true to the thoughts he'd held before he was sent down here.
He has no fear.
He only just enters, however, he doesn't make his way to the center, as it quickly becomes obvious that he doesn't intend to fight; he meant what he said – he fully intends to take responsibility for what he's done. Properly, and with the calm grace befitting his title. However, he's been granted a gift, an opportunity, and it would be a dishonor, disrespect, to not utilize what he's been given. And that's why, when that familiar darkness begins to appear, he readies the jar he's been given in his hands; as soon as it's close enough – and it's learned to not trust people holding jars, jars lead to interesting reactions in this place and none of them are good – he spikes the container at the thing, hard, aiming for the spot where the tendrils usually start to form, somewhere toward the center of its mass.
The jar breaks, and the reaction spreads quickly.
The outer layer of the entity is quick to harden, a spread of what looks like thick frost streaking along and throughout it, and for a moment it seems almost disoriented; it swirls hard, probably the closest to resembling a pain reaction that's been gained so far, and for a moment Mikazuki looks conflicted – there's no relief in his expression, if anything he's gone strange and blank again, like he's not altogether sure what he should think of what just happened.
And then the darkness draws back before gathering itself up to move back toward him; Mikazuki draws a deep breath before just stepping back and pressing his back against the wall, breathing deeply and trying to regain his composure as he braces for the inevitable.
This, too, seems to give the entity pause.
Mikazuki continues to breathe, deeply and evenly, waiting for an onslaught that doesn't seem to be immediately forthcoming; the pause is long, almost as though the entity is considering something – despite the attack, Mikazuki doesn't seem to have any genuine fight in him, he's simply accepting of whatever comes next, and after a moment one of those dark tendrils reaches out, wrapping around Mikazuki's hand and wrist almost gently before slowly winding its way up his arm.
It finds its way to his shoulder, down his chest; there's nothing violent about it, though it does speed up the process eventually, just for the sake of getting it over with.]
Goodnight, Elegant.
[The Wordsmith's voice can be heard, as inflectionless as ever, before the darkness surges forward; it presses up against Mikazuki's body in one quick go, enveloping him entirely and consuming him whole.
And then the darkness flattens out quickly, pouring back downwards and pooling on the floor; there's a brief pause before the Wordsmith speaks again.]
I suppose you've done well, if you've done anything at all. For now, there's nothing more.