Those terse utterances, a nuisance over the network, are more than welcome in the heat of battle. "I can handle the animal--" There isn't time for Arche to say more than that before they're being rushed by bodies again, withered nigh-endless things half crawling atop each other, fearsomest in the way that they simply never stop coming--
Arche's long used to it, the saber, thinks nothing of the beacon he presents where Wangji is wary -- all eyes turn on the Sith or the Jedi in the middle of any fray, inevitably all blaster fire congregates in their direction -- here there's nothing to deflect but plenty to stab; he's as weary as anyone from a long day of exertion but still the Force moves faithful through his veins, still it lifts tired limbs and buoys him where he might falter. He's not worked around wire before, but he's well-used to accounting for a partner, and the Force makes his steps light as he dodges away. Here he skewers a creature to slice up through its neck, here he flings one backward right into the flying wire with a telekinetic push, watching it sheared straight through by the momentum--
Lan Wangji has his back, and he knows he can trust that as he watches severed body parts falling all around them, but Archeval doesn't leave people on their own. When there's a moment's lull in their push he finally has time at last to fling out a hand backward, feeling the presence still next to him without need to look -- Wangji's pain and fatigue will dampen a little as Arche reaches for the heart-pounding need to move that coils inside his chest, his anticipation and desperation stirring up the Force, his will demanding flesh to knit and muscles to renew themselves. There isn't time for anything fancier than that, but after hours and hours of this siege, they need to be prepared for what's next--
The lightning always so quick to his fingertips is little use against the walking corpses, but there's a roiling storm inside just begging to be let out, and now is no time to hold back reserves. He draws a black-gloved hand down the front of his robes, skin tingling as he feels the sensation of static wash over him and electricity arcs faintly from shoulder to shoulder, the thin barrier promising a nasty surprise to any who get close enough to touch. It will provide a moment's distraction to these things at least -- to the thing looming before them -- and sometimes one moment makes all the difference.
"We're pushing forward!" he calls out to any nearby to listen -- and if Wangji has his back, then forward he'll go. His blood races with anticipation, a potential end to all this in sight, dodging wire and cutting down the shambling obstacles in his path as they make their advance--
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Arche's long used to it, the saber, thinks nothing of the beacon he presents where Wangji is wary -- all eyes turn on the Sith or the Jedi in the middle of any fray, inevitably all blaster fire congregates in their direction -- here there's nothing to deflect but plenty to stab; he's as weary as anyone from a long day of exertion but still the Force moves faithful through his veins, still it lifts tired limbs and buoys him where he might falter. He's not worked around wire before, but he's well-used to accounting for a partner, and the Force makes his steps light as he dodges away. Here he skewers a creature to slice up through its neck, here he flings one backward right into the flying wire with a telekinetic push, watching it sheared straight through by the momentum--
Lan Wangji has his back, and he knows he can trust that as he watches severed body parts falling all around them, but Archeval doesn't leave people on their own. When there's a moment's lull in their push he finally has time at last to fling out a hand backward, feeling the presence still next to him without need to look -- Wangji's pain and fatigue will dampen a little as Arche reaches for the heart-pounding need to move that coils inside his chest, his anticipation and desperation stirring up the Force, his will demanding flesh to knit and muscles to renew themselves. There isn't time for anything fancier than that, but after hours and hours of this siege, they need to be prepared for what's next--
The lightning always so quick to his fingertips is little use against the walking corpses, but there's a roiling storm inside just begging to be let out, and now is no time to hold back reserves. He draws a black-gloved hand down the front of his robes, skin tingling as he feels the sensation of static wash over him and electricity arcs faintly from shoulder to shoulder, the thin barrier promising a nasty surprise to any who get close enough to touch. It will provide a moment's distraction to these things at least -- to the thing looming before them -- and sometimes one moment makes all the difference.
"We're pushing forward!" he calls out to any nearby to listen -- and if Wangji has his back, then forward he'll go. His blood races with anticipation, a potential end to all this in sight, dodging wire and cutting down the shambling obstacles in his path as they make their advance--