[open] hunt or be hunted; magnus, any

[magnus]

although this world is made of fearsome beasts that bark and bite
we were born to put these creatures through one hell of a fight

The whole situation feels nostalgic, feels like a war drum in his heart, and he rises to it, wants to wrap around it, wants to let it sink into his flesh. He meets the yellow-gold of his grandson’s eyes, searching them out, studying him. Magnus wants to tell him of the demons he has seen in his past. Of the demons he has crossed swords with. Sinner does not scare him, does not do anything but raise his guard.

He would not be afraid.

Instead, when the hellhound asks about Warrick’s sacrifice, Magnus’ lips just spread wide into a bland smile. He rolls his shoulders. “A longer story for another time, perhaps.” It wasn’t exactly a secret about how Warrick had worked with Carnage and that Tephra remained beneath the dark god’s protection, but Magnus wasn’t about to feed such information into a hound clearing sniffing out details.

He knew how such things worked.

He knew just how a small slip of details could be turned into a knife to your throat.

So he just continues to engage in the dance, eyes sharp but features friendly, his war-scarred body relaxed even though his nerves jump beneath, ready for whatever is to come. “Isn’t that always the way it goes?” he says with a quirk of lip, wondering if Sinner ever truly found something unsavory. “I’m glad to hear that you have such noble purpose for your home.” He doesn’t believe it—not truly.  Everything within him balks at the idea, feeling more and more like the Sylva of today was the Valley of his past.

“And I am glad you made the journey to see us today, Sinner.” Glad that he could keep his finger on the pulse of the illusive hellhound. Glad to have these suspicions, glad to not be caught completely unaware.

“Is there anything else that you would like to know? Anything else that we can help you with?”

magnus

@[Sinner]