The Pit is a labyrinth of the worst kind, with no design or intent behind it. It's centuries upon centuries of building, collapsing, conquering and forgetting piled on top of one another. The way down is rubble piled up where a floor collapsed into the level below, cracks and splits from forgotten battles or revolts and the occasional staircase which actually holds up as they creep along.
Cole clearly knows where he's going. He's very sure with his directions, even if he's hesitant as he moves, listening, sensing, occasionally making them pause while he waits for something only he can sense to move on below them.
When they get into the tunnels, it's clear that 'tunnels' is a kind term for centuries old sewerage, which even now is damp and slick and slimy. There's lit torches, however, further along, and there's the dull red glow of red lyrium further ahead.
Cole lifts a hand, calling a halt to Ben and then tucking him into a sconce, out of sight of the Templar. He lets go of Ben's hand with a last squeeze and then draws his small knife, moving out into the passage.
He moves like smoke and shadow, walking towards the glowing figure with no hesitation, a total confidence of purpose. Each steps carries him three closer as he flickers in and out of reality.
A regular human would be dead before they even realised Cole was there, the blade would cross their throat and he would guide the body to the dank ground. This is not a human, not anymore, this is a shell of magic and Blight and so Cole's first strike into the side of the throat silences the creature but doesn't stop it.
It spins around, thick, glowing ichor spurting from the wound and Cole is already gone, a twist of shadow that ducks under the sword that's swung around and driving the dagger up in two quick strikes to the kidneys. It turns again, trying to catch the silent assassin and for a moment it clearly thinks it hit, because there's a moment of resistance...
And a long blade comes out the chest, through the centre of the glowing mass. It jerks and then crumples, Cole appearing to help guide the descent to the floor.
"Find peace, Serah Emilia," Cole whispers to it. "It's over now." And he stands up, holding his own knife and the one lifted from the Templar, a long dagger that fits too well in his grip. "It's safe."
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Cole clearly knows where he's going. He's very sure with his directions, even if he's hesitant as he moves, listening, sensing, occasionally making them pause while he waits for something only he can sense to move on below them.
When they get into the tunnels, it's clear that 'tunnels' is a kind term for centuries old sewerage, which even now is damp and slick and slimy. There's lit torches, however, further along, and there's the dull red glow of red lyrium further ahead.
Cole lifts a hand, calling a halt to Ben and then tucking him into a sconce, out of sight of the Templar. He lets go of Ben's hand with a last squeeze and then draws his small knife, moving out into the passage.
He moves like smoke and shadow, walking towards the glowing figure with no hesitation, a total confidence of purpose. Each steps carries him three closer as he flickers in and out of reality.
A regular human would be dead before they even realised Cole was there, the blade would cross their throat and he would guide the body to the dank ground. This is not a human, not anymore, this is a shell of magic and Blight and so Cole's first strike into the side of the throat silences the creature but doesn't stop it.
It spins around, thick, glowing ichor spurting from the wound and Cole is already gone, a twist of shadow that ducks under the sword that's swung around and driving the dagger up in two quick strikes to the kidneys. It turns again, trying to catch the silent assassin and for a moment it clearly thinks it hit, because there's a moment of resistance...
And a long blade comes out the chest, through the centre of the glowing mass. It jerks and then crumples, Cole appearing to help guide the descent to the floor.
"Find peace, Serah Emilia," Cole whispers to it. "It's over now." And he stands up, holding his own knife and the one lifted from the Templar, a long dagger that fits too well in his grip. "It's safe."