Even in its weakened state, the foul beast held tremendous power. The executioner who was tasked with the task to sunder the beast was no hanging lifelessly from the tongue of the beast, which shot out imperceptibly from one of the many mouths adorned across its abdomen. Before the glaive basked in radiant light was given the opportunity to hit the floor, the beast enacted its next method of attack. Sprouting another tongue from one its many mouths to unleash a maelstrom of quick and deadly lashes towards the stands opposite of myself. While the attack was restricted to a very distinct point. The effect of the attack was devastating: turning the victims of the demon into the aftermath of a human blender: fleshy, and without a characteristic resembling the ingredients used. In this case, prospective clergymen. This sight could only instill one feeling to those who experience it. And that feeling is fear: a living embodiment of the despair that plagues the world in which I set foot. The droves of survivors who were freshly scarred by the massacre of course made an attempt to flee, but it was not long until everyone in the great cathedral was rendered into minced meat. ‘It’s strange, for how horribly everything has taken a turn. No matter how hopeless the situation seemed. I can’t help but feel somewhat at peace. Pops used to describe his endeavors against equally malicious and terrifying entities. I can’t help but feel at home. And orchestra of obliteration, if you will. That’s enough time for jesting. I should really find a solution to the problem at hand’. With his resolve steeled, Mahito took a bold action. As he made his way down the lacquered cavea with short and measured hops spanning the array of seats, he finally made his way down to the bottom of the structure, and with that, a confrontation with the beast. He had no means or hope to be able to best the creature in a direct conflict. However, it doesn’t mean he couldn’t make use of his environment to raise his odds of survival. Mahito’s disposition is that of a fool: playful and humorous, with little displayed ambition, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was a child of great perception. His observational skills were of a class which would be classed as abnormal, or normal by today's standards. WIth the advent of the Nightmare spell, all in which seemed like the impossible became nothing more than the norm for mundane and awakened alike. His observations allowed him to discern the creature wasn’t attacking senselessly, but in strict intervals. It seemed that its perception of the world was dulled from its battle leading to its capture. Mojito thought that if he could use the buffer period between its attacks, then delivering a fatal blow to the thing would be possible, granted he could close the distance in time. 12 seconds. That’s all that he’s allowed. 12 seconds that border life and death.

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