In the chaos of Emillion’s streets, the sight of Jareth Strand (always a comfort) became an especial beacon of hope for Araceli. Though rarely a fighter, the mage indeed fought against the current of rampaging, panicking citizens to him. She had left the Cathedral District behind, choosing not to wait to heal as she did the day before and to play her part as a fighter’s second instead. When she made her way to him at last, Araceli breathed a sigh of relief.
She reached out a hand to him, as she always did, never quite touching.
Her voice came just as his communicator buzzed. Without thinking, he reached back for Celi with one hand and read his message with the other. His hand closed over hers just as the message sank in. Full offensive needed, Fell at will.
The direction was accompanied by mixed reactions. His body thrummed with the need to let loose, but he still held Celi’s hand. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - leave her here. Not without someone, and there were only two people in the city he trusted enough to leave her with. Aspel was off fighting, and he could only assume Wolfe was, too. It would be too much to run into either of them in the Theatre District, and he didn’t want her fighting, besides.
He wanted her safe.
He pocketed the device and looked at her, immediately checking for any visible injuries. There weren’t any; he needed to keep it that way.
Before he could say anything, a Babil stomped its way towards them, its steps shaking the ground, threatening to unbalance them. With the ground shaking at her feet, it seemed to shift Araceli closer to him. Shei was no longer the girl he needed to protect: her magicks had far improved since then, and now it began to spark in her blood, beginning the slow calculation of spells.
The Babil continued its charge, the sidewalk groaning under its weight. Araceli turned to Jareth and nodded, before taking steps out of the way. With Holy and its derivatives as her only offensive spells, the mage knew that her place in this battle was behind the scenes.
He nodded back before stepping forward, ax removed from its holster and gripped tightly in his hand. Aspel had given him the go ahead, but he could really let loose in front of Araceli?
There really wasn’t much of a choice - hack and slash on these fuckers did little good, and now he had an even better reason to get rid of it as quickly as possible. He looked back at Celi, said: “Heal.” Then he ran forward, meeting the Babil before it got any closer.
The class fit him like a glove, and he called the ability forth from memory, breathing as the familiar touch of Dark wound around him, as it enveloped his weapon. He lashed out, combining Furore with Unholy Sacrifice. The familiar tearing of skin, of the injuries his true class inflicted, was ignored as his attack struck true. The Babil staggered back.
At the sight of him using not berserker but fell knight skills caused her to blanche. Araceli held her breath as she watched his wounds split open. She held her ground as she watched, never flinching in the slightest, and continued to prepare her spells. Heal. The command meant more to her now. Shelving any thought to take the offensive to blast through with holy magic, Araceli gathered all her concentration and energy in healing. (She turned back to the class she was when they met, yet here he was: like someone else entirely and not at all.)