Chapter 42: Red-Brown
{Sanguine Glory, Majesty of the Deathless Paradise}
Ascent Order: {Venerable}
{Your perfidious swath so faithful, that grand paradise, stretches into and beyond, so high and deep, unto the horizon of spirits. Life lay smeared in undulating waves as far as the soul can supplicate.
Their flesh, softened, supple, had long sloughed from bone, beneath the flowers; teeth and nails, bones and their shattered weapons, from swords to bows all broken in throes, and their dying song of revelry as the breath of their blood seeped, slobbering beneath after it.
Enshrined on a throne of darkness, draped in the red of rushing breath, you hum beneath a crown, a wreath weeping upon you with ambrosia. Each drop shed from a streaming gush of ichor descending upon your brow and your shoulders, falling onto the arms of your seat, and finally, where it rests at your foot, it mingles with the blood that has gathered there.
Around you, felled corpses lay inglorious, their visages saccharine. Thin, endurant roots grow, lacing through their so sodden flesh. And from their whitening bones, flowers flourish, pale for such a ravishing moment, before blossoming to a deep red, almost black beneath the moonless, crimson sky.
But some among them have wept since their falling, their tears running and mingling with the flowers. And beneath one, a fist remains shut so tight the knuckles have fractured.
Glorious laughter hushes from their mouths, so dulcet and ravenous, as the fruits dangling from the hanging branches above squeeze themselves dry, spill their nectars into them, and out, for the gorging mouths of the revellers tending the garden.}
Inherent Ability: {Roseate}
’Even having seen it a few times by now, it’s still so mystical. More especially now that I heard what she said. This is what I envisioned as the path for myself?’
Shaking his head internally, he dismissed his chronicle. His Roseate inherent ability wasn’t something nearly as mysterious as his ascent, so he didn’t need to see it again.
"How long can I keep you here? As in how long can I maintain your summon?"
"There is no fixed duration... Dionysus. The greatest cost to your mana is paid when you first call for me, and once I have arrived, I can use my own mana to sustain much of my presence here and lessen the strain upon you."
"Much of it?" His voice bled his curiosity.
"The connection remains anchored to you, after all. There will always be a portion of your mana drawn towards maintaining my summoning; however, while my own reserves remain sufficient, it can be greatly reduced."
’Now that I think about it... I’ve only lost about two percent of my mana since I summoned her. But then at the same time it has only been about thirty or forty minutes, so if I were to estimate...
Dion’s arm swayed slightly, and the sound of the ice clanking against the sides of the glass came. He briefly glanced over to Anastasia.
She had turned her head to look ahead, so his eyes met her side profile, illuminated with moonlight for a few moments.
’By the way she’s saying it, most of the maintenance is on her right now. It must be sucking her dry to keep it up even if her mana is SS grade. Without her efforts, I would hardly be able to keep her here for much time at all.’
Then he glanced down at her untouched drink.
"You should drink yours first."
Anastasia had heard him very clearly, and even then, she had glanced at him, then down at his glass and back at her own to make sure that she had heard right.
"Before you?"
"Yes," he said as his free hand gestured to the drink, "and tell me honestly what you think of it."
"You would seek my judgement before your own?"
"I trust that you won’t lie to flatter me."
Anastasia’s brows faintly rose with her surprise, her expression loosening.
Then, as they fell moments later, she glanced away, back towards the glass awaiting her where it rested, a slight smile on her expression.
The large cube shifted faintly as she raised her glass. She first brought it closer to her face, breathing in the scent of it a little.
Then, she drank, only a small sip, where she allowed the drink to rest over her tongue for a moment before swallowing.
Her eyelids fell a little slower as she had herself savour the flavours a moment, a contemplative look to her expression.
Dion had been watching her expression closely the whole time, and she finally spoke a few seconds later.
"I haven’t tasted anything quite like it," she said, still looking into the glass. "The bitterness is intense at first, yet before it becomes overwhelming, the warmth and sweetness balance it."
"So?"
"It is very much to my taste."
Dion smiled faintly, watching as she took another drink, more freely than before.
"Then I’m glad I’ve given you the good experience," he laughed faintly at those words. "I used to hate it, for a long while. Sweetness over bitterness has always been my preference."
As the glass fell away from her lips, Anastasia brought her intrigued glance over to him, the entirety of her attention captured in hearing new details about him.
"Have you come to like it?"
Dion’s eyes had fallen to his drink, lingering within the red-brown colour.
"Now? I love to hate it. I can never not appreciate it."
"...What are the names of the drinks you used? Is there a name for it?" Anastasia asked, and his smile grew a little more.
Dion’s eyelids fell a little. "Bourbon whiskey, Campari liqueur, and the wine, Sweet Vermouth. It was Shijo’s favourite."
With her attention on him, Dion brought his glass to his mouth and downed it in one go, gulp after gulp, cursing him.
Dion had not had the time to grieve his friend. He still didn’t have it. Perhaps, even this indulgent time he had spent had been excessive.
But for the sake of his sanity, to quell his strengthened emotions, he had to. If he crashed and burned when the world wouldn’t allow him to pick up his pieces, everything would die with him.
Once he had burned himself through the whole glass, his lowering hand released the glass, light shimmering through it as it fell.
Dion had turned on his heel and taken his first step ahead when the shatter of it resounded below.
"The drink is a Boulevardier."