His brow knits even closer at that. One twitch of his finger, that's all it'll take. He's positive now that he can kill her before she pulls that trigger.
But it's that one unknown, the uncertainty of the state of his own immortality, that stays his hand. His Dofus on another world, his sister lost, his wakfu-- tied to this world. Where will it go if he dies here in this hole in the ground? It's the only mystery here he's not impatient to unravel. His ennui -- the sheer nothingness he'd endured daily on his world, crippling to the point of nearly physical agony -- is one thing... But death, true death like each generation of Eliatrope children eventually experiences? He can only imagine it, and it's worse than nothing.
He's never really faced death before, not like this. And to his growing horror, he realizes-- it absolutely terrifies him.
A long moment passes before Qilby nods his head a fraction of an inch, all the indication that he'll give her. As soon as he lowers his finger, the spear falls to the ground and shatters against the rock. It's only when he finally releases his "grip" on the shard and flexes his stiff, aching fingers that he realizes just how tense he was.
"We both walk away," he insists in clipped tones. He really would almost rather die than give her the impression that she's won: as far as anyone should be concerned, they fought this one to a standstill. No one must look at him and think he was the first to bend.
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But it's that one unknown, the uncertainty of the state of his own immortality, that stays his hand. His Dofus on another world, his sister lost, his wakfu-- tied to this world. Where will it go if he dies here in this hole in the ground? It's the only mystery here he's not impatient to unravel. His ennui -- the sheer nothingness he'd endured daily on his world, crippling to the point of nearly physical agony -- is one thing... But death, true death like each generation of Eliatrope children eventually experiences? He can only imagine it, and it's worse than nothing.
He's never really faced death before, not like this. And to his growing horror, he realizes-- it absolutely terrifies him.
A long moment passes before Qilby nods his head a fraction of an inch, all the indication that he'll give her. As soon as he lowers his finger, the spear falls to the ground and shatters against the rock. It's only when he finally releases his "grip" on the shard and flexes his stiff, aching fingers that he realizes just how tense he was.
"We both walk away," he insists in clipped tones. He really would almost rather die than give her the impression that she's won: as far as anyone should be concerned, they fought this one to a standstill. No one must look at him and think he was the first to bend.