"The very same..." Arry-Aurin answered with a grim snigger. "Or at least an echo of Arry. I have all his memories... I feel as though I was him, but I might just be a reprint. Can a soul be relocated? Fuck if I know." Finn would hear other familiar motifs in this Symphony. This version of his diamond in the rough remained an uncut gem. He'd never trained in his Craft, and had used it recklessly or it had used him. The guilt in this strange Symphony derived, in no small part, from actions taken in the heat of passionate moments where his power exceeded his comprehension. He hadn't meant to cause the death of the smith, nor to commandeer Aurin's body. Or rather, he had meant for those things to happen, but not while he was in his rational mind. They had been fiery whims that might have burnt out in a matter of moments, if the gravity of his preternatural power didn't render them painfully permanent. In the murky depths of this complex Symphony, Finn could not but recognise how easy it would have been for his own Arry to have turned an inexorable corner and how pivotal Finn himself had been in averting this Destiny, or one like it.
But there was no time to dwell further on the intricacies of this grim reality, when things started happening very quickly. Phædreon appeared, eyes widening at the sound of gunfire. He winced, expecting to be struck, but suddenly Finn was before him and he was unharmed. Arkænyn roared at the sound of the pistol firing, already poised to attack at a moment's notice, he bolted up to his full height and gripped both hands together as the hilt of a massive claymore appeared in his grasp, even as he lunged forward, pinning Arry-Aurin against the metallic throne with its blade to his bare, pale throat. His eyes were crazed, teeth gritted as he found himself in checkmate.
"I didn't..." He choked out the beginning of a sentiment, wanting to explain that this had been another mistake... another reflexive attack, even now that he'd lost the mighty power he'd once wielded in another body. Arkænyn was not so quick to lash out, though he seemed ready to strike if the red-head made the slightest gesture of aggression.
"Shit!" Phædreon quickly knelt at Finn's side and inspected the area of impact. "Are you all right? Your clothes are warded, aren't they?" He didn't see blood straight away, but that didn't mean it wasn't pooling somewhere out of sight beneath the human's form. With any luck, the bullet had struck an area that would resist the full brunt of the impact.
