They'd praised that about him earlier. Claudia had sworn that he'd have died if he'd done anything other than what he had. If he'd rejected the curse of Ingolsol, and rejected the blessing of Claudia. Instead, he'd nourished them, and the warring had cooled, they'd fought for his sake instead, whilst still keeping their eyes wide open, holding him true to his path.
He saw these subordinates of his dance around, fighting titans, beings that they had no business doing battle with. He was suddenly struck by how brave they looked.
Ingolsol fought like a cat, all pride and mischief. That wasn't what Beam had expected from him. He had a memory of Ingolsol from another place, a feeling of him. That feeling had been bound up with fear, an understanding that such a man was evil.
He wasn't evil – as far as Beam could see. He was dangerous, without a doubt, but not evil. Beam couldn't force that label on him now that he'd met him. Evil was reserved for something he did not understand, and this Ingolsol he did understand, for there was a piece of him in him, after all.
Claudia too, to see a woman battle with such forecity, such intensity of spirit, such a resolute gaze, it was a wonderous thing. Had he been fully conscious, he might have been struck by the sudden urge to marry such a woman, but instead his consciousness was somewhere it wasn't used to. It was in the ruler's sphere.
He felt the crown heavy on his head, and he saw his little domain as a King saw his country.
There lay two enemies of impossible proportions, chopping up his kingdom. And there stood his only two subordinates, defending them in his name. He sat atop his throne, for that was the ruler's seat, that was where a man was to give orders. A king was his country, after all.
With that line passing through his head, he observed. A king was his country, he was a king. He had to repeat such foreign thoughts to himself a thousand times before he truly got a grasp on them, before there was any sort of connection.
And then when the connection was made, he felt a flash of irritation, as he took his crown off and cast it aside, standing up off his throne.
A sword was in his hands before he had chance to think about who had put it there.
His throne faded away before he had chance to think of where it had gone.
There was a pause, before Ingolsol returned his smile. "As you wish," he said, in what should have been the human tongue, but halfway through it distorted itself into something far more ancient, and far more unnerving. With his words, so too did Ingolsol's whole appearance begin to shift. His fangs grew longer, until they ran out of his mouth, all the way down his chin.
His handsome face changed shape, and the outline of his body grew more vague, more indistinct, until he was nothing more than a vague shadow, with hands like claws.
"So, you figured it out, did you?" Ingolsol said, his tone less respectful than before, a hint of aggression to it.
"You were not nearly as monstrous as I remember you to be," Beam said. "Something was missing. You were too weak."
"HAH! WEAK? THOSE ARE THE WORDS YOU USE TO GREET ME?" Ingolsol boomed, before his voice lowered. "But you are right – in that form, I am weaker."
"As was I," Claudia's voice came. Beam turned to see her. She too had grown indistinct. Vines vaguely mapped the outline of a human body, whilst golden light streamed through their cracks, and a feminine motherly presence captured the air.
"Do you still kneel to me?" Beam asked.
"You are no king, you wear no crown," Ingolsol spat. "If I were to kneel to that, I would hurt my knees."
Beam grinned at that again. He could feel it from Ingolsol now, that aggression, that ruthlessness that had once made his skin crawl, and made him live in fear.
"I frighten you, don't I?" Ingolsol must have picked up on it. "We spoke truth, earlier, through those pretty little mouthpieces that you offered us. We are no mere fragments any longer. You have nurtured us. You have made us what you are. The darkness in your body has kneeled in service to me, and it has nourished me."