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The fight makes blood pump in Voltah's veins, their eyes large and heart beating wildly. They love the thrill of a fight, so different from the stealthy assassinations they'd gotten used to. Not that they haven't been in their fair share of fights in the past, they've wielded both blade and staff in battle long before the gods were freed. But this is different: bigger, scarier, more deadly.
They love it.
They weave through the Venatori on all sides of them, narrowly avoiding having their head taken off with a precise strike of a sword. They blast their opponent backwards, smirking as the man goes down and doesn’t get back up. They twirl and evade, a dance of a fight that they know all the moves to.
Until they miss a step.
It comes out of nowhere: a ball of electricity directed at Voltah’s heart, enough to put them out cold if it hits. Enough to hurt and harm.
Before Voltah can so much as brace for impact, a blur of purple dashes in front of them and takes the hit, absorbing the shock and crashing to the ground.
“Lucanis!” Voltah’s heart skips a beat despite being free of electricity. They ignore the enemies around them — a foolish thing to do — so they can kneel by their lover’s side. “Lucanis, are you–”
But then they see his eyes and realize it isn’t Lucanis at all who took that hit.
“Smells like. Burnt flesh.” Spite’s face is contorted with pain.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you step in front of a deadly attack,” Voltah snaps, barely noticing as Neve takes down the attacker and deals with the rest of the Ventatori that surround them. “Why did you do that?”
Spite stares up at them and he wars with himself for a moment before replying. “Won’t let anything happen to you.” He reaches up and grabs at Voltah’s face with surprising gentleness. “Mine.”
Voltah laughs at the ridiculousness of their spirit. “What, so no one gets to hurt me but you?” They tease even as their heart pounds inside of their chest, desperately afraid of their lover(s) getting hurt protecting them.
“Mine,” Spite repeats. “No one hurts you.”
Voltah sighs and takes Spite’s hand in their own, squeezing tight. “No one hurts you either, got it?” They say firmly. They dig their nails into the skin of Spite’s hand, knowing he appreciates physical reminders. “Mine.”
Spite smiles and makes an attempt to sit up before wincing in pain and falling back down again. “Yours.”
Voltah doesn’t know if that means he understands to not get himself hurt on their behalf, but it’s good enough for now.