Throughout the entire, deafening display of hyper-violence, Noir did not flinch.
He did not duck beneath the table for cover. He did not summon a protective barrier of starlight, and he certainly did not draw a weapon. As the air filled with the deafening roar of gunfire, the shattering of magical ice, and the agonised shrieks of dying gods, the Consort of Chaos Demon remained perfectly, flawlessly seated.
He was a portrait of absolute, chilling serenity. The contrast between the chaotic, brutal bloodbath raging just inches away and Noir's calm, clinical focus was staggering.
Noir had absolute, unshakeable faith in his husband. He knew that as long as Boss Solis was standing, not a single shard of ice, not a single breath of freezing wind, would ever be permitted to touch him. Solis was handling the physical interference; therefore, Noir was entirely free to finish the real war.
