I can show you the world! (OxO) (Closed)

"Um… Tom, sap her strength," Nyx said, taken aback by the suddenness of the punch.
Tom snapped their fingers. Golden tendrils of energy curled off of D2H's shoulders.

D2H wasn't actually there. It was one of D2H's illusions.

Nyx growled. She'd never, in her years at the lab, fought Fifteen and Sixteen, the illusionists.
She sent out her field, sensing D2H's muscle contractions and detecting where she was.
"There." She pointed.
Tom snapped again. More energy whirled through the air.

Another illusion.
D2H punched Tom in the back, knocking them down.

"Grab her ankle and sap her strength, this one's not an illusion," Nyx said, and Tom did.

It was an illusion.
"Can't tell who's the real Death to Heaven, can you?"

"Maybe not, but I can." Nyx sent out her field again. This time, she could sense the real one.
"Go."
Tom snapped. It reverberated loudly. Cords of energy - real ones, not wisps - curled towards them, settling in their fingernails, which glowed yellow as the energy flowed in.

D2H set up a mirror so it reflect back to Tom, draining themself of energy

Nyx growled, helpless. She wasn't good with strategy; that was Phoenix's department. Back in the lab, it had been all physical, no mental.

He, however, had eons of learning strategy.

"Ugh, I'm not good with strategy," she said out loud. "Tom, just do what you have to do."
"I have to take orders," Tom said, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

"So… Shall we call this a victory on my end?" He asked, smug

"I don't know, sure." She rubbed her eyes.

"Okay then." He deactivated his stand

He picked her up and laid her down on the bed.

Nyx grinned, turning pink.

He laid beside her.
"That was fun."

"Fun for you, maybe. I've never had to strategize, that's Phoenix's specialty." She prodded his chest.

"Sorry about that…" He said

She laughed. "No, it's all right. You know, there were actually two illusionists in the lab. Fifteen and Sixteen. I never got to fight either of them, though."

"Really? Neato!"

She sighed. "No, it's not neat. Here." Rolling over, she pulled up her shirt so he could see her lower back, which was covered in little white lines. Scars.
"Most of them are surgical," she said, "but the bigger ones" - she pointed out a raised, bumpy scar - "are from fights."

"Ouch…" He said, cringing.

"You haven't seen the worst one." She let her shirt drop.

"Do I want to?" He asked, carefully

"I don't know, do you? It's on my thigh."

"I don't wanna see.." He decided

"You'll see it sooner or later, I guess." She ran her fingers along it absentmindedly. You could barely see it under her jeans - some sort of a ridge.

"At the honeymoon?"
(I like this slow-burn romance)

(Me toooooo)
She smiled softly. "Yeah. But you've been warned, it's not pretty."