His breath comes quicker by the time Firo calls for him, and though sweat has yet to shine on his brow and he is physically unchanged, something different hangs about him, something darker. More sinister. All at once, the air in their half of the clearing feels thick and heavy, as it often does in the moments before a storm rages. Closer to Hector, it sizzles with devilish energies. Dracula's magics are invaluable in combat, but their power comes at a hefty price. The voices and nightmares are one thing; those can be bested with enough practice and determination. But nothing can stem the flow of dark energy that streams forth when he takes up the sword. Swiping the stars from the heavens would prove an easier feat.

Magic buzzing in his fingertips, Hector rubs the side of his neck. He pivots in place and regards Firo with notable hesitation. "…I shall not," he replies, not yet willing to draw unnecessary attention to the change. "But I will not aim to harm you, of course."