アル・アジフ

オオオオオオオオオオオオオオオオオオオオ‼ あRTY　いSあC値ヴぇオンにゃＲぁてょてＰ！！

#SOULREPRIEVE It was hot. Too hot to be considered fun; humidity that made her envy the European disposition and culture of complaining. Why was it so hot? Why did she decide to do this? Friendship was, indeed, a stigmata of its own... "I can feel my ink melting..."

#SOULREPRIEVE The seagulls cried. For a moment, it seemed as if the tides were frozen, or perhaps that was just the cool breeze sailing along the humid heat. Al Azif kept to herself. She felt more comfortable with her body this time around; a more liberal swimsuit.

仕様書→ALT

You act like you've never seen a white person before.

into the air, several thousands of feet. She spun and spiralled in her book form; caught in the tornado that her partner created. Her voice reached Arslan's mind. “I apologize for continuing to doubt you. It would appear that I haven't grown as much as I believe I did…” -

other—cutting the spiders from this layer of reality—and unite into a massive summoning circle. From the abyss— No, it scooped the darkness from the very epicentre of something antithetical to the otherness of the Dreamlands. A steel giant's arm sprung from the circle, and -

Al Azif took to the floor with crossed-over legs, like a monk at the highest peak. Her posture was stiff and perfectly calm. Those olden pages danced before the conflict. “𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑬——!” Her eyes flashed open, revealing a rich hue of jade; a representation of the -

floor, split into hundreds of smaller ones. Then, as if anthropomorphizing itself, the sigils climbed into the third-dimension. “I call upon the fangs of the Spiders of Leng.” Out sprouted from the marks of the Necronomicon, were elongated fangs; unfathomably large, and with -

“This person isn’t a human being,” she said to herself. From the expanse of the Dreamlands of Earth, upon which she rose her petite hand—signalling disgust of the highest ordeal—Al Azif parted the boundary of fact and fiction. The Elder Sign from before, scurried across the -