[ It's weird to have an empathic connection with someone you're killing.
Not a bad thing, necessarily. Just weird. But Dextera gives easily enough, as they'd all agreed to him doing; his body eventually slackening, until there's nothing left in it. He's limp, and Amos is holding a corpse, waiting for it to dissipate so he can then hold his shard, too.
(Amos had been dead not too long ago. His shard had been held as people had worked to bring him somewhere where he could be brought back to life. They'd been friends; they'd been distressed, but they'd been friends, and he could feel every little bit of what they were feeling.
Can Dextera feel the complete absence of emotions as his body begins to dissipate, as his shard ends up in Amos' hands? Hell if he knows.)
He stares at the soul, blank, passively absorbing Hythlodaeus and the Archangel's words behind him. The former's respect; the latter's forgiveness, even with so much work to still be done.
He really wants both for himself someday, too.
Amos looks up when he feels the Archangel's hand on his shoulder, and wordlessly gives him Dextera's shard, simply sliding it from his palm to the Archangel's. He'd promised; he's fulfilling that promise; he's doing a good thing, here. ]
Amos.
[ To Archangel, to Hythlodaeus, with no emotion in his voice. He's just answering a question. It isn't shock at what he's done that's keeping things suppressed, it's just... he did it. It's over. They'll be out of here soon, and then they'll all be fine, Dextera included. Just like that. ]
I don't mind. Anything I can do to help. [ If he took away the trauma of having to kill someone from those who don't like it, then he's done something good. The kind of thing that can be forgiven too, maybe. ] So long as you take care of him, until we can bring him back.
[ Because he'd promised, and that's the most important element of all this — second only to the fact that within moments, they should be freed. ]
rip...
Not a bad thing, necessarily. Just weird. But Dextera gives easily enough, as they'd all agreed to him doing; his body eventually slackening, until there's nothing left in it. He's limp, and Amos is holding a corpse, waiting for it to dissipate so he can then hold his shard, too.
(Amos had been dead not too long ago. His shard had been held as people had worked to bring him somewhere where he could be brought back to life. They'd been friends; they'd been distressed, but they'd been friends, and he could feel every little bit of what they were feeling.
Can Dextera feel the complete absence of emotions as his body begins to dissipate, as his shard ends up in Amos' hands? Hell if he knows.)
He stares at the soul, blank, passively absorbing Hythlodaeus and the Archangel's words behind him. The former's respect; the latter's forgiveness, even with so much work to still be done.
He really wants both for himself someday, too.
Amos looks up when he feels the Archangel's hand on his shoulder, and wordlessly gives him Dextera's shard, simply sliding it from his palm to the Archangel's. He'd promised; he's fulfilling that promise; he's doing a good thing, here. ]
Amos.
[ To Archangel, to Hythlodaeus, with no emotion in his voice. He's just answering a question. It isn't shock at what he's done that's keeping things suppressed, it's just... he did it. It's over. They'll be out of here soon, and then they'll all be fine, Dextera included. Just like that. ]
I don't mind. Anything I can do to help. [ If he took away the trauma of having to kill someone from those who don't like it, then he's done something good. The kind of thing that can be forgiven too, maybe. ] So long as you take care of him, until we can bring him back.
[ Because he'd promised, and that's the most important element of all this — second only to the fact that within moments, they should be freed. ]