Amos' world had died down to a single speck, a single point of darkness as he'd thrashed, strained, did everything in his power to rip away from the vines holding him in place, useless and trapped and at the mercy of something he doesn't understand. All there was was him, and the binds holding him, and the desperate, desperate need to break free, because he knows what comes next.
But it's not like he can do this forever. Amos fights, because when he stops, when he gives in— But he's exhausting himself, his movements growing weaker by the moment, breaths increasingly haggard as he grunts with lessening and lessening effort.
And then that fucked up voice comes through, and Amos lifts his head — and actually sees what's going on for the first time.
Gen, looking just like him. Misa, who looks like she's okay — and Kaeya—
His blood runs cold.
He's never seen anything like this before, but he knows this isn't right. It's inside of him, inextricably deep, parasitic. It's— we, Kaeya had said—
Amos leans forward, boots scrambling for purchase against the wall of roots, trying to use them as something to push himself off with, give him that extra leverage he needs to wrench himself free. All he has is his strength. All he will ever actually have is his strength, and it is failing him, and he cannot do this, as his efforts begin anew, strained and strained and strained, veins visible under his skin as he tries desperately to push himself forward, rip himself free— ]
Kill him!
[ His shout is loud, panicked, laboured as he continues to try to free himself. He's barely gaining any traction— He has to— ]
You think he wants this? [ He's yelling, his words directed at Misa. This is very much an order on his part now, because Amos knows he wouldn't want this, because he's unable to do anything himself. ] Put him out of his misery and kill him!
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Amos' world had died down to a single speck, a single point of darkness as he'd thrashed, strained, did everything in his power to rip away from the vines holding him in place, useless and trapped and at the mercy of something he doesn't understand. All there was was him, and the binds holding him, and the desperate, desperate need to break free, because he knows what comes next.
But it's not like he can do this forever. Amos fights, because when he stops, when he gives in— But he's exhausting himself, his movements growing weaker by the moment, breaths increasingly haggard as he grunts with lessening and lessening effort.
And then that fucked up voice comes through, and Amos lifts his head — and actually sees what's going on for the first time.
Gen, looking just like him. Misa, who looks like she's okay — and Kaeya—
His blood runs cold.
He's never seen anything like this before, but he knows this isn't right. It's inside of him, inextricably deep, parasitic. It's— we, Kaeya had said—
Amos leans forward, boots scrambling for purchase against the wall of roots, trying to use them as something to push himself off with, give him that extra leverage he needs to wrench himself free. All he has is his strength. All he will ever actually have is his strength, and it is failing him, and he cannot do this, as his efforts begin anew, strained and strained and strained, veins visible under his skin as he tries desperately to push himself forward, rip himself free— ]
Kill him!
[ His shout is loud, panicked, laboured as he continues to try to free himself. He's barely gaining any traction— He has to— ]
You think he wants this? [ He's yelling, his words directed at Misa. This is very much an order on his part now, because Amos knows he wouldn't want this, because he's unable to do anything himself. ] Put him out of his misery and kill him!