[ He feeds off of Gen and Misa's anger at first. Nevermind how much of it is directed at him and how much at the dryad; Amos feels all of it, rushing up to meet his own, and he practically gulps it down, a man dying in the desert. Or a man slowly dying of poison, a man who if he could just break free of these binds everything will be okay—
(Yeah; if the dryad had grabbed Misa next, he would have tried to kill her, too. He has no way of knowing what's going through Kaeya's had at the moment, just that there are worse things than dying, and he's living it right now. That can be his only priority right now — put Kaeya out of his misery, and if it ends up with all of them dead, then it ends up with all of them dead. It'd be worth it.)
Amos continues to struggle at the vines that hold him firmly in place, grunting through gritted teeth, muscles growing increasingly sore with the futile effort — and too focused on that than to offer up any retorts to Gen or Misa, who have made up their minds, whatever it might mean for Kaeya. He's not going to win any arguments here; if he could, then he would've just killed himself from the beginning and none of this would have ever happened. They'd have all been better off.
But he can't just singlehandedly rip through them — and when Misa says she'll never forgive them, Amos stops.
His body stills as he watches Misa cut off her finger, heart sinking at the sight of it. For her — for the inevitable he's starting to feel, that creeping sensation along the nape of his neck, the cold chill that washes over him. And as the vines tighten further around him, he feels like he can't breathe. There's no struggle left to be had here; all there is is to go limp and take it.
Amos isn't one for crying — hasn't been for decades — but pinpricks of tears form at the corners of his eyes, and stay there. That's as far as he'll ever get.
He's so fucking helpless. The way Kaeya says we. The way Gen has to offer up a body part to him, picking a part of himself to lose while completely at the mercy of something that has none. He watches them through dead eyes as he starts to retreat back into himself, feeling absolutely nothing, an empty vessel for someone who's barely even a person and nothing more.
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(Yeah; if the dryad had grabbed Misa next, he would have tried to kill her, too. He has no way of knowing what's going through Kaeya's had at the moment, just that there are worse things than dying, and he's living it right now. That can be his only priority right now — put Kaeya out of his misery, and if it ends up with all of them dead, then it ends up with all of them dead. It'd be worth it.)
Amos continues to struggle at the vines that hold him firmly in place, grunting through gritted teeth, muscles growing increasingly sore with the futile effort — and too focused on that than to offer up any retorts to Gen or Misa, who have made up their minds, whatever it might mean for Kaeya. He's not going to win any arguments here; if he could, then he would've just killed himself from the beginning and none of this would have ever happened. They'd have all been better off.
But he can't just singlehandedly rip through them — and when Misa says she'll never forgive them, Amos stops.
His body stills as he watches Misa cut off her finger, heart sinking at the sight of it. For her — for the inevitable he's starting to feel, that creeping sensation along the nape of his neck, the cold chill that washes over him. And as the vines tighten further around him, he feels like he can't breathe. There's no struggle left to be had here; all there is is to go limp and take it.
Amos isn't one for crying — hasn't been for decades — but pinpricks of tears form at the corners of his eyes, and stay there. That's as far as he'll ever get.
He's so fucking helpless. The way Kaeya says we. The way Gen has to offer up a body part to him, picking a part of himself to lose while completely at the mercy of something that has none. He watches them through dead eyes as he starts to retreat back into himself, feeling absolutely nothing, an empty vessel for someone who's barely even a person and nothing more.
He's done. ]