[ Amos grunts as his back comes into contact with the ground, his refusal to relinquish his hold on Dimitri until gravity forces him to denying him his chance at a softer landing. But the tradeoff is worth it, he figures. He can absorb a little bit of pain (but not Meridian, not that; daylight be damned up against the darkness that comprises his void of nothingness), as long as it gives him a chance at the upper hand.
A chance, and not a whole lot more. Amos is able to stretch his arm free from Dimitri's hold, grapple at the front of his shirt in an attempt to gain the upper hand. All he has to work with is a normal human hand — strong if regular fingers that are maybe capable of bruising, but not a whole lot more — and maybe it also makes it a bit easier to envision his Zenith making its way through them, a conduit into Dimitri's chest. Heart.
If he can just get on top of him. Hold him in place... ]
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A chance, and not a whole lot more. Amos is able to stretch his arm free from Dimitri's hold, grapple at the front of his shirt in an attempt to gain the upper hand. All he has to work with is a normal human hand — strong if regular fingers that are maybe capable of bruising, but not a whole lot more — and maybe it also makes it a bit easier to envision his Zenith making its way through them, a conduit into Dimitri's chest. Heart.
If he can just get on top of him. Hold him in place... ]