[ There are no limits when it comes to Oracles, the most important things they will likely ever encounter in their lives. She should know that. There was an understanding between them there, as much as there was about anything else.
And Amos had found himself nearly broken, likely at the mercy of harsh hooves and a body that could easily best his. And he wants to live. And the cost he inflicts on others to achieve that doesn't always matter.
Except when it does, after it's too late to take back; hence a brief apology, and then... right back to it, once he's asserted his own safety, his own victory—
Amos has never been to a desert before. Not in the traditional sense; no hot sand stretching across the horizon, sun beating down mercilessly. He has never experienced divinity; has no reason to believe anything like gods exist, despite the proclamations of certain Shard-Bearers among them. It's bizarrely egotistical bullshit, arrogant decrees by madmen—
Set is a madman. Communion with Set is the only place he's felt this kind of oppressive, grainy heat from.
He does not feel fear. Not since he was a kid, and even then, it had worn off.
Something is wrenched up from impossibly deep inside him, and Amos is left slack-jawed, his heart hammering in his chest as he falters, would stumble to the ground thinking he's stroking out or having a heart attack or something but for the way Hayame's hand grips him, keeps him upright, and his disorientation only grows as she slams her skull into his. He sees stars; he sees nothing, and it is terrifying.
All sense of logic and being leaves him, because he knows exactly what comes next — and for it he turns into a thrashing set of uncoordinated limbs, head throbbing and no rhyme or reason as he swings fists wildly, just hoping to connect, to fight off the inevitable. ]
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And Amos had found himself nearly broken, likely at the mercy of harsh hooves and a body that could easily best his. And he wants to live. And the cost he inflicts on others to achieve that doesn't always matter.
Except when it does, after it's too late to take back; hence a brief apology, and then... right back to it, once he's asserted his own safety, his own victory—
Amos has never been to a desert before. Not in the traditional sense; no hot sand stretching across the horizon, sun beating down mercilessly. He has never experienced divinity; has no reason to believe anything like gods exist, despite the proclamations of certain Shard-Bearers among them. It's bizarrely egotistical bullshit, arrogant decrees by madmen—
Set is a madman. Communion with Set is the only place he's felt this kind of oppressive, grainy heat from.
He does not feel fear. Not since he was a kid, and even then, it had worn off.
Something is wrenched up from impossibly deep inside him, and Amos is left slack-jawed, his heart hammering in his chest as he falters, would stumble to the ground thinking he's stroking out or having a heart attack or something but for the way Hayame's hand grips him, keeps him upright, and his disorientation only grows as she slams her skull into his. He sees stars; he sees nothing, and it is terrifying.
All sense of logic and being leaves him, because he knows exactly what comes next — and for it he turns into a thrashing set of uncoordinated limbs, head throbbing and no rhyme or reason as he swings fists wildly, just hoping to connect, to fight off the inevitable. ]