Mercy
Characters: Torn & Erol (semi-open, please ask)
Location: Deck 9
Date: 2/22, immediately following Xamira's death
Rating: PG-13 (violence/pain)
Erol lay where he had collapsed after the pain of Xamira's spell had overwhelmed him, not far from the stairwell. He'd stopped paying attention to the witch before she'd even been surrounded, burning from the inside out as she herself was engulfed in flames.
The KG's breathing was shallow, quick; he twisted on the floor in agony, barely aware of anything beyond his own screaming nerves, harsh sounds of pain escaping with every second or third breath. It was less pride that kept him from screaming and more the fact he couldn't draw enough air into his lungs.
Erol had always prided himself on his pain tolerance - he got off on more pain than most would voluntarily expose themselves to - but the sensation of burning alive was too much. Even for him.
Footsteps. Erol couldn't get enough air, couldn't see properly; a shaking hand tilted his mask back before continuing to futilely claw at the ground. Golden eyes wide and bright with pain rolled upwards to see - who'd come to torment him, now that he was down and vulnerable? Never mind that he'd gotten into this with an act that benefitted them all...
He'd have been better off taking on Xamira his own way, not leading her like wounded limping bait to the ambush.
Location: Deck 9
Date: 2/22, immediately following Xamira's death
Rating: PG-13 (violence/pain)
Erol lay where he had collapsed after the pain of Xamira's spell had overwhelmed him, not far from the stairwell. He'd stopped paying attention to the witch before she'd even been surrounded, burning from the inside out as she herself was engulfed in flames.
The KG's breathing was shallow, quick; he twisted on the floor in agony, barely aware of anything beyond his own screaming nerves, harsh sounds of pain escaping with every second or third breath. It was less pride that kept him from screaming and more the fact he couldn't draw enough air into his lungs.
Erol had always prided himself on his pain tolerance - he got off on more pain than most would voluntarily expose themselves to - but the sensation of burning alive was too much. Even for him.
Footsteps. Erol couldn't get enough air, couldn't see properly; a shaking hand tilted his mask back before continuing to futilely claw at the ground. Golden eyes wide and bright with pain rolled upwards to see - who'd come to torment him, now that he was down and vulnerable? Never mind that he'd gotten into this with an act that benefitted them all...
He'd have been better off taking on Xamira his own way, not leading her like wounded limping bait to the ambush.