[ the skittering of mutated piximanders, the gutteral coughing getting just so much closer has jayce speed up his attempts. he's afraid to look into the dark and see what, exactly, is crawling for him, some twisted form of viktor from the explosion, the attack on the council— dead and soundlessly pleading to leave him be and he knows he can't stand it, he can't. and yet he wishes to see him in a way he could coil his arms around him so tight and not have a lifeless body dangling in them.
a spark of flame erupts from ash and bone, and quickly does jayce bend his front to blow into the fire and fan it. just as quickly, jayce snaps his torso to confront the figure haunting him, a gasp surging his lungs and eyes so wide they could fall from his skull. and then the man crumbles at what the dim light shows him. at who the pale, milky skin tarnished with filth and fresh blood was. eyes intact, no deep, endless sockets of blackness. no horrors pouring from his mouth and damning jayce for what he has done. ]
V-viktor, [ a breathless plea that felt like a prayer whispered within these walls, one that the gods have heard. jayce cannot get up; he only drags himself with the flats of his arms and his singular good leg to meet him, ] don't, don't move, I can make it—
[ he doesn't question how viktor is here— he only registers that he is, and his fever makes him believe it. ]
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a spark of flame erupts from ash and bone, and quickly does jayce bend his front to blow into the fire and fan it. just as quickly, jayce snaps his torso to confront the figure haunting him, a gasp surging his lungs and eyes so wide they could fall from his skull. and then the man crumbles at what the dim light shows him. at who the pale, milky skin tarnished with filth and fresh blood was. eyes intact, no deep, endless sockets of blackness. no horrors pouring from his mouth and damning jayce for what he has done. ]
V-viktor, [ a breathless plea that felt like a prayer whispered within these walls, one that the gods have heard. jayce cannot get up; he only drags himself with the flats of his arms and his singular good leg to meet him, ] don't, don't move, I can make it—
[ he doesn't question how viktor is here— he only registers that he is, and his fever makes him believe it. ]