[There comes a point where Zekarion can no longer remain silent, but his few cries are strangled, choked in a throat that's gradually streaked with bright red and partly unusable, the light of the blasts radiating out past the spots they've directly eaten away from the shade. He doesn't know if he's capable of moving, if there would be enough of him left to carry him physically or magically through the darkness. It doesn't matter anymore—it seems clear to him that it will be over soon enough.
But before Scott can do something he can't undo, there's a rapid sound of an approach—polished rock hooves against concrete. That's the only warning the young man gets before a crystalline creature darts in as fast as its legs can carry it, ramming its large head into the back of his knees to entirely upend him.]
no subject
But before Scott can do something he can't undo, there's a rapid sound of an approach—polished rock hooves against concrete. That's the only warning the young man gets before a crystalline creature darts in as fast as its legs can carry it, ramming its large head into the back of his knees to entirely upend him.]