[ The extensive use of Way of the Wind throughout numerous battles has fatigued him, causes him to stumble in his steps as he tries to get away. It leaves him wide open and vulnerable to an equal sort of speed, and it catches up with him now as he feels some length of the whip coil around his throat.
Before he fully registers what it is that's happening, Dokja crashes to the hard, uneven ground with the entirety of his weight, landing heavily on his injured shoulder from before. The pain ricochets throughout the rest of him, body seizing as it tries to grapple with the unbearable agony that momentarily whites out his vision and he opens his mouth in a soundless cry. In his daze, the fur recedes from his neck and disappears entirely, leaving an exposed and already sore throat to be further abused by the whip twisted around him. With so much pain wracking his body, he can't help but wonder what the hell he's fighting so damn hard for...? He could stop.
He'd wanted to.
It would be easy. The same way he'd pressed his disintegrating fingers against the glass of the subway train to speed up the process of disappearing despite the warnings of the Fourth Wall. The pain had been insufferable back then, too, his heart as scattered as the rest of him with the knowledge he'd been the one to cause all that suffering and death and destruction. He doesn't deserve to live with a consciousness.
... No.
It would be too easy.
Furiously blinking his vision back into place, he reaches up with desperate fingers to try and wedge them between skin and whip to allow him some breathing room as he twists to try and get his feet back under him. No, he can't stop here. He has centuries left to atone for. If he gives up now, if he loses his will to fight here, then he'll never be able to pay back what he owes with his miserable existence. ]
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Before he fully registers what it is that's happening, Dokja crashes to the hard, uneven ground with the entirety of his weight, landing heavily on his injured shoulder from before. The pain ricochets throughout the rest of him, body seizing as it tries to grapple with the unbearable agony that momentarily whites out his vision and he opens his mouth in a soundless cry. In his daze, the fur recedes from his neck and disappears entirely, leaving an exposed and already sore throat to be further abused by the whip twisted around him. With so much pain wracking his body, he can't help but wonder what the hell he's fighting so damn hard for...? He could stop.
He'd wanted to.
It would be easy. The same way he'd pressed his disintegrating fingers against the glass of the subway train to speed up the process of disappearing despite the warnings of the Fourth Wall. The pain had been insufferable back then, too, his heart as scattered as the rest of him with the knowledge he'd been the one to cause all that suffering and death and destruction. He doesn't deserve to live with a consciousness.
... No.
It would be too easy.
Furiously blinking his vision back into place, he reaches up with desperate fingers to try and wedge them between skin and whip to allow him some breathing room as he twists to try and get his feet back under him. No, he can't stop here. He has centuries left to atone for. If he gives up now, if he loses his will to fight here, then he'll never be able to pay back what he owes with his miserable existence. ]