He had started to think he'd make it. His feet weren't that quick, and his lungs burned from exertion -- either phantom or real, it didn't matter, what mattered was the fact that he felt that familiar, tell-tale burn -- and his feet moved, each step a little quicker than the next.
He wanted out. He'd done what he could, short of getting himself dissipated, trying to stab a knife in the thing, he would have to rely on Makoto and Gen's shimmered forms, to do the work. He wished he could slip away, invisible, but that wasn't possible right now. He wouldn't be able. He heaved, and turned slightly, to make that last couple meters to the door when --
He felt it. A raw, painful sensation between his shoulder blades, white hot and angry, like it would sear him from the inside out. He didn't imagine, the way his entire body, centered around his chest burned, and he stumbled, his feet skidded on the ground, skidded against the storehouse floor -- and he fell, face first, onto the ground.
He skidded, for just a moment, his body still, for a moment.
He felt it, something was wrong, and he felt anger seethe and writhe through his veins. If there was a way, an ability to do so, he would spin, and throw his knife at the thing, but it was too fast, too strong -- he turned, to look over his shoulder, to see in quick succession, a spear of light pierce one after another, after another of the rest of them.
And he couldn't see that familiar dark haze that he'd associated with his connection to the Kenoma, that familiar darkness, he couldn't touch it anymore. He couldn't feel it.
Silco very nearly out loud swore, but something sharp in his fingers stopped him -- Kaeya's shard -- the rest of them were strong, and juiced on shimmer. That spear, it hadn't killed him, and as he scrambled to his feet, he found no blood. He didn't look back, when he slipped through the door, to get out of there. He couldn't afford to do so, his feet scuffed and stumbled, as he tried to make his way out, and find a place to regroup.
But that white-hot flame, of that thing, whatever it was, associated with the Innocent. It made his head pound, and he seethed with anger, mad because it still existed, mad because it was had taken the man over, and mad that yet again he could feel the effects of its touch.
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He wanted out. He'd done what he could, short of getting himself dissipated, trying to stab a knife in the thing, he would have to rely on Makoto and Gen's shimmered forms, to do the work. He wished he could slip away, invisible, but that wasn't possible right now. He wouldn't be able. He heaved, and turned slightly, to make that last couple meters to the door when --
He felt it. A raw, painful sensation between his shoulder blades, white hot and angry, like it would sear him from the inside out. He didn't imagine, the way his entire body, centered around his chest burned, and he stumbled, his feet skidded on the ground, skidded against the storehouse floor -- and he fell, face first, onto the ground.
He skidded, for just a moment, his body still, for a moment.
He felt it, something was wrong, and he felt anger seethe and writhe through his veins. If there was a way, an ability to do so, he would spin, and throw his knife at the thing, but it was too fast, too strong -- he turned, to look over his shoulder, to see in quick succession, a spear of light pierce one after another, after another of the rest of them.
And he couldn't see that familiar dark haze that he'd associated with his connection to the Kenoma, that familiar darkness, he couldn't touch it anymore. He couldn't feel it.
Silco very nearly out loud swore, but something sharp in his fingers stopped him -- Kaeya's shard -- the rest of them were strong, and juiced on shimmer. That spear, it hadn't killed him, and as he scrambled to his feet, he found no blood. He didn't look back, when he slipped through the door, to get out of there. He couldn't afford to do so, his feet scuffed and stumbled, as he tried to make his way out, and find a place to regroup.
But that white-hot flame, of that thing, whatever it was, associated with the Innocent. It made his head pound, and he seethed with anger, mad because it still existed, mad because it was had taken the man over, and mad that yet again he could feel the effects of its touch.