[Gunpoint, fireballpoint—it's effectively the same thing. The flames shrink back down, but he keeps the flame held out between them, a reminder that he can make good on that threat at any moment. The evidence for that is all around them, after all—it wouldn't take much to light up this hallway again.
He glares, watching Amami carefully... but if he's lying, Clamor can't tell, and it's better to assume he's short on time now regardless. He hisses out a sigh, pointing with his other hand.]
Get on the ground. Over there. [away from the circle, away from the pile of bodies but still somewhere he can see.] And keep your mouth shut. You better hope no one else decides to show up.
[He's already had too many distractions, too many interruptions. If this plan falls apart any more, well... who's to say what he'd do, pushed into a corner like that?]
( amami keeps his eyes on the fire, rather than following clamor's hand to the other side of the room, mumbling under his breath despite the warning. )
Try not to jinx it.
( call out hope like that and you never know who might appear. well, either way, his eyes flicker to kamo-kun for only a moment before finally turning to the spot clamor's indicated, as if weighing his options. he doesn't move though, just standing there with his hands raised and a dead serious expression. )
[There's some irritation at the minor show of defiance—when he says "get on the ground" he means get on the ground, not stand around asking questions. Still, he smiles in return, a bit of Clamor's usual warmth showing through... even if these circumstances make it far from comforting.]
I only need one of them. The other kid just got in the way, like you did. So unless you're volunteering to take their place, I'd suggest you do as I say. Get on the ground.
[He points again. Don't make him repeat himself a third time.]
( bold of him to think amami would do something like that.
he exhales a tired sigh at the repeated command, more visibly irritated than anything else. the answer isn't what he wanted, but he's only human, and he's painfully aware of that fact despite the restless adrenaline bubbling under his skin. for now it's at least enough to make him turn, still facing clamor, and slowly lower his hands as he backs away. amami will give him the space that he asked for, but he keeps his eyes trained on the other the entire time. when he figures he's probably close enough to the right spot, he'll crouch down to watch. )
[He stares back, still smiling softly, and only allows the flame in his hand to fizzle away once Amami is crouched in his assigned corner. Only then does he crouch down himself, still keeping a close watch on his latest captive as he picks up the piece of chalk he dropped earlier.
There are more messy smears on his circle now, thanks to Amami stomping all over it a minute ago. Now he has to fix it again.]
( watching as clamor picks up his chalk — ah, right, there was some of that at the scene too, wasn't there? all the pieces, huh. well, anyway, amami will pocket both his hands for now. he doesn't look too in the mood for a conversation, but figures it's a better alternative to whatever tantrum the other might throw if he keeps talking back. so he gives a slow blink, watching clamor's movements carefully, and only now taking a look at the circle as he speaks. )
Not too great. Haven't been going to class enough, why?
[It's a bit hard to make out the details from across the room, with only the flickering candles left to light the darkness, but it looks... complicated. It probably took a long time to copy down, and that seems to be what he's doing now, reading off the book at his side from the corner of his eye as he traces out the relevant details again. A few squiggly runes here, a funky moon-shape there, fix up the edges that got smeared...]
Really? It's a good thing you decided to play nice, then, 'cause I'd hate to be stuck in your shoes. You must be confident if you're not even going to classes.
I've been working hard. Ito-kun has, too. I think he might even be graduating at the top of the class this year.
( oh, yeah, super confident. confident enough that, aside from watching clamor's movements, and where his attention seems to fall, amami's not too worried about what he's talking about. actually, more concerning is that these pants are gonna stain too soon if he doesn't get this over with, and he only has one pair of them left in the first place, so he gives a bit of a huff as he pulls one hand out of his pocket— )
Sure, but hey, Clamor?
( —and in one smooth motion, smears a streak of his own blood against the surface nearest to him. with a closer look at that hand, the corners of a broken shard of mirror, surprisingly sharp along the edges, might just peek out from beneath the fabric amami's got it wrapped in. but more important is the way he braces himself to make a full dash at clamor when the blood catches his peripheral, causing the school to fold in on itself as he kicks off the ground. )
[The room tilts, throwing Clamor off-kilter when the blood hits the floor—he's not prepared at all for the sudden shift, and Amami has the advantage when he charges forward, too fast for Clamor to react with precise spellwork while also adjusting to their new environment. Magic is powerful, but it's not easy. He can't just char Amami down to the bone without any time to prepare.
But imprecise, sloppy spellwork? Doable. Which is exactly what he goes with, a streak of fire shooting from his fingertips as he drops the chalk on the floor. It's enough to leave a nasty burn for sure, though his aim is slightly off in his haste. The best he can hope for is that it's enough to make Amami veer off course, give him an opening to escape or strike back before the other gets a second chance—there won't be a second chance, not if he can help it.
and if the flames don't land on target, they've gotta land somewhere, but that's a problem they can worry about later.]
( to be fair, amami isn't much more balanced than clamor himself, the world still turning inwards even as it falls apart at the seams. he pushes forward through the vertigo, certain that if he can just get closer, anything is better than the distance.
in fact, it might just be that vertigo that saves him in the end. stumbling forward, the fireball catches on his shoulder, charring his shirt and burning into his skin — but it isn't a direct hit. it continues past him, to amami-doesn't-care-where. but for all he hisses in pain, curses under his breath, he can keep moving forward. lunges, with the shard of his mirror gripped tightly in the hand opposite of his burn, and ready to swing at clamor as he closes in. )
[It's a bad outcome for Clamor, who has no choice but to deal with close quarters now. He raises an arm to block Amami's swing—"sacrifices" would be just as fitting, because it's not like he has anything better than flesh and bone to deflect the blow with, but better to get stabbed in the arm than in the neck. He hisses sharply at the pain, blood trickling down his arm as he uses the other to swing a fist at Amami's jaw.
The fireball that bounces off Amami's shoulder flies past him and towards the other end of the room, landing on the very wooden, very flammable floor. It begins to burn, slowly, still feeding off its remaining mana before spreading to the dry wood.
Shadow students also begin to appear, marching steadily closer from the stairs and hallways connected to this one, all of them gravitating towards the pair of unmoving bodies off to the side of Clamor and Amami's struggle.]
( he has no line of sight on the fire, so it's the shadow students that catch his attention first; he doesn't need to look to know why they're coming either, with clamor perfectly conscious in front of him. before he can think too hard on it though, the fist catches against the side of his cheek, stunning him for a moment as he struggles to regain his footing from the lunge. it's better a fist than fire, even as one hand lifts halfway, as if instinctively wanting to assess the damage.
he can't, though. he can't pause for long enough to actually bother with that — clearly, there's a time limit hanging over his head. he has the advantage he wanted now, and he can't waste it worrying about himself. can't waste it worrying over injuries that will disappear as soon as he cracks the mirror in his hand. first, he needs to deal with this. amami's eyes fall level with clamor again for only a moment, and even with the biting pain in his shoulder and the stars that make their home in the corners of his vision, he's still going to throw his entire body weight behind him as he tries to bowl clamor down onto the ground. )
[They both go toppling to the floor, Clamor pinned beneath Amami's weight. It's enough to wind him, but they're both fighting for their lives here—there's no time to be hesitating. That much seems obvious to both of them, and it's becoming clear that only one will be leaving this place alive tonight.
Clamor is fit, but not especially strong—throwing Amami off him won't be a simple task—so he instead he reaches behind him, grabbing the first object his fingers can catch. And wouldn't you know this floor is littered with those old gorinto rocks, and some of them are the perfect size for sticking in snowballs when you really want to hurt someone? They're also just the right size for fitting in a hand while you try to bash someone's head in, which is exactly what Clamor will attempt to do next.]
( alright, he's got this, he's as good as won. at least, that's what he thinks when clamor hits the floor, followed by himself.
all he needs to do is dig the mirror shard into clamor's neck — but by the time he's steadied himself, the other is already grabbing that rock, and it's headed straight for his skull. another curse under his breath, a sharp inhale as he tries to pull himself away some, raising his off-hand to protect his head. it's no different from clamor's sacrifice, really, and he bites back a yelp as, yeah, that's definitely a fracture at the least. probably worse, considering the weight of the rock. but it's fine, because through the pain that wracks its way down his entire arm, he tries to use that broken bone to push clamor's own hand out of the way. because he knows clamor will need time on the backswing before he can do it again.
his breath shakes, his hands shake, his blood rushes in his ears. the faint smell of something burning begins to fill the air, but amami can't turn to check; he focuses on one thing and one thing only. shoves the mirror shard down hard against whatever part of clamor's body seems most unprotected — he's hoping for the throat, but if he has to change direction, catches something else instead, that's fine. )
[The arm makes a nice, satisfying crack on impact, and the older man is grinning madly as he draws the stone back for the killing blow. He can do this, he will do this, he's not going to let himself die again—
He sees the glint of the mirror shard on Amami's other side, though, and tries to twist out of way at the last second. He can't quite move fast enough—it pierces his shoulder, way too close to the neck for comfort, blood spilling out from the wound and splattering if he decides to yank it back out. Not enough to kill, but it'll be fatal if he lets it bleed out for too long.
He still attempts to swing the rock, his aim even more off this time now that he's got a second stab wound to nurse, but he knows that isn't going to be enough to get him out of this mess. So when that inevitably doesn't kill Amami, he tries to knee him in the gut instead—or chest, or groin, or really whatever he can kick at to try and get the taller boy off him, desperate to either flip their positions or get away entirely.
In the meantime... the smell of smoke starts to get thick, the flickering flames behind them reaching higher and higher as they spread up the walls, creeping along the floor to where they're still having their squabble. The shadows pay the flames no mind, most of them stepping around the chaos to start grabbing at the other two bodies in the room... though a few now start to linger and stare eyelessly at the pair fighting for their lives, like a crowd gathering to place bets on who the winner will be.]
( satisfying is one way to put it. excruciating is probably another. but there's no choice but to grit his teeth and push through. no choice but to end this before it's too late. before he fails again. before he loses kamo-kun too... that's why it's almost enough for him to sigh with relief, watching the edge of the mirror dig into soft flesh. it's not the neck, but it's something. it's close. it's enough for him, for now.
amami doesn't pull the shard out, leaving it buried in clamor's shoulder as he tries to pull it towards himself — dragging the sharp edge through whatever he can. the rock comes up again, and this time, he's able to duck to avoid the poorly aimed swing, curling inward as he hangs on to the shard of glass embedded in clamor's skin, and continuing to drag it through — all the way up until the knee collides with his stomach, leaving him breathless.
he gives a pained groan, body curling inward on impact as he gasps for air to replace what was forced out of his lungs. another kick, and he'll be shoved off to the side, though he still clings desperately to the mirror shard, soaked through so red with both of their blood that he almost doubts he'll ever see it reflect the same again. )
[The glass edge is rough, jagged, not meant for slicing through flesh like a proper knife but that only means its more agonizing as its dragged through him, skin and muscle parting when the right pressure is applied, the right angle to saw with, blood flowing out of the wound as it grows deeper and wider. He bites back a scream, kicking free, feeling no better once the glass is yanked out and Amami is pushed aside but he refuses to give up when he's already so fucking close.
He drops the rock, scrambling onto his feet and almost backing directly into the shadows that have circled around them, dark silhouettes that make the fire's glow seem ever bright, fiercer. He could throw the fucking rock at Amami's skull. He could hope that it lands, hits hard enough to knock the boy out if not kill him, or dive back in to the brawl with renewed vigour. He could try to kick the other into the flames while he's still down, hope he doesn't rise too quickly to meet it and bring them both down to the ground again. He could take this chance to turn and run, risking passage through the wall of shadows to find the nearby bathrooms and escape.
He has a lot of options he could take. Instead he chokes on smoke, sweating from the growing blaze, and remembers just how easy it was to burn someone alive. How they screamed and burned and boiled until there was nothing left, nothing but charred meat clinging to bones and a stench that couldn't even be called "cooked" by that point, completely and utterly destroyed beyond recognition, a power so incredible and mesmerizing that he couldn't will himself to stop it.
He doesn't need to lower himself to such pathetic standards anymore. He's a mage now, isn't he? So he'll just solve this with magic.
Clamor presses one hand to the gash on his shoulder, the other held out with palm outstretched, smiling arrogantly, and perhaps that flicker of yellow in his eyes is just from the white-hot sphere of flame that begins to rapidly build, and build, and build—]
So long, Amami-kun.
[blindingly bright, the other fire that fills the room shrinking back in comparison as the air is sucked dry... but the impact doesn't come, never comes, because the fire never leaves Clamor's hands. And if Amami can open his eyes to see through the heat and the smoke he'll make out the flickering shadow of a human shape within the flames, the other shadows now converging on it like moths that burn up as they reach and claw and grasp, the floorboards creaking dangerously beneath the roaring heat—
because he's not a mage. Mages study for years to learn their craft, not a mere handful of weeks, not even a month's worth of time. And, perhaps, if he were as wise and experienced as Clamor, he'd have known better than to trifle so recklessly with fire magic—for as simple and easy as it may be to coax a flame, there's a reason why there are so few experts in pyromancy back in Elrios. It's all too easy for a mage to burn themselves out, both figuratively and literally, considering mana is no different from pouring gasoline when it comes to an uncontrollable flame. Inexperienced mages fare better survival rates, when their own mana is too low to sustain such a blaze.
If he even gets a chance to scream it's drowned out by the rest of noise before the flames start to peel back, and then all at once snuffing to a dim glow of lingering embers on remains that fall to the floor. Burnt so thoroughly that it's hard to tell what it even was before, cracking into pieces like charcoal as it hits the floor.
The room is still on fire, but it seems almost calm in comparison, now, with all the mana burnt away.
The shadows that remain silently shuffle past Amami, past Kamo-kun and the body of Ito-kun, to lift away the pieces of Clamor's body.]
he was fully prepared from the moment he saw kamo-kun laying in that heap on the floor, once he saw clamor's features alight beneath the hood, realized that it was just a simple human him against who he thought to be clamor of all people. was still willing and prepared to die if it meant doing everything he could to make sure kamo-kun didn't. but even as he shuts his eyes and waits for the flames to come, to feel his skin boil and burn away until there's nothing left but that same charcoal and mud as they found in the pool, it never actually happens. he hears the farewell, he waits, and after a pause, even behind closed eyes he can feel his vision turn white — opens them to find nothing but a crumbling lump of coal on the ground in front of him, surrounded by shadows that close in on the corpse like vultures.
...
he can't wait. regardless of the pain coursing through his entire body now, the flames are spreading, the shadows still present, if distracted for now. he doesn't know what state kamo-kun and the other kid are in either, and doesn't want to chance any longer in here. so he pushes himself off the ground, stumbling over to the pile of bodies on the other side of the room before he lets himself fall back to his knees, mirror still clutched too-tightly in his hand.
he places it in kamo-kun's hand first, using his own good hand to wrap their fingers around it and pressing it against the wood of the floor with enough pressure to snap. he looks to "ito-kun" next, and though he doesn't know him, wraps his fingers around the mirror and presses it against the wood of the floor with enough pressure to snap. he stops. he takes a deep breath, running the hand with now only a small chunk of a mirror left in his palm through his bangs, exhaling deep as he watches the shadows converge and gather the rubble that was once known as clamor. the room is hot, and sweat beads against his skin — from exertion, from the fire. pulling himself to his feet, he sets the mirror shard on the floor under his heel, and presses down until—
[—the scene is exactly as they left it. Amami half-running across the room and hopefully not about to fall flat on his face for it, candles flickering around a chalk circle, Clamor crouched on the other side with his spellbook opened next to him, a startled look on his face...
a look that sticks as the body slumps forward lifelessly, chalk dust scattering when he hits the floor. The hall is finally silent, now, with Amami the only one left standing.
There are no wounds on Clamor's body, still warm like he was in life but no trace of a pulse in his body. Deceased, without a doubt, but spared from the all-consuming void.
The cloaked cultist—Ito-kun—isn't in much better shape. Perhaps there's still a pulse there, a body just barely clinging to shreds of life... but he won't be waking up, either. Whatever was done, it's not something easily recovered from.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
He glares, watching Amami carefully... but if he's lying, Clamor can't tell, and it's better to assume he's short on time now regardless. He hisses out a sigh, pointing with his other hand.]
Get on the ground. Over there. [away from the circle, away from the pile of bodies but still somewhere he can see.] And keep your mouth shut. You better hope no one else decides to show up.
[He's already had too many distractions, too many interruptions. If this plan falls apart any more, well... who's to say what he'd do, pushed into a corner like that?]
no subject
Try not to jinx it.
( call out hope like that and you never know who might appear. well, either way, his eyes flicker to kamo-kun for only a moment before finally turning to the spot clamor's indicated, as if weighing his options. he doesn't move though, just standing there with his hands raised and a dead serious expression. )
First, what's going to happen to them?
no subject
[There's some irritation at the minor show of defiance—when he says "get on the ground" he means get on the ground, not stand around asking questions. Still, he smiles in return, a bit of Clamor's usual warmth showing through... even if these circumstances make it far from comforting.]
I only need one of them. The other kid just got in the way, like you did. So unless you're volunteering to take their place, I'd suggest you do as I say. Get on the ground.
[He points again. Don't make him repeat himself a third time.]
no subject
he exhales a tired sigh at the repeated command, more visibly irritated than anything else. the answer isn't what he wanted, but he's only human, and he's painfully aware of that fact despite the restless adrenaline bubbling under his skin. for now it's at least enough to make him turn, still facing clamor, and slowly lower his hands as he backs away. amami will give him the space that he asked for, but he keeps his eyes trained on the other the entire time. when he figures he's probably close enough to the right spot, he'll crouch down to watch. )
no subject
There are more messy smears on his circle now, thanks to Amami stomping all over it a minute ago. Now he has to fix it again.]
... What are your grades like, Amami-kun?
no subject
Not too great. Haven't been going to class enough, why?
no subject
Really? It's a good thing you decided to play nice, then, 'cause I'd hate to be stuck in your shoes. You must be confident if you're not even going to classes.
I've been working hard. Ito-kun has, too. I think he might even be graduating at the top of the class this year.
no subject
Sure, but hey, Clamor?
( —and in one smooth motion, smears a streak of his own blood against the surface nearest to him. with a closer look at that hand, the corners of a broken shard of mirror, surprisingly sharp along the edges, might just peek out from beneath the fabric amami's got it wrapped in. but more important is the way he braces himself to make a full dash at clamor when the blood catches his peripheral, causing the school to fold in on itself as he kicks off the ground. )
no subject
But imprecise, sloppy spellwork? Doable. Which is exactly what he goes with, a streak of fire shooting from his fingertips as he drops the chalk on the floor. It's enough to leave a nasty burn for sure, though his aim is slightly off in his haste. The best he can hope for is that it's enough to make Amami veer off course, give him an opening to escape or strike back before the other gets a second chance—there won't be a second chance, not if he can help it.
and if the flames don't land on target, they've gotta land somewhere, but that's a problem they can worry about later.]
no subject
in fact, it might just be that vertigo that saves him in the end. stumbling forward, the fireball catches on his shoulder, charring his shirt and burning into his skin — but it isn't a direct hit. it continues past him, to amami-doesn't-care-where. but for all he hisses in pain, curses under his breath, he can keep moving forward. lunges, with the shard of his mirror gripped tightly in the hand opposite of his burn, and ready to swing at clamor as he closes in. )
no subject
The fireball that bounces off Amami's shoulder flies past him and towards the other end of the room, landing on the very wooden, very flammable floor. It begins to burn, slowly, still feeding off its remaining mana before spreading to the dry wood.
Shadow students also begin to appear, marching steadily closer from the stairs and hallways connected to this one, all of them gravitating towards the pair of unmoving bodies off to the side of Clamor and Amami's struggle.]
no subject
he can't, though. he can't pause for long enough to actually bother with that — clearly, there's a time limit hanging over his head. he has the advantage he wanted now, and he can't waste it worrying about himself. can't waste it worrying over injuries that will disappear as soon as he cracks the mirror in his hand. first, he needs to deal with this. amami's eyes fall level with clamor again for only a moment, and even with the biting pain in his shoulder and the stars that make their home in the corners of his vision, he's still going to throw his entire body weight behind him as he tries to bowl clamor down onto the ground. )
no subject
Clamor is fit, but not especially strong—throwing Amami off him won't be a simple task—so he instead he reaches behind him, grabbing the first object his fingers can catch. And wouldn't you know this floor is littered with those old gorinto rocks, and some of them are the perfect size for sticking in snowballs when you really want to hurt someone? They're also just the right size for fitting in a hand while you try to bash someone's head in, which is exactly what Clamor will attempt to do next.]
no subject
all he needs to do is dig the mirror shard into clamor's neck — but by the time he's steadied himself, the other is already grabbing that rock, and it's headed straight for his skull. another curse under his breath, a sharp inhale as he tries to pull himself away some, raising his off-hand to protect his head. it's no different from clamor's sacrifice, really, and he bites back a yelp as, yeah, that's definitely a fracture at the least. probably worse, considering the weight of the rock. but it's fine, because through the pain that wracks its way down his entire arm, he tries to use that broken bone to push clamor's own hand out of the way. because he knows clamor will need time on the backswing before he can do it again.
his breath shakes, his hands shake, his blood rushes in his ears. the faint smell of something burning begins to fill the air, but amami can't turn to check; he focuses on one thing and one thing only. shoves the mirror shard down hard against whatever part of clamor's body seems most unprotected — he's hoping for the throat, but if he has to change direction, catches something else instead, that's fine. )
no subject
He sees the glint of the mirror shard on Amami's other side, though, and tries to twist out of way at the last second. He can't quite move fast enough—it pierces his shoulder, way too close to the neck for comfort, blood spilling out from the wound and splattering if he decides to yank it back out. Not enough to kill, but it'll be fatal if he lets it bleed out for too long.
He still attempts to swing the rock, his aim even more off this time now that he's got a second stab wound to nurse, but he knows that isn't going to be enough to get him out of this mess. So when that inevitably doesn't kill Amami, he tries to knee him in the gut instead—or chest, or groin, or really whatever he can kick at to try and get the taller boy off him, desperate to either flip their positions or get away entirely.
In the meantime... the smell of smoke starts to get thick, the flickering flames behind them reaching higher and higher as they spread up the walls, creeping along the floor to where they're still having their squabble. The shadows pay the flames no mind, most of them stepping around the chaos to start grabbing at the other two bodies in the room... though a few now start to linger and stare eyelessly at the pair fighting for their lives, like a crowd gathering to place bets on who the winner will be.]
no subject
amami doesn't pull the shard out, leaving it buried in clamor's shoulder as he tries to pull it towards himself — dragging the sharp edge through whatever he can. the rock comes up again, and this time, he's able to duck to avoid the poorly aimed swing, curling inward as he hangs on to the shard of glass embedded in clamor's skin, and continuing to drag it through — all the way up until the knee collides with his stomach, leaving him breathless.
he gives a pained groan, body curling inward on impact as he gasps for air to replace what was forced out of his lungs. another kick, and he'll be shoved off to the side, though he still clings desperately to the mirror shard, soaked through so red with both of their blood that he almost doubts he'll ever see it reflect the same again. )
no subject
He drops the rock, scrambling onto his feet and almost backing directly into the shadows that have circled around them, dark silhouettes that make the fire's glow seem ever bright, fiercer. He could throw the fucking rock at Amami's skull. He could hope that it lands, hits hard enough to knock the boy out if not kill him, or dive back in to the brawl with renewed vigour. He could try to kick the other into the flames while he's still down, hope he doesn't rise too quickly to meet it and bring them both down to the ground again. He could take this chance to turn and run, risking passage through the wall of shadows to find the nearby bathrooms and escape.
He has a lot of options he could take. Instead he chokes on smoke, sweating from the growing blaze, and remembers just how easy it was to burn someone alive. How they screamed and burned and boiled until there was nothing left, nothing but charred meat clinging to bones and a stench that couldn't even be called "cooked" by that point, completely and utterly destroyed beyond recognition, a power so incredible and mesmerizing that he couldn't will himself to stop it.
He doesn't need to lower himself to such pathetic standards anymore. He's a mage now, isn't he? So he'll just solve this with magic.
Clamor presses one hand to the gash on his shoulder, the other held out with palm outstretched, smiling arrogantly, and perhaps that flicker of yellow in his eyes is just from the white-hot sphere of flame that begins to rapidly build, and build, and build—]
So long, Amami-kun.
[blindingly bright, the other fire that fills the room shrinking back in comparison as the air is sucked dry... but the impact doesn't come, never comes, because the fire never leaves Clamor's hands. And if Amami can open his eyes to see through the heat and the smoke he'll make out the flickering shadow of a human shape within the flames, the other shadows now converging on it like moths that burn up as they reach and claw and grasp, the floorboards creaking dangerously beneath the roaring heat—
because he's not a mage. Mages study for years to learn their craft, not a mere handful of weeks, not even a month's worth of time. And, perhaps, if he were as wise and experienced as Clamor, he'd have known better than to trifle so recklessly with fire magic—for as simple and easy as it may be to coax a flame, there's a reason why there are so few experts in pyromancy back in Elrios. It's all too easy for a mage to burn themselves out, both figuratively and literally, considering mana is no different from pouring gasoline when it comes to an uncontrollable flame. Inexperienced mages fare better survival rates, when their own mana is too low to sustain such a blaze.
If he even gets a chance to scream it's drowned out by the rest of noise before the flames start to peel back, and then all at once snuffing to a dim glow of lingering embers on remains that fall to the floor. Burnt so thoroughly that it's hard to tell what it even was before, cracking into pieces like charcoal as it hits the floor.
The room is still on fire, but it seems almost calm in comparison, now, with all the mana burnt away.
The shadows that remain silently shuffle past Amami, past Kamo-kun and the body of Ito-kun, to lift away the pieces of Clamor's body.]
no subject
he was fully prepared from the moment he saw kamo-kun laying in that heap on the floor, once he saw clamor's features alight beneath the hood, realized that it was just a simple human him against who he thought to be clamor of all people. was still willing and prepared to die if it meant doing everything he could to make sure kamo-kun didn't. but even as he shuts his eyes and waits for the flames to come, to feel his skin boil and burn away until there's nothing left but that same charcoal and mud as they found in the pool, it never actually happens. he hears the farewell, he waits, and after a pause, even behind closed eyes he can feel his vision turn white — opens them to find nothing but a crumbling lump of coal on the ground in front of him, surrounded by shadows that close in on the corpse like vultures.
...
he can't wait. regardless of the pain coursing through his entire body now, the flames are spreading, the shadows still present, if distracted for now. he doesn't know what state kamo-kun and the other kid are in either, and doesn't want to chance any longer in here. so he pushes himself off the ground, stumbling over to the pile of bodies on the other side of the room before he lets himself fall back to his knees, mirror still clutched too-tightly in his hand.
he places it in kamo-kun's hand first, using his own good hand to wrap their fingers around it and pressing it against the wood of the floor with enough pressure to snap. he looks to "ito-kun" next, and though he doesn't know him, wraps his fingers around the mirror and presses it against the wood of the floor with enough pressure to snap. he stops. he takes a deep breath, running the hand with now only a small chunk of a mirror left in his palm through his bangs, exhaling deep as he watches the shadows converge and gather the rubble that was once known as clamor. the room is hot, and sweat beads against his skin — from exertion, from the fire. pulling himself to his feet, he sets the mirror shard on the floor under his heel, and presses down until—
—snap. )
no subject
a look that sticks as the body slumps forward lifelessly, chalk dust scattering when he hits the floor. The hall is finally silent, now, with Amami the only one left standing.
There are no wounds on Clamor's body, still warm like he was in life but no trace of a pulse in his body. Deceased, without a doubt, but spared from the all-consuming void.
The cloaked cultist—Ito-kun—isn't in much better shape. Perhaps there's still a pulse there, a body just barely clinging to shreds of life... but he won't be waking up, either. Whatever was done, it's not something easily recovered from.
And Kamo-kun... appears to be sleeping.
The rest is up to Amami.]
no subject