( 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.
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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. )
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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.]
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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. )
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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.]
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