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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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.]