...How do you figure we get out of this one? Assuming we can get out of this one.
[ he's been to some pretty awful rooms, but he had not once considered they might really be stepping into the Eternal Flames. he keeps chattering in a poor attempt to stave off nerves. ]
[ he feels like he should say something reassuring but... can he even convince himself? sylvain tries to direct his focus on claude, ignoring his own mounting dread ]
Whether hell exists or not, this one can't be real. Or at least, any worse than what we've already been through.
[ maybe those are lofty words, but... he's trying to drum up whatever reassurance he can, for the both of them. his hand hovers over claude's shoulder, undecided for a moment, before he finally plants it down ]
[ Okay, we're compartmentalizing. Letting his hands drop with a sigh, he nods. ]
Great, let's... walk into hell then.
[ Even if they can't die it's still going to hurt!!
And his thoughts are proven correct when he takes a step forward and chains erupt from underneath them, pinning them to the ground. The metal is hot, searing through the fabric of their clothes.
[ yeah, it's definitely going to be terrible! claude is gonna emerge from this door 2cm shorter than he was before
sylvain curses as they're ensnared, immediately thrashing against his restraints (though it only makes it worse, bringing the chains blisteringly close to his skin). he's forcibly dragged down to his knees as the bindings wrap around his chest, arms and legs. ]
I take back— [ grimace ] everything I just said—
[ sweat beads on his brow, and his breathing turns ragged as he tries to manage the pain. he can smell soot off his clothes, fine hairs burning off his skin.
he hears something whistling through the air and his attention snaps upward in alarm ]
Claude!
[ he shouts, just as an arrow punctures the other man through the shoulder ]
[ If Claude had the choice between drowning and being burnt to death, he would choose drowning. No contest.
He glances just in time for an arrow to burst into the meat of his shoulder, digging past the bone and sinew. It's not unfamiliar, he's been hit by arrows before, but it burns. The arrowhead is jagged and alive, tearing through flesh as it continues it's trajectory even after its momentum is spent until its burrowed a hole clean through his shoulder, leaving him to bleed.
Great. ]
This is—
[ Hell. Quite literally. The words come out as a gasp, and the chains tighten around them, stealing his words as another weapon flies at them, a rusted polearm finding home in Sylvain's gut. ]
sylvain doesn't have any opportunity to respond. the polearm dives clean through his gut, and the momentum should be enough to sway him—but the chains hold him fast in their slow and painful descent past clothing and into flesh. (the smell is barbaric, and not unfamiliar. he has an affinity for fire spells after all, has used them before on the battlefield and has been targeted in turn.)
but it isn't enough punishment, not nearly. the spear lodged in his torso begins to twist of its own accord, slow but unmistakably, the haft splintering open in mockery of his relic, jagged ends tearing new tracks into skin, muscle and organ.
he can only watch as blood and viscera spills out of him, mind beginning to slip into a state of shock as his own scream blurs between his ears. his thrashing inevitably begins to subside, skin growing clammy despite the hellish heat. one of the chains sears past the bone of his forearm, severing it from his elbow.
another arrow fires, and another, and he blearily gazes up to see one of them catch claude through the throat. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Is the first thing he says, trying to grab the door handle to pull them out if this. ]
Nope. Is this a joke?
[ The door disappears. ]
no subject
[ there goes their exit... ]
...How do you figure we get out of this one? Assuming we can get out of this one.
[ he's been to some pretty awful rooms, but he had not once considered they might really be stepping into the Eternal Flames. he keeps chattering in a poor attempt to stave off nerves. ]
Maybe we cast ourselves into a molten pit.
no subject
His face is covered by his hands. ]
This seems unfair given I'm not even sure I believe in hell.
no subject
Whether hell exists or not, this one can't be real. Or at least, any worse than what we've already been through.
[ maybe those are lofty words, but... he's trying to drum up whatever reassurance he can, for the both of them. his hand hovers over claude's shoulder, undecided for a moment, before he finally plants it down ]
We'll get outta here...
no subject
Great, let's... walk into hell then.
[ Even if they can't die it's still going to hurt!!
And his thoughts are proven correct when he takes a step forward and chains erupt from underneath them, pinning them to the ground. The metal is hot, searing through the fabric of their clothes.
Great. ]
cw: burns, injuries
sylvain curses as they're ensnared, immediately thrashing against his restraints (though it only makes it worse, bringing the chains blisteringly close to his skin). he's forcibly dragged down to his knees as the bindings wrap around his chest, arms and legs. ]
I take back— [ grimace ] everything I just said—
[ sweat beads on his brow, and his breathing turns ragged as he tries to manage the pain. he can smell soot off his clothes, fine hairs burning off his skin.
he hears something whistling through the air and his attention snaps upward in alarm ]
Claude!
[ he shouts, just as an arrow punctures the other man through the shoulder ]
no subject
He glances just in time for an arrow to burst into the meat of his shoulder, digging past the bone and sinew. It's not unfamiliar, he's been hit by arrows before, but it burns. The arrowhead is jagged and alive, tearing through flesh as it continues it's trajectory even after its momentum is spent until its burrowed a hole clean through his shoulder, leaving him to bleed.
Great. ]
This is—
[ Hell. Quite literally. The words come out as a gasp, and the chains tighten around them, stealing his words as another weapon flies at them, a rusted polearm finding home in Sylvain's gut. ]
no subject
sylvain doesn't have any opportunity to respond. the polearm dives clean through his gut, and the momentum should be enough to sway him—but the chains hold him fast in their slow and painful descent past clothing and into flesh. (the smell is barbaric, and not unfamiliar. he has an affinity for fire spells after all, has used them before on the battlefield and has been targeted in turn.)
but it isn't enough punishment, not nearly. the spear lodged in his torso begins to twist of its own accord, slow but unmistakably, the haft splintering open in mockery of his relic, jagged ends tearing new tracks into skin, muscle and organ.
he can only watch as blood and viscera spills out of him, mind beginning to slip into a state of shock as his own scream blurs between his ears. his thrashing inevitably begins to subside, skin growing clammy despite the hellish heat. one of the chains sears past the bone of his forearm, severing it from his elbow.
another arrow fires, and another, and he blearily gazes up to see one of them catch claude through the throat. ]