As if they were two sides of the same coin, because they were the right and left hands of the same mind, Abel stepped away once Virginia's arte had reached its crescendo. Neatly right outside the area of attack while it sliced through the very human, very fragile Cain on the ground. It cut a large swathe neatly through his torso, accompanying fragments of other mana lances dropping all around and piercing his body from different angles where they managed to coincide with the position of his sprawled limbs. He hardly had time to gasp or twitch, the attack far too foreign and sudden for him to have any kind of resistance.
There was a moment of pure and utter silence before Abel merely stepped back into place. He crouched down, head canted just so to the side, reformed hand reaching to press lightly at the fractures in a shoulder that hadn't the chance to heal, then at Cain's temple to nudge his head aside. Like some kind of curious child trying to prod a pet into getting up and playing, or perhaps a brother taunting their sibling. Raine's panic, her rush and her fall, were all ignored by Abel; each shadow had their own target, and this one knew that its job here was not yet done.
The smell of blood was strong, fresh and burned alike as flesh had been cauterized around the edge of the wounds but nothing so pretty inside of the entry points. An arte only lasted such a short while and soon there was nothing to hide the ugly and pathetically squishy mass that made up the average person on the other side of their skin. Despite all of that, the impossibility of survival against the barrage and the horrible, screaming pain it would cause to still live, there was a shudder from Cain. Already his organs were repairing, the important things absolutely needed for survival before his brain could be turned back on and the rest taken care of afterward. His first sense back was touch and it was all he needed to be stolen of breath, unable to make a sound as his insides twisted and repaired and he felt every single movement.
His hands clenched tight into the grass, broken hand unheeded in comparison to the agony elsewhere. His eyes were half-open and unseeing and—no, he was yelling because Abel had shifted his hand from Cain's temple and was reaching inside of the wound to begin rooting around, finding anything he could get a good grasp on to pull.
"can you hear me, Cain? even if we stayed like this for centuries and these wounds never healed, it would not even be a fraction of the pain you have caused for me," said Abel. It sounded dispassionate, the product of someone who didn't know how to emote or force proper meaning into their words and had generally given up trying. It was completely at odds with the actions he was taking now to make up for it. "this is all your fault."
no subject
There was a moment of pure and utter silence before Abel merely stepped back into place. He crouched down, head canted just so to the side, reformed hand reaching to press lightly at the fractures in a shoulder that hadn't the chance to heal, then at Cain's temple to nudge his head aside. Like some kind of curious child trying to prod a pet into getting up and playing, or perhaps a brother taunting their sibling. Raine's panic, her rush and her fall, were all ignored by Abel; each shadow had their own target, and this one knew that its job here was not yet done.
The smell of blood was strong, fresh and burned alike as flesh had been cauterized around the edge of the wounds but nothing so pretty inside of the entry points. An arte only lasted such a short while and soon there was nothing to hide the ugly and pathetically squishy mass that made up the average person on the other side of their skin. Despite all of that, the impossibility of survival against the barrage and the horrible, screaming pain it would cause to still live, there was a shudder from Cain. Already his organs were repairing, the important things absolutely needed for survival before his brain could be turned back on and the rest taken care of afterward. His first sense back was touch and it was all he needed to be stolen of breath, unable to make a sound as his insides twisted and repaired and he felt every single movement.
His hands clenched tight into the grass, broken hand unheeded in comparison to the agony elsewhere. His eyes were half-open and unseeing and—no, he was yelling because Abel had shifted his hand from Cain's temple and was reaching inside of the wound to begin rooting around, finding anything he could get a good grasp on to pull.
"can you hear me, Cain? even if we stayed like this for centuries and these wounds never healed, it would not even be a fraction of the pain you have caused for me," said Abel. It sounded dispassionate, the product of someone who didn't know how to emote or force proper meaning into their words and had generally given up trying. It was completely at odds with the actions he was taking now to make up for it. "this is all your fault."