Daya takes a second to marvel at the prosthetic Shade had created for them. It was quite something to them.
Whatever wanted to try and save Wing, it's too late.
They fall as they try to take a few steps. They feel and see shell breaking, internal void becoming exposed. Their wings were gone as well, it seemed, consumed into the void. Their form seemed to collapse in on itself, making them nothing but a sentient mass of void barely held together by their will. The Voidheart charm is still...somewhere in the mass.
Daya takes a second to marvel at the prosthetic Shade had created for them. It was quite something to them.
Whatever wanted to try and save Wing, it's too late.
They fall as they try to take a few steps. They feel and see shell breaking, internal void becoming exposed. Their wings were gone as well, it seemed, consumed into the void. Their form seemed to collapse in on itself, making them nothing but a sentient mass of void barely held together by their will. The Voidheart charm is still...somewhere in the mass.
Hollow also takes a glance at Daya's prosthetic, wondering if Shade would've also given them one if they hadn't healed their arm back.
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This presence, a familiar yet separate void, approaches the uncoagulating mass of void. A gaze of eight eyes on none, and a loud looming silence between. Who knows how long this went for, before the God of gods sent slithering vines of void around and over the black carrion. The voice felt to be inside the mind. "Does your thought still prevail, amalgam?"
Daya just kind of moves the fingers and hand of the prosthetic, almost as if testing it. Or just curious of what their new arm can do.
Almost as if by instinct, a couple of thin tendrils reach out to Shade from the mass, intertwining with the vines they send across it. There is fear, there is confusion and worry and relief. Most importantly, there is thought as they reach out to the God of Gods.
Shade?
Daya just kind of moves the fingers and hand of the prosthetic, almost as if testing it. Or just curious of what their new arm can do.
Almost as if by instinct, a couple of thin tendrils reach out to Shade from the mass, intertwining with the vines they send across it. There is fear, there is confusion and worry and relief. Most importantly, there is thought as they reach out to the God of Gods.
Shade?
