[ The momentum of the punch has him stumbling into the desk, knocking into it with a clatter and a scrape of wood that's hard enough to clack his teeth together. Childe can just barely keep himself upright but he manages, twisting around to peer into the room behind for the man in question.
He can hear Rex's shoes click like thunder, resonating in his head with all the subtlety of bricks slamming around in his mind, and then suddenly - nothing. Nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and his pants, the blood rushing through his head with adrenaline and anticipation, waiting, watching...
The beasts are... unexpected. They weren't there before, were they? He can hear, salivating, tearing and ripping and growling, he can hear the chains strain as they're pulled and yanked at, the creatures desperate for release. It brings him back to a time in Snezhnaya, a time when he thought he was going to die, so very long ago...
Needless to say, his battle with these imaginary beasts go as well as one might expect. With the effects of the vials and incense rampaging through his body he rips and tears and gets the same done to him in turn, flashes of bright, searing heat fresh in his mind even if they didn't show outwardly on his body. Like this he's reduced to his most basic instincts and the need to surive, and in his mind at least he does so gloriously, until a fatal blow against his neck rips out his throat and he's left to fade into unconsciousness on the mafia head's floor.
Funny that the mind could be so powerful so as to convince one that they were dead, despite how perfectly healthy their body was. Even someone like Tartaglia is not immune, it would seem.
That's what makes his awakening even more confusing, when he finds himself in one - albeit slightly bruised - piece, chained down to the floor of the very office he'd "died" in. He's sore and aching and tender but that doesn't stop him from yanking at his chains anyway to test the give and straining his already pained muscles even more in his endeavors. ]
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He can hear Rex's shoes click like thunder, resonating in his head with all the subtlety of bricks slamming around in his mind, and then suddenly - nothing. Nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and his pants, the blood rushing through his head with adrenaline and anticipation, waiting, watching...
The beasts are... unexpected. They weren't there before, were they? He can hear, salivating, tearing and ripping and growling, he can hear the chains strain as they're pulled and yanked at, the creatures desperate for release. It brings him back to a time in Snezhnaya, a time when he thought he was going to die, so very long ago...
Needless to say, his battle with these imaginary beasts go as well as one might expect. With the effects of the vials and incense rampaging through his body he rips and tears and gets the same done to him in turn, flashes of bright, searing heat fresh in his mind even if they didn't show outwardly on his body. Like this he's reduced to his most basic instincts and the need to surive, and in his mind at least he does so gloriously, until a fatal blow against his neck rips out his throat and he's left to fade into unconsciousness on the mafia head's floor.
Funny that the mind could be so powerful so as to convince one that they were dead, despite how perfectly healthy their body was. Even someone like Tartaglia is not immune, it would seem.
That's what makes his awakening even more confusing, when he finds himself in one - albeit slightly bruised - piece, chained down to the floor of the very office he'd "died" in. He's sore and aching and tender but that doesn't stop him from yanking at his chains anyway to test the give and straining his already pained muscles even more in his endeavors. ]
Fuck...