Azareel didn't answer, his form still, too still.
Then—a faint whisper, hoarse and fragile.
"…Sorry." His voice trembled, barely audible over the settling dust. "Didn't mean to squish you."
Nyxsha stared, her heart pounding so loud it drowned out the crumbling world, her claws digging into the stone beside him.
"Idiot," she choked, her voice thick with fear and fury, tears pricking at her eyes despite herself. "You—"
Sylvara dashed forward, her vines whipping out to wrap the debris, pulling it off him with a groan of straining roots, her amber eyes wide with shock.
Virelya reappeared in a swirl of mist, her golden eyes uncharacteristically wide, reaching down with trembling hands.
Azareel's ribs were caved in, a gruesome indentation across his chest, his back twisted unnaturally, blood pooling beneath him in a silver-pink stain that glowed faintly.
