The flesh does, of course - and it takes only seconds for the dazed ache he's feeling to build to a savage, full-bodied throbbing in the aftershock. His lungs cramp up; his mouth fills. He spits what tastes like dirt and burnt copper and croaks for air, blood webbing his lips. Still alive, if barely. He can't tell how bad it is any better than he can tell up from down while his skull rocks with a violence that feels like it'll split itself open.
Abel circles back, hovering restlessly at his side. A muted growl rumbles in its chest and Isaac shakily lifts his head to look. Through the sunspots dancing in his vision, he makes out the gold accents of a boot, wondering vaguely where he remembers it from. Then there's a voice, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. It could be saying anything; but all he hears is his own breath coming heavy and ragged and Hector's words in a loop:
try to keep up try to keep up
He coughs. Something jars deep inside him - an ugly, visceral shock, like that something is squirming and alive - wringing tears from his eyes faster than he can blink them back. His brain whites out. He coughs again, wetter, as he grasps his way up the slope and scrabbles clumsily for purchase, fighting to get a gasp in edgewise. His body isn't working like it should; doesn't feel like his own. Not until someone - or something - grabs hold of him. Hands hauling him up and up. His heart lurches. He snaps to awareness with a strangled shout, blinded by anger and hurt and by something dangerously close to fear on an instinctual level, because he's felt this before and knows he has to escape it, to try, or it'd get worse - it could always be worse. But he has already lost, when he twists and another raw stab of pain runs him through. Retching bile, he sees a flash of lights and colours -- and then nothing at all, ragdolling in Hector's grip.]
no subject
He doesn't remember falling.
The flesh does, of course - and it takes only seconds for the dazed ache he's feeling to build to a savage, full-bodied throbbing in the aftershock. His lungs cramp up; his mouth fills. He spits what tastes like dirt and burnt copper and croaks for air, blood webbing his lips. Still alive, if barely. He can't tell how bad it is any better than he can tell up from down while his skull rocks with a violence that feels like it'll split itself open.
Abel circles back, hovering restlessly at his side. A muted growl rumbles in its chest and Isaac shakily lifts his head to look. Through the sunspots dancing in his vision, he makes out the gold accents of a boot, wondering vaguely where he remembers it from. Then there's a voice, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. It could be saying anything; but all he hears is his own breath coming heavy and ragged and Hector's words in a loop:
try to keep up
try to keep up
He coughs. Something jars deep inside him - an ugly, visceral shock, like that something is squirming and alive - wringing tears from his eyes faster than he can blink them back. His brain whites out. He coughs again, wetter, as he grasps his way up the slope and scrabbles clumsily for purchase, fighting to get a gasp in edgewise. His body isn't working like it should; doesn't feel like his own. Not until someone - or something - grabs hold of him. Hands hauling him up and up. His heart lurches. He snaps to awareness with a strangled shout, blinded by anger and hurt and by something dangerously close to fear on an instinctual level, because he's felt this before and knows he has to escape it, to try, or it'd get worse - it could always be worse. But he has already lost, when he twists and another raw stab of pain runs him through. Retching bile, he sees a flash of lights and colours -- and then nothing at all, ragdolling in Hector's grip.]