His face twists with what that does by his shoulder but he hangs on tight. He kicks off his shoes to better keep on the wall, claws of his feet going to dig in as much as they can now.
He catches the salute and the sight of Steve going into the fray. For a brief moment he wants to drop and join in the fight. He has to remind himself that he ain't a fighter first anymore, and more than that, he's got a job what's more important right now.
He turns to those bars. Last time he tried to bend metal to his will without his full strength afforded to him by the Capitol, he'd wound up merely drowning. He and his Father and Sabriel too. Sigma had gone first, shocked by his cybernetic eye. Sabriel had been next and then had been the quiet and the burn of his under-developed fins without gill to breathe. This wouldn't be like then. He wouldn't show fear like he did then.
He breathes deep, grits his teeth, then starts to pull. He had people to save. He had people who needed those still left here. He had to try. He was Kurloz fucking Makara, he could do this. His breath turns to growls and snarls as he forces it to bend to his will. He thinks of Mituna, all the times he dreamed of tearing him free from the helm. He thinks of Kankri, the shackles he'd been destined to put him in, and he thinks of breaking those too, of breaking this whole cycle. He thinks of how it would be if Gamzee, his future descendant, were just on the other side.
There's a crack as one of those bars breaks loose. He drops it fast and grips the far one, then breaks off the other with a laugh. He did it. Now... the window. He grips the far edge tighter, hauls himself up, then pulls a fist back. His eyes close as the glass a shatters around his fist. He gives himself just one moment to breath before he starts trying to clear out the remaining glass, his hand and arm now bleeding indigo. The pants he's got on are some sort of leather material. He can swing up and hang off it, pull the others through.
At least so long as Steve's fine. He turns quick to check.
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He catches the salute and the sight of Steve going into the fray. For a brief moment he wants to drop and join in the fight. He has to remind himself that he ain't a fighter first anymore, and more than that, he's got a job what's more important right now.
He turns to those bars. Last time he tried to bend metal to his will without his full strength afforded to him by the Capitol, he'd wound up merely drowning. He and his Father and Sabriel too. Sigma had gone first, shocked by his cybernetic eye. Sabriel had been next and then had been the quiet and the burn of his under-developed fins without gill to breathe. This wouldn't be like then. He wouldn't show fear like he did then.
He breathes deep, grits his teeth, then starts to pull. He had people to save. He had people who needed those still left here. He had to try. He was Kurloz fucking Makara, he could do this. His breath turns to growls and snarls as he forces it to bend to his will. He thinks of Mituna, all the times he dreamed of tearing him free from the helm. He thinks of Kankri, the shackles he'd been destined to put him in, and he thinks of breaking those too, of breaking this whole cycle. He thinks of how it would be if Gamzee, his future descendant, were just on the other side.
There's a crack as one of those bars breaks loose. He drops it fast and grips the far one, then breaks off the other with a laugh. He did it. Now... the window. He grips the far edge tighter, hauls himself up, then pulls a fist back. His eyes close as the glass a shatters around his fist. He gives himself just one moment to breath before he starts trying to clear out the remaining glass, his hand and arm now bleeding indigo. The pants he's got on are some sort of leather material. He can swing up and hang off it, pull the others through.
At least so long as Steve's fine. He turns quick to check.