「 ✠ 」 The archangel’s grip tightened at the sound of metal hitting concrete. Though a large part of her wanted to turn around and leave whether Rhys came with her or not, she forced herself to keep holding onto him. It hurt. She knew, in theory, why, but couldn’t recall the actual memories associated with the pain. It hurt, and she wanted to leave; however, she couldn’t just abandon her friend either. His wounds weren’t minor, and any strenuous activity would only make them worse. He might not’ve noticed the severity ( perhaps some combination of adrenaline from the fight and the shock of Tzaphkiel finding him ), but she knew it’d be dangerous not to do anything about it.
Her free hand reached up to Rhys’ cheek and forced him to meet her gaze. “Rhys, come with me,” she commanded. Her voice lost any questioning tone it’d held before. No, this time, she didn’t leave any room for argument on the matter. “You can’t do anything while you’re hurt like that.” While she didn’t quite see the problem of just leaving and not doing anything else with the body, she figured he must have some sort of obligation. That–she wanted nothing to do with at all. He could do what he needed to, but only after she tended to his wounds.
It occurred to her that she’d be breaking some rules in helping him. She wasn’t supposed to reveal her nature to mortals, and that included the use of her powers. Sure, she’d used them around him once before, but that was on a small scale and easy to pass off. If she could, she’d treat his wounds through normal means or take him to someone who could, but neither of those were viable options, given that first, she had no idea how, and second, he’d probably object.
The pain that radiated from Tzaphkiel still came as something of a shock to him. He wondered if perhaps this pain ran deeper than just seeing that a man’s life had been ripped out from under him. The prospect of it being more deeply rooted than that caused his stomach to turn. It had been a long time since he’d felt like he was going to be sick over accomplishing a mission. Then again, he’d never had anyone find him right after, either. He’d certainly never had a friend, someone like Tzaphkiel find him. And perhaps that was why he hadn’t noticed how deeply his wounds reached or how painful they really were. His body had been engineered to sustain him through a lot, but he was still only human.
He nearly flinched away from her touch. It was almost too much for him right now. But he knew it was probably far worse for her. When forced to meet her eyes, he found the revolt, the hatred for himself settling as deeply as his bones. He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. She was right. He couldn’t very well do what needed to be done in the condition he was in. So he nodded, complying without any protest aside from his original concerns. ❝ Alright. I guess-- I guess you’re right. ❞ He knew she was right. The longer he stood with Tzan, the quicker the pain seemed to settle in. He even found himself beginning to shake.
❝ How... How exactly are you going to help me... ? ❞ The words tasted bitter as they rolled off his tongue. What a wretched thing he was. A creature that found it far too easy to rip away the lives of others, but terrifying to give up his own, to succumb to what he knew would eventually come to him. Instead, here he was, not raising a single protest to the prospect of being healed in spite of not knowing how that was going to happen.