[ Oscar summons their shield, and Ozpin feels that pull of power secondhand: he flickers surprise and relief back at Oscar in disjointed eddies.
There is a distracted and breathless series of beats as Stanford throws him a weapon. Good. There is still no viable route of retreat, but it is comforting to hold the grip of the Threaded Cane. It is comforting to have his reach back, and the weight of metal in his hand. He neatly separates one tentacle from its base, dodges another, then cries out raggedly as a needle of blood spears him through the thigh. Pain shudders through the connection, and the strain breaks his mental voice. ]
'—Good. I know that you can, Oscar. You are one of the strongest people I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I am sorry to have brought you my burdens, but there is no one I would more gladly trust with them.'
[ Stanford is yelling something. The Mayor and the Queen are both upon them, and they are backed in now by tentacles and glittering red shards of blood. Ozpin is so very tired, trying to stay upright in the sand, trying to brace himself up on his weapon and still dodge what is thrown at them. He has been here before, as a hundred different men. He knows this moment. (It would be so much quicker if he just stopped moving.)
Stanford is still behind him. He cannot give in. ]
'I—'
[ Pain. Like a connection neatly severed, the link cuts out. ]
--The world was swept from under Oscar's feet with cacaphonous green buzz in his ears, vision blurring with the distant effects of whatever horrors Oz had endured in that instant. For a second Oscar felt blinded-- deafened--
--Alone.
Like he had slipped through the cracks in between the layers of Deerington, of Remnant, and was falling through the infinite dark of the world.
Summoning one last pull of power, Oscar shoved the people nearby, the people he was protecting, away from him as the shell of green flame started to dissolve into ten thousand embers. He couldn't fall yet with people still desperately working, still fighting for success, and yet...
He felt like the part of him that connected him to the eternal wellspring of hope that was Ozma had been severed.
He was just Oscar.
All at once the power collapsed in on it self and he plummeted, and one last word fell from his dried lips before darkness consumed him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: violence, death
There is a distracted and breathless series of beats as Stanford throws him a weapon. Good. There is still no viable route of retreat, but it is comforting to hold the grip of the Threaded Cane. It is comforting to have his reach back, and the weight of metal in his hand. He neatly separates one tentacle from its base, dodges another, then cries out raggedly as a needle of blood spears him through the thigh. Pain shudders through the connection, and the strain breaks his mental voice. ]
'—Good. I know that you can, Oscar. You are one of the strongest people I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I am sorry to have brought you my burdens, but there is no one I would more gladly trust with them.'
[ Stanford is yelling something. The Mayor and the Queen are both upon them, and they are backed in now by tentacles and glittering red shards of blood. Ozpin is so very tired, trying to stay upright in the sand, trying to brace himself up on his weapon and still dodge what is thrown at them. He has been here before, as a hundred different men. He knows this moment. (It would be so much quicker if he just stopped moving.)
Stanford is still behind him. He cannot give in. ]
'I—'
[ Pain. Like a connection neatly severed, the link cuts out. ]
no subject
--The world was swept from under Oscar's feet with cacaphonous green buzz in his ears, vision blurring with the distant effects of whatever horrors Oz had endured in that instant. For a second Oscar felt blinded-- deafened--
--Alone.
Like he had slipped through the cracks in between the layers of Deerington, of Remnant, and was falling through the infinite dark of the world.
Summoning one last pull of power, Oscar shoved the people nearby, the people he was protecting, away from him as the shell of green flame started to dissolve into ten thousand embers. He couldn't fall yet with people still desperately working, still fighting for success, and yet...
He felt like the part of him that connected him to the eternal wellspring of hope that was Ozma had been severed.
He was just Oscar.
All at once the power collapsed in on it self and he plummeted, and one last word fell from his dried lips before darkness consumed him.]
Ozpin...?
no subject
Elsewhere, among orange sand, Ozpin's body flakes away to motes of purple light. ]