Chapter Text
There is a very specific metallic scent associated with rust, a type that can only be described as decay. It's one you breathe in, for a moment, and stick your nose up to in refusal to sense it any further; one better recognized, truly, with sight rather than smell. When a darkened orange, then, a hue caused only by the shadow it holds, meets his eye, and Seawatt inhales, shakily, lungs gasping for air in their weakened state- he is not met(at least not immediately) by the overwhelming smell of molten rock, but rather of decayed metal, rust, something that quickly registers in his mind as a means to be freed from this prison.
Oddly enough, then, its status is lost as a repulsive smell, filling Seawatt with an odd vigor. A desire to live, to keep going, the final morsels of energy left within him clamoring together at the mere thought of escape- his eyes widen, in this split second of an energy burst, pupils wide; there is a chance, he screams, there is a chance to leave!
The conundrum previously plagued him, should he have dreamt or thought of ever escaping(whenever, if ever, such an opportunity came his way) was whether he could even do so with the lava. With little hunger, he could not sprint, and such a jump was thus regarded as impossible. But now, now, with the prospect of freedom so close, those concerns seemed trivial.
One jump.
He just needed one jump to go his way. He'd stumble forward as he landed, rush down, hopefully meet EMF as he went, and recover elsewhere. Yes, this was his chance. He'd do what the Parkour Villain was unable to, free himself, cementing himself as greater. Greater, not simply a parasite, a competent Parkour Master!
With that Seawatt leapt forward- caution flying off with the wind to drift into the void. He would not fall, no, he couldn't. Not when he is so close!
Not now!
Not...
The impact hits him like the shock of cold water on a hot summer day. He tumbles, hard, a rough landing by all means, against cold, dusty sandstone.
There is a brief second- between the moment where he collides against the ground and the moment where he looks up from against it- where Seawatt considers the thought of death by starvation. It's a sudden flash- truth be told, due to his position, he's never suffered as those on lower floors have. He has, sure, gone through extreme turmoil and strife, as one of the few remaining with connection to the Fighter level, but to die in such a painful manner? Sharp daggers of pain stabbing one from all sides as they desperately cling to their slivers of life? It cannot be all at once, he knows that, it simply wouldn't make sense.
But Seawatt cannot help but beg for that end- that will no doubt come, as his senses have now been derived of that short hope- to be instantaneous. Make it quick, as he struggles to stand up- legs wobbling and shaking without chains to support them- before I gain more hope that my life isn't over.
When he does stand, he wobbles in place, a brief second of hesitancy nearly sending him back to sandstone, and amidst the otherwise muted sounds echoing about him he can distinctly recognize the sound of an item entering his inventory. But that'd be a waste of time, to confirm what would most likely be a hallucination as truth, so it's paid no mind. Staggered steps forward propell him, slowly, to hold belief in what he dreaded, and it is perhaps 6 or 7 steps in where a sharp pain causes him to fall down- keeling over from how much it hurts. It digs into his stomach, twisting like a knife, and he can swear bile slowly rises in his throat.
For some strange reason, though, he stands up once more. A hand holds his stomach- the exit isn't far, that visitor shouldn't have gotten far. Seawatt winces; that sharp pain, that sensation of nausea, neither of them(even as they increase in severity) will stop him. Not yet, the words repeated like a mantra in his mind, not yet.
But it is all too much; mere inches away from the start of that staircase leading downwards Seawatt finally buckles over- curled in, holding his stomach. The sensation is overwhelming, now, and frankly, he can't deal with if any longer. Succumbing, too, seems like such a peaceful thought...
Is the afterlife peaceful? It is only a matter of seconds before he can rest there, permanently, regain his full strength and reunite with his family. An infinitely more appealing thought than whatever awaits him- his heartbeat relaxes, beating in his ears, a soft thump-thump reminiscent of a drum beat. Soft, and gentle, lulling him further and further towards eternal slumber...
"Didn't I forget something here?"
He's interrupted by the sound of a person's voice. It shocks him out of such a trance- his eyes snap open, widening, peering around in shock. In this panic, a little upwards from him, he notices someone else. Pure white eyes gaze down at purple, for a brief, awkward moment. "...oh," the figure mouths, peering back at the cell Seawatt was imprisoned in moments ago.
EMF seems to have realized that such an action has sealed his fate. He is a walking dead man. At a loss, he crouches down to the other. "That...you probably picked it up, that command block. I...no, he couldn't let you die. For his sake."
A piece of steak is tossed to Seawatt- it takes only a moment for the man to sit up begin to gnaw at it, desperately- anything to ease the pain, to set him free from that fate. He ruminates on the words as for the first time in what feels like(and was) 50 years, food enters his system-- isn't that contradictory? But perhaps it is not him taking this show of generosity, but his instinct to survive as a human. But he only finds that sense of nausea building up quicker should he eat more than, perhaps, a quarter of the slice; this is more than enough, at least for now, to ensure his survival for a little bit longer.
As Seawatt eats EMF gazes up, hesitantly, at the sky. "If...if He notices the command blocks are missing, or if you're gone..."
"He told me He wouldn't visit." Seawatt hums in reply. "Th..ah, thanks for this.
...on the topic of, why?"
EMF looks down at him. "He can't let His most important prisoner die."
"Aw, I'm that important to Him. Flattering."
"Just come on."