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EMF does not know what to feel nowadays, as a friend to an absent god and an enemy to a living corpse.
Even if the latter barely fits into the definition of being alive. If it weren't for the times Seawatt has to pause in his cries to gasp in air, his heart beating like a stopwatch as he begs at the feet of their friend, then they would think of him no less than a wraith, a ghost, a reminder of what the Villain had left in its wake.
Pity is a horrid thing to feel. They don't pay much mind to the words of his prayers, the wish behind them all the same; for God to take him to a home that's been razed to the ground, for God to strike down right where he stands.
Sometimes, they wonder when eventually Evbo will give in. He's not exactly weak-willed in the face of pressure, but they can tell that his composure is being spread thin with the constant pleas for mercy. They would have caved the moment the prayers became a constant, EMF knows that. There's a reason why they aren't God.
EMF tangles a hand through Seawatt's hair, running fingers through the strands in an attempt to fix what neglect has done. It works little, but it helps distract them at the very least.
A shudder racks Seawatt's body, and EMF moves to shift closer. The hug is awkward, reminding them of the way a child would hold a doll, but they'll deal.
After all, Seawatt has no one. EMF has only Evbo, and they'll admit, he is not the best sort of company, even when he tries to be.
EMF can have Seawatt they decide, holding him tighter. Evbo needs to learn how to share, anyway.