His own demeanor remains unchanged as Cole steps closer-- the annoyance is allowed to show, now, distaste clear in the twist of his mouth as he looks down on him. But the spirit holds out a hand and speaks, and those words do spark something.
Shadow answers his reflexive call, a dark glow flaring around one hand with the sharp intent to lash out; there is somehow nothing there to strike, though. And then when things begin to slip further-
It's not fear, not really. More like a sudden desperate disbelief-- if Cole thought the vibes were bad before, they are crushingly so now, a whirlpool in that dark, empty water. There's the sense of determined attachment, of clinging to this with as strong a grip as he can manage, and in that there is the distinct, jagged impression of the utter unwillingness to let anything be lost. (There is also, oddly, the exact sensation that had sharpened not long ago in their conversation, but it's so entangled in everything else that it's difficult to identify.)
The one thing that will be clear in all of this, though, is that this is maybe one of the more painful things that could be done to him. If he still had an impression of his presence, Emet-Selch would have attempted to kill him without a thought.
...so it's for the best that it continues to slip and fade, taking with it that lingering sense of disbelief and the impression that this shouldn't, couldn't happen.
He's still left unsettled by its end, frowning down at the purple-black magic gathered around an open hand, and dismisses it with a sharp flick of his wrist. He may not know why he feels uneasy, but he longer wishes to be here, quickly turning to stalk away.
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Shadow answers his reflexive call, a dark glow flaring around one hand with the sharp intent to lash out; there is somehow nothing there to strike, though. And then when things begin to slip further-
It's not fear, not really. More like a sudden desperate disbelief-- if Cole thought the vibes were bad before, they are crushingly so now, a whirlpool in that dark, empty water. There's the sense of determined attachment, of clinging to this with as strong a grip as he can manage, and in that there is the distinct, jagged impression of the utter unwillingness to let anything be lost. (There is also, oddly, the exact sensation that had sharpened not long ago in their conversation, but it's so entangled in everything else that it's difficult to identify.)
The one thing that will be clear in all of this, though, is that this is maybe one of the more painful things that could be done to him. If he still had an impression of his presence, Emet-Selch would have attempted to kill him without a thought.
...so it's for the best that it continues to slip and fade, taking with it that lingering sense of disbelief and the impression that this shouldn't, couldn't happen.
He's still left unsettled by its end, frowning down at the purple-black magic gathered around an open hand, and dismisses it with a sharp flick of his wrist. He may not know why he feels uneasy, but he longer wishes to be here, quickly turning to stalk away.