[color=#ffff66][center][h3][b] Lynx [/b][/h3][/center][/color][hr]It took only a moment's hesitation, a brief shudder of human consciousness, to create hesitation within Lynx. He watched helplessly as the Sightless' magic enveloped his body and crippled him entirely. He realized the irony in having left himself open to attack, thinking to his previous encounters where Octavio and him relied on their opponents to behave that way. 

For the familiar, who could not truly feel pain, the sensation that plagued him was something entirely different yet agonizing all the same. Just as an acrobat who takes to the stage engulfed in thoughts of failure comes crashing down, Lynx had effectively created his own torture. Every minor headache and moment of frustration he had managed to will into existence through mimicry of the humans around him had been recollected and amplified all across his body, as if his mind and it became one through being crushed together. The indescribable feeling surged and waned in synchronization with what he was able to see was being done to him, and in moments the sensation began dulling all together.

[color=#ffff66][i]I am an idiot.[/i][/color]

What he considered to be his mind swayed and stirred, as if it was gradually becoming aware of it being a projection made of light, stretching and wavering with the tendrils that dominated him. Thoughts became lost in the sea of bizarre feelings, growing to be distorted and in turn created even more warped feelings.

Octavio wasn't here to save him. He wasn't here to have gotten them both out with a smile that hid his serious concern over their own well being, or to remind Lynx of the dangers of revealing his position. He would never be here, he felt, not thought. 

But something else was here amidst the chaos tearing his mind apart. A voice that he could never ignore, no matter how hard he had tried in the past. 

[color=a2d39c]“Let him go…”[/color]

Sil. Despite how he felt about the fairy hearing her voice sparked his mind to action. One by one he began to think of the rest of the party members as well, solidifying who they were in his head using only the faintest glimmers of thought. He could on an instinctual level feel the need to tether himself back to the world, and did so as fast as he could. His thoughts became actions, and the familiar began to claw back at the tendrils. A spectator would have seen none of the grace or dignity he had exhibited in the past. It was an act of desperation, the flailing a sickly bird does to prevent falling. If he could separate what was "him" and what was "other", then he could drag himself out just as a human did from a blazing inferno.