The world spun something fierce. The black sheep of celestial politics blinked three - five - many times, rapid fire - but still the lightning strike left him seeing nothing but spots that flooded vision. Dizzy, calloused hands dug into the ground searching for some stability. As a ragged breath was sucked in, Atticus racked his brain trying to figure out why the ground held so much animosity for him. Just moments before he'd been - well - he certainly hadn't been on his hands and knees, as various other Guardians came to, or shouted about names of loved ones. Disa. Sai. Had that just been his name added to the concerned calls or was he just hearing things? It was hard to tell with all the ringing.
"'Meila..?"
Mumbled, breathless sound escaped as weight shifted and muscles rolled, the angel finally on his feet while debris fell from his shoulders. A warm, quickly turning cold liquid, dripped from hairline to ear. A stray hand swept and smeared, but none of it was of any consequence. Bare feet were already moving, trudging forward with a distinctly disoriented swagger to their step. Brows furrowed in a confused concentration as drywall obstacles were traversed, and toppled over bureaus were scaled like hurtles. There was some inner motivation fueling him now, some tick in the back of his head. She had to be okay, right? Had to be. But where was she? Where was anyone for that matter? One thing at a time.
Breathe.
Fingers ran up the male's face, brushing hair up and away as he simultaneously shook his head and recovered from a bout of nausea. Knocking arms with with the face of an angel he generally tried to avoid, steeled orbs flickered up unsteady catching sight of a panicked Aroha. There wasn't much time to stop and exchange pleasantries, but Atticus knew enough that head-strong woman was just as vulnerable as he was right now and there was some solidarity in seeing another Guardian completely intact and breathing. No words were uttered on his end, but the silent urgency was kicking both angels in the ass as he turned the corner and shouldered the still standing front door open. The air still felt hot and tense, as if the charged particles that had just shattered their tranquil atmosphere still lingered from the shock.
Head on the swivel, Atticus looked this way and that - frantic. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon...'Meila, where the hell are you? No one else in sight, the boy banged a left quicker now. As long legs carried him from Point Him to Point Her, worry built in the pit of his stomach, bubbled and began to spread through his veins making his skin tingle and his heart race. Adrenaline pumped on overdrive now and the few scratches and scrapes did nothing to slow his sprint. Taking in the wreckage, Atticus scoured his surroundings with a growing focus, the disorientation slowly but surely dissipating. Logic and rationale combated feeling with practiced endurance but the bravado fell when he heard that desperate shout in a much to familiar voice.
"Ameila!
So much for stoicism - not at a time like this. A slight alteration to the angel's trajectory had him arriving beside his sweetheart within the minute, tearing off a stray branch and shoving it aside. A bird beat of of the sky, Ameila lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, out cold. Grey optics widened, shifting her petite frame with caution and care, fingers brushing cool skin and feather alike. She was breathing - barely - the type of shallow breaths one equates to slumber, but he certainly knew better. A would-be Sleeping Beauty, in an unfortunate situation, the femme was soon scooped up bridal style by the man who took his job as Guardian a bit to seriously. Atticus cradled the fairy tale princess against his chest, tasting the sweet salve of relief on his lips if only for the moment.
"'Melia..hey, hey...I'm here, alright? You're safe. ..You're safe.."