As Carlisle collapses by Glacius' side and illuminates his broken form, he'll see that in addition to being mottled with various smaller injuries, there are two gruesome wounds: the ragged, bleeding hole in his abdomen that he's just noted, and his shredded, strangled gills--also bleeding. The fanged ivy is still coiled tightly inside them, having not only torn up their gelatinous protective covering, but have ruined the countless fine filaments inside. He seems to still be able to breathe out of the other six--albeit very slowly and raggedly--but it's clear that the injured organs have been ruined beyond repair, blood bubbling sickly up out of them with each faltering breath. Despite the agony of it all the ice alien lays listlessly on the ground, not unaware of his suffering, but unable to act on it because of Carlisle's earlier command.
That might be a blessing for the both of them, however, because it means that Glacius is unable to react to the highly painful burning sensation associated with Carlisle's healing; the otherworldly simply lies there, broken and unresponsive... an utterly pitiful sight, yes, but it hopefully makes the clergyman's job that much easier. It isn't until that gaping hole has been almost completely mended that the compulsion begins to ebb from his mind... and then things quickly go downhill.
With his faculties returned to him, so too rises up the brunt of the badly injured alien's desperation to free himself from the thorns still tangled tightly up in his respiratory organs. He starts to cough painfully, clawing at his throat again--but he can't see into his own gills to pull the thorns free, and each shuddering inhale only seems to make his situation worse, pulling the barbs in tighter and further tearing apart his operculum. It isn't long before he's outright hacking, more purple blood spattering over his hands to the ground, and then the noises become frighteningly harsh and loud, until each booming cough beats against the inside of his ribcage, making it feel fit to crack. He'd beg for assistance if he could, but there's too much blood in his throat, and even if there weren't he's too overwhelmed by his suffering for much coherent thought.
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That might be a blessing for the both of them, however, because it means that Glacius is unable to react to the highly painful burning sensation associated with Carlisle's healing; the otherworldly simply lies there, broken and unresponsive... an utterly pitiful sight, yes, but it hopefully makes the clergyman's job that much easier. It isn't until that gaping hole has been almost completely mended that the compulsion begins to ebb from his mind... and then things quickly go downhill.
With his faculties returned to him, so too rises up the brunt of the badly injured alien's desperation to free himself from the thorns still tangled tightly up in his respiratory organs. He starts to cough painfully, clawing at his throat again--but he can't see into his own gills to pull the thorns free, and each shuddering inhale only seems to make his situation worse, pulling the barbs in tighter and further tearing apart his operculum. It isn't long before he's outright hacking, more purple blood spattering over his hands to the ground, and then the noises become frighteningly harsh and loud, until each booming cough beats against the inside of his ribcage, making it feel fit to crack. He'd beg for assistance if he could, but there's too much blood in his throat, and even if there weren't he's too overwhelmed by his suffering for much coherent thought.