He was trying not to burst into agonized sobbing. The pain was just so fucking bad. Vargas had thrown him hard enough that he'd half-spread his wings, thinking he was airborne, but an instant later his back impacted the rock wall and he fell forward, landing heavily on his chest and side. A short, sharp cry escaped him. He could hear the other two speaking, and writhed about on the floor. He turned toward their voices, toward the sound of already-receding footsteps and Nemean's rapid wingbeats, but despite him trying to scramble blindly after them, they were gone in seconds.

"C-come--COME BACK!" he shrieked, his anger a suitably blind rage. "Those are MY EYES, you piece of shit! -THOSE ARE MY EYES!"

A dozen swears and threats followed them as they left; Imp didn't know if they were lingering, staring at him, mocking him. Maybe they'd kill him for what he was saying. Maybe they were glaring down in incandescent fury.

Or maybe--and this was somehow the worst possibility of all--maybe they'd simply left him there, his words meaningless enough to entirely ignore.