In the entire length of his eternity, Thanatos was fairly certain he had never been tackled, making him go immediately limp in total shock. Actually touching the ground was the worst part, hearing the crunch of carapaces under his back as a mass of insects were smeared into the already dirty ground, staining his robe in the awful detritus of the surface world. He shuddered, and had to close his eyes against the rain of debris, hearing the clang of brick against metal as the wall crumbled and showered across this incredibly presumptuous mortal's armor and feeling the world around them shake as thunderously as Zeus' anger until that crashing wall finally came to a tentative rest.

Thanatos opened his eyes slowly to consider the dark they had been enveloped in, listening to the sighing of the last of the dust spreading around them, and the once again mounting murmuring of the insects forcing themselves through the cracks in this tomb. He pressed a cold hand to what was supposed to be his charge's strange mask, what should have been his soft cheek, and assured him, "Patience, warrior." This would surely be over for them both soon enough.