It was hard to say exactly what he was feeling right now, mostly because even that feeling was being stripped from him. One would think that the Angels wanted him to suffer, for his tears to become the tonic of their oppression. Maybe they should want him to beg and plead, to lower his head and grieve in his regret.
But they seemed entirely uninterested in even this. They didn't allow Sylas even to feel regret or even really fear for his life. It was like even his Will itself was frozen in time, restricted and restrained.
He was no human. He was a lab rat strapped to a table being slowly dissected only so that the weak and unintelligent masses had the time to register what was happening.
They didn't feel the need to make a spectacle of his grief. The aftereffects would speak enough for themselves. The wasteland that was left of Earth would be the memento to this occasion, projected for the world to see.
