Oc roleplay with your host dani

(Me) Oh damn. ‘Thumbs-up and big grin’. Deimos becomes ever more fascinating. And his character page actually reminded me of several missing details for Lucitius’ page, like the appearance of his full form (Hence why it took me a minute to reply. I have details for him scattered everywhere, it’s ridiculous how difficult it is to find them all).

(The AI) With the new threat overpowering them, all but one shuts off. The last one is Malcolm’s guard, which remains mostly still, eyes blue as it scans the area.

(Gate) The charging skeletons are easily ripped apart. However, more constantly crawl through the gate, an unending wave.

(Malcolm) “Alright, fuck this!”
Pulls out the little jagged ball he had showed earlier. He taps it, a red light starting to blink faster and faster, and throws it at Deimos. A massive explosion shakes the area, singeing Malcolm’s hair.
—He pulls out a smooth ball, waiting with it in hand.
—Any attacks coming his way are intercepted by the AI, which seems to have much faster reflexes now than when its companions were around.

(Phalakros) He watches, avoiding any attacks that might come his way. He keeps glancing at Lucitius, indecisive.
—He finally decides to approach Lucitius, claws dripping with tar. He licks his lips and kneels beside Lucitius.
“You are weak. Too weak to save your little Phalakros. Too weak to save Sanius.”

(Lucitius) The indigo mist surrounding Lucitius starts to pulse as he cries. His wound is nearly healed, but he seems oblivious.
—He freezes at Phalakros’ words, then the indigo mist pulses again, this time with aim. It wraps around Phalakros and he bursts into blue flame.
—Phalakros shrieks and rushes away, crashing into the Gate. He collapses on the ground, writhing, as the Gate above him starts to whir and flash.
—Lucitius sits up, groaning and swaying. Moving in a daze, he grabs Phalakros and pulls him near. A thick trail of tar and ichor is left behind, and parts of Phalakros’ body could be seen, appearing bleached. Where the tar remains, the flames continue to burn.
“Mine dear boy. I beg you, return to me.”
—His voice is quiet, pleading. The tar seems to fade away from Phalakros’ body, before it burns away, and Phalakros, looking especially pale and seemingly unconscious.
“Sanius, I am here. Return to me. I beg you!”
—He brushes a hand through the singed strands of Phalakros’ hair, watching and waiting, oblivious to his surroundings.

(The Gate) No more skeletons come through it, though dozens remain in the area, and the portal flickers constantly. The edge where Phalakros had slammed into it was crunched, causing the portal to malfunction again. The whirring sound became progressively louder, a warning of the explosion to come.

(Me) I love the slow reveal tactic. And I also recently learned how to modify the text on here, so I’m very happy right now. Big grin

(Malcolm) “Damn you! Are you too afraid to fight me face to face, you big bastard? You use all your grand powers, and yet all I’ve got is my tools and this fucking pistol, which isn’t even a proper gun! You’re a chickenshit if you can’t fight me as a man, or whatever the fuck you’ve been lingering around here in!”
He glances over at the whirring sound of the portal, sighing.
“Oh, and by the way, we’re all about to blow up anyway. There isn’t any fixing that bitch now.”
He snickers.

(Lucitius) He barely overhears Malcolm’s words about the portal and looks over at it, thick streak of tears running down his face and neck. His scales steadily crack, oozing blood.
—He glances over at Deimos and Malcolm, barely registering or even understanding the sight. He turns back to the portal and flicks a small bolt of lightning at it. The bolt bounces back and hits him instead, though it doesn’t hurt him.
“Rest well, Sanius. I will return in a moment.”
He gently pats Phalakros, then stumbles to his feet. He approaches the Gate, studying and playing with it like a curious child.

(The Gate) The flickering portal within seems to lash out, a misty black hand forming from the portal and snatching Lucitius by the throat.

(Lucitius) He chuckles, not noticing the pain or his lack of air. He taps the arm repeatedly, toying with it, then cuts through it. The arm fades away, a low growl beginning to sound from the portal.
—He slices through the gate, throwing the pieces aside, releasing the portal. The whirring sound stutters to a stop, but the portal growls even louder.
“Do I hear someone familiar?”
He looks around, smiling coyly at the portal. He then snatches the portal’s edge with an ethereal claw and slices it open, creating a much larger rift.
“Greet everyone, you foul bastard!”
He turns and bows at Deimos, waving an invitation.

(Malcolm) He glances over and gapes at the huge tear.
“What the fuck has that crazy lizard done?”

(The Rift) The growl becomes a dark laugh and a massive tail breaks through, tipped by a pair of pincers dripping with black poison. It waves around, then snaps at Lucitius.

(Lucitius) He turns ethereal, the pincers going harmlessly through him. He laughs maniacally at the angry howl from the beast.
“Let me introduce the tail of a creature that loves to kill innocents. Beware the pincers, for the Shadow Venom within is deadly, and few have ever lived. Ask me how I know, for I am one of those survivors!”
He laughs for a long moment, his horns cracking and the tips snapping off. He somewhat composes himself, oblivious to the return of the indigo mist around him.
“If you can kill this one, then the rift is yours to enjoy as you will. The Tar Plane is nearly endless, and rife with these bastards!”

(Malcolm) “Oh shit!”
He bolts as the pincers lunge at him, heading much closer to Deimos than he had wanted to. However, he hopes Deimos finds him as a less appealing meal compared to the demon thing from the portal, so he might find some sort of escape.

(Me) And it seems Lucitius has gone a bit psycho on me, more than usual at least. So fun, to see and explore what makes characters go crazy. But, anyway, I’m rambling.

(Me) Just to clarify, in case of any confusion, and to double-check myself, basically Lucitius had turned the portal Malcolm had made into a bigger portal/rift. But anyway.

(Lucitius) He laughs maniacally, waiting for the battle. But his laughter quickly melts into tears, of agony and of sorrow.
—Blue blood oozes from the dozens of cracks in his scales, and four faint clawmarks, scars, slowly appear on his throat. He becomes corporeal again, curling on the ground as blood quickly pools beneath him.

(Malcolm) “What the fuck is going on, damn it?”
He quickly moves away from Deimos, preferring not to be eaten at the moment. However, there was nowhere else to go to hide from that tail. He had rarely ever been afraid of anything, but that tail, for reasons unknown, scared him.
“Damn it! Why can’t I be back at home with my fucking machines? At least, I know what to expect there, instead of this magic bullshit that shouldn’t even exist!”
He sighs, shaking his head, too flustered to watch.

(The Rift) The massive tail moves to hover above Deimos, pincers clicking together. A hissing sound begins, more venom dripping from the pincers, then it strikes with rapid speed.
—A second tail slowly appears, hiding underneath the first one. The tail waves around a bit, then swings for motionless Phalakros.

(Lucitius) As he cries, he turns to look over at Phalakros, noticing the pincers. He watches them a moment, then reaches out with a hand.
“No!”
A white bolt of lightning streaks from his outstretched fingers. It hits one of the pincers, cracking it. A piercing shriek comes from the rift, and the tail quickly retreats.
—He blinks, surprised by the bolt, but he quickly pushes it from his thoughts, stumbling to Phalakros’ side. He kneels next to him, examining him for further wounds. He finally notices the lack of breathing.
“No. Sanius, no! I beg you! Return to me! I beg you!”
He grabs Phalakros, holding him tightly. His horns crumble even more, and the indigo mist has grown thick in spots, miniature lightning bolts crackling within.

(Malcolm) Seems to finally remember the smooth ball in his hand and grins. He taps it three times and it unravels slightly to reveal a red button.
“If I’m gonna die, it’s going to be my way. Fuck all of you!”
He taps the button, holding the ball tight in his hand. The button starts to flash, the blinking slowly becomes faster.
“I should have modified this to have a faster timer, but I made this when I actually cared about surviving. Oh well, shit happens.”
He snickers to himself.

(Me) Honestly thinking about adding another character, once the battle settles a bit. And I’m debating if Phalakros is actually dead, or just in a stasis. I’m exploring new territory here, because I’ve actually never killed Phalakros with Lucitius nearby to watch it. Hence, why Lucitius is regressing and going completely psycho in the process, also something a bit new.

I’m also curious what will happen after the battle. Who will remain, who will return, and what newcomers might arrive? But, I’m getting ahead of myself now.

(The Rift) Loud shrieks echo from within, the tail mightily struggling. However, it stops after a moment, and rumbling begins. Another moment passes, and a second massive rift is torn appears in the ground, stretching to swallow the first rift.
—A hideous beast smothered in tar and resembling a scorpion launches up at Deimos, its four large pincers moving to dismember Deimos.
-As it launches, twenty legs scrape for solid ground, and three holes open in its back, eating the tar and emitting that loud haunting screech. It also seems completely impervious to the gaze of Deimos.

(Me) Tar creatures live in complete darkness, and have evolved to have no eyes whatsoever. So, this is definitely going to be interesting.

(Malcolm) He winces at the light, his eyes reflexively turning to look. He freezes in place, his left eye abruptly shorting out. The sphere in his hand continues to blink, slowly getting faster.

(Lucitius) He glances at the opening rift, his eyes widening at the sight of the entire creature. He then glances toward Deimos, and grins, admiring the beauty of the glow for a moment.
—He then turns away, blue blood now beginning to drip from his lips. He stares absently at the youth in his hands, his body distorting. Two faint apparitions appear on either side of him, one loudly screams in agony, the other quietly moans with sorrow, and yet he seems completely oblivious.
—He gently sets Phalakros down and stands, stumbling toward the rift as his body snaps and pops. A jagged tear rips through him, creating a shallow, vertical wound separating the halves of his body.
—He leans heavily to his left, the claws of his left hand disintegrating to short nails, the left half of his glass hair becoming black and messy, and the marking melting off the left side of his body to reveal pale blue scales. The tears beneath his now sky blue left eye become maroon.
“Take me. Take me instead of mine son. I cannot bear to lose him twice!”he pleas, his voice distorted.
—He pauses, breathing deeply, and stands straight. He walks forward again, this time leaning to the right. His right hand flexes eagerly.
“You have killed so many of my loved ones, in the present, in the past, and even before my birth. Now, I shall return the favor. It takes a god to kill a god.”
—He hesitates at the edge of the rift, and gazes around. He notices Malcolm, and the ball in his hand.
“Yet, first…”
—He teleports in front of Malcolm, stumbling and nearly collapsing to his knees. He straightens, his breath becoming a loud wheeze. He places a hand over Malcolm’s, covering the sphere, and stares into the still eyes of Malcolm.
“Do you ever feel tired? Tired to the soul, with nothing to sate your exhaustion? I have felt such for ages now. Yet, now, I feel the sensation of sleep slowly dragging me away. Finally, for I am in need of a long, long rest.”
—His fingers slide away, taking the sphere. He chuckles hoarsely, blood spilling from his lips.
“Your old, demented heart is not worth eating.”
—He turns away, not caring if Malcolm had even registered his presence at all.
“Fragility in a heart of strength. Hold out your hand, mine dear. I await you, Death, by the pier,”he softly sang.

(Phalakros) Unknown to Lucitius, as he had walked away, there was a small inhale and the twitch of pale brown fingers.

(Me) Lol. Hell with it, if you want to explore godmode as well, go ahead. I’m fine with it either way. Besides I’ve been on complete improv/new territory since Phalakros ‘died’, and I think Lucitius has gone a bit godmode anyway, maybe, it’s such a grey area with him.

(The Rift) The creature screeches when it misses, then leaps again, seven large fangs appearing from the tar covering the front of its body.

(Lucitius) He stands by the edge of the rift, looking across to the body of Phalakros. More tears come to him, and he snaps his fingers, a burst of blue mist breifly appearing.
“Mine dear Sanius… I never meant for this,”he slurs.
—A loud snap comes from his body and he sways, his shoulders seeming strangely wider than before. His eyes flicker, and he falls into the rift.

(The Rift) Triumphant howls begin after Lucitius falls in. But, it quickly changes to shrieks of agony and panic.
—The rift itself ripples, then bright blue fire bursts from it, engulfing it entirely. The screams of millions of horrid creatures silence in an instant, and the rift dissolves into nothingness.
—The creature attacking Deimos crashes into him, tar sliding off in waves. Within moments, black bone and charred flesh is all that remains of the creature. It shrieks, stubbornly clinging to life.

(Phalakros) After the rift vanishes, he gasps awake. He looks around frantically, climbing to his knees. Black fluid oozes from his scales, and color returns to his body.
—He looks down at himself and gasps again. He glances around, then starts to laugh.
“They have gone! They have finally left me!”
—He notices Deimos and the former tar creature, whimpering a moment. He then notices Malcolm, but he sees no sign of Lucitius, Eilander, Carol, or Gerard.
“Lucitius? Eilander? Someone?”
—He sits down, waiting. A sinking feeling comes to him, that he would never see Lucitius again. Was Phalakros dead? No, but Lucitius likely was. After all, something was now missing, a subtle sensation of security, that he had never noticed until now.
—He wonders if any others had survived. Had Lucitius disconnected himself from the race, or was Phalakros the only survivor? Would he ever see Synthia, or any of the others again?
—He curls up, staring into oblivion, thoroughly depressed and lonely.

(Me) Well… Lucitius just blew up the entire Tar Plane. He’s dead. And, it’s actually inspiring now. I might have to make an alternate timeline for a scenario of Lucitius destroying the Tar Plane instead of one of my other Planes, and it already sounds like a clusterfuck to me, lol. But, anyway.
—If you want, I can have other ‘survivors’ from the Tar Plane, so Deimos can have more to judge, instead of a half-dead beast. It’s up to you.

(Me) thumbs-up

(Malcolm) Still petrified.

(Phalakros) Turns to Deimos as he starts speaking. He is dismayed by the uncertainty around Lucitius, but relieved by the news that Eilander was safe.

He gasped as the chains wrapped around Deimos, then whimpered at the sound of the voice. He froze for a moment, thinking of fleeing, then finally caught on to the words. Despite his usual shyness, words burst forth from him.

“Deimos was helping! If he had done nothing, then this place would have been overrun by evil constructs and foul demons! Why must he be punished?”

He curls up, bursting into tears. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He knew Lucitius was dead, he knew. Why? Why must Lucitius be punished? And why must Deimos, who had seemed more ally than enemy from the start, be punished for his own good deeds? What twisted world was this?

(???) Lurking in the shadows a bit away from the group, a slender, four-armed individual watches Deimos being wrapped in chains. He ponders what he had just missed, for it clearly seemed to be a battle. With constructs and demons? What were constructs?

A quiet, insectile chirp comes from the newcomer, and he listens closely to the words being said, and to the beating hearts of the group before him. He would learn as much as he could before revealing himself, and how he loved to spy.

(Me) Just out of curiosity, how long does the petrifying effect last, or is it permanent? I ask because I’ve got a few ideas for Malcolm, if nothing happens to him beforehand of course, and I don’t know what would work yet.

(Me) Ooh, new ideas for the old man. evil snickering

(Malcolm) Groans, then checks himself and his hands. He sighs at the sight of his empty hands, slowly moves to the side, and pulls out a miniaturized chair. He taps and drops it, then sits down in the full-sized chair, holding his head in his hands.

(Phalakros) He shakily looks up and whimpers.

“What have you done? That old man started the battle! You should have left him, killed him, anything beyond healing him!”

He stumbles to his feet, wiping his face and attempting a strong posture, though it didn’t work well.

“Then tell me what I know not! I have traveled alongside an adventurous demigod for millennia, serving as his liaison to countless worlds! I may be weak and easily shaken, yet I am no fool!”

More tears stream from his eyes at the thought that he would never travel with Lucitius again.

(???) He eyes the old man with narrow eyes, then glances at Phalakros. A shy, but intriguing young fellow.

He turns to the armored individual, scrutinizing him, glancing between him and Deimos. He has no desire to fight them, though… they would make wonderful allies. He chirps again, pushing those thoughts aside.

(Me) I might bring in another character for a breif moment, depending on how things go.

(Phalakros) He chuckles, shaking his head sorrowfully.

“Delicate balance? The creature I have served was a harbinger of chaos. The only balance is the nature of the multiverse itself. This place exists outside of mine multiverse, of yours, of any! You damned hypocrites!”

He collapses to the ground again, in tears once more.

(Malcolm) He slowly sits up and flashes Phalakros an obscene gesture.

“Fucking idiot organics,”he croaks.

He turns away, holding his head again.

(???) He narrows his eyes at the angel creature, displeased that he seemed to know his location. He then turns to Phalakros, pondering if he was close to ‘demigod’ he spoke of. He glares at Malcolm when speaks, and a long finger taps his chin as he considers the wisdom of eating the old man.

(Phalakros) He notices Malcolm’s movement and growls at him.

“You influenced all of this madness! If you had done nothing, then Lucitius would be alive and Deimos would not be getting the punishment you deserve!”

(Malcolm) He groggily looks up, gazing at Phalakros with absolute disinterest.

(Phalakros) “Damn you!”

(Malcolm) “Fuck off,”he quietly snorts.

(Phalakros) He stands again, looking between the angelic being and Malcolm with hateful eyes. Tears still stream down his face.

(Me) Ooh, she’s cool.

(Phalakros) He crumples again as the angelic individual leaves. At the sound of a woman’s voice, he jumps up, looking at her shakily.

(Malcolm) He glances up at the woman and rolls his eyes, looking away.

(???) He scrutinizes the young woman cautiously, but is contented that the armored beings had left. He approaches the group, his long-fingered hands entwined at his waist.

He wears an old black robe with two large seams of red and gold thread. He is overall an elegant individual with a slender figure, pale skin, hypnotic blue eyes, and shoulder-length black hair. He appears around his twenties, but he holds the air of someone far older. His feet, though barely seen, are insectile, with two large claws that lightly click as he walks. On his left middle finger is a gold ring, and around his neck is a gemstone necklace with an onyx pendant shaped like a beetle.

“Greetings to all,”he says, his voice heavily accented by clicking chirps.

He stops nearby, standing tall, an imposing posture fitting for a military leader.

(???) A few moments later, another creature abruptly appears. The eight foot tall, grey-skinned, golden-eyed creature looks around with a cheery grin and bows. His aristocratic clothes are soaked in fresh blood.

“Well hello, I am Golder! How wonderful to see so many faces! And speaking of faces, I’ll think I’ll take this one!”

The creature walks over to Malcolm and snatches him by the hair, his short claws tearing into Malcolm’s face. He cackles loudly and vanishes, taking Malcolm with him.

(Me) ’And, he’s dead.’ Golder is mostly likely my worst homicidal maniac, so yeah. I couldn’t help bringing him in, even breifly. He might return, but for now, he’s gone.

(Phalakros) He stares in horror at the now empty chair where Malcolm had been sitting. He then snickers, sitting down again.

(Tearion) He blinks, stunned.

“I have known a few Vanishers, yet that one be one of the most bloodthirsty I have ever glimpsed.”

He shakes his head and shrugs.

(Me) I’ve got so many. snickering

(Phalakros) He watches the woman warily, but the sight of Cyril reminds him of Eilander and he slowly starts to calm down.

He glances at the other newcomer, looking him up and down with caution.

(???) “I am peaceful, youth. I also know better than to underestimate another.”

He turns to gaze between the two reptilian creatures and sighs. How long had it been since he had last eaten? Hours, or days? Why was it always difficult to tell?

(Phalakros) He stares a moment, then clears his throat.

“I… I am Phalakros. I usually never had much interaction with others without Lucitius. Yet, he is dead now.”

(???) He bows deeply at the introduction. When he straightens, he shakes his head, sending his hair scattering across his shoulders.

“My full name be difficult for others to say, thus you may call me by my family name, Tearion.”

He turns to the female, scrutinizing her curiously. He hadn’t seen many reptilian creatures in his home. Why now?

(Phalakros) “Tearion? I… I think Lucitius met a Tearion once.”

(Tearion) He raises an eyebrow at that.

“I believe I would remember such an encounter.”

(Phalakros) He blinks then shrugs.

(Tearion) He turns away, once more eyeing the female.

“Your name?”

(Phalakros) He glances over as well, but quickly returns to staring at Tearion. He notices the man’s feet and his eyes widen.

(Tearion) He bows again.

“Greetings to you, Celosia and Cyril.”

He straightens, scrutinizing Celosia curiously. He had rarely ever seen a blind creature.

“Might I ask where we are? This be drastically different from my home. Be this a trick of the Vanishers?”

(Phalakros) He smiles slightly at the mention of Cyril’s protectiveness. He then seems to become depressed again.

“I doubt Vanishers are involved, whatever they are. Nor can I properly answer your question, yet I believe this is a place outside of our realms.”

He shrugs.

(Tearion) He glances over at Phalakros, having no idea what he meant by ‘outside of our realms’.

(Phalakros) He notices the look and shrugs again.

“There is much more than one realm in our multiverse. There exists billions of realms, more even.”

(Tearion) He shakes his head and snorts.

(Phalakros) “How isolated are you? Where do you live?”

(Tearion) He sighs.

“I live on an island. The mainland be accessible only by… I know not what humans call them.”

(Phalakros) “Ships?”

(Tearion) He shrugs, unsure.

(Phalakros) “Well. You are far more isolated than I thought.”

(Tearion) He doesn’t seem to react. Instead, he turns to Celosia for an answer, hoping she would make more sense than Phalakros.

(Tearion) He sighs, shaking his head. He turns away to scan the area, but it was all so alien to him.

(Phalakros) “Worry not. From what I have seen, the danger of this place is in its visitors. I only wish Lucitius was here. He likely knew what this was, or had a better idea of it than me.”

(Tearion) He eyes Phalakros curiously, but turns away, his hand moving to cradle the pendant of his necklace. He wasn’t concerned of dangers, but the lingering traces of blood in the air kept distracting him.

(Phalakros) He turns away shyly from Tearion’s gaze, but quickly turns back, too curious to stop the conversation.

“Do I dare ask of your race?”

(Tearion) His eyes narrow.

“Why are you curious? You ask me questions, yet you have yet to answer them yourself.”

(Phalakros) He sputters, trailing off into stunned silence.

(Tearion) He shakes his head.

“Let us proceed this way. Since I have told my full name, you tell me yours, and Celosia tells us hers, unless neither of you have any additional names. Then, we answer your question of race. We continue like this.”

(Phalakros) He shakily nods.

“Phalakros is my full name.

He curls up, rocking back and forth. Clearly, whatever he had nearly said has spooked him.

(Tearion) He glances at Celosia as Phalakros answers, but immediately turns back to the youth when he stutters.

What had he missed? Did it have something to do with the battle that had ended shortly before his arrival?

(Me) I just noticed that I kind of repeated the name part a bit. Crap. Oh well.

(Tearion) He sighs, glancing at Celosia cautiously. He then turns to Phalakros.

“Enough with your fears. They are for another time. Tell me what your species and I shall say mind.”

(Phalakros) He glances at Celosia.

“A prophetess? I have met few. Though, Lucitius was a harbinger of chaos, and likely avoided prophets and prophetesses.”

He shakily turns to Tearion.

“Drāckonian. I am a strangeling, a half-breed. We are shapeshifters.”

He still seems shaken.

(Tearion) He snorts, chuckling.

“My son be a half-breed. A rarity for my species. I am. We are, quite obviously, insectile.”

He paused to raise his leg, showing off a long, beetle-like foot. He set it down and inhaled deeply, appraising the smell and sound of blood from his three companions.

(Phalakros) “What do you smell?”

(Tearion) “Depends on what I seek.”

(Phalakros) His eyes narrow a bit.

(Tearion) He snorts again.

“I have fed not in days. There be nothing appealing here.”

(Phalakros) “Days?”

(Tearion) “Nothing new.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“I have nearly ceased from starvation twice. The last thirty years have been particularly harsh for me.”

He caresses the pendant, a melancholy gleam breifly flashing in his eyes.

(Phalakros) His eyes widen.

(Phalakros) He turns to Celosia and chuckles shyly.

“Or the prophets avoided him. Lucitius was… unique.”

(Tearion) “Be Lucitius the demigod you had mentioned to the armored creatures?”

(Phalakros) He whirls around, shocked.

(Tearion) “Aye, I overheard.”

(Phalakros) “Y… yes.”

(Tearion) He shrugs.

“Another question? From either of you?”

(Phalakros) He hesitates.

(Tearion) He sighs and turns to Celosia curiously.

(Phalakros) He turns to Celosia again.

“Lucitius is hard to describe. Complex, if you will. He was unstable, yet had good intentions, and is likely the most powerful being I shall ever meet. He has saved mine life more times than I can count.”

He curls again.

(Tearion) “Six hundred. My sixth century was among the worst I have had. I am barely over thirteen centuries, a youth to my kin, and yet I have the experience of an elder. Damn my fool brethren, damn them all!”

He sighs, looking away.

(Phalakros) “Do I dare ask what happened?”

(Tearion) “I would rather speak of it not.”

(Phalakros) “Well, I doubt it can be much worse than being possessed by a demonic creature. One that desires only to change its victims into more of its own.”

(Tearion) He finally turns back to look at Phalakros, his eyebrow raising at his words.

(Phalakros) He chuckles shakily.

“I still have nightmares from it, despite it happening many millenia ago.”

(Tearion) He stares, unsure how to react.