Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180721030601

The horde is burned from the sky, leaving their corpses to the winds as a rain of ash and dust settles about. Prad, at the center, is halted. His weapon, silent and humming. HIs gaze is fixated on the horizon. The awakening of an old entity. The speech of Praetor to his weapon. All of it, his focus...

"Your performance has exceeded my expectations, surrogate".

The voice attuned to Prad's ears rings him out of the outer world. His vision of the landscape turns purple, with echoing winds. The painting of the physical world, its colors, inverted to a negative. An alienscape, with an entity front and center to his sight, kilometers in the air, just as he.

"Endurance is your gift, even with your new world vessel".

Prad turns to this entity, one he sees so often. A man, warped in armor, isolating his body in ancient steel from this world. Here, his silvery scarf lies still amidst the dead winds of their fold, a space dedicated to them.

"Hum...well...thanks? I didn't--

"Humble yourself not, surrogate. You wanted their weeps, and went after them. The first one. The second one. The last of them. Fallen under your feet".

"Well, there's a new one, more dangerous than they were, even when combined" Prad laments, while gesturing his hand to the revenant, Pramool. The man he speaks to turns to the undead renewed. HIs ghastly sight allows vision of his encroaching power across the mortal plane. A plane he hides from in between.

"An old god. From the old wars. One among countless, beyond the shackles of this earth."

"Yes...they are preparing. For another confrontation".

"'Yes, they are. And you, are done". 'The man speaks his words, sending Prad into a startling disbelief.

.W-WHAT?! N-no, no, no! We must act too! We're here because we extended our arm to--

"No. We are not. My presence is merely sentimental to an ancient world not seen since the Age of Erasure. Your presence is merely a counteract to these beasts' deluded sense of vanity over humans. My nostalgia is complete with the death of countless of them. My presence in their conflict is no longer hailed".

"B-b-but! Didn't you hear them?! He's this world's manifestation of death. They'll need us".

"They shall not, for this conflict is between monsters now. This world was already condemned under the foot of the walking corpses. Another sweeps the rest under his changes nothing. You should know that, surrogate".

Prad's voice begins to rise across the winds "No! I've seen them. They're not like that. HAve you not watched their displays? If they were as such, then I'd be..."

"...dead. But you are not. You are their puppet. The one thing they can intimidate. But you blind yourself with pitiful sentiments over those. Delude yourself with false care. Perhaps you need a reminder of what they have done to you...and others".

WIthout explanation or hesitation, Prad's body begins to convulse. Greatly. The scorched arm. The jagged foot. The puncture points. The bites. All of those his body suffered, held at bay by the rushing orchid in his blood. THe wall between him and pain. Corroded by the disappearance of the violet gaze Prad held this power in. Pain assaults him from every corner.

"AAAHHHHH--AAHH!"

Every lash he suffered comes back, forceful for their denial. Every cut he was inflicted, a catalyst to the burns endured and exposed by the winds. Burnt nerves, broken bones, concussions. Each pain transmitted to his brain, one by one. Prad's scream of suffering suffocates the clouds overhead, who in the absence of the focus he held, are disrupted and cast away. Wounds evaporate the same radiance power out of his body, as it can no longer contain it.

"AAAAHHHH! ARGH!"

Crippled beyond belilef, Prad collapses to the ground, feet in the air like a broken comet. The exiled energies clinging to his outer skin, puncture the earth he fall on, a glowing, bleak star snuffed out by his contact with the soil.

His arm screams in agony, squeezing the alien presence with violent pulses. HIs other hand, broken free from its metallic shell, struggles to comfort it. A failure to its user, who breathes loudly between coughs.

His eyes, devoid of the power, still convey sight to the fold between, welcomed to the walking man, aquatting before him. Behind the helmet he bears, a pitiful stare Prad is all too akin to. Apathetic words offered as consolation "Galvanized. Burned. Slashed. Bitten. Kicked. Punched. Jagged All wounds inflicted upon you. Yet, you still carry affection for them. Your sentence, to live with the results. Influencing a monster's war is not without cost, surrogate..."

Prad cannot speak. HIs tongue is bound by plight. HIs only concern, trying to keep himself awake. Ragged breathing escaping his chest, his eyes creep to the sight of the rest, slight movement the man isn't blind to "You seek relief. Then go, assuming you can carry their marks upon you..."

The world returns to its neutral state to Prad's eyes, complimented by the man's fade. He is here, near...and far. He watches still, sitting on a spetactor's seat.