Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180828013843

The poor boy. Sought to make some contribution in what would ensue. Oh, how the gray one's words bit at his core: Failure...Failure...Failure...

Those words roar a typhoon within his mind, overwhelming his nerves at the ghastly sight of the old one, standing with uncaring eyes before him. Worse still, his own words echo those of his 'watcher'.

"No,no,no,no,no,no,no".The word repeats in Prad's head, his broken arms attempting to waver backward. Back to the relative safety. Well aware of the futility. His irises turn with fright to the one. The gray one.

A sad display of the boy crawling to him. His burnt arm reaches to the man's leg. But it does not. Instead of the dull sensation of ancient metal coated, he feels nothing. A phantom where sensation should be. Gazing at the gray one, Prad once agains realizes the gap that separates them. The incomprehensible gap, only now make manifest by a bottomless chasm of darkness churned between his galvanized arm and his watcher's foot.

Further than mere physical distance, he realizes how far the man's reach was. The sky briefly turned to white. The stars gourged in darkness, as if someone had taken a picture and placed it in negative. Breath was hard to find. Sight, unnerving.

"What will you do now...surrogate?" asks the man, looking down on the young man as Pramool stood, arm ready to rip Prad's life away. He was asking this, as he stared down at his death? Not deigning to lift a finger...nor offering help. He just watched...

"The entity who stands to consume your life has warned his own servants. His offsprings' spawn. His cohort of enemies, including yourself, of his intolerance for unassuming movements. In ancient words. In this era's words Yet, ignoring my warnings against attacking, you make use of a brittle and short-lived spell, assuming that he would not immediately retaliate. Against the weakest members..."

Prad can't fathom what he see or hear. Primordial death, standing at but a hair's lick of him, waiting for a deathly decision on his part. His only salvation, berrating him in a vile bite for trying to stand among the rest.

"The first undead was relieved of his appendige. The wyvern has suffered in one strike. Now, death stares squarely at you. Your act, the funnel to his ultimatum. What path will you walk now? Life...or death? If death...how wil you forsake your spark? Standing, like a peeble looking to make a chink? Or kneeling, as you have since your arrival? Life? WHat will you forsake to live? What will be the measure of your sacrifice? The decision is yours...

Tears stream down Prad's face. Sacrifice...or death. One given by a watcher away, the other, by a god. Both hailing from past eons. Both, casting their old judgments uhpon the new generations. He does what he can...

His dagger still muster a fledging of power. Clenching it as hard as he can, he turns his gaze to the sky. Just as a singular thunderbolt fall from the heavens. Orchid. Its power is severely weak. All delivered by the overwhelmingly shine to its side. It crashes on Prad, blinding all that is. All of its power, turned to make the night day...for but seconds.

The light dies. THe young man, no longer present. As well as the gray one. Both, erased from sight...