Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-25808351-20180817212120

(Everyone) Marcus looks back at Jorge, finally noticing the lifeless corpse instead. He lets go of Jorge’s collar and watches silent as the body flops to the ground.

“What is happening?....”

Pramool looks down the Pillar at Marcus then shifts his eyes back to Armata, Barnabus and Acheron.

“So, that is the son of Cerberus?” Pramool voice rumbles. He steps of the edge of the pillar and plummets to the ground, creating a crater as he lands. With sword in hand he uses it as a crutch to stand, his golden gaze fixated on Marcus. “Marcus, if I am correct?”

Marcus looks over the ancient entity with confusion and caution. “Y-you know my name?” He stammers. He was in no condition to put up much resistance, should being turn hostile.

“Yes. Your father was my most unruly child. He lead the rebellion of his siblings against me....”

Marcus felt his heart burn for a moment, the evil radiating off this man was insane and to learn of his lineage stung worse. “You mean, you’re my grandfather?”

“In mortal terms, yes. Your father and his siblings sought to inherit my kingdoms and chaos, so they fought against me with aid of The Unseen. Using blood magic and the sweat of many slaves this tomb was built, and I lock within it. You father used his own blood and that of the Unseen in order to bind the spell. With your blood added I am free, though you were intended to be drained entirely so that I would reawaken in full force....” Pramool clenches his freehand tight. “Though this level will do.”

“And what now, grandpappy?” Marcus scoffs.

“I continue the task I was born to do....” Pramool reaches down and grabs Jorge’s helm, pulling it from the fallen Knight’s body. Marcus looks to Jorge and scans over the defeated man’s face.

(You always were a bastard, big guy. But deserved better than this hellhole.) Marcus thought to himself.

“To rain death, chaos and destruction upon the children of the favored gods, so that my kin can reign supreme.” With that said, Pramool crushes Jorge’s helm in his hand like a tin can.