Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180714183545

A singular piece lines on the middle of the ground, where the young man stands. A mindless horde of ants screeching and biting at his person. A random shift from the remaining gemini with his mortal vitals as targets. A breaking body under the unrelenting barrage suffered by his person at this moment, ever since the first memento of the immolated Gethin, who's leg laceration have started to prove problematic. Which to target? Where to start?

HIs body shakes, under not the impulse of the tidal bite wave, but from within. An immediate remedy for this, a sacrifice for temporary power it could not stand, brought from a less dangerous source.

Prad clenches his burning hand, the flame responding to its user by burning more proactively. Soon, the smell of burning flesh starts filling the room, his arm screaming for relief. None willl be had. He does this intentionally, as...atonement.

With his orchid flame flowing anew with renewed malice, he uses his immolated arm as an extension. Fire breathes throughout his entire body, serving as a very vengeful shield, with a promise to sunder any biters who had still the confidence to approach the immolated human.

He wastes no time, his shield blotting out the increasingly problematic puncture the gemini was startting to drone in, his body flicking backward. The blood on his leg, since long cauterized, as the rest of his body. He lands on the metallic piece asundered by fire, yet with no flaw to its burn.

"Darkness gives you strength, corpse. This horde gives you hope, corpse" he speaks, a gravely voice ponctuated by an echo. Still assailled by the oncroaching mob, he draws a singular spark from the pole, its fiendish head starting to form between his feet. Among his hands, he gazes at it, watching as it dances for but a half second.

Then his gaze returns to the woman, Violetta, the spoiled one. His eyes bounced wherever she appeared to attack. Her precision is flawless. Her strength, a vestige from the old wars. Alas, it was blindingly clear that without her twin sister, this technique she uses, was flawed. Too many gaps for him to spot, even under the mob's attempts at distraction.

"But your strength is halved, mired by the death of your symbiosis. This horde, too uncoordinated, marked by their blind hunger. Your efforts, worthless, as you". He sends the small spark into the encroaching burst of smoke where she was to appear. Instead of finding flesh to burrow in, her eyes met the gaze of a flickering candle, turned to an unstable blast, threatening to envelop and burn the very surface of her body.

Then, as in to capitalize on the mob, Prad jumps upward, breaking the tide of burning vampires that had tried all this time to find a body to sink their fangs into. The pole, now invaded to this realm, screeches as it slithers up to Prad's metallic hand.

Threnody. His old spear, broken by parts, for the body of its user is weak to its strength. And yet, it would be more than enough. He dashed downward, sending a wave of orchid fire into the approaching mob.

Then, the massacre. Threnody screeches with glee as its master starts swinging. A dash. A swing. Dozens of burning corpses, to a far greater degree than usual. He dashes through the mob, taking delight into filling the room with the aroma of festering vampire corpses devoured by flames and ashes.