Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180625234506

The storm outside wails and churn, ever more loudly than ever, murky and thick...

...only to disappear...

The earth under the prison, writhing and screeching under agony. Burst of heat, an alien flame, drafted in a dark orchid, clawing it way out. The earth cries out for relief, under assault by the tainted heat, rewared with more sundering.

The polluted flame dance, almost sentient, possessed by the haunting stare of its master. It rushes from the pleading soil, only now given the right to respite. Fire snaking its way through the prison, ignoring any and all thing, yet turning all it touches into blackened ashes...

Prad continues to walk forward, across the empty halls, his stare ignorant of those who just appeared. His focus, none of those present to witness. His eyes, washed in in the same malevolent Orchid that once gave life to his bolts hungring for life. They gleam bright, followed by his alienated change in posture.

Metal starts accumulating on Prad's right arm, clinging to it like it fought for mere existance. Reality distorted around it, as if trying to prevent it from shaping into this plane. Tools, chairs, tables, levitating as a measure of struggle...

...it all fails, the metal, jagged in black fully forces itself in the desolate world, pushing every item not wired to the floor in a spectacular display of violence. Not content with the mere push, the full manifestation of the gauntlet pulses in a darkened reverance at being at its master's side, the objects suffering under it, decayed and unmade, consumed by it.

Prad takes a good look at his arm, clenching his hand inside the metal, greeted by a seeming laughter, hidden under high decibels, deaf to all but him. A hideous grin formates on his once friendly visage. He places his other hand on it, running his fingers on the gauntlet that took his right arm.

'''An ancient howl escapes the man's throat, the semblance of Prad's old voice...gone, corrupted. A howl full of spite and resentment. Using his armored hand, he starts clawing at his free one, tainted by the dragoness' demonic energy. Skin peeled off, blood gushing from the wound. His howl unending as he rips off the surface, over. And over.'''

And over.

'''Until, by his jagged gauntlet, he hold the condensed power of the demon's energy, trapped between its clutches. Prad smashes it in a exatled fevor, his howling halted with no warning. His hand, a bleeding mess, with blood dripping from the other as well as it. He has no care for the overlapping nervour systems trying to warn him of his grave state.'''

The flame, which had been dancing through the halls, finally reaches him, bouncing like a snake to mend his injured arm. A corridor of orchid fire follows, swallowed whole by his body, yet very present to his bleeding arm. Cauterizing it to the point of mending its sinew, stronger than before. By this point, his sleeve had given to the fire, burnt out, like the rest of the room, filled to the brim with his alien flame.

Prad had attuned himself to the destructive harrow of fire...

Reunited with the dancing flame of orchid, '''he lets out yet another howl, this time, lashed out in a tracking intent as he starts rushing out of whatever room he was in. Room by room, he goes, looking for one of them. His eyes, completely overtaken by the flames, resonating with it as it fed off his body, empowering it and shrouding it.'''