Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-25808351-20190504204451

(Everyone) Time slowed to a crawl as Marcus and Pramool’s blades strike eachother again, sparks are slung as the otherworldly blades grind in the heat of the violent family feud. Pramool’s eyes shift over his shoulder and locks on to the streaking bolt of concentrated energy. With a sadist’s grin he grabs his grandson by the neck and holds him, until the bolt strikes Pramool and is channeled into Marcus.

Pramool stands stoically, his body shaking from the surge of raw power, his eyes fixated on Marcus. Watching intently as Marcus is consumed by the energy. Marcus roars in pain loud enough to make every soldier on the field stop and wonder what was transpiring. Pramool never let go, stoically holding Marcus through the jolt. Marcus lost all control of himself, sporadically trembling, shaking, writhing with searing pain. The energy traveled through Marcus into the ground. Smoke rose off an unresponsive Marcus. Pramool loosened his grip, and Marcus dropped like deadweight.

His eyes glazed over, foam seeping from his mouth and body twitching, Marcus lay in the mud, eyes to the sky. He did not move, speak or show any sign of consciousness. Not satisfied with this, Pramool places the tip of his blade upon Marcus’ chest. He grips the hilt and raises the blade, facing downward toward Marcus’ heart.

“You could have been a god.... now you are but wasted flesh and bone.”