User blog comment:MockingJester/Hushed land: Q&A afar/@comment-39280634-20200528234406/@comment-30014014-20200604155840

"So...the slave of abominations now presumes to hold his fellow in standing...after committing so long to the flesh and ephemeral touch of those that killed his kind in earnest. How I weep for your ancestors...to commit the true treachery against his kind..."

The entity known as the gray man turns from the young man, more disappointed than anything. He stares the lightless black, its shine so far away from here ''A pity, really. To think you showed promise with that second skin you held. Now, someone else will have to carry the burden..."''

In a snap, the man turns back to the young man, the lightless void in his eyes now radiant with an ominous violet. Sick stars shining in twain. His hand, once idle, now is rinsed in a deep black. A black with a faint odor. Accumulation of...iron. Faint, yet strong smell of different tones of iron.

A hollow shackle spews out of the gauntlet palm, snarling like it was a living entity. It buries itself down in front of the young man's feet. Deep within the earth.

And then, the man tugs on it, prompting its returns with...something. Spirits. The shackle retrieves what looked like invisible threads around the young man. Chains holding down the spirits' necks in iron collars.

Their spiritual bodies are dragged back to the man's palm, hushed in voiceless moans, holstered up in a way not unlike hanged men. It is then that the entity materializes a dull, gray weapon, planting it to the ground...for the time being.

He turns away from the spectacle, staring deeply at one of the many empty places that the young man pointed to ''Meat puppet, why would you be so curious toward the people you just announced to have rejected? Is your need to prostate before your slave master not taking hold of your attention? Or is it the place you stand in that bars you from groveling at her feet?"''