Acolytes of Evil

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"I see," Silex mused. His next question died in his throat when First stared him in the eyes, asked him to help with the ritual, and tore the arm from one of the victims; Silex rolled his eyes at the brazen display and all the noise it caused. He was wondering why no one had come to check on them, and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps First had put some kind of silencing enchantment on the hovel. If that were the case, Silex would have to applaud the forethought, but somehow he felt like that would be overestimating the dark servant. And then the freshly disembodied arm was flying at him, landing heavily in his grasp. Blood splattered onto his clothes; Silex gave an indignant huff. What a mess.

While First worked on further mutilating the body, Silex sighed and set to work. "So all of the marked slaves will die tonight, then?" he asked as he painted over the ritual lines with blood. "What about those of us who work for you, but do not bear the mark? Will this ritual sufficiently restrain the dark god?" He had always assumed that dark gods were indiscriminate in their tidings of woe, much like the forces they represented.
 
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Naturally, the sudden raise of alarm forced Tristitia to resort to more forceful measures to keep things quiet... Said measures involving suffocating the other slaves into unconsciousness prior to writing the symbol upon their backs.

"Figured as much. This was going way too smoothly for my liking." Tristitia thought to himself as he ducked out of sight to avoid being seen by a nearby guard.

-------

Zerenis, however, being the more physically capable of the two, but knowing he's not even close to his prime, courtesy of the slave lifestyle, was subduing lone guards who had strayed from the rest from behind by strangling them into unconsciousness, and dragging the unconscious and, for those who ended up struggling so much he unintentionally snapped their necks, dead bodies somewhere they won't be found, taking the opportunity to write the symbols on the ones who were still alive using blood from the ones with broken necks, taking a dagger off one of the guards to draw blood from the deceased to serve as his paint.

"If First holds up to their end of the deal, and I get my freedom, once I'm back to full strength, there is going to be hell to pay."
 
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"Ah you are searching for the mad ones killing people correct?" Strife stood holding the sleeping Ikaros in his arms while talking to a small group of angry slaves. "I think they went in that direction" he said pointing towards where he knew one or two of the others to be busy with marking sleeping ones. "I was busy tending to the drugged one here so we managed to evade them you'd better hurry"

It was an innocent way to avoid tedious conflict he needed to move her so he could mark a few more for her and then he could solely focus on his own efforts instead. And what would it matter if a few of them failed? killed by the mob less distractions for him and more power to if he was lucky.
Gently placing down the girl leaned towards a rock. the man turned to some young female slaves covering in the nearby ruin. "Excuse me does anyone of you happen to have some water?" He said with a gentle smile, closing in on them.
Sadly one of them noticed some blood on his clothes an opened her mouth to scream. It was a quick move grabbing her mouth while he sent his foot into the throat of another one sending her to the ground struggling to breathe. He knocked the one he grabbed out and captured the other two.

Embracing them around the necks, Strife placed a hand over each mouth. Sitting down hushing them softly he waited observing their wide eyes darting around as they struggled and sobbed. Humming silently to himself he leaned back and turned his gaze towards the night sky until all he could feel was the final twitch of struggle curse trough their bodies. Those small fragile husks. Like rabbits caught in the fangs of the great wolf. A grin swept over his face at the humorous and quite egoistic thought.
 
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The alarm was being raised. Slaves began to notice that many of their own were being brutally murdered under the cover of darkness. T'was the moonlight that revealed them. The guards were trying to control the situation, rather unsuccessfully, for each slave that was found dead meant a reduction in their pay. As two of them passed by, Shebna took refuge behind one of the corpses left by one of the less subtle chosen slaves who were doing the marking. He silently cursed. Damned idiots think they can slaughter this lot without anyone noticing? Idiot brutes!

"Find the changeling!" The harsh voice of a slaver made Shebna flinch.

"But sir, he could have just flown away," complained the guard's subordinate companion, "It's no use!"

"If we lose him we lose 20% of our revenue. Make sure that Dragon-kin is still secure, that's a rare freak, I could retire and live comfortably for the rest of my life on what some rich circus owner would pay for him."

"Yes sir!"

Shebna clutched at one of the good luck charms hanging around his neck and prayed that they wouldn't see him. A sudden gust of air whipped past, snatching up the bloody quill he'd used as a pen and blowing it into the path of the two caravan guards. They stopped, stared at the inky feather as it fluttered by, then looked upwind from whence it came. "There he is!"

Shebna bolted from his failed hiding place, the moonlight glinting off his iridescent feathery hair and pale skin. The two guards were soon on his tail, shouting the alarm and calling for help. As he ran along a chain of slaves, several of them reached out to grab his legs, either out of spite or in order to gain favor, or perhaps they believed he was the one who had been slaughtering them. One of them snagged the edge of his tunic, and while the worn fabric tore easily away it caused the fleeing Shebna to stumble away toward one of the fires, and when he looked up he saw a cluster of very angry-looking slaves who were apparently searching out the killers. They're eyes fixed on him with violent intention. With enemies on all sides and not enough time or energy to change to his raven form he did the only desperate thing he could think to do in those precious few seconds of time.

The guards drew their swords, but he knew that killing him was the last thing they wanted. Biting his tongue to hold back a scream he bent and reached his hand into the belly of the fire, hurling a shower of flaming coals at the guard nearest to him. The surprised man ducked and covered his head, and with his uninjured hand Shebna snatched the sword from his weakened grasp and in one smooth motion brought the curved blade to his own throat. His hand felt like it was on fire, and the pain prompted tears to stream from his eyes. At least he could feel pain, that meant he wasn't burned beyond repair.

"Stop!" he shrieked. The edge of the sword grazed his collarbone and drew a tiny trickle of blood. "You don't want to lose me, do you?" his voice cracked from the agony in his hand but he was still understandable. The guards stopped, dumbfounded. The advancing mob also stopped, confused. The chained slaves shouted insults or stared. One of the guards took a step toward him. "Don't!" Shebna hiked the blade up higher on his neck, resting the flat side under his chin and the guard came to an abrupt halt. "Back up!" He wished he'd thought this plan through a little better, but took a shaky step toward the guards anyway. One of them attempted to reason with him but a few steps was enough of a gap. He hurled the sword at them and sprinted away. As he leapt over the fire pit ebony feathers began to sprout all over his body, and when he hit the ground he landed on talons. Another few steps and he was airborne, left wing singed but not inoperable. He flapped hard to escape the dead air near the ground, but just as he bought a breeze that would surely carry him safely out of harm's reach Shebna crashed beak-first into a wall. Or at least, what felt like a wall, but rather looked more like scales. The firelight had ruined his night vision, and he didn't see the barrier until it was too late. He squawked and crashed to the ground ungracefully, staring up at the towering figure of the draconian-human. It was hard not to recognize him from earlier, the wings gave him away fairly quickly.

"Oww…"
 
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The clouds cleared slightly, and the moon peaked through, lighting up the camp slightly, yet Deadeye didn't worry. She looked around to make sure none of the guards were nearby, then she crept onward, towards her next target. Yet as she was crouching down to blend into the darkness, to hide from a passing guard, someone started shouting in another part of the camp. And Deadeye was between the noise and the guard.

He turned towards the sound, trying to see what was wrong. Deadeye held her breath, hoping not to be spotted. Time seemed to stand still, until the guard shouted at her to raise her hands, and charged at her. She quickly got up and ran towards one of the nearby ruins, knowing that he'd be able to run faster than her. Longer legs, better feeding and being used to running in the desert gave him that advantage.

She quickly took the turn in through the remainder of a door, jumped up, and climbed almost up to the roof, standing on the doorframe and a loose brick. She held still, until the guard came in and stopped, not seeing her anywhere. She knew she had only one chance, as he'd figure it out sooner or later. So she jumped onto his back, swinging the chain around his neck. She stood firmly on his shoulder blades, and pulled heavily on the chains, hoping it would be that easy. Yet the guard grabbed the chains with one hand, attempting to free his airways, while the other started swinging his curved sword against her, flailing blindly. One flail cut off a lock of her hair, causing her to realize that she wasn't using the right approach on this.

She glanced down quickly, and saw that he had a dagger on his belt. As the sword almost slashed her head again, she leg go of the chain, let herself fall down backwards, grabbed onto his belt with one hand, and took his dagger from it's sheath with the other. Before he had time to do more than to turn around, thinking she stood behind him, she stabbed him in the thigh, causing him to buckle at the sudden pain. As he got down on one knee, she kicked off from the ground, and leaped up, grabbing onto his collar, and rammed her knife into his neck!

He crumpled forwards in a bleeding heap, and she stood on his back, catching her breath for a moment. Then she cut the symbol into his skin, pulled his belt off, and put it on across her chest, sheathing the knife, and starting to move on, planning to scurry back to the First's circle, hoping it'd be a little safer there.
 
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It did not take long for the sounds of activity to echo in his ears. He could see more people than the ones making the mark starting to move, and more slaves starting to wake up and realize what's happening. He can't say he was surprised by this happening; the plan hinged on several factors that could only be kept the way they are by chance. Kain was about ready to sneak back and yell to hurry this up to the First, when suddenly he felt something bump into him from behind.

He looked behind and saw the changling that bumped into him, staring at the raven with a fiery orange glow in his slit, beastly eyes. He then looked behind Shebna at the situation he flew away from, and immediately went to grab the bird's small body and hold it up to his face.

"...Stay in that form, and hold on." He finally spoke. Throughout his time in the caravan he was completely silent, despondent even, not saying a single word or making a sound to anyone or thing. To assume he was a mute would be understandable at this point. That said, despite his looks as a draconian human, he sounded like a normal human of his age, no bestial distortion to deepen his voice whatsoever.

With that said, he placed the raven on his scale-less right shoulder, and, combining that with what he said, expected Shebna to stick his talons into his skin to keep him from falling off. He'd of course feel pain from about eight spikes piercing into his skin, but it's a pain he could ignore in a situation like this. Once that was done, Kain decided to burn his original plan and go the faster and less subtle approach instead. Extending his wings, he jumped into the air and flew over the village, making a fast flight towards the building the First was in. Any attempt at stealth at this point would be a waste of time, given the circumstances.

The first's plan has better work, because now if it fails, there's little chance he, or this changeling bird, would get out of this alive.

--------------

From the moment she noticed the guards were on the move and the slaves were figuring things out, Sacada immediately went for the option of Retreat. She had self-defence practice, but she was no warrior, she wouldn't be able to stand against the guards or even against any slaves that aren't on their side. Luckily for her, the moon went back to being covered in the clouds, which made it easy to hide away. She didn't exactly have espionage training, but even an idiot knows that its easier to hide in the darkest possible areas. With this in mind, she was patiently hidden, finding any dark corner and any wall to get behind as possible. She noticed how some of her work along with others were getting erased, but it's ultimately pointless to worry about that. All the marks were of the same symbol, so it shouldn't matter who gets them on how many, so long as they're on them at all.

"Wait a second, the symbol, of course!" She thought. It was a long shot but it might just work considering the other slaves. She knelt down and drew the symbol on her own leg, and then completely covered her hands in sand. In this darkness, blood will be much harder to notice when its covered by sand. Finally, she laid down where anyone could see her and closed her eyes as if she's asleep.

Sure enough, one of the slaves that were a part of the mobs found her and spotted the mark on her leg.

"Hey, wake up!" He said to her. She slowly opens her eyes and looks at the slave who found her, who immediately attempted to wash off the bloody mark on her leg.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Saving your life." The slave responded as she cleaned up her leg.

"But...I was told this mark would help of freedom." She responded, looking completely confused by the situation.

"Yes, well, it does if you prefer freedom by suicide. These marks are being placed on living and dead people alike. Seems a few slaves are up to something, and we are not liking what it might be." The slave explained. Sacada looked shocked by this, looking around terrified at what that means.

"Does that mean...they're going to kill us?" She asked. In a panic she tried to clean off any blood that was left on her leg.

"Hey, hey, Keep calm ok? We just have to find these guys and get them captured and let the guards kill them before they kill us too. Who knows, maybe the guards will give us a reward of some kind for helping them out. Not sure what they'd give to slaves like us, if anything, but it's better to be hopeful than simply lie down and die. Let's help them and hopefully get out of this." He said.

"...Ok." Sacada said, still looking nervous as she joins the slave mob the other slave was apart of. They welcomed her and began discussing ways to perhaps get to these rebellious slaves before the guards could. It would make sense, after all, to get in their favor by saving them trouble. As they discussed it, Sacada looked at them, a mask of timidation etched on her face.

"Umm...Excuse me. But...You're saying that these people are marking us all over the village, right? ...So wouldn't it make sense that the cause of this might be near the center?" She asked.

"Near the center? ...Wait, where that one guy is?" One of the slaves asked.

"I'd rather not go anywhere near that freak." Another slave declared.

"But it does make sense if you think about it. From the very moment I saw him in the caravan, something about him seemed off. He didn't seem like someone who'd be sold to slavery like the rest of us. ...Yes, I think this woman's on to something." The slave that talked with Sacada stated.

"I don't like this...but I guess it's better than doing nothing and watching what happens next." a Third slave said.

With that said the mob of slaves all headed for the center area nearby where First was located. While Sacada still had a timid frown on the outside, she mentally gave a smirk. Things on her part are falling into place for her as well as hopefully for everyone else.

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Marie hid in the shadows the moment the guards began to run into this desert maze like the rats they were. Oh, but what's this, it seems some of the mice have begun to undo what she and the others were trying to accomplish. Upon seeing the blood wash off of her victims, she comes to realize that she must do this some other way.

Looking at her surroundings, she saw a wooden pale with some kind of iron handle broken off. There was slight spots of rust, but ultimately, she decided to make due and took it into her hands. Moving in the shadows behind the slave that was her next prey, she eventually jumped out from behind, stabbing the slave threw the side of the neck with the sharp rusted edge of the broken handle, holding her hand against his mouth to muffle any sounds he may make as he succumbs to death. Using the handle like a pencil or a brush, she drew the mark into the dead slave's skin and immediately went right back into hiding again.

Last time she stood against guards, she intentionally ended her first massive 'game', never anticipating that she would survive. But as she stands now, with only this as her weapon, the guards would have an unfair advantage, ending this next game before it even gets fun. With that in mind, Marie carefully made her way back towards First, sneaking to his location from the shadows.
 
Zerenis and Tristitia, upon having felt that enough was enough, began to make their way back to First's location... Until they realised there was pretty much an entire mob looking to get between them and the building where First was holed up.

"This could be a problem." Tristitia said to himself, as he spotted Zerenis seeing a similar situation, and snuck over to the former gladiator. Zerenis glanced briefly in Tristitia's direction, before turning to look back at the house where First was.

"Someone must've figured out what's up. If we're gonna get back to First in one piece, we need to move now before they surround it. None of us are in any condition to straight-up fight our way through a mob after all. Not even a former gladiator. If we try and do this discreetly, we won't make it back in time." Zerenis said at whisper volume, Tristitia nodding in agreement, before the two broke into a run towards the house, aiming to get inside the building before they were spotted.
 
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Oh gods, is he going to eat me? Was the first thought to cross the raven boy's mind as Kain snatched him up none-too-gently and pulled him toward the beastly face quite suddenly, and then with haltered speech ordered him to hang on. Up till this point Shebna hadn't even been sure the dragon kin could talk, he'd been pretty sure the extent of the man's communication skills were limited to dark glares. Well, you learn something new everyday. He didn't have long to ponder it though as he was roughly shoved onto a shoulder that was a patchwork of flesh and scales. He didn't have to be told twice, and sank his sharp talons into the perch, barely having time to brace himself as Kain took off with slightly more grace than Shebna might have guessed for a human with wings. To avoid being whiplashed he snagged a beak-full of greasy black hair and held on for dear life.

They left their pursuers in the dust, and it was hardly any time at all until they arrived back in the abandoned house. Even after they landed Shebna's beak was locked around that clump of hair, and he trembled. Letting go as he recovered his senses and giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness again, he noticed First tearing apart another body while another man who had been among the chosen slaves seemed to be assisting him, holding a severed limb and using this gruesome utensil to write on the floor; his movements were precise and calculated, he wrote like an educated man. Unsurprisingly, the sight did not serve to offer Shebna any comfort. And as if things couldn't get any worse his feathers were all bent by the dragon man's rough handling. Also his head had begun to throb, no doubt from running into him so hard. Things were just generally pretty miserable for the little bird.

He shook his head but that only made the throbbing worse. "Ah, thank you," he said, unhinging his talons and attempting to flap to a broken beam sticking out of the wall at about eye-level. He didn't make it though, his battered wings and crooked feathers left him off-balance and he plummeted to the floor. How embarrassing.

Groaning, he summoned the strength to shift back into human form, and just sat crouched there at Kain's feet, staring at his hands with several fingers out of joint. Cringing, he carefully grasped each one and yanked them back into place with a painful crack, then flexed his hands experimentally. They hurt, and they were swelling, and he started to wish he had just stayed in that cage and never taken First up on his offer, but then he'd be no better off than the rest of the slaves who would probably all be killed in whatever twisted ritual that the instigator was cooking up. Here's to looking at the bright side of things.
 
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While helping him with wetting the lines again, Silex cast another few questions his way, making First stop in his own work. If anything the question actually lightened his mood, the man gave a big smile as he stood up and turned towards the other, spreading his arms for artistry.

"Yes, and then all others... Except you few, preferably." The last he added as a minor detail. For Silex next question he got an odd expression on his face.
"Such a meager amount of sacrifices would never restrain a god, and certainly not one of your soon to be patrons. However, they would not harm their new servants, nor would the Fairy allow it." First looked at Silex with dead eyes as he mentioned his own patron, and gave no further explanation as he went back to finalizing the ritual. Once more eager to end this farce of a slave.

When they were all but finished replenishing the ritual, the dragon half-blood descended into the ruin with a tattered raven on his shoulder. A raven that quickly fell down and changed shape into an if even more so tattered youth, with broken fingers as it was.
Putting the last limb he had been tearing apart for the task First stood up and was about to address the two returnees when two more came running inside. The probable gladiator and the likewise probable nobleman, obviously running from something or someone. With that thought in mind First gave a sneer and moved past them to look outside.

With the moon once more hidden by the clouds, a group of slaves could be faintly seen moving towards the ritual site for anyone with good eyesight. It was no hard feat to imagine what had brought them together. Someone of the chosen few had either been sloppy, or gotten him or herself caught while drawing the marks.
Turning his head to both sides First got the feeling that the guards would not be far behind, the campfires seemingly moving about in the night. The ritual could wait no longer. Walking back into the shelter of the old house-walls the man so far posing if at least superficially as a slave cast away the last of his disguise. His demeanour changed ever so slightly, those attentive to the presence of others would feel him slipping from their senses.

"Now then, shall I bring you the path of power." Longing in his voice, First looked at the bodies and circles painted before him without giving a hint of seeing them.
 
Salif barely made it back to the ruin in time to hear First's utterance: he blamed meticulousness, really. After the chaos had erupted, he'd managed only to beat several more slaves into submission and re-draw the mark upon a few here and there, mostly unconscious, who had thought themselves saved from the coming of... whatever the sign was to bring them. But he had forced himself to remain methodical and not to make too much haste lest he be pursued by too many guards to take on or left to some other undesirable fate. He had managed to enter a side entrance in spite of the mob descending upon the place: although surely it was the darkness that had aided him, perhaps the other slaves thought that he was one of them. He was human, after all, a slightly imposing human but still not one of those... Well, if they're to be my allies, then I'd best not slide into the habit of calling them "freaks," he mused silently.

Salif took position at one of the group's sides, giving a grave nod to indicate his presence and looking to the ritual circle after a quick glance at each member of the party still present. He wondered which of them had been the ones to give their little stunt away— it had surely been a combination of the more violent ones, likely including himself.
But Salif wondered more exactly how First and his ritual were going to deliver the group from this predicament, and he looked on eagerly as he waited for something to happen.
 
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Well, the First's circle might be a bit safer than standing on top of a dead guard with a bloody knife, but by the looks of the mob heading that way, it wouldn't remain safe for very long. Luckily, the mob was, if anything, more ragged than her, and while they were angry, she was quicker. And thanks to the darkness of the night and the anger of the mob, they didn't spot her as she scurried towards the ruined house on their flank, not wanting to be left behind for... Whatever it was that it'd do. She jumped as she got to the wall, and crawled out through a hole in it, landing back inside the room, with the First... being different, somehow. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she didn't care. Either he'd have to do his thing, or else the mob would be onto them.

And then she'd have to escape back through the hole.
 
Tristitia and Zerenis quietly sat on the opposite sides of the room, both of them thinking to themselves.

"It all comes down to this now. If this fails... Then the guards and the slaves will be our judges, jury, and most likely, our executioners." Tristitia thought, keeping his gaze fixed on First.

Zerenis, on the other hand, was glancing over the ritual one last time.

"...I yearn to return to my full strength... Nay, I wish to EXCEED it. Only then can I take my vengeance on those who wronged me."
 
Noticing the change in the slave camp, Strife returned to pick up the sleeping girl.
She had become restless and considering her nature it most likely meant that the ritual was nearing completion, how unfortunate that the sacrifices had become alerted to what transpired.
Choosing a more discreet path to avoid the fires and being seen, the man soon found himself observing the angry mob, closing in on the ruins that held the key to his own escape.

“If it wasn’t for you personality girl, i would have you awake and ready now. But I suspect you would turn on us instead. Shame really, i would love to see what you are capable of.”

Having said that he observed the layout and the ruins. There was no point in moving yet, first the man with promises had to prove that he could deliver and that he held the strength required for it.
So once more making sure his investment was comfortably placed on the ground, the man sat down to see how the situation would develop.
 
The smell of blood and death was overwhelming now, an ordinary person might be revolted but to Shebna it was almost calming, even though somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that maybe he should be just a tiny bit disturbed. He was too tired to contemplate any moral dilemmas right now though, but as others returned one by one (and he thought there were fewer of them than had been sent out from the beginning) he summoned the strength to stand, moving away from the dragon-kin a bit only because Kain was almost a head taller than he, making him feel short. No one talked much, except for First who seemed to almost be in a kind of trance.

This is it then. Either we die here or… Or what? He didn't exactly know.
 
The clouds were still gathered tightly above the desert landscape, hiding the ruins of the old village and what transpired within and around them. The guards moving inwards from their fires to bring peace to their merchandise, the slaves moving for retribution against the one killing their fellows, and the followers of the First, the ones responsible for the atrocities having been and still being committed, the preparations for the ritual. All were coming to converge upon the center in mere minutes, upon the site of the sacrifice offered to the dark gods.

Throwing his arms up horizontal, palms and face raised in twisted prayer, First opened his mouth and let incantations drip from lips given to something possessed.
"Mhen'aer shta'hse faal-deem'aer, noerl la'vahnaii. Olmaash ahvernill'noerla muethos noehr, heshwaal tlamar'gvar noerl mhen..." The words torn from his throat along with blood, seeping from eyes ears and mouth. Running down his dusty skin to pool at his feet before flowing seemingly with purpose to join the circles around the sacrifice, making the already wet lines swell and glisten in the lack of light, the air filling with iron stench.

One moment the darkness cover the ruins, the next moonlight shines down on all as a pillar of red blackness arose from the center to pierce the skies, sucking every opposition to the moon into a vortex high above the desert floor. Everyone stopped stunned in that moment, everyone but the man responsible, who let out a wail resounding across the whole village.

"Fhair lave'nahs! Bhlot'aer mhen! RHILMYN, I SUMMON THEE!" And suddenly there was something in the sky above, reaching out from within the vortex. Tendrils of fire and coal hungrily devouring the pale moonlight to bath the scenery in crimson night. An otherworldly being of crushing beauty, a female entity taunting every crude idol of unholy worship, the dark goddess, Rhilmyn, the Fairy.

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All around the marked bodies and individuals spasmed and contorted as magical energy, spirits, their very souls were ripped out as tribute to the goddess. An anticipating smile spreading across her face as she welcomed them with open arms. All the while the crimson light giving the night a surreal atmosphere.
Suddenly an eerie change came over the entrancing beauty, as no more souls flowed to meet her, but there were still sacrifices swarming beneath her.

"More, love. Love me MORE!" Her voice a command that could not be refused, those chosen by the First broken from their glimpse of the eternal beyond to a grim world shown clearer than ever, veins boiling with the need of a god, an unholy pact marked on their minds to be paid in blood and slaughter. Death by their hands a sentence for a path that would lead to one place alone.

At his goddess cry First teared up in a wolfish smile, his eyes still bleeding from the ritual, and he turned around to walk out of the ritual circles. His steps gaining speed and strength as he ran to meet the mob coming to lynch him and the others for their evil, an evil that would now swallow them thoroughly.
A drop of thé Fairy had fallen upon all of thé chosen ones, a taste and promise of what would come to be theirs as apostles of thé dark gods. This drop however was simply raw power, manifesting itself upon their personal needs faintly if at all. It would empower them, fill them with the need to satisfy thé Fairy through thé deaths of all opposition. Sending their prey to her, they had but to kill.

"Mhen'aer Fhair!" First laughed as he lunged his arm through the abdomen of one of the approaching slaves finally shaking off the trance-like paralysis but a moment too late, making the man as it were vomit blood while falling to the ground. His body shaking in agony as the soul was ripped away and tributed.
First only smiled wider as the surrounding slaves, men and women young and old alike all rose to repay him the death of their comrades. Screaming as they tore lashes in his skin with their chains, fingernails drawing bright blood from hundreds of tiny cuts, trying to drown him below their sheer numbers. This was a fight they would not win for all their struggle, the force burning through the blood of the chosen ones would make sure of that.

So the one having posed as a mere slave for months gave in to to the built up hate and resentment in his mind, letting pure animal ferocity steer his path in service of his patron. And above she laughed at the mortals biting, scratching and breaking each other to show their love, for life, for death, and for the dark gods...
 
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Salif's stoic expression cracked into a grin as he felt the small measure of power rush into him. The former warlord remembered all the strength that he had had before beginning his career as a thrall: he now felt the assurance brim inside him that it would return soon. He would no longer be powerless— was no longer powerless.

His next thought: how to obtain more of this power? Salif would have called it a tease had there not been such an obvious solution. His gaze turned from the Fairy to the tsunami of humanity now crashing against the ruin: none of them knew who he had been. They had not learned to fear him. Their loss. He lunged for the nearest hostile slave's neck— and gasped as his stranglehold crushed the fleshy column like a twig. A laugh escaped him, and he thought for a moment that it must've looked a mite deranged as he met eyes with his adversary. However, this reservation was dropped immediately as he knocked the slave back with a bracer to the forehead, causing fatal damage by virtue of the enemy's head clattering on the ground like an insubstantial piece of garbage if not from his swift blow. I truly was born for battle, Salif remarked mentally: it had always been his way of life to take what he desired and make it his own. Why make an exception for the petty lives of those who would oppose him?

Salif allowed the amœba of flesh and chains to envelop him: the fools were only making their selves into easier targets. Both of his arms had been grabbed: No matter. Even only the small amount of power that the dark goddess had doled out meant that Salif's strength alone was far superior to that of several of these half-starved thralls. His left arm wrested itself free and bashed into one man's head, and the right swung into the other's belly as the grip was released on it. He followed through with a kick: the unmistakable sound of sinew and bone rending rang true as the slave fell under Salif's boot sailing into him. Jumping onto the downed foe like an animal, Salif slammed a fist into the slave's face, blood surging forth as cartilage and bone offered little more resistance or integrity than that of a porcelain doll.
The lifeless bodies twitching as the souls within were drawn to the Fairy, Salif was about to laugh when he realised that he had already been laughing the whole time.
 
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Shebna crouched in awe of the spectacle before him. Truly he never expected that First might actually manifest a goddess, but then he wasn't sure what he might have expected apart from that. Time seemed to slow down as the world went to hell all around him, yet he felt peaceful, refreshed. Here was a mistress worthy of his affection. He felt strong, stronger than ever before, so much so that the thought of fleeing the mob that had weighed down his mind just seconds before was completely gone. He rose to his feat, pale eyes and feathery hair painted the color of blood by the light from the Fairy. His thin mouth spread into a white-toothed grin as he turned to face the onslaught of slaves, shouting in fury and rattling their chains at him. Pitiful creatures, they should fly away in terror.

The first one came at him in a frenzy, mouth open in a scream that died in his throat as Shebna's long taloned fingers pierced through his vocal cords, impaling him. His victim struggled helplessly for a few seconds before sliding to the ground in a pool of his own blood. As the other chosen ones tore into the fray with berserker attacks, Shebna selected each of his victims carefully so as to be as quick and efficient as possible. And he counted each one. "One," he said as he shook his hand free of the slave's gaping jaw. "Two." He pierced another through his jugular. "Three," he whispered gleefully as he seized a slave by the neck and drove a sharp talon through his ear and into his brain. And so he continued, into the teens, twenties, fifties. They just kept coming and he picked them off at a startling rate, moving faster and with more precision than he ever had, striking with calculated force and knowing each one hit home, each stroke killed.
 
Tristitia's eyes remained fixed upon the otherworldly figure, unaware of the fact that his eyes had turned from their natural blue hue to a bloody crimson. He felt empowered, for some reason, as though he could crush the skull of a man with his bare hands. But the one thing that really caught him off guard, was the sudden emergence of five dark tendrils from a mass of what appeared to be black gas located at the centre of his back, all of them razor sharp and ready to kill. He quietly cracked his fingers like a pianist would and began set about his bloody work. The first person who tried to attack him found themselves swiftly decapitated. The second was impaled through the stomach and hurled through the rest of the crowd... And the third was cut to ribbons, flesh, blood and bones collapsing into a heap where the victim once stood.

"...So this is dark power, hm? Not a bad deal..."

Zerenis had been keeping his gaze fixed on the fairy... Up until he felt a painful burning sensation on his skin, specifically his arms and legs; Gritting his teeth, his eyes clenched shut, numerous glyph-like Tattoos that emitted an ominous purple glow began to sear itself into his skin, yet oddly, were not damaging the surrounding flesh. The sudden change also affected his hair, gaining a pair of dark purple streaks through it. Once the burning stopped, Zerenis dropped to all fours, his eyes shooting open, their colour matching the dark purple highlights in his hair. Upon regaining his breath, Zerenis stared at his arms for a few moments, making note of the new markings upon them, their purple glow having faded, being jet black in colour now.

"...Those aren't ever going to come off. Branded until death."

Zerenis promptly clenched his fist, and as if sensing his fury, the tattoos began to glow once more... before his arm became engulfed in a raging purple flame. This originally startled Zerenis... Until he realised that the flame was not doing him harm... And was actually making him feel like he could rend the earth asunder with only one fist.

"If there were ever a time for a test run... This would be it."

The former gladiator stepped outside the building, clenching his other fist as the flames engulfed that arm as well, his legs from the knee down catching fire soon after. Calmly yet confidently walking towards the crowd, a devilish grin spread across his face. The flames around his arms and legs were intimidating them, as well as his now-unnatural eye colour. Before one of the people within said crowd could react, the victim's head was blasted to smithereens from a single punch, some of the blood splashing onto Zerenis, as he began to laugh maniacally.

"...Surpassed indeed... Oh this is going to be FUN."

Zerenis roared maniacally as he launched into the crowd and began to run rampant within their ranks; Smashing skulls, tearing people in half, ripping out vital organs, Zerenis was more beast than man in that moment. Tristitia was equally as brutal, tearing out a man's heart with his bare hands, as the tendrils tore apart four more. The two of them, savouring their newfound might, continued their brutal slaughter.
 
So there was something behind all those words after all. Good!.
Strife's face twisted in a wolfish grin uppon the sight of the sight of the goddess. He could feel a primal lust within when laying eyes uppon this female.
But it faded quickly, he was not a man that enjoyed when being toyed with and this clearly unnatural feeling of wanting to supply her needs changed his once big grin into a squinting glare. "I will play along for now on that but don't think your status as a deity will act as protection" He murmured and descended down the slope towards the other slaves.
To suddenly be rid of the feeling of hunger and tiredness and even feeling stronger then before was intoxicating. Testing his new found strength the man stepped in front of two men and swiped with his hand leaving a trail of blood trough the air as his fingers and nails tore their throats. "Interesting" Turning towards a female he jabbed his arm looking her into the eyes at all time as she in shock coughed and convulsed from the shock of having her abdomen pierced.
There was control in his movements, he didn't focus as much on killing as he did on the capabilities of his new 'colleagues'.
 
Deadeye had to admit it; she had doubted the First and his ritual. But the goddess manifesting in the night sky was quite convincing. And more than that, she was truly a charismatic commander, urging the Goblin into action. And as a little extra prod to action, she could feel a strength flowing through her, feeling as if she could move far faster than she'd ever managed before.
Urged on by the goddess and the power she had granted, Deadeye jumped onto one of the broken walls, and launched herself at the guards, and slamming her dagger into the throat of the first as she landed on him. As soon as he started falling backwards, before the other guards even had time to react, being far too distracted by the spectacle in the sky, Deadeye grabbed his dagger as well, ripped her own free, and started leaping from one guard to the other, slicing throats, stabbing through eyes, murdering one after another while dodging the swords they slowly started swinging in response.
 
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