Enter: Arachnis

Flames cascaded from Axanth’s form, heating up the scene- Perhaps, unconsciously raising his potency in magic casting. The “Mana-Pollen” deposited in patches throughout Alteros was beginning to unsettle, agitated by the increase in mana concentration within the vicinity. A silhouette levitating some distance in the air, seemed to have caught notice, honing on the power increase like a distress beacon.

The air grew heavy upon the two, wilting the grasses and forcing their bodies to bend with the environment as well. Intensifying such an imposing force, was the belittling presence of occultism imbued with cosmic energy that fueled it at an infinite rate. The excess energy collected withered away into a constant fluttering descent of golden snow? More mana-pollen to replace what was destroyed and disturbed, much like a spider investigating damage to it’s web and commencing repairs.

The sun’s light seemed to darken, shrouded by… Something. To those whom turned, looking up where the sun once shined it’s rays, a single man levitated above, glaring down unto the two. The tendrils that waded from his presence snuffed out the sun’s light, replacing it with a violet hue that illuminated his monstrous appearance.

His torso was exposed, slashed and cut on several occasions were proven at a mere glance, stab wounds, signs of impalement and heavy scabbing shown evidence of battle wearing down this man. Stitches here and there, and finally the seared etching that merged such leathered flesh with his own. Upon his arms, an intricate display of unique and masterful craftmanship could be gazed upon with an elaborate series of twisted pillars of steel encasing his arms, finishing the look with pronged shoulder blades and sharpened knuckles.

The fluttering cape shown holes, signs of wear-and-tear from years of battle; Ragged, with the occasional hole puncturing the midst of it. A hood covered over the top-side of his face, allowing few strands of fine, black hair to bounce upon his mask. Such a mask, milk-white, upon further inspection, pure bone, a human skull! It was shaped into a mask to conceal such a man’s identity, to hide his scarred face. To finish the look, the eye sockets were void of flesh, hollowed out to give a dead glare. All of those whom would attempt to see him eye to eye, would only gaze into the pits of darkness that bored into his skull.

“....Interloper.” His lips hardly moved, voice backed up with a rachet sheen of white noise that pierced at the ears of commoners, crackling with animalistic qualities. Occultism seemed to allow this man to mirror the communicative properties of a Yokai, with the exception of broken speech.
“What brings you to these broken lands…”