Aeron: Meeting Imperfection

[20:16:38] From the deep of the east, the uprising in occultic presence-- The seas birthed a bulge amongst their waves, slowly swaying inbound with platelets spiking from its surface. It loomed closer, the general silhuoette of the impending entity swells at the watery veil between the dimensions of the aquatic and upper-domains...
Though, it doesn't take too long...
In time, it arises...

The rush of the sea comes with its hushing ambience, hissing loud for those along the eastern docks and shores of Loranthis. Water and seaweed rain from a hulking monstrosity, lumbering unto land with callous mannerism as it shreded through the foundation of docks and abandoned fishing areas.

Each step warranted to tremor of the earth underfoot...
Each step summoned forth its own halo of dust...
Each step, was followed up with the pelting shower of fish, seafloor foliage, and debris carried on the body of the traveler...

It decided to make its pace, directly through the ocean, rather than flight; a straight-paved way from the citadel to Loranthis without dealing with digressions. Fifteen feet tall, and sharing the characteristics of a reptillian breed--- Though, it stood on two legs, with a long serpentine tail that dragged over shoppes of the marketplace in its arrival, and carved into the cobblestone road.

The arrival was with collateral damage...
Its every breath, siphoned for the vitality of mere civillians and guards that remained throughout the land; the vile presence of concentrated occultism radiated from the Kaor Lord.
It was here now, having received an invitation from the Imperfect.
"I can... Feel you... Young imperfect... Such a boastful ora you bear..." The creature slows down in its pace, making fluid turn of his head to falter upon Dumuzid completing an execution from uptop a plateau of the White Tower.
(Aeron)
[20:26:52] It had been a while since Widald had been in Loranthis. Almost... Well, he honestly had no idea how many years it had been at this point. Though honestly, he didn't much care really. Rather, he would need to focus on getting there fast enough. To the tower, that is. Considering it wasn't really practical for him to take the same route as Aeron...

But, it would seem he was right on time. Behind Aeron, a familiar flash of red lightning would appear. In the same instant, Widald would appear. Prepared for whatever it was that this visit would bring. Though, the very sight of Dumuzid... made it difficult. It filled him with a rage he wasn't quite familiar with. Perhaps an effect of Aeron's influence? The mark? Whichever it was, he would do his best to try and hold it back for now. He would have his chance, perhaps. But it wouldn't be advantageous at the moment. Though honestly, it was doubtful that Aeron would allow Widald to act on his desires anyways. Not when they currently seemed to be, at least somewhat unalligned.

Regardless though, his agitation was clear. Even beneath the mask. Perhaps, that would help Dumuzid recognize him. Certainly, his appearance alone wouldn't do it. Since the last time the two had seen each other, Widald had been inflicted with the Chimera virus. This, clearly marked by the thick obsidian streaks on his skin. Though it was just as likely that, by now the imperfect had forgotten all about him.
(Widald Nieves)
[20:35:24] "Oh, it is - you. And you."

One 'you' held a much more jovial tune than the other-- and it was obvious which of the pair he was speaking about with each. Widald was less of a fond memory, frankly, though it was also one from when he had been perhaps half his current age. He wasn't proud of many things he did back then, and the fact that he remained alive was.. interesting, at the very least, whereas Aeron... Aeron was more well-known. "The Kaor that ruled some many years ago has returned from hibernation," Dumuzid uttered aloud, stepping forwards and into the air.

Each step rippled through the air, a static field allowing him to 'levitate' in some strange sense. There were many methods, but this was his chosen sort. This was.. a selection of his own, and with every movement, the environment seemed to cling to Dumuzid like lightning to the clouds. It was his domain, and it had been as much for decades upon decades upon decades. Dumuzid was as much a part of Loranthis as the storms or the White Tower, frankly, and anyone could tell as much for themselves. "The one I told my former student to kill lives. Another failure of her own regime, perhaps."

He frowned.

"But the sight of this Kaor, a former mentor of sorts, is a good one - perhaps enough to make up for the former. You reply to my summons, yes?"
(Dumuzid Balaraq)
[20:47:21] The Kaor's dirtied facade was cleansed through the vile miasma that'd purge what swathed his vessel with bio-matter. It was siphoned of its vitality, strained and wrinkled to oblivion before ridden away to dust and ash...
With the occultic purge, he took to effortless levitation to meet the Imperfect-- Where he wandered, light dimmed-- Nature had slowly learned to grow reverent in his presence.

Albeit, in the wake of an Imperfect-- Even his maturity through age failed to overcome... His form, was still inferior-- Requiring the extra push it needed to finally take the next step in the evolutionary ladder.
The Seiza-spawn chortled some at the Imperfect's acknowledgement;
"I'm surprised. I wasn't expecting to come across another with any realization of my identity..." He started,

"Thus far, my encounters have been... With humans lacking understanding of their purpose. Lacking... " A loss for words?
"The drive they need to attain their... Nirvana: One, that paves the road to a Perfect World..."

"In the stories I heard of you, they paint you as an immature child waging powers abroad... Though, now... You are before my person. At last... I can see you with my own two eyes."

"I've come in reverence to your invitation, yes... As I come to the brink of such a... Shallow... Feeble form... I felt it best to at least, see what is of this world in the current age." He did not come alone, allowing Widald to join suit-- Though their intentions were far different, he did not badger himself with contradicting nor stopping them in their endeavor-- Their quest, was of their own, and Aeron would not stop them... Simply stand back, and watch the fireworks.
(Aeron)
[15:19:15] "I was young at a time."

There's a familiarity there - almost akin to the tone with which he speaks to Lorelei, though one less based upon familiarity over time and moreso based upon familiarity through race. Blood ties ran strong between Yokai regardless of the fact that they oft sliced through oneanother's flesh like it was, as any could say, their primary food source. Here, however, did Dumuzid speak highly and without much violent intent whatsoever; as far as he was concerned, the promise of an additional soldier or even an additional general outranked the promise of a meager one-time meal. "If I do recall, and if rumor serves well, then you are of the Erebus class of our kin, yes?"

Dumuzid stared. Even if his eyes were without violence and hatred, they nonetheless matched Aeron's with great intensity. One could surely escape his malcontent, but none could flee from Dumuzid's all-watching glare.

"You see, kin, we stand on the boundary of war. We are outnumbered, and while we stand to prove feasibly victorious anyways as we have in the past..." he uttered, trailing off towards the latter end of his sentence. It wasn't longing, or sadness, or hatred, or really any emotion at all; instead, Dumuzid found himself rife with thought, staring down the Erebus Kaor intently. ".. As such, soldiers are desired. I care not for the meek little children that so often run amok in the streets of other cities, no-- I desire strong warriors that have lived through the wading ocean of time and proved capable of surviving it all."

"You are the most notable of my kin at the present moment. Would you reject a call to arms from your evolutionary superior?"
(Dumuzid Balaraq)
[15:49:07] " What is an Erebus?" Aeron asked of Dumuzid outright, as though heavily digressing from the request at-hand. He had, only heard of the title here and there... But truly had no understanding as to what it truly meant. It was badgering in some sense...
" It's a title flung about so painfully often, but not yet have I ever come to the definition of what it is..." He continues...

"I, am of Seiza's spawn... An Umbral." He clarified, expecting such to finally clear up-- or at least lead into an explanation of sorts. In reaction to such, vocals implied slight irritations, but nothing having arisen to an aggressive taste.

"Though, I understand you thoroughly... It is the same as it was, in my youth. So much has changed... From the falling of Frostvale, to the rise of..." He didn't have a name for Sunflower village, and unfortunately couldn't come up with one. "--much smaller... Defiant settlements."

There was still, the matter of the Imperfect's question... And although, it was phrased in a matter of a request-- One could only presume there was incentive to be discovered in the matter. Whether that came in the form of immediate intervention from fellow cohorts, or judgement from himself? Was unknown.

"I intend to continue my motivations from before my slumber... I'm certain our goals fall in line. A call-to-arms... Would be a privilege, Dumuzid."
There was still the matter of the citadel in question...

"Though, from your position, I have reason to belief your need for sturdy placement in the east. It expands your range of support against the eastern powers... And further shatters their... Resistance."
(Aeron)
[15:56:48] "I do desire a foothold in the east."

"... However, I have summoned you due to the proximity of war. I intend to take you on our raiding party," Dumuzid explained, a pair of orange eyes gleaming with liquid intimidation from behind each fold of his Nerebian helm. Despite its ornate design, one could easily feel the evil it oozed-- the evil he oozed. Truthfully speaking, though, was the aura of vileness unintended while in the presence of the Erebus Kaor. As far as Dumuzid was concerned, few if any in Valmasia could prove a threat in his own city.

There was no reason to fear even a god if they dared to step within the bounds of Loranthian grounds.

"An 'Erebus' is one of the titles assigned to our kin by humanity. It is a class. An Erebus specializes in the usage of darkness and darkness alone." He paused, allowing the usual bolt of lightning to clearly streak across his front-- zapping at each plate of Dumuzid's metallic armor, though causing him to flinch not at all whatsoever. "I am a Zeus, as you can see - one that specializes in the art of Lightning magic. I desire for your services to coincide with my own, such that the human cities might be more easily toppled."

"Should you accept this offer, you will find yourself in our good graces-- you will be exempt from the plague of rust that Ikalla has cast over the country, and your control over the Citadel will be reinforced."

Something about him seemed to indicate that there wasn't much need to ask about the case of refusal... there weren't many rewards for that caste of individual.
(Dumuzid Balaraq)
[16:11:18] The obvious pitch:
To partake in the forming of a nation he sought out for so many years... Or deny it, to potentially see it slip through the cracks.

It seemed doubtful that Aeron could find himself discovering any mal-intent from the Imperfect, for none was met in his coming. There was a moment of silence... And with his slow ascension to the skies to level off with Dumuzid on some degree.
"I do admit, the rust has been quite the nuisance... I assume all within the boundaries of the Neothrinean State in the east will be exempt as well? You can consider them allied by proxy." He assured, "--and with that, forces to empower our defenses against an aggressive Byson...." He stopped to correct himself, "-New- New Alteros... " He chortled some, "And perhaps even extend my borders to consume at Nostvale's own."

"It will, inevitably bring our enemies to a crippling fall..."
(Aeron)
[16:46:17] It would seem, that things were finally winding down. Terms were set between Dumuzid and Aeron. And for the most part, he had stayed in the back like a good little thrall. But there was a promise, that Aeron had made to Widald. The promise that Widald would get the chance to face Dumuzid again. Suffice to say, he had held his time when he could. But with his advancing age, it was doubtful he would get another chance like this. By the time he did, it was likely he would have been killed off anyways, in some sort of war. If not, then he would be too old and frail for him to have a chance anyways...

Perhaps Aeron would realize, what was about to happen. As Widald finally made his first steps past him. A chilling air, born out of pure hatred would exhude from him. Feeding into his occultic magic, into the hellstorm sparks that arced off of him. Wordlessly, and instantly, he would appear besides the imperfect. An old, beaten up thief. Would foolishly attack the imperfect Yokai.

Almost as soon as he had teleported up besides the imperfect, would his sword strike out. It's tip aiming to impale the imperfect straight through. His magic would arc along it's blade, strengthening it's power. The imperfect wouldn't even have, so much as a second to react. Though realistically, it was doubtful it would even take Dumuzid that long to do so.

Regardless, of whether the imperfect was hit, or managed to deflect the blade. Up close, Widald would strike either an imposing image. Or, to the imperfect, a pathetic one. The clear markings of the Chimera virus would show. But, even among the infected Loranthis population, it was far worse then most. It seemed to infect him in his entirety. All through him, would be the telltale obsidian streaks. His blood turned a sickly black, showing the veins beneath his skin. His arm, was still missing from that day. And yet, he had fought through it all. Only to finally end up thralled and marked by a Kaor. The very race he had grown to hate. And all, in a singular desire to end Dumuzid.

A pity, one could suppose. That none of it would likely matter in the end, for Widald.
(Widald Nieves)
[16:53:07] He couldn't really claim to have ignored Widald.

The Imperfect was always there. If you looked, it was likely that there'd be footprints cut into the stony floor of the balcony by Dumuzid's heavyset Nerebian boots-- and furthermore, his eyes always wandered the streets of Loranthis and otherwise. Through the eyes of his mindslaved did the daemon watch and watch and watch, so intently observing that many became outright beacons of interest despite perhaps not requiring such a degree of thought. "Another?" Dumuzid inquired rhetorically, sighing. This happened more than he'd like to believe.

It wasn't that he didn't understand someone's dislike for him - it was moreso that he just couldn't find the time in the day to manage the desired assassins.

"Very well," the Imperfect continued, retreating backwards with a sudden jump that'd trail electricity all the while. Each step seemed to imprint the stone of the White Tower with a potent blue glow, Hellstrom thrumming through the air intensely. "If you wish to fight me and lose again, then you will have the opportunity." In a moment or so following Widald's initiative, he pushed up from the 'ground' and set himself into an airborne velocity-- drifting away from sea-level and slowly gaining some sort of high-ground advantage.

"Make it a worthwhile waste of my time at the very least, spy of Nostvale."
(Dumuzid Balaraq)
[16:54:49] Widald Nieves assumes the Vritra stance!
[17:03:21] He had taken to a landing upon the balcony instead, somewhat distant to the assassin and the target-in-question... Watching...
It hadn't been able to see it with his own eyes, and now he had every tool and opportunity.

He had granted this human, his sole wish... To finally face Dumuzid in a match to the death. The occultic resonance within his being however, still found connection to Aeron... Whom bent such bond maliciously.

The malice...
The fury behind the vindiction...
The hate...

It all festered within the occultic cesspool that was Widald's corrupted psyche. "So excited are we? ... Very well, let's put you to the test..."
An arm was reached out, but what protruded from his being was not of tangible force... But of the translucent essence that'd stab into the vessel of the bloodthirsty occultist.

The mind was culled over with a sweeping wave of one's beloved arcane, beckoning the images of the past: The memories that fed one's anger, that empowered his alignment with the shadows so tightly. Remotely, his excess surged into Widald's, charging the leylines of his circuitry to enable the runic inscriptions upon his chest.

It was intended for a vibrant saffron, with a singe that only perpetuated the pending wrath-- Corrosive in every right, it was to be revealed, through the whittling of apparel in the way. Whether he'd struggle against it, to fight a battle on two fronts... Or accept the blessing to devolve into a war-waging mongrel was entirely up to Widald.

"Go on... This is what you wanted.... Give in..."

Through the shadows, one sought to swoon him to the delectable dish of vengeance-- However twisted, it may've been... However, damning, it'd become...
Aeron, took to spectatorship, to oversee the demonstration of his runic practice at-work... All with an admitting grin stretching from ear-to-ear.
(Aeron)
[17:14:27] Widald would feel Aeron's influence. He could feel his... power? Flowing through. Awaking memories long since suppressed. What he once tried to hold back, to hide away as to prove to himself, that perhaps he was a good person was gone. The occultic power feeding on his emotions, on Aeron's mark. Gone was the Widald that stole from the bad, the evil, and gave to the hungry and downtrodden. The charming, polite thief he had fancied himself. No... Faced now with the very Yokai he had hated his whole life. There would be nothing but an occultic monster.

There would be no resistance, to Aeron's influence. It would meld perfectly. Every strike he made hitting harder. Threatening to break his own bones through the force he imparted with each blow. This was exactly what he wanted. This was what he had waited for, for over 20 years at this point. He was going to throw it all away, everything he had ever done, all in his singular desire to spill the blood of the imperfect.

However this turned out, it was clear that there was no hesitation on Widald's part. That he was no longer the same, happy go lucky thief he had been back then. He was something different now. Perhaps something one would call more monster then human at this point.
(Widald Nieves)
[17:21:16] "You have not grown since our last battle," Dumuzid announced, disappointment thrumming through his figure as if it was the same hellstrom that so empowered both Widald and himself. Frankly, the Imperfect fought with.. not fatigue, necessarily, but something wherein the frequency of these events of fighting had worn down his interest in doing so. Once upon a time, he'd been a relative buck, rearing to fight whomever, whenever; now, though? Now, it was rare for him to lose. There was little risk.

And, after planting his boot into the chest of the Nieves descendant to send him flying backwards (and to send himself in the opposite direction), Dumuzid stared in slight disbelief.

Stepping forwards and raising Balaraq to oppose the figure of Widald, it was turned to the side slightly-- as was the head of the Yokai ascendant. "Why do you people do this?" he inquired. It was a genuine question. He wasn't aware of the reason behind it all, and, truthfully, it was one of the few mysteries of humanity that remained mercurial to him. "You understand there is no hope, yes? Yet you still forge on. You still progress. You still try and try and try. You have lost many times, yet you still try."

Balaraq sparked eagerly.

"Do you merely not see the futility of your actions?"
(Dumuzid Balaraq)
[17:28:06] The battle carried out, though in contest between a two of the same arcane-- It was severely skewed against Widald's favor. The fact of a Zeus being the opponent against a Lightning magi meant that the warrior would be striking upon something with severe resilience to everything they could throw at it-- To include the occult.

Though, the human made his charge into the fray, he challenged the very antipodal to his being-- His bane: Dumuzid.

Devolving them into naught but a savage shell of their former selves... It was what was the trade for the illusion of power. The Imperfect questioned them...
Seemingly trying to understand what was simply an aged Kaor playing mind games... Trying his hand, to see what he could make of his works...
What could he turn, a once, capable man... Into...
--and to see, what power this Imperfect Lord was truly capable of, with his own eyes.

Whilst one fought a losing battle, the mind was further addled with the hexes of the Umbral Kaor, swaying perception should Widald fail to acknowledge what blinded him from the futility of this match.
To finally see blood spilled, where none was laden!
To at last, hear the agony of an Imperfect whom, truly mocked him!
To feel mighty, where his body failed him!

Aeron sought to do more than simply enthrall... He, intended to transform them into something outside of themselves.
"Don't you feel it?" His voice egged Widald on through the cognitive domain, "...Use it... Use it all..."
(Aeron)
[17:38:20] The Kaor, Aeron. Was trying to trick his mind. Into thinking he was winning. That he actually stood a chance against this imperfect. But Widald knew better. He knew the trick the Kaor was using. And he wouldn't let it fool him. He needed to feel the pain, and the rage. He didn't want to feel victorious, or heroic. His Hellstorm magic fed off of the despair, even as he continually struck forward. Only to be dealt another staggering blow by Dumuzid. Now more then ever, he needed to know he was dying. Anything less would make him complacent. Unfocused. A falsity that would ensure his loss, rather then give him some slight glimmer of hope. It was, the only resistance he would put up against the Kaor...

Again, he would launch himself back into the fight. Dumuzid's words would be unmet. Only screams of rage would leave the thief. Terrible, inhuman screeches. More fitting for a Yokai, then for a human like himself. Even as his attacks seemed to do nothing, he would only hit harder. Faster. Bolts of hellstorm, strikes of illusion, they would be released faster. Everything that Widald had to give, he was putting into this. An almost... unparalelled act of desperation and anger. Perhaps somewhere, in the back of his mind he knew how this would turn out. Some switch of logic telling him, that Aeron's manipulations would make the outcome easier to handle. But it too would be ignored...
(Widald Nieves)
[17:49:26] It was unfortunate, but such was life.

Or such was death, perhaps.

It wasn't a rare occurance-- hell, only just recently had another died for their transgressions against the violent and vengeful Imperfect Yokai. Here, though, was there at least a recognizable struggle. The bolts of Hellstrom proffered from Widald's end curled and curved around the silhouette of the seven-foot humanoid, his Nerebian plate-armor largely unscathed by the offensive provided. A shame, really, though not one for Dumuzid; no, he felt little pity regardless of the present situation's relative tragedy. His eyes were unfeeling, and his heart was a mile and a half colder. There was no feeling there, or anywhere for that matter.

"This is how it ends for you, then," Dumuzid muttered under his breath, recovering from the final effort of the Hellstrom magi before stepping forwards once or twice. He would die in the same way that Logan had - in the same way that his fellow member of disrespect had. In a similar manner did Dumuzid's hand spurn forth a vile red glow, Hellstrom magic thrumming and vibrating itself into a more tangible existence atop that pallid palm of his. The Archmage's Gloves served to focus his power from each fingertip into a central sphere, compressing and condensing its boundaries until, like before, it formed an incredibly small yet incredibly powerful point of no return.

In a few moments, the one called Widald Nieves would be permanently erased.

"Nahele failed to follow through with my orders and kill you herself all those years ago - and here now, I will repay you for her misdeed," Dumuzid proclaimed, juggling the aforementioned orb without much other motion. Widald had been knocked backwards unto his back-- slid across the ground below in an unceremonious defeat and an abrupt conclusion to his supposed assassination attempt. "As with the other, and as with all of my killed, you will be allowed your final words before you are erased. What will they be, human?"
(Dumuzid Balaraq)
[18:16:44] As expected, Widald would find himself defeated. All of his work, and all of his effort laid out, and smashed to the side by the power the imperfect held. Really, it was... inevitable. But he had done it. As such, it was too late now to turn and run. It was unlikely that, anything anyone could say would save his life now. His mind would clear... a tiny bit. Just enough, that he could accept this. By now, the little part of him left would be horrified at just how monstrous he could be, when confronted with that he so wanted to destroy.

His breath taken from him, it would take him a moment to even start to be able to speak. A couple of attempts would be choked out. Though they clearly weren't words. This would continue for... a little bit. Not for very long. But for a little bit.

Finally however, he would get annoyed with himself. The inability to talk between the heaves, and the wheezes. He would simply, close his eyes. It's not like he would have said anything meaningful anyways. An insult, perhaps. But that would have been immature. If he was going to die, he intended to preserve what dignity he did still have left.

No, he would save his words for the next realm. Dumuzid could kill him here. But perhaps, in some other life. Or even in the spirit realm beyond that he had heard of, he would be more...
(Widald Nieves)
[18:30:24] "Impressive."
The comment came from the Umbral, making his way casually towards the fallen laying before their pending executioner.
"I've always wanted to see your power in-person... And what other way to see it, then to allow a human to charge mindlessly into their own coffin."

He admitted to it all-- It was his doing... His test.
"He, is one of the many... One that strive for vengeance... The opportunity to fight, through the Will of Man... The amazing things humans can accomplish through their drive." He spoke highly of them in his approach, soon intent on passing the Imperfect by-- His focus, being that of Widald in-particular.

"Unfortunately..." He pivoted the direction of his speech, "They are... Easily shaped. Whether that'd be for their own good, or self-destruction..."
Assuming there was no denial in the endeavor, he sought to stand above the fallen form of Widald... Glaring down upon it.

"Widald... You've served me well..." He went onwards, "However... There comes a time, where every pawn, every pillar that lost its necessity to a foundation or the extra thrown into the mix.... Expires..."
A fluid turn towards the Imperfect implied the intent behind Aeron's intervention, before it'd return to his former cohort.

" Through me... You were blessed with the shadows...." He started, hand reaching down with open palm and digits extended for Widald's face...
"--and through me... It shall be taken away. Back, to the Darkness that you borrowed."
The Kaor stood over the man from there onward... Allowing Widald to digest what was going on... Perhaps, even to hear the Imperfect's approval, despite his lack of wait to hear it. What he was truly waiting for... Was Widald's words... If not a spike of retaliating fury through rhetoric or final action.
(Aeron)
[18:32:57] Dumuzid Balaraq: You have my permission to proceed, Erebus Aeron.
[18:32:57] Aeron: <*winces at the title of 'Erebus'*>
[18:49:10] Widald would feel Aeron's presence above him. He knew, despite his eyes being closed. After all, Aeron was certainly one of a kind. Not... quite as powerful as the imperfect. But certainly, a class above other Kaors. And, how he spoke, it was clear what he intended.

But, Widald didn't really care. He had... honestly expected something like this would happen one day. After all, the only reason that Aeron had survived that day, had been due to the vampire's assistance. If it hadn't been for that one, then Widald, along with the others, would have ended him just like any other Yokai they came across. But, that wasn't how it turned out. Yet he simply couldn't see a Yokai letting go of something like that quite that easily...

Though, Widald supposed he did have a few last words. Something he could say. Though it wouldn't be to Aeron. He had nothing else to say to the Kaor. Rather, his words would be to the Imperfect. If he couldn't kill Dumuzid. At the very least, he could have one tiny, minor victory. And so, his words would mumble out. Slightly muffled, but still understandable to both Aeron, and Dumuzid...

"He's, an Umbral... actually. Bit of... a difference."

Widald would let out one final cough, before leaning himself back to await whatever he had coming. Wasn't like he could fight it anymore anyways...
(Widald Nieves)
[19:17:20] Aeron's left hand scrapped its digits across the cobblestone flooring, to tightly clutch at the man's vessel. Every finger sought to test muscle and bone, to force them to churn under pressure... To wither at their integrity with his strength. The very touch of the Umbral's being upon Widald's own was a parasitic one, siphoning at their lifeforce to leave them limber.

From the breath in their lungs... To the sensation upon the skin...
The world was to become a cold place... Overshadowed by a reaper of the eternal night. Fatigue was unmatched to what it had ever proven in past encounters... Now, darkness welled over one's vision, seeking only to take one back beneath its cloaking blanket.

It was through the seems of one's clutching grasp, that the illuminating gleam of crimson implied of the transference of raw vitality from human, to beast. Aeron was fed through the skin... Slowly dragging his former servant to the brink of death.

"Your contributions had proven well... However, in the end... I still have to repay you." He claimed, eyes narrowing...
"For providing me with your w e l c o m i n g   p a r t y . . . " The tone of his voice went grave... Graveling even... He remembered the day when the many stormed into the Citadel upon his awakening...
He remembered just how fast they reminded him of his hatred towards humanity...
It allowed him, to remember.... The holocaust he survived of his kindred, back in his youth....

--and for that, he could never find forgiveness in such an individual.

As one lay dying in his grasp... He took to them, a liberty...
" W i t h   m y   p a r t i n g   g i f t . . . "
He reeled his arm back holding his victim, before setting his eyes to the skies...
With a heave... A man was transformed into a ragdoll-- Behind such impressive might, one would be allowed the power to see the skies from a bird's eye view...

Until gravity may take him on the way back down...
But Aeron, did not have that in mind...

The realm of perception to all within the general scene was tainted by the Umbral, as particles throughout the atmosphere were transmogrified through the transmundane-- Slowly, shifting to a monochrome spectrum of lavender-- Before transcending between bleak blackness and an illuminated glare-- Slowly collapsing unto an open right-handed palm.

As the spherical conjuration shrunken, what it left behind was reverted back to its normal stature, swayed by the concentrated generation of the Occult warped at one's volition. In time, it was a creation that was clutched between digits and beared down upon, emitting its streams of light to emanate in spiraling fashion. The whine of such dramatized blast sounded off for the horizon, allowing a soon-to-be falling Widald to hear it from above...

Following up to heaving the man to the skies, was a hurled bomb of pseudo-light, curving in its projectory to intercept one upon meeting the climax of their ascension...
Contact... Came with a punch to the human's vessel...
Swiftly expanding, it consumed of it... whittling away at the apparel he wore...
Chewing away at the skin of his being...
Gnawing at the muscularity beneath it...
Digesting at his very essence...
All whilst tickling his very fabric of existence away, soon to be ended from the eyes of onlookers below with a thunderous boom.

The fulmination, from below was a display of malefic fireworks, raining charred remnants and ashes down below... And in the distance... A plum descending for the earth below-- Likely remains of the vanquished...
(Aeron)