Flames of faith and contempt; a silent witness as his herd scrambled from their summit perches and became a mist with the rest of the fallen. Shackled and gagged from supremacy into curled, turbulent fixations of turmoil, lost and flickering in the horizon – where they should have damned, they only bled confusion, where they should have mauled, they only reigned in befuddlement and disorder, only distorted fibers of darkness into chaotic din. He scalded, scathed and brewed, antagonistic and brooding, incensed over and over again by the weakened decibels of their state, left to shout for comrades, left to burn and seethe in hollowed shells and thick, murky, unknown caves, left to wither and decay in the bounty of ignorance, chained to walls and enamel. But the Reaper refused his beasts to become a shrinking, shirked, renounced clan, he’d already been forsaken once, and he spurned, declined, the notion that his warriors, his soldiers, his brethren, so capable, so mighty, be united only in deterioration. Iron indignation, scraped and reticent, chiseled deeper into his damnation, found the steely clamor of his feral wiles, strung them together into fathoms of anarchy and bellowing subterfuge. His skull extended nods to each recognized individual, pulled from the innards of lost mountaintops, a clench of the jaw for each unsung creature left and vanished, incapable of scouring for their weary souls. The Doctor’s child, the spotted scholar (searching for another familiar sage, and no answering call received), recognized and given due ambience, the piercing slate of his gaze marking their arrival with some jaded notion, for at least they’d heeded his warning, had been there to hear his growls and hisses, his demands and commands he never yearned to utter again. Only the second colt of D’art, words tumbling, foiling, spewing from his mouth, gained the full attention of the Reaper, earned inquiry and curiosity from the spurned wreckage of his molten, acerbic tyranny. Monsters out there and Illynx’s shrieking of death already being apart of them, his touch worthless and ineffectual, seething amongst the widened expanse of his diligent mind until they grasped and grated over the information, attempted to pull together strings of worth and note. A solemn decree, formulated past his frustrated, vexed mouth, pursued the colt’s wisdom. “Thank you, Sacre.” The more they learned, the more they gained, the probability and possibility of finding a way to demolish, to wreck, to ruin, the havoc stretching over their expanse could be achieved, and he didn’t hesitate in unwinding the layers he’d collected. “We must be vigilant. Demons have already taken the GildedBlade, and are not annihilated by death.” He’d tried, attempted to salvage her behemoth wake with at least the clambering of quietus, but even then, the conviction of demise hadn’t been enough. The puncturing slate of his stare settled upon the gathered, and his sinister tongue unraveled a query into the enamel of labyrinths, mazes and ruses. “Have any others been infected?” How many of them had been torn from the icicles, from the glaciers, and placed back into the earth with foaming ivories and disastrous innards, forgoing creeds and convictions for pestilence? And how could they annihilate a foe made up of their own beasts? The world could only be conquered when they’d managed to secure a threshold of power back upon their own kingdom, their own fiends.

[-murders post order simply to move things along and gather info- ;D]