They should of known. It was too good to be true, Tyrath had heard the stories of the Rift Wars. Seen the scars, the haunted gaunt looks as they retold their hollow stories. Dismal bedtime lullabies that did little to send the young and the old to the lands beyond the waking world.

They should of known better. It had been too good to be true.

He dropped out of the sky like a bullet, snarling as his body burned away into glittered scales, razor teeth and cruel horns. Tyrath landed his draconian mass next to his father, crimson eyes pinned upon the skeletal creature as his teeth bared in a hissing growl. His body is low to the ground, tail coiled and thrashing like an angry cat while his claws sunk deeper into the earth.

What happened next is nothing short of horrifying, equines around him burst forward as they assault the bone creature to little affect. There certainly is no hiding the grimace and yelp emitted from his reptilian maw as the silver unicorn is made little more than chow for the creature, all to protect the foolish, silly little filly who thought herself a hero. Brave, but foolish. It's grim sight, the bone monster jealousy guarding the corpse as though it was a token, a prize well won.

The gilded dragon reared back on his armored legs and emitted an ear piercing shriek, lips pulled back as serrated teeth flexed forward, crests flared from his neck at the beast. There was no sense in needlessly rushing forward, not when one had died to save another already. Still, he can't help but step closer to his father. He knows his monolith sire can protect himself, but the gesture is made with a promise. He will follow his father, and he will protect his back.

Vaguely, he remembered the words spoken to his father from the stallion who stood next to him. "We find a way kill it. Then we find a way to kill it's master." He grumbled, voice laced with acidic hatred. His body ached for a fight, all the pent up frustration coiled tight around him in a serpentine grasp. The humilation of being used like a puppet on a string is a bitter drink to swallow. Kaos' words are a dull, angry lick in his ears and he snaps a plume of embers from his nostrils. "Helovian's have killed Gods." He stated, horned head tilted toward his father. "This twisted amalgamation is but a pretty piece on a chess board, a pawn. We need a plan."

He doesn't look at the Earth God, instead his gaze moved to the Mountain, the Sparklight and then around to see if he could spy his mother. Whatever shred of respect he held for his sire's patron is shattered with this unfortunate twist of fate. If the God's could not protect them? Hadn't the Moon Goddess appeared once to Kisamoa? Had she seen beneath his twisted facade? His gaze moved to the Inquisitor when he found her, and he unfurled from his protective stance by his father to step toward her. "What should we do?" What can we do?

"Talk."