The world was too much. His senses were overwhelmed, his mind was a bitter, forsaken entity, and something tickled, radiated, cloaked through his lungs, petulant and strong. All he could feel was the never-ending reach of disappointment, of worthlessness, of inferiority trickle down his spine and through his ribs; maybe that’s why he burned, maybe that’s why his eyes stung, maybe that’s why all he could see was Aithniel and Rikyn, one a remnant of what used to be and one a portrait of what he’d always yearned for. But like a horrible, noxious flash of the truth, even amidst her silence, even as the Sun God gave her a gift, he knew the answer, the declaration, the blistering swell of the unknown becoming raw, belligerent candor – and just how ridiculously pathetic they were compared to her.
 
A prince is just a prince, he recalled to himself as he remembered her and others fighting a dragon, as he witnessed her fly with her untarnished wings and watched her stab with her enticing swords: too many things they could never be, a combination, a reminder, of their unbecoming growth, of her overwhelming prowess. For a boy, for a child, for a youth, who’d grown with the thoughts of conquering demons and kingdoms, who’d tried desperately to conjure, to believe, in the power of perseverance, if he tried hard enough, he’d be something someday, to feel the crumble of wishes, of dreams, was enough to send him into a plunge of silence.
 
He said nothing else to her, nothing at all. Erebos’ eyes lost their mischief, their jubilation, fixating at the gilded spirals of sunlight further into the horizon, where maybe friendships didn’t spiral away into naught, reveal themselves to be made of unbecoming whims, where bonds weren’t severed and dismayed. There was no going back to the times of their wild, wonderful youth: where everything was wonderful, where explorations were humorous, where the future held beautiful pathways - but thats what he craved now, most of all. He followed the traces of the Sun God, and coughed a laugh when the world suddenly became savage, severe, scorched, and calloused all over again. He was drawn to the fray of reptiles and swords, knives and feathers, magic and ferocity, and despite the tangle, the pull, of Orsino’s drumming, piercing agony, No, sick! Sick!, he ran into the forces, the malice, the acrimony, the anarchy, without so much as turning his head towards his companions.
 
Maybe this was what the scion needed: a touch, a taste, of battle all over again. Perhaps he needed a distraction, a diversion, from the wicked havoc flattening his senses, choking his lungs, collapsing over his wiles until he felt the strange, disgusting urge to cry or cackle, and doing neither.
 
Erebos’ mind was too rampant, too fervent, too clouded to do anything other than become a restless individual, rampaging across the scene, gesturing towards the reptile, along the growing, bristling crowd, thinking nothing of those he’d thought he’d saved, he’d rescued, so long ago…
 
Darkness flooded his membrane, and he embraced it fully, felt the rich, ferocious gleam of strife and entropy, of atrocious, vigilant, violent revolution, steal over his breath, and clamber about his insides. The woven arts of nefariousness pulsed wildly, harpooned, laced, lavished towards the crocodile’s back, with whom he shared no hatred, with whom he didn’t yearn to maul, but used the beast, the deity, as an excuse to unravel all of his frustrations upon someone, anyone. His command through the flood of corruption, amidst the terror and wake of manipulation, was a singular, sharp demand: Stop.

 
[TEAM SUN GOD.
 
Mentions @Aithniel and @Rikyn.
 
GLL has started spreading through his lungs. Races towards the crocodile – tries to use his dark manipulation magic.]