They came again, didn’t give in to the changes, to the malleable warping of the saplings, and the boy watched again – eager to see where they’d triumph, where they’d falter, and how he could assist in between. Beloved, all white fury, all devilish incantations, forgot the eerie nature of her giggles, of her torrential laughter, and progressed towards her tree again (though he noted her discordant glance, and he smiled in return, full of impish delight at her irritation). She rose towards the multiple, outstretched branches, roaring, slashing, diving against their mighty boughs, and they fell, one by one, four or so littering the ground with their vanquished threads and broken munitions. “Very nice!” He called out to her, the grin never narrowing, never faltering; truly pleased she’d at least acquiesced to his request, despite the noxious vexation likely building through her foundation. The diversion was amusing and educational – he enjoyed witnessing what these few disciples had in store, what caused their ire, their wrath, what inspired them to move forward, to drive their forces into an adversary, an enemy, an opponent. The youth turned to glance at Arion too, waiting for the inevitable pull of the Corporal’s strength or tenacity, but nothing came, and he furrowed his brows slightly, taking note of either a line drawn in the sand, insubordination, or unrest.
 
However, Albrecht returned to the fray. The boy wondered what the phantom would utilize next (because the metallic tool had been so intriguing; weaponry hidden in its wares), and riveted his attention solely upon the elderly stag – but nothing came. He seemed to stand there for a few moments, either contemplating, scrutinizing, or biding his time, and Erebos wondered if he’d do the same as Arion, and fizzle into nothing, oaths and promises, convictions and tenacity unfulfilled.
 
Was this one more disaster in the making? Had he erred somehow? The prince nearly withdrew to his own sapling, striving to discern another noteworthy plan to annihilate its limbs and trunk, when he heard Albrecht’s voice over the valley – his ears turned, his fixation molded once more – the impersonator’s gaze segmented completely on Beloved.
 
The resulting nuances, the silent incantations, the bestial shades in which everything turned impressed and disgusted the scion. He could appreciate the way manipulation worked – the twisting, the turning, the placement of just so methods and ploys that distorted another into something they’d never truly do or encompass – besides, he had his own means and measures of corruption seething behind his skull, whittling away at his bones, roaring at his behest. He couldn’t completely judge Albrecht’s notions without looking back at himself, without lacquering the world in hypocrisy, but where they likely differed was who they implemented the enchantments upon.
 
Erebos had never strived to bombard one of his own with the spiraling, dangerous, potent granules of control, influence, and supremacy. He’d never insisted on whispering directions into their minds, into their hearts, into their souls, and played puppet master on fellow members of the glaciers and mountains. That Albrecht did was concerning; because how many other times had this happened? He waited until Beloved had agreed, forced into bludgeoning the opposing tree, before striding down to the both of them, features hardened, smile missing, words conjured to infer his mixed emotions on the matter. "What an intriguing magic. I must applaud you for your cunning,” he started, eyes narrowed, focusing on Beloved for the moment, on the crooning, on the madness, that likely wouldn’t have been there without the beast’s influence. “However, to use it on a fellow herd member is disastrous, disloyal, and treacherous.” There, his stare found Albecht again, the storm brewing his eyes segmented entirely on the aged frame, the snake in the grass, the serpent beneath all of their noses; he didn’t want to presume he’d do it again, but the notion was locked there, in his crown, in his figure. “We aim to protect and trust one another. Sew your discord upon an enemy, but never a friend.”
 
He turned back to look at Beloved, speaking to Albrecht as he studied her. “Release her,” came the command, not to be deterred or ignored, then twisted back to his own tree. The enchantments seared, simmered, and emboldened past his chest, fuming from the recent exploits, and molded the limbs, the boughs, to cruelly curl back on themselves; splintering, fracturing, coiling in an unnatural, eerie state.
 
He nodded to Orsino once more, and the kitsune sneered, growled, and orchestrated their last bout of the game – reviving the saplings. They bloomed new limbs from their fallen constituents, they sprung from warped holes, from broken, barbed roots, and regained their promised prowess. This time, instead of being stagnant, unmoving, still pieces of wooden armaments, they seemed alive, springing in varying manners and measures. Beloved’s instantly became mirages, split into ghostly images of five, aiming to surround her, to encircle her frame with their swinging limbs and outstretched, gnarled fingers, only one real and true, the others mere hallucinations. Albrecht’s gained an ominous endeavor, reaching forward to try and grab the companion swaddled in its wool, trying to slash, to lacerate, to pin and devour. Arion’s rose to an absolutely enormous height, a titan, uprooting and maneuvering forward to attack, a gigantic monster with eldritch motivations. Then Erebos’s, perhaps even more vile, turned into the outlined shape, a silhouette, of a figure he knew too well (Enna, he noted immediately, and here Orsino cackled, gaining more and more amusement from the barbs and thorns thrown into this merciless wake). “One more round,” he uttered to his soldiers, to his citizens, to the ones he pledged to uphold, protect, and strengthen.


[Post order is still a lie! One more round! Choose one more move. ;D Complete this one and there may be something good for you at the end!
 
Beloved: Tree shows up in various images, tries to encircle and surround her. Only one is actually “real”.
 
Albrecht: Tree tries to snatch/steal Albrecht’s snake.
 
Arion: Tree rises to an unnatural height, starts moving towards him.]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in