You are not surprised by the gathering crowd and their anger, the monstrosity that looms above them all, chilling you to the bone as it speaks, as its teeth grate and its body swings grotesquely. To say that this is what you had expected, however, would be a lie. When he (the snake, the demon hiding behind the mass of bones and witchcraft, too afraid of showing his face, a shadow keeping from the light because it would destroy) had come you had been tolerant enough, accepting his friendliness and gifts as many others had, won over by greed or the desire to give the strange sea-man a chance, instead of turning him away, instead of holding the things that angrier gods had done to Helovia against him.

It had been easier that way—choosing to believe in his sincerity, that he had been good and only wanted to help, to give, to be received and accepted. And you had done so, shoving your suspicious nature from your mind long enough to become ensnared by greed (if it had truly been that, even now you do not know), by innocent fronts hiding nefarious intentions. You had not helped collect the bones, had not bent to his every whim, and yet you are just as guilty as those who had for not turning him away when there had been the chance, for following your gut and denying the naive thoughts that maybe this time the strange man could be different.

Your eyes glance over the gathered as you make your way to Erebos' side, as parents call their children away, seeking to protect them from danger, from the harm this creature sought to wreak, and a sense of relief floods you to find your own wayward child absent, safe from at least the clutches of this other-worldly beast.

It is only moments that you watch, standing on the sidelines to assess and listen to the beast spew its vile commands of leaving, as if he would be allowed to simply slink into dark corners to gather himself, a cancer growing within the blackest reaches, unchallenged, left to be forgotten. You nearly sneer at him, as others reflect the same sentiment, shouting and rallying against him. But there is nothing else done, nothing else besides the defiance that keeps you, like them, rooted to where you stand.

Until there is something. A girl charges, brandishing sparks and a sword in an impressive (if not stupid) show of bravery, another, younger one talking of appendages that she shouldn't know about, and presumably her mother or her caretaker that runs after her, trips her, and rouses the anger of the beast that had previously simmered beneath the surface, beneath phrases and demands.  

It is the gray woman that is snatched instead of the girl, the gray woman who is mutilated by the jaws of the immortal beast, thrown from him and to the ground, shielded from those who would help. Some call for her, others are angered by the callous display, attacking him with their magic to no avail and the beast only laughs. Instead of discouraging others it only forces them to band together, so many shouting orders of staying together to defeat the monster like they had before. "This feels different than the gods before, though I can't understand why. Doesn't it?" You shift in your spot, glancing to Erebos before eyeing the animated bones for moments before shifting your focus to the strange blackness that pulses with even stranger lights. "Maybe it's the altar. No one has tried attacking the altar."

You are unsure if the boy hears you in all his concentration, and are even more unsure of the idea itself, for all the sense it doesn't make. But you do not dwell, pushing yourself away from him as the beast's attentions shift, towards those needing help.