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    Famine Is Only the Start of Death [Marcel Anicetus]


    Famine Is Only the Start of Death [Marcel Anicetus] Empty Famine Is Only the Start of Death [Marcel Anicetus]

    Post by Guest on 1st March 2016, 5:38 pm

    the destroyer of worlds
    TAGGED: ...   |   WORDS: 781   |  NOTES: ...
    The finale of his missions was located in Peace Village, and luckily for him, the wind had blown his ashes in that direction. It wasn't long before he was floating over the tops of thatched roofs and coming in toward the center of the village. His ashes swirled together in a myriad, a small-scale tornado, then puffed out into a cloud, raining to the ground. He stood, as the crimson-cloaked scholar, in the heart of the small town and looked around with the fire in his eyes. No bakery was close by from what he could see, so the mage started walking dead ahead, his boots tapping lightly on the stone path. A quaint, little place, with a few people bustling about, and no one to pay him mind, since they were so busy with themselves. That was entirely fine with him, as he didn't need them to know why he was in their village and for how long.

    Marcel pushed past a woman with a basket on her head, setting her off balance and scrambling to catch it. He smiled underneath the collar of his cloak, eyes squinted into a mischievous view as the woman and her food began to decay. The stone beneath his feet eroded away, along with parts of the buildings he was close to crumbling to bits. Stopping before a little building, he turned toward the window and read the scrawled letters on it as "Sally's Homemade Sweets." Soon enough, the glass in the window started to chip away, until it shattered into pieces and fell to the eroding ground. At this moment, he looked away from the broken window and grabbed hold of the metal handle to the door, opening it. Stepping inside, the quiet mage looked around, as now, the cashier and a few customers were looking at him.

    The catacombs of eyes stared back at them, as if the burning embers were boring into the souls of the people. He weaved his way toward them, pausing beside the first of the customers, who happened to be a girl in her younger years. Marcel had to guess she was nearly seventeen. Getting a little excited at the sight of her, he gingerly walked behind her, then grabbed hold of her breast. Her clothes corroded away, until he was touching skin, in which that, too, started to decay under his grasp. She cried out in pain as his magic ate away at her and he teased her a little bit, played with her before she became too much of a skeleton. As the bones dropped to the ground, he looked to the next in line, who happened to be a young boy absolutely terrified. Marcel grimaced, looked the boy over with his deadened eyes, and grasped his chin in his burly hand for a moment.

    He then shoved the boy aside, letting his decay magic get a hold of the boy and eat away at his flesh as well. The boy was crumpled on the ground and screaming and crying as the skin disintegrated and fell off him. Third in line was another woman, this one much older than the girl he had felt up before she had died. Marcel ran his tongue over his pale, ashen lips, and sneaked in a little squeeze to her boobs the moment he was clear enough. His eyes darted toward the cashier at that moment, and he snapped the neck of the woman he had a hold of. A squeak come out of the cashier's lips and he smiled maliciously at her, walking toward the counter and hoping over it. Standing behind her, he gripped her neck with one hand and quickly took care of her clothes, before pushing her to the ground.

    Minutes later, he stood back up and kicked aside the dry bones of what had once been the cashier. In the shelves underneath the register, he spotted a small card, snatched it up, and read it over with a quick glance. It was the recipe that he had been looking for, and so, the man stuffed it into his pocket and left the scene as nonchalantly as he had entered it. He wove his way through the streets of the village, down to the bakery of Dorvald and pushed open the door with a shoulder. Dorvald looked up from placing pastries on a platter for people to taste test, eyeing the man curiously. Marcel silently walked up to him and placed the piece of paper in the man's hand before dispersing into ash. The man would later send the jewels to him, so he didn't mind leaving the village without the jewels on hand.
    credit goes to Lunar of GS & THQ

      Current date/time is 19th June 2019, 9:42 am