Turning Heads
askraviostuff:
The fire and the threat left them scrambling for safety, drunkenly stumbling towards the only exit that was slowly being swallowed by flames. In order to survive the cultists grabbed each other in an attempt to pull them down and leave them for dead. The goal was not to just run as fast as they could, but to not be the slowest of the crowd. It was a display of selfishness, a cruel reality of the people who followed Rapture and drank themselves into a stupor. A few clamored up the stairs and out of the door of the cellar. One particularly selfish one slammed the door shut and locked it, bolted from the outside. If Obsidian was busy with the ones in there, the few outside could scramble away like roaches from sunlight. Those who remained in the cellar slammed up against the door, banging on it and congesting the stone stairs. Now there was no way out. A few continued to try to break down the door, but were unable to get the room for a good shoulder into the wood. Others tried to run an hide, and a few got on their hands and knees, trying to beg the dark to spare them.
Obsidian laughed wildly as the cultists lives were being snuffed out one by one. He wildly swung his sword about, striking down whoever was in his path as if they were mere insects. A few of them suffered more painful deaths under Obsidian’s razor sharp jaws. Anyone who fought back would lose whole fingers or chunks of arm meat with a single, violent, bone crushing bite. By the time he reached the door, he saw that the others were locked in. The dark simply frowned in disappointment. Well now this was boring again. This wasn’t hunting, it was just chores again.
He let out a curious hum, watching the cultists beg for mercy. The dark lost interest in killing these worms off rather quickly as they spoke about their families or friends. Some of them spoke of how they simply wanted to provide for their children and couldn’t abandon them. A vast majority of these men were simply looking to get a rise out of bullying others, some were simply desperate for change. They sobbed and begged for any chance to live another day, but their cries fell on deaf ears. The dark king looked down to the groveling cultists as a twisted smile tugged the corners of his lips.
“Very well. You wish to live? He gripped one of the cultists by the face and hoisted him up in the air. He swung him side by side as he yelled in pain, letting out a dark and eerie laugh. Obsidian’s eyes began to glow red as wisps of shadows began to wrap around his body. “Survive long enough and I just may be impressed enough to let you crawl out with your pitiful lives.”
The cultist soon found himself completely enveloped in an unnatural darkness, but it only continued from there. it seemed to spread around the room and eat up anyone in its paths. They all felt as if a weight was being thrown on their shoulders. As time went on it became harder and harder to breath in the mass. But that was the least of their concerns. There was a rising nausea in the pits of their stomachs. But something about it felt more intense and aggressive than mere anxiety.
