It was pandemonium. One second they’d been quickly rushing through what they’d thought was the abandoned temple of a demon god, stealing anything that looked like it was worth something, and then next they were being hunted. Picked apart, one after the other. The raiders ran screaming, dropping their haul, scattering left and right, trying to evade the sudden onslaught.
It would do them no good.
Down below, busy enjoying the only pleasure better than killing, Malum was well aware of what was happening. He could taste the violence, feel it, the smell of fresh blood was a powerful aphrodisiac. With a rumbling growl, he returned his attention to Aisenma, their time together made even sweeter by the death’s above.
Back in the temple hallways, the raiders were running.
Manes was a force of death. He moved swiftly and deliberately, not pausing to make it extra painful or messy. When he found one, he simply cut them down. Meanwhile Satsu scampered on all fours, like a scuttling spider, leaping and slashing wildly, tearing the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to get in their way.
Necare stayed behind near Plague. The others were more than enough to handle it without her getting her hands dirty.
Meanwhile Eminor had slipped outside, casually hanging in mid-air above the Temple doorway. He whistled as he knotted a rope into a noose. “Alright then,” he said to himself, cheerfully, “in 3, 2, 1-” one of the raiders burst outside, hope on their face as they reached the outside. The noose dropped, slipped easily around their neck, “GOTCHA!”
As if he was fishing, he reeled them up as they struggled and choked.
“No dying yet! You’re a gift for later,” he told them after they’d been tied up and restrained, giving them a companionable pat on the cheek.
