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The pain was blinding but thankfully quick, the dark blade of the twisted man cut through the paladins thumb easily leaving nothing but a spurting hole where once a digit was. Writhing in the mud the storm had created caused the man in the silver armour to take on a horrific appearance. His hair and flesh bloodied, slashed and bitten wherever it was not covered in his blessed armour. His noble features broken and inevitably scarred from his encounter with the Demon-child and her thrall, the man had the look of a new corpse.
Lightning flashed and the Abyssal beast merely smiled as the man cried out, a great shout more of loss and humiliation then pain. Like a village butcher feeding his dog, the possessed man with the dark blade fed the thumb of the Holy Knight to the creature. He had an odd look on his countenance, like a father handing his child a sweetroll. Even as he cried out the battered man looked upon the thrall with a sense of compassion and pity mingled in one, for the Demon however a fire burned within the paladin that not even the removal of all his fingers would quench.
What was said between the three, the Demon-child, the Knight, and the Twisted man, was lost in the never ending thunder and lightning strikes. Surely the gods of wrath and destruction held nothing dear at the Necropolis as they let the fury of the storm engulf the scene below. What could be known however was that here something of worth had happened. Here between these three something had been created, exactly what no one may never know.
After the exchange of pained words the now nearly dead Paladin forced himself to stand and stumbled headlong into the storm, followed by the mocking laughter of the Abyssal demonformed child.
Lightning flashed and the Abyssal beast merely smiled as the man cried out, a great shout more of loss and humiliation then pain. Like a village butcher feeding his dog, the possessed man with the dark blade fed the thumb of the Holy Knight to the creature. He had an odd look on his countenance, like a father handing his child a sweetroll. Even as he cried out the battered man looked upon the thrall with a sense of compassion and pity mingled in one, for the Demon however a fire burned within the paladin that not even the removal of all his fingers would quench.
What was said between the three, the Demon-child, the Knight, and the Twisted man, was lost in the never ending thunder and lightning strikes. Surely the gods of wrath and destruction held nothing dear at the Necropolis as they let the fury of the storm engulf the scene below. What could be known however was that here something of worth had happened. Here between these three something had been created, exactly what no one may never know.
After the exchange of pained words the now nearly dead Paladin forced himself to stand and stumbled headlong into the storm, followed by the mocking laughter of the Abyssal demonformed child.