Change is expected. It is a core part of the Void, after all. Entropy, chaos… All that which creates havoc, causes change. Upsets balance and order. It’s natural, desired even. The way things should be. But that does not mean she has to like it. Xaphaal hovered in front of two slitted windows in its master’s mindscape, peering out at the dim scenery of grimy corridors and sewage-tainted water. Norrvaron was on a hunt it seemed- though for a quarry that Xaphaal cared not for. It supposed she could allow this at the least- fauna hunts had been more and more frequent since the introduction of Morkhaar to the Kathar’s arsenal... Even though there was little in the way of challenging creatures on the ecologically bland island. The demon of Xor was at least thankful for more frequent hunts worthy of its claws. Morkhaar, however, concerned it. The demon of Xor was perhaps more alert to the presence such an artifact attracted-- more so than its host was. Shapes bent just barely out of place, flickering features of Carraq’s spawn drifting in and around corners, leaning in close to whisper things that only Norrvaron could hear. And oh, oh the frenzy it summoned when the bracer felt threatened or enraged. A swarm of flayed creatures yet to break through into the realm proper, mutated to the point of being only half humanoid or less. The frenzy of speech and instincts that permeated the area, the desire for blood and carnage, fury, fury- rage. The overwhelming desire to kill, to rend all humanoid populace in the immediate area. It was enough to even make Xaphaal’s mind muddled. This bracer brought about a change that concerned Xaphaal, for more than just the sake of its host. The demon continued to watch as Norrvaron awakened the bracer, as a scarred and green-cloaked Ailor stood opposite him. Its attention had to be more on the forefront of the battle now, feeling as the Kathar pulled forth her presence to slowly draw it into physicality. No longer was it in the internal realm, the demon's form brought forth to begin manifesting and witnessing exactly what Norrvaron was working with. The man had a gun, quite simply enough. Sizeably smaller, seemingly nimble. Xaphaal cared little for the words exchanged between the two, feeling Norrvaron speak but ignoring it in favor of assessing the other present. An unknown opponent- it should be an easy enough battle. Norrvaron prompted his hosted with a conscious nudge, requesting to better access his own instincts. Fine. She would help, though she didn't feel it was needed. The weight of the awakened artifact in Norrvaron’s hand was not lost on Xaphaal, especially as the object grew more and more frustrated. First blood was awarded to the nimble gunslinger, constantly managing to zip and duck and dodge out of the way. The two clashed in a back and forth dance, gunner desiring distance while Norrvaron continuously encroached and lanced forwards. Morkhaar was getting frustrated, blade still dry of blood. They both could feel its teeth begin to gnash, pressing into pale flesh. Not a bite yet. A threat. A warning to do better. A silent demand of its desires- its needs. A point-blank shot to the gut was enough to give more complex thought pause as Xaphaal twisted her form violently into reality. Instinct overlapped conscious thought, paving way to more feral movements. To stalk, to hunt- to kill. The duo was primed to hunt down this prey- their quarry. Pain was an excellent teacher, a shock to the system to better override ambling lines of thought into pure silence. Instinct and desire- necessary movement only. In unison the merged conscious screeched, drawing itself up and forth as the Ailor sought to scramble away in terror. Chase only sought to further hone the predatory cacophony of excited heartbeats and snapping jaws, claws scraping and slicing against stone as if butter. If only it was so simple to be left to instinct. To be left to hunt, left without worry of things more complex than pain and hunger. Only the matter of predator and prey. Unfortunately, demonics are not always the highest on the food chain. Howls of rage and feral fervor twisted to agonized pitches. Damage was not done by the Ailor in this case, no. Morkhaar seemed to have enacted something of its own design. What was a mundane- if not fleshy bracer now had implanted itself deep within the Demon’s arm, spreading roots of vascular flesh to twist and wind up the appendage to the shoulder- to its matching scythe claw. A cancerous tumor of teeth and eyes and bone embedded itself within Xaphaal’s arm, dragging agonized serrations along the flesh underneath. Tissue was torn in twain, dissolved into the Artifact. And yet it wasn’t enough. Hunger, agonized hunger. Pain serves to only whet the feeling, to drive it further home. It needed flesh. They needed flesh. The trio needed to kill, to rend, to disembowel-- And with a violent internal shudder- Xaphaal was ripped from the forefront of Norrvaron’s consciousness. Separated once more, the Kathar was left to wield the Demon’s body- perhaps a beat too late. A scythe claw was sent scattering from left to right, slamming into the Ailor’s midsection for a nasty wound. The buzz of thoughts rattled all around the conjoined individuals, skittering underneath skin like restless hornets. Concern- that was an emotion that could be felt by both presently. But it would be saved for later. Xaphaal watched in silence as Norrvaron concluded the fight, dragging the individual by the hair solely to dump them at the foot of spiraling stairs. The cityside escape to the sewers. A firm warning left the Kathar’s lips- followed by a threat to hone the point. Whatever the Ailor stated in turn was left to deaf ears, exhaustion dawning upon the collective as they drifted backwards- retreating further into the sewers to lick ever present wounds. Instinct gave way to conscious thought once more. Morkhaar, Xaphaal concluded, was not a welcome change. Not a good change. As for the first time in ages, the Artifact had reminded the predatory Xor demon what it was like to be helpless. To be prey. And she dreaded such a point being honed again. ((Internal thoughts during @BeetrootSalad and I's little duel last night. Thanks again for the neat rp!))
