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Cro

Eat.

0 · 272 views · located in Forbidden Thick

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nemo

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The darkest nightmares of humanity's subconscious given horrifying life. These abominations and their agents exist only to spread agony and fear.

Description

The Calix

Image


The Calix are an ancient alien race living in a deep, unexplored part of the universe. Residing in their home planet, Foet, the Calix have lived a peaceful, secluded life; relatively untouched by foreigners. They are a passive people, deeply devoted to their religion and spirituality. Harmonious, care-free and productive, the Calix are a moral populace even if they're technologically primitive.

The biology of the Calix is quite unique. They posses no blood, organ system or skeletal structure of any sort. Their "bodies" are almost entirely made up of a single cell type: collig. The Calix have the ability to mold their colligic frames, twisting and shaping themselves into any form they choose. The Calix can even seperate masses of collig from their central composition and still maintain control of them at a distance.

Yet the methods by which the Calix survive remains to be the most important (and interesting) system of the alien anatomy. The Calix diet consists of only one food source: hormones. The Calix feed on the hormones of other creatures. When hungry, the collig cell will release the enzyme mollin, which in turn find a host to extract from. The mollin will gather the hormones it was directed to accumulate, leave the host and return to the central composition. The collig cell then breakes down the hormones into nutrient food substance for consumption.

Although the Calix have never understood the science behind their feeding methods (attributing the process to their religion instead), they do understand that they feed on “lesco” (the Calix word for “emotion”). For this reason, the Calix established a society built around peace, harmony and love, hoping to induce positive emotions throughout their race, thus producing the hormones they needed to live. Calix law strictly forbade anyone to feed on “Crolesco” (“twisted-emotion”), or in other words: the hormones released when an individual is experiencing negative emotion. They lived prosperously on their planet, leading simple, happy, self-sustaining lives.

The Atrocity Born



One Calix by the name of Viron, however, was not content existing in such a manner. Although honorable and pure of heart to every degree, he was possessed with a driving desire to explore and discover the universe around him. Unable to be understood by his brethren, he took to the beyond, traveling through space and becoming the first Calix ever to visit alien planets. He discovered, learned and quickly acquired great knowledge and understanding. But the innocent heart of Viron could only understand so much. As he traveled, he was exposed to the darkness of the universe. Witnessing firsthand sins he previously didn’t even know existed, Viron was exposed to pain, war, sorrow, poverty, disease and a myriad of other foul realities. Existence was not happy and joyous as he had supposed it to be. There was darkness…there was evil…perhaps even more so then there was good.

Realizing this drove him insane.

Battling with his consciousness, Viron did the only thing he could to save himself from destruction: he divided his mind. By focusing all his negative emotions and hormones in one center, he separated the feelings from his main body entirely, purging from it from his psyche permanently. It was from the bubbling mass of corrupted collig cells, lying before Viron’s feet in writhing fury, that would come the first and only abomination of the Calix race. Seething with dark energies…filled with concentrated emotion…the mass became a different entity entirely. It became aware. Alive. Sentient.

Constructed from all the evil of the universe, Cro was born.

Coming to terms with what he did, Viron attempted to destroy his accidental monster. Creator and creation dueled briefly, but Cro, fed by the corruption of sentient life; triumphed. Viron fled, leaving the monster to his own devices. Travelling the universe, Cro went from planet to planet in search of food. Like a virus he would incite all sorts of dark and delicious passions in the local inhabitants, then suck the feelings from them like a leech. It’s what he is: an eater. A hunter. A destroyer. It his only purpose to create negative emotion…to corrupt life for consumption.

So begins...

Cro's Story

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#, as written by Nemo
A strange man entered the bar, silently pushing a grimy grocery cart out in front of him. A large, dirty trench coat was draped over his hunching figure, with a scarf wrapped around his neck and a scarecrow's hat shadowing his downcast face. It seems as if a mendicant had just walked into the establishment.

The man continued forward, the slow, steady cadence of the squeaking grocery cart heralding his arrival in a haunting metronome. Every so often his hidden face would turn slowly to a patron, silently watching them...as a butcher might inspect a sow before the slaughter. Yet he never spoke a word... keeping as quiet as death itself.

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#, as written by Nemo
It was then that a hunched figure entered Gambit's bar closely behind Zao, wrapped in the ragged folds of a muddy coat and masked under the shadow of a drooping scarecrow's hat. The strange man pushed a grubby grocery-cart out in front of him, the spokes bent horridly out of shape and the greasy wheels squeaking in a shrill, metrenomic cadence with every pass. The old mendicant continued forward, his sightless eyes peering out from beneath his heavy attire... gazing at the patrons with indecipherable admiration.

In his watching, the hobo didn't seem to notice the steadily approaching bar. As his grocery cart slammed into the side of the counter, the man's attention snapped forward... watching the way the cart quaked and groaned after the strike.

For a long while, he only stared down at the halted cart, his gloved hands still gripped around the handle.

"That sound again..." a hoarse, rasping whisper came from beneath the wrapped scarf, "...I just loved....that sound...." He stepped back suddenly and threw the cart forward again into the counter, this time with purposeful force. The cart shuddered and groaned, shaking violently from the impact. "...looooovvveeeddd that sooouuunnddd.. mhmhmmm..."

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro head turned up sharply towards Nathan, his frame lingering on the wizard in motionless observation. The sudden jerking of his head and the complete lack of animation thereafter was easily unsettling... the freakish hobo didn't even look like he was breathing.

"Hum hum... what is this here..." the mendicant whispered to himself under his breath as his pallid gaze ran the length of the investigator's frame. 'Anger'. He nodded. 'Anger and arrogance. Wounded pride.' A glutteral churning escaped Cro's throat. Wonderful. Delicious. Mouth-watering.

"H-hey now, wuz'th'big ayedeeee-uuuuhhh?" the hobo now spoke in a perfectly audible voice, a tone that was certainly not his own... oiled with laughter and cheer; as friendly and disarming as an old drunken grandfather. He moved steadily towards Nathan in a slow walk, leaving his grocery cart behind him.

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro groaned slightly now that Nathan had gone. What a waste of a good time. But as the grubby mendicant's eyes found Leer, he thought perhaps he could still salvage the day. Here was a new friend for him to make.

"That waz right'rude, wazunt it, boi?" he cackled cheerily, taking a few steps forward, his shoulders heaving with laughter, "what'a grumpee ol'man that'un. Yeeuhp. A real chip in'dee eye. A sooowww-eeeerrrr pusssssss!" He spat as he finished his sentence, laughing in that same, hearty chuckle.

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro subtly sized Jade up before deciding to ignore her all-together. This one was much too stoic of a character... far too 'strong-willed' and 'trained.' How unfathomably boring.

"I thot'that wuz a neat trick y'did dere' with th'marble, though," Cro smiled warmly, wagging a finger at the boy. "Real impressiff, I'll tell'ya. Coul'dja show it to me agin'?"

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro laughed wildly. "Well my stars'n'strypes! Whattah show! That wuz a mightee'fine trick y'did dere' kid, mightee'fine! Never seen anythin' like't. Musta tak'n you a while t'figure out, huh?" The old hobo sounded completely amazed, and his tone was cheerful and complimentary. He seemed positively wowed.

"Y'know I knew a few magic'tricks mahself," Cro boasted, briefly puffing his chest out.

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#, as written by Nemo
"Didn't fail t'amaze me, still," Cro laughed, his raspy tone mellowing out slightly as his words began to flow more articulately. The hobo retrieved a pack of cards from one of his sleeves, waving it on front of him for Leer to see.

"...p'raps you'd like to see a trick of my own?"

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro smiled once, his face still more-or-less shadowed by his hat. With suprisingly nimble fingers, the hobo shuffled the cards across the table... blurring and stacking the cards in a variety of fancy tricks and impressive hand-slights.

"These are speshil'cards," he nodded vigorously, making sure Leer was listening, "...they show up diffrnt'ly to each person who looks at'em." The hobo dealt three cards to Leer, each with a different image on its backside. One was of a wilting rose, with what looked like blood dripping from its jagged thorns. The second was of a grinning skull -- teeth and bones cracked -- and with a strange serpent gliding through its eye sockets. The last was layered over with a strange reflective film. Leer could only see his own face in it.

"...wonder what they'll show you?" Cro sat back in a chair, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Go on. Pick un'of em up."

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Side Alley

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro stood hunched over a trembling figure, his grimy fingers outstretched eagerly.

"Now just hold still m'little deary..." he croaked malevolently, his voice clotted and bilish. At his feet stood a young teenage girl, her face bloodied, her weakened limbs struggling to escape the putrid monster before her. She was backing herself farther into the alley.

"P-p-please..." she whimpered, "...j-just leave m-me al-l-lone..." The girl didn't have the strength to scream.

Cro only laughed, lifting his formless face to the sky and letting out a satisfied breath. "Fear... confusion... hatred... just a delicious medley of emotions. You'll make a fine meal, my love."

He moved in for the kill...

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro stopped his advances as Harvey entered the scene, but made no efforts to back off. He stood motionlessly, his face hidden beneath the shadow of his tattered scarecrows hat. The girl only whimpered from where she lay, too weak to recognize that she was being saved.

"Well well, what do we have here..." Cro cackled. The sound was like slime bubbling out of a rotted pipe. "...what a hero. I hope you know that you've just signed your death warrant, fool. No one comes between a Calix and his prey..."

The setting changes from Side Alley to Gambit's Bar

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#, as written by Nemo
It was then that a hunched figure entered Gambit's bar, wrapped in the ragged folds of a muddy coat and masked under the shadow of a drooping scarecrow's hat. The strange man pushed a grubby grocery-cart out in front of him, the spokes bent horridly out of shape and the greasy wheels squeaking in a shrill, metrenomic cadence with every pass. The old mendicant continued forward, his sightless eyes peering out from beneath his heavy attire... gazing at the patrons with indecipherable admiration.

In his watching, the hobo didn't seem to notice the steadily approaching bar. As his grocery cart slammed into the side of the counter, the man's attention snapped forward... watching the way the cart quaked and groaned after the strike.

For a long while, he only stared down at the halted cart, his gloved hands still gripped around the handle.

"That sound again..." a hoarse, rasping whisper came from beneath the wrapped scarf, "...I just loved....that sound...." He stepped back suddenly and threw the cart forward again into the counter, this time with purposeful force. The cart shuddered and groaned, shaking violently from the impact. "...looooovvveeeddd that sooouuunnddd.. mhmhmmm..."

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro looked from left to right quickly, suddenly aware that he was being watched.

"Compose yourself... come on..." he muttered on an exhale. He'd never get a bite to eat if everyone was avoiding him. Drawing a deep breath, Cro made a quick pass of the room, his stooping gaze roaming over each of the patrons individually.

"Mmmmmhhhmmmmm...." he almost seem to moan; A disgusting, clotted gurgle... like the mashing of gravel. "Soooo mmmannnyyy ch-choissssehhhssss..." First there was Pluto and Ike, both of them practically sweating with a delicious medley of lust and arrogance. Sexual hormones were always the sweetest... although Cro was perhaps looking for something a bit more substantial this particular afternoon. Next came Rachelle, though the Calix drew away from the girl almost as soon as he eyed her. Budding love. Yuck. Of all the positive emotions that sickened the monster to his core, courage and true love were the worst. There was Maurizio as well, but Cro didn't find much worth noting in the mysterious cloaked figure.

Eventually, Cro found Elliot, his head cocking to the side in amused curiosity. What sort of torments were plaguing this pretty young girl? Regret? Sadness over a hopeless past? The Calix licked his lips. The deeper emotions always tasted so much better. He'd watch this one...

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro began a slow walk towards Elliot. He seemed to have some sort of limp in his step, and his cracked leather shoes beat an uneven cadence across the floorboards of Gambit's. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Callix advanced upon his prey, his shadowed eyes boaring into the back of the collector's head. He couldn't have resisted now even if he wanted to. He was drawn by the deep longings of this girl's inconsolable regret... enticed by the wretched sadness etched into her psyche.

And yet, when he at last reached Elliot, he made no efforts to advance.

"Thass'a sad storee missus..." Cro nodded, stepping around so the woman could have full view of his figure. The monstrous, rasping voice he'd previously been mumbled had completely disappeared. The tone with which he spoke to Elliot was kind and disarming. The warm, red-cheeked croon of a seasoned mendicant. Like an old, drunken grandfather. "I apoleegize' if I wuz' eavesdroppin'. Couldn't heylp but ohver'heer yah." He sighed solemnly. "I been throo sum'tuff times mahself, in case ye'didn't know it just by lookin' at meh." He laughed heartily.

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro 's smile was impeccable. It was difficult to make out the color scheme of his skin beneath the shadow of his hat, but his lips could have been cherry red.

"Well don'chee mind if I do!" the man slapped his thigh heartily, quickly resuming a seat next to the girl. "Order me one'o whatehver. In m'line o'work, you ain't get th'priv-oh-ledge a'being picky!" He cackled, looking between Elliot and Maurizo as if he'd just told the funniest joke in the world.

He cleared his throat. "But in all serious'nehss, miss, I herd' what'choo's been saying. I muhst ahgree' with'yuz. People ain't who theyz says they'are. Put mahself through a fair'bito heartbreak figurin' that'un out." His tone was sorrowful and pained... the sad lament of a hobo with nothing left to live for but his next drink. Perhaps the two would pity the poor unfortunate who'd taken a seat beside them.

"What exactly happened t'yerself?" he asked Elliot with seemingly genuine concern, "I didn't heer much'o what yuz were sayin', but I tink' you maybee' ain't as happy as y'could be?"

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#, as written by Nemo
"I tink'yuz can fit liquor in a glass, can'tchee?" he cackled, slapping Maurizio on the back even as he began his coughing fit. "Bless'ya."

"And m'life ain't nuthin' speshil, I conphesss..." Crow sighed, "werked derty' yeers o'mah life and got'nuthin to show for it." He shrugged. "Guess I picked'da wrong line'o work, huh? Ne'er really enjoyed what'ah did." He leaned forward then, focusing the whole of his attention on Elliot. A subtle change in his deamenor came over him. He wasn't quite as hunched anymore.

"T'be frank, miss," he spoke slowly, "I'd rather hear bout' what happened t'you. Hardship, huh? Tell me about one of'em. Any one." His head cocked to the side. "...the saddest one." The change on Cro's tone was quite noticeable. The 'cheery grandfather' crack of his voice was slowly disappearing, and what took over was a soft, mesmerizing spell of complete calmness. It was quiet and reserved... trusting and enticing. Elliot would find likely find herself WANTING to tell Cro about her life. About her sadness.

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#, as written by Nemo
For a moment, Cro sat there in silence, his head bowed as he felt the stirrings of regret and sorrow slowly fade from his intended prey.

"You..." a glutted croak, "...you... goddamn..." His head shot up in a frenzy, giving full view of his hideous face to Elliot. The cavernous hallows and juts of his cheeks and jawline were splotched white with crayola waterpaints. His lips were dripping red. Melted crayons.

"...you goddamn cocktease..." he groveled, his hands spasming across the table, forcing screeching indents into the wood. He looked as if he were having a seizure. He had been so close... so close to having such a delicious meal... such a delicious medley of regret and sorrow...

"You think you can deny me my rightful feast?!" he roared, standing up on his feet, the watercolors melting off his face as he body temperature rose. "I'll show you. Goddamn whore. I'll show you good. Goddamn. Goddamn... damn... god... g-god..." He shriveled and bent for a moment... before literally lunging at Elliot, trying to wrap his fingers around her throat. "GODDAMMMMN WHORRRRE!"

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro had been hit the bulk of the blast. A particularly large chunk of table cannoned straight into his forehead, snapping his head back and sending the monster sprawling to the floor. He twitched twice and lay still, a massive splinter of wood stuck in his brain, his neck bent at an impossible 90 degree angle.

A low gurgle ruptured from his throat.

"You silly little whore..." Slowly, the crumpled figure collected itself, the painted white hands clutching for the floor and forcing the body behind it back onto its feet. Cro's neck remained snapped, his face bent back and staring at the ceiling... his torso facing Elliot. "Your own arrogance betrays you. I can feel it bubbling inside you..." He took a step forward, his head wobbling on his back. Colors dripped down his trench coat into the floorboards. "...it makes you strong. Makes you powerful. It does the same for me." It might suddenly occur to Elliot that Cro's mouth was not moving.

Slowly, his disfigured head twisted about from where it rested on his back, making a stoic sweep of the bar. Those depthless eyes ran over each of the cowering patrons, watching Kimberly with particular amusement. He grinned then... a hideous, mutilated expression. It was as if a two-year old had carved a smiley-face into a wax head with a dull knife.

"Iiiii feeeelllll yooouuurrrr feeeeaarrrrr...." his voice quivered as he said the words, his entire body shuddering in sick orgasmic pleasure. The limping torso continued slowly towards Ellie, a maimed hand outstretched as it attempted to seize the collector.

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With a gluttenous roar, Cro lost the last semblance of his meager humanity. The figure crumbled and twitched, his body seething with dark energies and grovelling in spiteful hate. Sickles of sharpened collig tore out of his trench coat, ripping his clothing to shreds in mere seconds. Black slime oozed from his hideous figure as his cells mass reproduced, building quickly upon one another and further mutilating the Callix' frame. He looked more like a mountain of melting flesh then he did a man.

Throwing his 'arms' forward, Cro would attempt to assault his adversaries with gobs of bubbling collig cells. The hissing projectiles sputtered and screeched as they groped for their adversaries. If they connected, they would instantly begin draining their hosts of their life energy. Cro threw at Elliot, Maurizio, Sinclaire and even at Kimberly. The beast needed as much food as he could get.

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#, as written by Nemo
Cro sludged slowly forward, advancing upon his prey... before he was struck with the combined force of Noah[b] and [b]Maximillian's attacks. The monster roared as the magic ripped into his body, opening gaping holes and charring straight through his hideous frame. Quickly, his body worked to heal itself, his collig cells fleshing-in the wounds poking through his figure and restoring his health. With a piggish grunt of satisfaction, he saw that he had managed to land some of himself on Elliot... although Maurizio offered no substance at all.

Cro roared in agony. He was losing more energy then he was gaining, and now the entire bar had teamed up against him. Perhaps if he was fell fed he could fight them all... but the Callix was close to starving as it was. With a short whine, Cro melted his body into a black puddle, oozing out of the door and escaping into safety. His monstrous wails echoed around the establishment even after he was gone. He'd be back. He'd be back for all of them.

The small mass of cells on Elliot's body, however, continued to suck at her life force, growing larger and larger with each wretched pulse.

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The final mass of cells on Elliot sputtered and died under Maximillian's assault, slopping to the ground in a sickly thump. Cro was gone from the bar.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Terra

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#, as written by Nemo
Amid the perfect, amythest fields of fair Elysium, there was but one blight.

He stood silently across the seas of green alone; a single, black cancer in the face of perfect paradise. For a long while, he said nothing, but only watched the fair goddess attend to her joyful labor with immortal voice and innocent passion. He looked as he always did: a ragged coat throan over his haggard frame, a rotted scarcrow's hat drawn over his face. The man's features were completely obscured by shadow.

Slowly, he began to walk, his pace light and contemplative. He strode directly across the fields, his boots crushing flower pendants beneath the heel with each venemous step. Despina, who had her back turned to the monster this whole time, might only notice him when at last his foul shadow fell over her slim frame.

When she turned, she would see Ancises, father of Aeneas and former lover of Aphrodite.

"Ho now! Fair Despina..." the aged Trojan smiled, his voice friendly and thick with merriment, "you're doing a fine job putting these fields in order. But what's a fair princess like yourself doing out here, tilling the grass for old folk like us? Come on now. Take a break. You've worked quite a bit already, no?"

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"Ah, exquisite," Ancises smiled, closing his eyes as he seemed to enjoy the wintry snow on his wrinkled cheeks. "You've outdone yourself Despina. But come! Autumn can wait for now. Walk with me for a bit, would you? Lend an old man your arm." He winked at the girl. "I won't keep you from your mother long."

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"I would love to see them, Despina," Ancises smiled, following alongside the girl lovingly, "you and your mother have been doing a wonderful job with the fields. You should be proud." He held the girl close.

They walked for a short while, laughing and talking of the things they usually did, admiring the Fields all the while. Elysium was breathtaking at any time of year, but there was a certain magic to it in autumn. White flecks of snow were beginning to dot the oceans of grass... the treas ripened into that perfect shade of amber yellow... a crisp, adventerous scent lingered in the wind...

"Tell me, Despina..." Ancises smiled, "have I ever told you about my adventures in Troy? I think I have... do you remember them? I'm sure I must have told you at some point. The long, ten-year war we fought against the Greeks."

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"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing you haven't heard before," Ancises smiled, "it's a shame, really. Troy was magnificent. The sight of King Priam and Queen Hecuba is as vivid to me as if I'd only seen them this morning. Proud Hector... handsome Paris... my son, the noble Aeneas. It's strange thinking it all ended. Lost to the fires of war."

As Ancises spoke, there was a certain edge to his voice. The friendly, warm tone of his speech, though still present, diminished slowly. There was iron in his words. A cold, unforgiving metal lurking just beneath the surface of his description.

"There were Priam's children too," Ancises smiled in sadness, "did you know, Despina, that he had fifty daughters and fifty sons? A hundred total! Can you imagine his happiness?"

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"Ah, that is true, my dear Despina..." Ancises smile came and faded quickly, "...but that is only half the story. The heroes sing songs and tell tales because they can. They are in Elysium. What need do they have for sorrow... for grief... but it never truly goes away, Despina. There is still so much pain, even in a place like this. Pain to be remembered. Pain to be consummated. Pain to be shared..."

With alarming abruptness, Ancises stopped moving, his hand reaching and gripping Despina's arm with a bit more force then was necessary. He attempted to whirl her about, clutching her at the shoulders, looking her dead in the eye. "...like the bodies of Priam's sons. Their blood flowing across the palace floor in a river of royal sanguine. The cries of their mother. Her daughters. The soldiers rape them in turn. Again. And again. And again." With each passing syllable, Ancises' voice became less human. His grip tightened. His face contorted and clenched.