Nobody stopped him to ask or plead again as he made his way to the periter of the populated area. Most of them kept their distance, though others still looked longingly his way in hopes that he’d see them and would make an offer himself. A lot of them were scared, and rightfully so, in his opinion. He had a maniac spider with him, after all.
The countdown tir continued to tick down. Eleven minutes remained.
He let out a slow breath of contentnt and stretched his arms while he sat. The sun’s rays felt rather nice, and the grass of the field between his fingers was soft. He leaned back to watch the chaotic scene unfold, letting in scents of the grassland fill each intake and dwelling on why he hadn’t been a more outdoorsy person over the course of his life. anwhile, he was calming Athela by giving her pets…which she accepted grudgingly while muttering about cutting people and keeping her two red eyes in the direction of the two n who’d threatened Riven.
He still couldn’t decide whether or not to thank the demon or to scold her…so he just said nothing and continued to sit. He’d also left the scythe behind in the madness and had only managed to pick up the staff. He didn’t see himself using the scythe again any ti soon after his telling battle with the other caster, though, deciding mana regeneration was worth far more than the silly blade at the end of a stick. So he didn’t bother going to get it. No doubt other people would have use for the scythe over him. Setting the staff down beside his right thigh and pulling his backpack around, he rummaged through it to pull out the vase.
The painted black flowers along the porcelain refused to reflect any light whatsoever, and he turned the sealed object around in his hands. With a humph and inspecting the lid, he tried to twist it off along the sealed corkscrew top—but was again t with resistance even when bracing the item against the ground. It would turn just slightly if he put enough effort into it but would jam every ti he got to a certain point. Curiously, he turned it back and forth—trying to get it open, and finally he even considered breaking it to see what was inside.
The man scread, reeled back, and only managed to choke out a single cry for help before a booted foot slamd into the protruding piece of blood magic—lodging it deeper into his brain. He flopped backward, sprawling unceremoniously onto the grass in death, and began to twitch.
Fatality.
Those nearby paused or gawked at what had just happened, many of them in a state of shock or simply just in denial of what had just occurred. But others were quicker to react.
Riven held up his staff in his left hand to whirl about, using the object to point at his next victims when they rushed him. A net of black energy erupted forward, spreading out while it went and slamd into the crowded bunch of three n to catch them in sticky, burning, needlelike barbs. The magic pierced their bodies and tangled them up like glue, smoking and tearing into their skin and sending torturous thoughts of agony through their conscious minds. His targets were flung off their feet into the air before hitting the ground hard, and their bodies began to rip more and more due to their struggles while they cried, flailed, and scread.
Riven stepped forward, animatedly crunching onto the neck of the twitching second man he’d killed. He then aggressively leaned forward with a malicious sneer, conjuring condensing pockets of blood magic in the air around him. “Kill them all.”
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