As chaos erupts around him, Carlisle finds himself in utter agony. He can hardly hear Pratt calling his name over the thundering in his head; it feels as though it would split in half if his crown weren't holding it together. He can't breathe -- he shouldn't need to breathe, but he tries anyway, the air struggling to get around the ink lodged in his throat. Rasping again, his fingers claw at the dry, lifeless soil beneath him. The cacophony in his head continues, his own voice cutting through the throbbing: get away get away get away do not touch me DO NOT TOUCH ME.
Beyond Carlisle, the flesh rots from one of the mangled corpses, his broken body twitching. A hand only half-covered in flesh animates, pulling itself along the ground toward its former owner.
Carlisle manages to get one finger over the top of his mask and pull it down just as he hacks up a viscous glob of ink; it is thick, gelatinous rather than the liquid trailing from his eyes. Feeling marginally better, he tries to get to his feet, but finds his legs won't yet cooperate. He thought himself incapable of being sick, yet here he is, nauseated from the mere effort of trying to move.
The shredded body of another corpse pull themselves together with the decayed remains of an animal half-buried in the dirt. The first corpse joins them, their form melding together.
Carlisle's back arches in pain, and he feels his internal frustration rising, manifesting as self-loathing. Why did he not take it slower? If he hadn't let his pride get the better of him instead of pushing himself beyond his limits, he wouldn't be in this mess. None of them would be. Instead, he made himself look like an amateur by not finishing the job, and he's losing his grasp over his abilities, rotting the world around him. There will be no hiding what he is from any of them after this. He is a vile creature, through and through.
He feels himself slipping into his Revenant nature, bitterness hot in his veins. It works against him, and he instinctively reaches out again to the corpses around him. Two ribcages come together to form a body, one spine becoming a neck while the other extends past the forming aberration's twisted frame. It has too many hands, fingers made up of broken ribs and shattered fibulas; the animal skull becomes its head, the human skulls (or what's left of them) acting as feet instead. The sinews still clinging to the skeletons twist and knot together, helping keep the monstrous creature upright as it rises, its eyes glowing with a furious, blue light.
It stands no less than nine feet tall, bone fragments and rotten flesh from around the site still joining the greater mass as it starts to move toward them all. Despite Carlisle being the closest, it pays him no heed whatsoever, passing him by on its multiple, malformed limbs.
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Beyond Carlisle, the flesh rots from one of the mangled corpses, his broken body twitching. A hand only half-covered in flesh animates, pulling itself along the ground toward its former owner.
Carlisle manages to get one finger over the top of his mask and pull it down just as he hacks up a viscous glob of ink; it is thick, gelatinous rather than the liquid trailing from his eyes. Feeling marginally better, he tries to get to his feet, but finds his legs won't yet cooperate. He thought himself incapable of being sick, yet here he is, nauseated from the mere effort of trying to move.
The shredded body of another corpse pull themselves together with the decayed remains of an animal half-buried in the dirt. The first corpse joins them, their form melding together.
Carlisle's back arches in pain, and he feels his internal frustration rising, manifesting as self-loathing. Why did he not take it slower? If he hadn't let his pride get the better of him instead of pushing himself beyond his limits, he wouldn't be in this mess. None of them would be. Instead, he made himself look like an amateur by not finishing the job, and he's losing his grasp over his abilities, rotting the world around him. There will be no hiding what he is from any of them after this. He is a vile creature, through and through.
He feels himself slipping into his Revenant nature, bitterness hot in his veins. It works against him, and he instinctively reaches out again to the corpses around him. Two ribcages come together to form a body, one spine becoming a neck while the other extends past the forming aberration's twisted frame. It has too many hands, fingers made up of broken ribs and shattered fibulas; the animal skull becomes its head, the human skulls (or what's left of them) acting as feet instead. The sinews still clinging to the skeletons twist and knot together, helping keep the monstrous creature upright as it rises, its eyes glowing with a furious, blue light.
It stands no less than nine feet tall, bone fragments and rotten flesh from around the site still joining the greater mass as it starts to move toward them all. Despite Carlisle being the closest, it pays him no heed whatsoever, passing him by on its multiple, malformed limbs.