(Untitled)

[plaga_priest]

Abandoned skyscrapers are silent masses in the night, blocking the light of the stars. The glittering, faceted dome of Karma City rises in the distance. It looks like the streets are crowded with people?...No...statuesWith a popping noise, two figures materialize in the darkness. Followed by silence

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[8th_castellan]

Ramon is also as disoriented and confused, lurching a little in the aftermath of the teleporting, stumbling but staying upright thanks to Saddler's iron grip on his arm. His eyes begin to glow red as they adjust to the night, and he looks around with equal confusion at the dusty, dark city, seemingly populated by stone statues.

Why does this scenery cause the horrible sinking in his stomach to worsen...

And then seeing Saddler's apparent rage at being in whatever this place is, Ramon only cringes and shrinks down, silent in dreading what he is certain will be most terrible punishment indeed.

[plaga_priest]

"Hmph. This is probably their doing, isn't it? No matter."

He begins dragging Ramon a good distance from their original entry point, just in case the others should follow using the same coordinates. He stops when they reach an open courtyard in front of what looks like corporate offices. A few more statues are scattered around a dried-up fountain.

"Now that those buffoons aren't around, let us continue our little chat, shall we? Back there, you seemed very fond of the word 'no'."

[8th_castellan]

He does his best to keep up with and go where Saddler is directing him, but he really mostly wind up getting drug along behind the cult leader's quick steps. When they come to a halt, most of his weight is still hanging from where Saddler has a hold of him. The arm that he's gripping is starting to hurt from how tight his clawed fingers are digging into it, but that's a small, unimportant worry in light of everything else.

Ramon dare not look up to meet his eyes, instead keeping his own downcast in meek shame and fear.

"M-Master...It-It isn't-...I o-only want t-to help y-you...please, please...I didn't m-mean-..."

He's already regretting even trying to say anything at this point. Now he's trying to refute Saddler by telling him he doesn't understand what he was trying to do or say back at the warehouse? He would try to explain further that he's not trying to be rebellious, but it seems like it's a doomed argument at this point.

[plaga_priest]

"Oh, you thought you would help me by bringing a horde of assassins to my door? Is that it?" He flings his former underling aside, into a kneeling statue.

"Why can I not hear your plaga? What kind of feeble tricks have you used to hide it?" he snarls, further angered at not having his usual hold on Salazar.

[8th_castellan]

He falls to the ground in a heap, coughing and clutching his own neck, tears still streaming down his face

[plaga_priest]

"Ha, ha! You speak with such confidence, Ramon!" he says, with a sarcastic bite to his tone.

"You're nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing. You were given a gift, Ramon -- a new existence as a higher organism -- and you wasted it. You've even tried to find ways to ignore what you are, so the humans aren't threatened! How funny!"

He throws his head back and laughs. The sound echoes off of the faces of the surrounding buildings to fill the area with his cruel mirth.

"No one cares for you, Ramon. Never has. Not me. Not your 'friends'. Can you imagine loving the lowliest maggot in a garbge heap? Because that's what you are: unworthy of anything but the deepest disgust."

[8th_castellan]

Ramon can't even look up at Saddler now. His vision blurs as he hangs his head, his tears falling onto the dusty ground to form small, dark dots.

Being dead is preferable to this. Saddler knows all of his insecurities and fears, he's using their connection to strike directly at them. And part of him, that small, fledgling portion of his mind that Hippolyta had sown in him from her urging to rebel against his cult and master, tells him that Saddler's just lying to indeed upset him.

But it's never a good idea to underestimate the power that is Ramon hearing any opinion from Lord Osmund Saddler. Because he's been groomed and well-trained to accept those as facts.

As such, he can't even respond. All he can do is curl in on himself, covering his face with his hands again, his sobbing hitching when he begins to groan sadly. And that groan slowly grows in volume until he's wailing mournfully, his sorrow echoing back mockingly from around the petrified courtyard.