The breeze from the outside swirled violently as Loic opened the door, the wooden appendage banging into the opposite wall as he made his way inside. The scene within, however, might give him pause, his vision dominated by dark, rust-colored splashes on the varnished floor. Dark drops decorated the rest of the interior, scarlet beads sliding down the various pieces of furniture within and were the sight less grisly, it would have appeared like a child's fingerpainting attempt over another piece of art....if one would call this anything aesthetically appealing. What were the eve's patrons in the Spoiled Princess were sprawled on the floor, the crimson fountains of their life-essence seeping into the cracks underneath them. Hooded figures, five in all, stood over them, daggers drawn -- their silvery blades dulled by the massacre their wielders have forced them to engage from a few moments prior. The copper-tang scent of recent bloodshed thickened the air of the tavern's meager common room.
At the sight of the young templar, not one of the culprits moved, their murders open and exacted with barely a blink from each pair of shadowed eyes. It was odd enough in itself, disconcerting on its own. Caught in the act, shouldn't they be running away?
Nary a single person moved from his or her place.
From behind Loic, a pair of booted feet stopped -- whoever the newcomer was, his approach was deathly silent. A set of knuckles popping behind him, under thick steel plate, was the only evidence that there was another presence that invaded his shadow. Should he turn around, he would find a masked face before him, wrought-iron fastened over and obscuring whatever features may lay beyond it. A single, cobalt-blue eye shone from the left socket, devoid of expression, no malice or anything of the like glittering from the striking iris.
The other was a ruby red, glinting ferally in the oversized cowl that had been thrown over the rest of his head.
A gauntleted hand lashed forward, metal-encased digits moving to grip the templar tightly around the neck, underneath the helmet that had been secured over his head. Whoever he was, he didn't blink, the mismatched stare fixed on the youthful lines of Loic's face.
Fueled by the recent deaths of those within, power crackled from Moloch's fingertips.
The invasion of the junior templar's free will spilled over like an invisible tidal wave, brutally and painfully tearing through the lad's unprepared mind. It felt like pins and needles raking down the base of his skull...tiny aftershocks that soon grow into more. Jagged barbs of sensation crawled down his spine like a living thing, licking at his synapses before setting them on fire. Somewhere behind the growing shadow that threatened to consume his conscious thoughts, an inhuman whisper tickled the shell of his ear. It was indeterminable as to whether his would-be captor had spoken it, or if it came from somewhere deep within.
It becomes more painful the harder you fight me. If you don't want me to break you now, do not resist me, Loic Arkaitz. I have a task for you.