[center][h3]༒[/h3][/center]

[h3][i][color=DarkGray]"We all serve perfection, warrior. That you see this land as empty proves that you are the empty one."[/color][/i][/h3] 

[center]Empty. He had to be empty. To walk amongst the creatures unharmed. Empty. Fool. 
The Turncloak King mumbled a few, nonsenical words in an attempt to postpone the inevitable, but his strength was drained, and his voice would not carry over the agitated growling of the Golems.[/center]

[center][h3][i][color=DimGray]"And I am Perfect"[/color][/i][/h3][/center]

[center]Then the feeling of cold metal sliding between his shoulder blades. Searing pain. Unable to move.

Darkness.[/center]

[hr]
[center][i]Perfect has acquired the false memory of Kinghood. [/i][/center]
[hr]

The Golems did not attack as they had done with Perfect's quarry. Instead they stood upright, far from the bestial and feral pose they had assumed during the fight. They were not scared, nor were they angry. They seemed to sniff Perfect, lowering their heads to his level for a moment before they shot back up to their full height. They circled him. Nothing. No more death. No more killing. They would not kill something so remorseful, so empty of compassion. Even they saw him as Empty. 

[color=DimGray]"Blood!"[/color] There was a voice in the distance. "Blood!"

[h3]"Blood!"[/h3] 
Cried something that looked human, but was not quite what it once was. The sound was without origin, bouncing from the valley walls, disorienting any who would listen in. 

[h2]"Blood![/h2] 

It came from the sky, the ground, the rocks, the slopes. The Golems responded not to the voice, instead evidently seeing it as a warcry, a calling card of their own. And Perfect was now one of their own; like a pup that would grow to lead the pack, a man with potential without limits. Perhaps even to the remorseless killer, it would have been a sinister and menacing situation, but in mere moments the owner of the voice came into sight, leaping with inhuman strength from the top of the valley walls. The [i]thing[/i] soared through the air before landing between the Golems with a deafening thud. "Blood! Blood! Bloodbloodblood! He's dead he's dead he's dead," it continued to bluster, seemingly completely unaware of Perfect's presence. He scrambled on all fours - like a rancid, foul beggar - towards the body of the Turncloak King before it melted into the ground once more. Touching it here and there, all over, manhandling the corpse like a bag of loot. 

...But what manner of creature was this? Small. Grey skinned. Rotted. face vacant of all features. Eyes absent from sunken sockets. Ragged patches of hair flailing with its every motion. 

It continued to rummage, uncaring of the presence of the Man who killed the Turncloak. Sniffing the body, licking the body. Touching the wound. Lapping up the blood...

"Blood!" 

[hr]

[center]E m p t y  D i s c o v e r e d 

[h3][i]Blinded Men[/i][/h3]

[img]http://i1298.photobucket.com/albums/ag58/Silux45/5c480e75-8cae-4669-9a29-3526f4225d41_zpsqse39axy.jpg[/img][/center]