Marshall paled, as he stared at Sohlt; his mind launched back into darkness. He was thrown, mentally, back, 1,904 years... back to her...
[hr]
[i]		Marshall screamed, as the Touch of Virtue wound around his hand, crept up his arm, and charred his flesh as it was designed to kill those like him. Its light burn him, tried to purify him, and yet, could only sear it. Above him, she roared in triumph and delight; a woman of light and a beast of primal forces. Her figure that of a creature of darkness: a beautiful Drider with hair, silken and gold, that fell upon porcelain skin, shoulders fair, breasts full, arms svelte, and a stomach taut as her hips gave way to the hind and many legs of a spider.

The Lady of Virtue, the White Widow of Light, laughed at him. She looked down at him, and laughed, and laughed, without a single care to his misery. He was her slave and servant, her instrument, and her source of amusement. Marshall dragged himself off the ground, and he ran -- he ran from her laughter, her presence, and her light, as his arm burned and bleed.

	“[color=fff200][b]Bring seven hearts steeped in sin, one for each, and, with them, atone for the sins you hold yourself. Until that day, wander, forever alive until the True Light fades, unable to die, but able to suffer all pain and loss.[/b][/color]” Her bargain, no, her order, rang true in his mind. He pushed himself up from every stumble, and rushed himself to Yoltaire.

Back to her. 
[center]- - -[/center]
	“[color=a0522d]You -- You -- You freak![/color]” screamed the love of his life, as she held her bleeding face. Marshall recoiled, his charred hand clenched tightly to his rope-bound form. “[color=a187be]I didn’t -- I didn’t think -- I just wanted to --[/color]” he stammered, as he felt a blade thrust through his chest; blood spattering the floor. “[color=a187be]I can fix it![/color]” he gagged, as another rammed through him. “[color=a187be]Just give me a chance![/color]”

“[color=8b4513]You ignorant child![/color]” raged the Grandmaster, as he violently stabbed at Marshall’s undying form, “[color=8b4513]My daughter is scarred forever! Did you not think this would happen, as your own body burns!?[/color]” Marshall gagged, losing more and more blood by the second. “[color=8b4513]I’ll see your head on my wall, you freak![/color]” he snapped, biting his dagger right into Marshall’s neck.

And, it happened.[/i]
[hr]
	“[color=a187be]I... am... not... a freak![/color]” Marshall roared, lunging at Sohlt, and grabbing him. “[color=a187be]Don’t call me a freak![/color]” he screamed, as he took Sohlt by the face, and smashed his head into the ground. “[color=a187be]Don’t you dare! I’m not a freak![/color]” Again, again, and again; uncaring for the crack of bone and splatter of flesh, brain, and blood. “[color=a187be]I’ll show you who’s the freak![/color]” he raged, switching his method to punching Sohlt’s face in. “[color=a187be]Suffer! Suffer, you freak![/color]”

Suddenly, his anger was extinguished -- not by self-control, honed over the years, but a force of fury that dwarfed his own by aeons. “[color=a187be]It’s loose,[/color]” he says, “[color=a187be]Shit...[/color]” Marshall gathered himself, and looked to the unstable of the two scientist; the other mostly paste on the floor from the head up. “[color=a187be]Consider this... a mercy,[/color]” he says, scooping up a handful of blood, before pointing a finger at him, and shooting him squarely in the forehead.

“[color=a187be]No-one without the will to defy the Primals themselves is going to survive this,[/color]” he told himself, since his audience was dead. “[color=a187be]Well, time to find my knife,[/color]” he says, before smirking, “[color=a187be]A Primal won’t skin itself, after all.[/color]”
[hr]
[@The Irish Tree]