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Every illusion of Octavio's, every piece coiled around his fingers in the game of blood and flesh, was gnarled to nothingness in a near instant. It made his blood go cold, in a wasteland already polluted with frost and blood. He thought of kings without kingdoms and sailors whose ships had ruptured. Men that were already dead, who clung to the ragged breaths that were all they had left in the world. The world around him stopped, and his thoughts froze with it.

Stranger. Being. He had the face of a man, but it felt incorrect to consider him one. At one point Octavio envied him, even saw him as a rival that could be bested. Those had been the thoughts of a stupid man. As the... [i]entity[/i] took interest in Lynx, he could feel the cold crawl towards the center of his heart.

Taunting words. Ones uttered by those with the power. The control. Just as the noblemen he hated, the politicians, the mercenaries, all those he wanted that feeling of control from besting. But he could feel ice in his throat where words would be, a frozen expression of grief where one of confidence would have to take center stage. He wasn't the lead again. It felt as if he'd never be.

One piece left. Himself. Lynx was in no state to fight, instead fleeing with the other familiars. The king was supposedly the most important piece in chess, able to move anywhere, yet signalling the loss of the game when captured. But when Octavio attempted to move himself, he found no way to escape the storm of tentacles that overtook him. A struggle, thrashing, sinking. Tentacles wrapping around other tentacles, anywhere they could sense empty space to contaminate. It was worse than the last time, as the tentacles had greedily dug around his abdomen, denying him of even his final breaths. Checkmate.

...Check. A third player. One that wasn't bound to timing their turns. One that wasn't bound to white and black squares, white and black morality. The way the entity spoke truly made Octavio feel like a piece, one listening to an actual player. Octavio remained silent for the most part, eyes trained on the thing as it continued it's fanfare. He had no experience dealing with the supernatural. It irritated him, almost. When he finally spoke the words jutted out without much concern for formality. It was gifting star adhesives.

[color=dde0c7]"[i]Do not wish to fashion yourself as a god[/i], and yet you say you lost access to your godly power. You're allowed to call yourself whatever you desire,"[/color] he said, judgmental of the word "Bud" and the entity's newfound love for it, [color=dde0c7]"but you're a former god, is what you've so indirectly implied."[/color] 

He suppressed every ounce of pain and discomfort imaginable as he stood, feeling it pound through over a dozen and a half areas of his body. It wasn't entirely successful, and with a pained grimace he knew it would give the being brand new material to work with. [color=dde0c7]"I would thank you, but this isn't so much a favor as it is a transaction. We've been performing our end of this odd bargain, and I suppose you've assisted us through some of the more dangerous moments. It was a close call particularly now. Don't you think it'd be wiser to facilitate things for us? It'd be a win-win for this... transaction we've been conducting."[/color] Whatever this former god was in actuality, he'd likely never know. But the being had shown more of his hand, and Octavio found himself reacting predictably as a man moments from death encountering great power. It was ironic, he realized. The same thoughts that led to the insight obliterating men. He still hadn't taken a single step from his spot. 

Check.

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Lynx's body arose one limp paw at a time, until he was upright and more or less lucid enough to stand. He recognized Akai, but it took a moment for the thoughts to solidify. Words were even slower.

[color=#ffff66]"Gah. What a mess."[/color]