Lark was awakened from his comatose state a bit earlier that day. He had slept for a long time, almost for a full 24 hours. That was a lot considering the fact that he didn't need to sleep most of the time. The whispers usually kept him awake.
Nonetheless, the striking nimm was still very much fatigued. His weary countenance bore a frustration that held a long burning anger. One that looked as if it had been cultivating inside his mind for a very long time. 'That stupid old man is really no good. He's making my job a lot harder by messing with the strongest star. Ugh.'
Calling Lark a seer wouldn't be incorrect, but he technically didn't 'see' anything. He was a more of a Soothsayer than anything. The way he perceived the future was through incessant whispers that echoed in his head, telling him all sorts of things he wanted to know. And all sorts of things he didn't. Just sorting through all that information that sporadically battered his skull was taxing enough, sorting out shenanigans due to a deviation in the future was even more of a pain.
It wasn't always like this. Lark, no— Minlark had been a normal nimm once. He never approached the town when he left the beach, wary of all the people he could suddenly understand the language of.
Skulking around the town, he once found a shining rock. He ate it, and ever since the whispers would constantly pester him. Every time he killed himself, desperately trying to escape the strange garbled chants...he would revive once again. The babbling let him know why his resurrections were unlimited. Lark became The Waning Star, aligned to the stars both bright and dark.
Lark really only had a vague understanding of what stars were. All stars were divided into three groups, the stars of darkness, brightness, and the stars possessing both. He was made known that something would happen between the three, something that would greatly change the whole entire universe. The whispers didn't let him know what that something was, only commanding him on a mission that he had no choice but to accept.
He was to go to the town of Nimrod and await stars, trying his hardest to protect them. And so he did. He waited, receiving decrees and commands from the slithering voices that would not leave him alone. He became used to their presence. As long as he wouldn't be driven insane, he would follow their orders.
He witnessed many things in the town, the whispers letting him know there were only four or so stars in the vicinity. All were not stars yet, but had the potential to be. Whatever group they were aligned with, Lark decided that he would rope them into aligning with the stars of brightness and darkness. He had wanted to start early, but the voices would never tell him which were actually the stars.
That was, until he met Alban. The whispers informed him that the teen he saw before them, the young man that was slightly younger than himself...that he was the brightest and darkest star. Lark was relieved at meeting someone just like him, though he was aware Alban wouldn't be aware of it. He decided to befriend the savage yet captivating guy, as he finally found someone he could relate to. Besides, strongest meant that the guy would be reallly important in whatever was going down.
The voices were satisfied with this, and he hadn't heard them again. It made his mood much better...until that old man had to ruin it. Still, the voices informed him of the easiest way to preserve his friendship and fix what Nimral was about to ruin, seizing his chance to tell Nimra where Alban was. He wished his only friend bad luck, hoping that he wouldn't be able to kill that doddering old fool quicker than Nimra could find them.
—-
Back in the forest, all gazes were locked onto the sheer violence transpiring before them. Chiyo had tried to stop them, though her attempts fell on deaf ears. The two fiery men were locked onto each other, the intent to kill creeping into their countenances. She had wanted to try and forcefully break up the duo, but all her attempts left her paralyzed in fear.
Surprisingly, only around twenty percent of it came from the old man. Nimral looked imposing indeed, his muscles undulating wi to blood flowing down his face. But what Chiyo felt much more terrifying than the fierce old man was the boy who drew the blood.
Alban was where the remaining eighty percent of fear came from. His teeth were gnawing on a grey piece of flesh, and his arms and legs were completely swollen. Yet the boy still moved, it was like the concept of health itself meant nothing to him at that moment. The wild aura that followed the youth wherever he went was output in full force, a dense red fog swirling around his bloodied frame. A pearly white grin reflected the moonlight that shone down upon his grim appearance.
Chiyo took all of this in with her mana imbued sight, her body reduced to a pathetic whimper of it's former state. She didn't feel like a powerful chief at this moment, and although she felt like at any other time beating Alban wouldn't be a contest, right now...it was impossible. She was too afraid. It was a primal fear that lurked in the depths of all that lived, and all that died. It was inescapable.
"Through the user's repeated actions and being recognized by many as such, an old title has been revealed."
Power is increased proportionate to the fear that is felt towards the user. 20% likelihood of activating, for now.
Alban's face was swamped with notifications for a second, before they all cleared. He spat the skin out of his mouth before lighting it on fire, wondering if he'd ever forget get that rancid flavor. "Tastes like rotting jerky." He murmured, the low voice heard by all in the area. His smile did not falter while saying that, although he performed an exaggerated gag.
It was Nimral's time to be provoked. He had distanced himself from Alban ever since the boy became even more feral. It all started with that damn tattoo...the boy really was one of those. No one with an inflicted mark would be able to act that way, he could feel it deep down in his bones.
The goading gesture the boy had made had reminded him of that day. Those tentacles were tightly grasping his neck even now. He ran straight at Alban, chanting in a bid to use a slowing magic. He would subdue the boy and apologize for his behavior, letting him take the day off. He wasn't sure if this would placate the boy before him, but the fact that he hadn't already snapped his neck should been a sign of reasoning remaining.
And Alban's reasoning was indeed intact. The reason for his inaction was completely different than Nimral thought. The old man before him was reduced to prey, and so Alban observed him intently. Haste would make waste, and to tell the truth, he was feeling kinda peckish 'a free meal should be eaten even if it doesn't taste good.' That was all he was thinking. That alone. The stirring made him really hungry, after all.