The cries of the village fade to gust, replaced by an ominous silence of the aftermath, a stillness roams around. The Vrekat had finished their pillage, first of the new heir, the god's lust had been satiated for the time being. the air hung heavy with the scent of burning blood and ash, once an innocent waypoint for the lost became nothing more than ruin.
Zoirat stood amidst the ruin, sharp-short gasps of her breath, she'd emit a sound foreign to even her dark origin. The maniacal laugh she had sound as the elder of the village fell, the joy of seizing a settlement of her very own and feeding it to a hell-reaching incense. It had been too much for the vessel, the laughter filled-eroticism twisted inside of her, getting higher and higher till' the strain on her throat had given away.
A sharp pain had came back to her, the god-fused adrenaline had wore off as it's invocation wore off. The searing agony as her tongue was barely hanging on itself, blood pumping had it not realized the opening; at the same instant, a sharp pop had felt in her throat, her vocal chord ruptured, a moment later her voice had fade, nothing but a faint echo in her chest. She opens her mouth only for faint scoffs to emerge, barely audible, only an eerie voice to those who hear it. The storm halted once again, pressure to build and rise. Only now, it's inside her.
The Vrekat had set up camp on the surroundings of the wreckage, grotesque stillness sets in as they gather around the village remains. Waiting for their leader, Zoirat, her aura commanding even when silent. The others had moved about, each in their own roles, shelter, food, and the preparations of their next phase. However, Zoirat was lost deep, in her personal obsession with that one that had driven her into the first step.
She waltzed towards the survivors, ones who managed to hide, caught up in perimeter measures. Tied, bruised and broken, they had not escaped the cult's gaze, only setting themselves up for more agony, chosen for their foolishness, perseverance, fit for lab rats.
A faint scoff as she gazed towards the survivors, a gleaming curiosity in her eyes sharper than any goat other than him. A soundless chuckle still swooned in her mind, even if it couldn't even escape. Her eyes fixated, crouching towards the young man, his eyes widened, met with a gaze. His pulse raced, each breath shorter than the other, the fear... It excited her. A desperation answered with an intoxicating, for whatever horror waits next. Her fingers slowly traced over his face, a shiver over his body as an electric flow touched. Her palms moved to his chest, with a moment, she drew her ceremonial blade, blood flew as she sliced into his neck, carving deeper into the esophagus with each swing, a hiss filling the air. She grinned at the face of the fresh sacrifice, watching the life fade from his eyes. She stood up, lifting her hand towards the toppled corpse, staring into his blank pits, a whisper that could be barely heard, she spoke her incantation. Slow at first, the corpse's hands twitched, clots of blood visible through flesh, fully lifting his hands as she started to grasp controls of his legs, rolling over to stabilizing itself, steadily stumbling itself upward. She was playing with the fabric of puppetry, her fascination was undeniable. As the puppet stood before her, she was still unsatiated. Her hands clench itself, the puppet twitches itself, contorting to a twisted form, visible bones and organs absorbed into something far capable than human silhouette.