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[color=909090][b][Location][/b][/color] Landow, Estren
[color=909090][b][Time][/b][/color] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[color=909090][b][Interactions][/b][/color] N/A
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Camilo continued to eye the festivities, finishing the skewer, nimbly spinning the metal rod in his hand. Against his better judgment he kept finding his gaze hovering back to the tiny group of dominants bolstering in number. It was odd to publicize yourself so much, make yourself so readily available to the public eye just for some illusion of grandeur. Dominants might have been invincible, but the same pleasantries weren’t extended to family members or loved ones. It was more of a projection than a founded belief for Camilo. He hadn’t even been a regalia prior to having his family taken from him so what if he did have the power before then. Thoughts like that would soon make him go mad and fester an aversion to the rest of the dominants he encountered in his wake. 

Gravel crunched undertow finding its purchase on the concrete. He propped his hood up, fished out some sunglasses from his pocket, and did the bare minimum in concealing his face. Touring through different tents with food and marketable paraphernalia he caught himself stopping just before spying a woman caked in a mask of skull face paint. She was speaking, or perhaps berating, another younger man, both unsurprisingly armed. His mouth creased in a frown, knowing he had entered the scene rather naked. At least almost naked. He prodded the tip of the skewer with his finger, testing the sharpness of it and whether or not he could rely on it if need be. It wasn’t too dissimilar to a needle of ice that he had sunk into so many before this. This should be no different. 

Just before he drew close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, there was a disharmony of screams loud enough to pierce through the loud murmur of the crowds just above the harbor. Camilo’s confusion was warranted when the reaction of the crowd closest to the overlook turned to terror and found themselves forming a wave that crashed back onto the confused onlookers who had not seen the source of dismay. Camilo worked his way through the crowd, having to claw his way through the stiff junction of panicked civilians. An aggressive shoulder check hit square into him, knocking his glasses off, shattering underfoot of the stampede. Swimming on, he ducked into an alley with a drainage that led to the harbor. His gait stopped immediately, frozen in place but not by Shiva, but by the grizzly image of white sand turned red. 

Camilo studied biology in his time in school, there was even a time where he had originally planned to study that instead of the political science degree pushed onto him after military service. From what he did remember, it was his section on invertebrates. Arthropods being the family he most enjoyed: crabs, lobsters, scorpions, spiders. *Crabs*, the horde tearing into the flesh of men, women, and children with their chelipeds were a nefarious perversion of the crustaceans he remembered. In his inaction the other dominants had already begun their proaction in saving the people that so dearly worshiped them. A chill ran down Camilo’s spine, he could feel Shiva’s hand pressing on his shoulder. The cold radiated all throughout his neck and arm, she was silently imploring him to take form and help the others. 

It was still too soon, still too many people that could get injured if he wasn’t careful. Instead he turned back to the soldiers firing off their rifles, barely making a dent in the ravenous reforming beasts. Through the corridor his gaze met one of the beasts that lunged at a soldier boring into their chest with red tooth and claw. Camilo gripped the skewer and began running towards the soldier, by the time he made the clearing the body was already limp, gear soaked crimson. He scanned for a moment, finding the crab once more and tracking its movements. A man, geriatric in age, had planted himself stiff in the middle of the shrines, eyes closed, head bent, hands pressed together in prayer, completely unaware of the demise racing towards him. 

Camilo spun around and whipped the skewer at the crab, unfortunately it simply bounced off the hard carapace. He sighed, not really surprised at his lackluster weapon. His eyes scrawled around him looking for something else, the rifle. He took off in a sprint, grabbing the rifle and cocking it back, keeping his eyes fixed on the crab. Kicking off the ground he launched himself into the air, in direct line of the voracious creature. With mouth agape, Camilo fired the rifle into the soft palate of the otherwise hardened creature. An explosion of fluids and chitin covered him as he fell, leaving only the disciple continuing to believe dogmatically in his dominants. Perhaps in reverence to Camilo in this case. 
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