The scene rapidly unraveling before Ekusha was one of mildly-controlled chaos: communication was almost non-existent past initial contact, and every champion was putting on their own show, but it was clear to her that the kobold's plan was the one ultimately taking effect. Her own strategy was rendered obsolete by the dramatic entrances of her peers, yet despite her pride she could not afford to abandon the group if this truly were the beginning of the end.
'Contain', that's right...
Ekusha began examining the perimeter of the village, keeping an eye out for the fleeing. Knowing her corporeal form would generate the physical limitation, she kept on with her more subtle methods in her efforts to expedite the process across the boundary.
A mother, running through a field with her two young children, has a breakdown as she realizes what has happened before her: her husband, struck down by an infernal entity, never to be seen again by her in this life or the next; her friends, likely captured or dead while she makes her escape at their expense; her home, her possessions, her livelihood all gone. A mother, covered in spattered blood lays in a field in almost comatose fashion. Her children, color draining from their faces, lay at her feet without drawing a breath.
A coward sneaks between buildings, eyes darting across openings completely oblivious to the stench of fear that radiates from his nervous sweat. He's haunted by the screams of his village: their pleas for help, only to be met with torture as they see their fate approaching. The scent of burning flesh reeks in his nose and mouth, undying no matter how many turns he takes or how far he runs. The scene of scattered body parts burns itself into his retinas. His quiet, peaceful village has turned into a nightmare, one he can never escape from. The next corner he turns, he spies a severed arm still desperately clenching a butcher's knife. Kill... With shaky palms, he forces from it's grasp. ...yourself. In a single motion, he swings it at his neck. The knife falls to the ground and blood sprays across the street. Both hands are clenching the wound, panic sets in, and he begins sloppily running as though seeking help. As all his mental trauma becomes trivialized, regrets overwhelms him.
A few villagers, who moments ago carried brave and dutiful hearts, now flee for their lives after bearing witness to an explosion tearing through their brethren. Fear consumes them; instinct takes effect; self-preservation becomes priority number one. Stand and fight, or run and die. One man begins struggling with his comrades, insisting that their attempts at escaping will be futile. The other wishes to run, but the man argues their odds are greater in battle. A fight ensues, and the other would-be soldiers attempt to break-up the altercation. However, it only escalates, and their grand display of impassioned foolishness turns into blind anger, initially against one another, fueled by their assailants.
