@spreadthywings @Gravekill @Twin_Chaos The air soured, as if the area disapproved of the new entrance, the man who entered the area. Each step the man took left behind a seemingly more and more unkind air to it, despite The Enigma's face seeming completely unperturbed by anything. He carried Etaraxia in his right hand, the serrated-edged falchion with five manaspheres lining the top, flat edge. Each sphere was inactive; a dark, almost infinite depth to each baseball-sized sphere. The blade, and handle, could be sported with two hands, but The Enigma chose to do it with one hand, seeing as his unique biological imprint was accepted by the weapon. Although his trench-coat would hide it, on his right arm were five charged manaspheres, these being the size of ping-pong balls, and were halfway embedded into his forearm in a perfect line. These could amplify his spells should he use them, though once more, this would be unknown and unfelt—his entire presence, and that of his weapon and the manaspheres were all muted, unable to be sensed by any means except for sight, sound and touch. He was not of this realm, despite looking human. He had black hair, unnaturally crystal-clear blue eyes, and rather pale skin. He was the founder of the Almorr, but this would be unknown to any of the individuals here. His presence felt toxic to even the plane itself, as if he was the epitome of anything sinister, but he looked bored.
Here he was, with reasoning unknown to anybody here and his mind being unable to be pierced by any who could establish mental links, or could read minds. He was a barricade in almost every right, but he was bored. This could be entertaining. That was when Chaos showed up, and The Enigma's gaze lazily flicked over to him. Every aspect of The Enigma's presence a sense of godliness, as if he thought himself above everyone. The Enigma almost yawned at Chaos.
"You, child, look like a pack-mule with all those swords on you. Have you no loyalty to one blade?"
