Patrick taps his finger against the top of the wooden table. His head is resting on his other hand and his eyes roam around the room as Brendon and Dallon argue with each other.
"If you can't come to a conclusion soon, then maybe you should just let the rest of us leave until you can figure out how to solve your argument."
Brendon and Dallon pause and they both shift their eyes to the bored man.
"No." Patrick raises an eyebrow and stops his tapping.
"I'm sorry," He starts, a smile starting to form. "What was that?" His shadow grows and shifts behind him. Patrick's eyes are trained on Brendon and Dallon.
"I said no," Dallon repeats.
"And why is that?" Patrick asks, tilting his head slightly.
"Because this is your fault." Patrick's smile drop and his eyes gain a darker hue.
"You didn't contain that creature and-" Patrick growls and rises from his seat, watching as the room takes a collective flinch back.
Patrick's shadow eats all the light in the room until all that's left to brighten it is Patrick's eyes.
"Who's fault is that?!" Patrick yells, fingers digging into the wood and cracking it. The splintering sound makes Pete shift back some more.
"It was your family who had me locked up! It was your family who didn't listen to me!
I specifically said that I wasn't done with the containment spell but as soon as he was out of sight, they locked me away! It's your ancestor's fault that this is happening!"
The noticeable shift in the air and in Patrick's voice is what makes Dallon straighten up.
"I wasn't like this before! This creature you made me! Your ancestors thought I was insane to begin with! Because I was different.
I was something they didn't understand, a being so powerful they were scared of what might happen if I were left to wander the earth." Patrick grinds out, the table finally giving way.
"You made me this way after years and years of torture. I died and died over and over again." Tears start to streak down the man's face.
"You thought I was bad before? You haven't seen anything yet!" The world outside starts to shake and rumble. Lightning strikes and thunder crashes.
"Patrick stop!" Breezy yells, gripping onto Dallon tightly as a wind starts to pick up from inside the compound.
Patrick's body shifts, as does his shadow.
The once fair skin takes on years of damage. Scars mar his face and horns rip through his head, leaving bloody trails. His nails grow and take on a yellow shade.
His hair flashes to a deathly white shade. The cardigan and pants are replaced with a black shirt and yellow tailcoat, followed by a pair of yellow trousers.
Patrick blinks once and the ocean eyes are replaced with a piercing yellow, the pupils going verticle.
"My dear children," Patrick starts, voice grinding against the nerves of everyone in the room. "You messed with the wrong God."