The rot of demonic influence here is so strong it makes the hairs of Omri's arms stand on end. Every person he passes is possessed in some way: they've nested in hair, in ears, beneath fingernails, down throats and in bellies. With every slam of a head into a wall, or every smash of his boneskull into a nose, or every throat that goes slack under the steady pressure of his arm around it, Omri finds a new mess of gore to pump and tear out of a pathetic human body.
The compound is a damned cesspool, that's for sure. Omri leaves bodies in his wake: humans lying on the floor, over tables, and chairs. Some of them, too weakened by the effects of possession, expire as soon as the demon is ripped out of their guts. Others breathe thinly, caught on that precipice between life and death. Only a few-- the children of the compound especially-- remain in their deep sleep, requiring only rest before they can continue the rest of their life demon-free.
The last room he reaches is one he opens without fanfare. Omri twists the knob, walks in, and stands in the doorway, unblinking eyes cutting through the space until it lands on an infant sleeping quietly in its parents arms.
The child makes his lip curl.
He doesn't bother with introductions, ignoring the question posed to him. Omri walks in, knives sticking out of his back and chest, scissors in the back of his hand, and viscous, black ooze curling out of each wound.
"What is this."
It doesn't smell like a demon, but something else. Something so close to God it makes his flesh body erupt in goosebumps and sweat bead on the back of his neck.
It's unnatural. Omri's jaw sets, teeth gritting together.
As the stranger comes into the room, Jonny is quick to get up and move away, arms moving to wrap protectively around the infant. He does his best to keep as much distance between the man and himself and his son.
Despite his first thought that he's someone come to take his baby early, he realizes that perhaps that's not the case.
His gaze moves over the other's form, taking note of every exoticism he possesses. The man's been stabbed more times than he can count with a variety of seemingly makeshift weapons. The dark, syrupy fluid where blood should be dripping doesn't do much to settle Jonny's nerves, either. Though, perhaps the most disconcerting thing about the entire situation is the fact that Jonny hadn't heard any commotion outside of the door. There's evidence all over the transient that there's been some sort of standoff throughout the premises, and yet Jonny hasn't heard a sound.
Fear prickles at every nerve ending as his breathing shallows and tears well-up against his eyelashes.
"He's just a baby."
Jonny wishes his voice is stronger, but it wavers as if in a silent plea with the man before him to leave them be.
Throat clicking loudly as he attempts to swallow, he turns his gaze to the child in his arms that's beginning to rouse. He silently hushes the baby, pressing a tender kiss to his temple before delicately touching his forehead to Damien's.
Whoever the man is, his interest in his son can't be a good thing- not when he's posses a variety of sharp instruments piercing his skin.
"He's just a baby," he repeats as a tear slips from his eyelids.
