the curse of dark mountain

Pyrrhic blinked once slowly in confusion and then rapidly as the weight of what Erystotle was telling him blanketed the young Emperor. He took a deep breath and looked away, his jaw working as he tried to decide what horned mortal's confession meant. Was he, Pyrrhic, not being slowly pushed away by God then? If what Ery said was true, what did it say about him? Perhaps he wasn't a coward after all; his anguish the consequence of a curse he had been ignorant of. Maybe he wasn't a failure. Maybe he was just unlucky.

Finally he looked to Erystotle and studied him with an unreadable expression. If what he said was true - and he wished it to be since it cleared him of fault - then what needed to be done with the horned youth?

"I don't know what to say," he began slowly. "This is your fault?" Selfishly he wanted to believe it. It was all too easy to take the insecurities he felt, the fault he placed on the Fallen God, and dump it on the head of a mortal. A suspicious edge crept into his voice, "Are you sure? How do you know?"