[X]Distract the Brass Dancer by challenging him to a Dance-Off
You could not be seen by Ligier's light, but at least he was a member of your entourage. Thought did not need line of sight, so you simply send a message that way.
Ligier, we're standing in front of the Brass Dancer.
I am en route.
Well that was succinct. Now, how to distract the Brass Dancer from the return of his lost Fetich? Ah, yes. You tap your staff, grab Sky by the hand, and the nearest musicians take the hint to start a slow waltz tone.
The joyous tapping of feet becomes the steady, clockwork motion of countless couples spinning along the brass park, winding through like gears of a great machine. Through music and motion, you watch out of the corner of your eye as Shell whirls with Ruvelia, keeping her away from the twirling Brass Dancer, who dances alone at the center of the great cog of motion.
At least until the shadows part and the head of the Ebon Dragon slams into the center of the park, narrowly missing the Brass Dancer and sending the demons scattering in a panic.
Everything past the head is burnt off, and the Viator stands atop the snout. Her beamklaive is embedded in his third eye, and the yellow eyes on either side of the shadowed head simply twinkle with merriment.
So you're a woman? Tell me, do you have red hair, too? Because I would be exceptionally aroused if you didn't cut off all my genitals!
"Be. Quiet." And for effect, the Viator stabs his eye again, making the dragon laugh. Except, not at the Viator. "Stop. Talking."
I'm not apologizing.
The Ebon Dragon laughs. But not at the Viator. Instead, at- hoshit.
Hello, Your Majesty! Sorry to drop in so suddenly on your dance, but look who's back!
The Ebon Dragon opens his mouth, giving the Brass Dancer a clear view of Ruvelia. There is a grinding. A sudden, loud grinding. You look up- up and up. Further up, as far as your supernal senses will let you, and you realize- yes. Yes, indeed.
The layers have stopped. For that moment, the infinite layers of Malfeas have stopped moving.
Outside of yourselves, the head of the Ebon Dragon, and the Viator, the plaza is now empty. Completely, and absolutely empty. You look past the Dragon's rotted teeth and see even the Brass Dancer is gone.
"I hate you."
Say it slower you slut.
You feel it before you hear it. You turn- all of you turn. Something comes down from on high. You hold your staff fast, and Sky draws his sword, and Shell ignites her beamklaive. The Viator rises from the Dragon's head, her eyes flickering crimson, and she takes a step back.
On six wings, he descends. Unfurled and casting shadows the green sun's light cannot penetrate. Veins of glowing vitriol run beneath brass skin that is cast like armor, glowing runes etched along him to tell the story of majesty and the fall.
He lands and dwarfs you. His very presence makes you want to kneel. The horns atop his head form a crown of flesh and brass, sloped back into a broken halo, and three emerald eyes stare down at you with burning rage. His face shadowed by the helm, so all you can see are the eyes and trembling teeth.
Folding back his wings, they form a cloak, and a brass blade stabs into the plaza. Emerald flame erupts around it, sealing you in.
"Is that Malfeas?" Sky asks.
You nod. "It's the Devil Tyrant. One of his Jouten."
Sky nods, idly twirling his sword.
You dare insult us like this.
The voice shakes. It shakes the brass beneath your feet. It makes the city tremble. You realize at that moment that there are two reasons the layers have stopped moving. First, because Malfeas is experiencing the existential equivalent of blind rage, and because he wants to give the demon city a show.
Fuck it, might as well.
You step forward and raise you staff.
"Demon Emperor, this is no insult! We did not come here to remind you of your greatest failure!"
Phrasing!
The Viator stabs the Ebon Dragon again. The ground tenses. Everything is an extension of the massive Devil Tyrant before you. You come up to his ankle, maybe, but right now you are buying time. "It is only through the treachery of the Ebon Dragon that you had to be reminded of this. We came here to prevent a great enemy from befouling existence- it was the Dragon's grudge that lead to this at all."
The three eyes narrow. The blade, embedded in the ground, twists. He cuts himself, like he grinds his teeth.
And yet you stand before me, with an effigy of the snuffed out sun that your forebears executed.
You turn to Ruvelia. "Take off the bracelet."
She nods. "Is that wise?"
You shrug. "Honestly? We're making this up as we go along."
She undoes the clasps of the bracelet and takes it off. The emerald flame around her shifts, flickers, and ignires into blue. She rises, and around her the corona of the cerulean star spreads, her own human form becoming the white, winged visage. You turn, and see the sword pull out of the ground, and the Devil Tyrant take a step back.
How is this possible?
There is anger there. But also sadness. Disbelief.
"We met an impossible price," you explain, "We used a great work of Oramus- the Well of Udr- to reach across to another universe to meet it. She is bound, but she is not entirely here. She is no resident of the Demon City, but like any who are summoned she is-"
Malfeas interrupts you in a fashion that is purely Malfean. That is, by roaring, the Devil Tyrant's hand lashing out with speed belying its immense size to seize the White Lady, to claim her once more and to become what he once was. Flame blocks his way- not the Cerulean Flame, but the Emerald Flame, for Ligier appears between his progenitor and his sister.
"Sorcerer," Ligier says, arms folded and the Sword of the Yozi floating between himself and the Devil Tyrant's hand, "I would be upset, but the Ebon Dragon is most likely responsible for this."
And happy to accept credit-
The Viator stabs him again.
You betray me. You all betray me.
Ray appears next to you. You feel the ground shift- the layers of Malfeas once more moving. Not their steady sort of rage, either. Oh no, that's not the sort of rage this is. This is extreme even by the standards of Malfeas. You see layers passing overhead, you hear screams of panicked demons all around.
Ray brings the bracelet up to her mouth. "Okay! Showtime!"
You turn to your circle sister, eyes wide.
"Ray. No."
And then Elsewhere opens. An immense gout of white lightning opening to the antitime and nonplace, but much, much bigger than the usual one. Out of it steps the encounter suit- but not the man sized one, oh no. This one is bigger. This one is heavily armored.
This one is the size of the Devil Tyrant.
"Ah, Your Majesty," Autochthon says, bowing, "My apologies for the sudden arrival, but it seems that you could use some inventive redirection and I would like to discuss-"
The Devil Tyrant roars, his attention redirected from his own traitorous fetich, and seizes Autochthon by the throat with both immense, clawed hands.
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