The veil of the distortion passes over the group setting free the harsh shine of the sun. Tari wastes no time to detach from Christopher. In that moment, The Father's blessing explodes out in golden particles from him before quickly dissipating.
"Guess that confirms it." Christopher says, carefully casting the Spatial Spell Mana Absorption.
Christopher aims the spell at a wandering Ghoul who promptly collapses to the ground, twitching and writhing. Puffs of its paralysing smog escape its maw as it gasps for air it doesn't need. "Wouldn't have guessed the undead needed to breathe. Perhaps it's an automatic response of the corpse it's inhabiting?"
"Do you think it requires further research?" Jasyn asks.
"Nah. All Undead are killed on sight, I don't think anyone would be able to get close to those ones anyway." Christopher responds.
…
The crackling sounds of the lightning vanishes and Iris crumples to the ground like he was made of a sack of potatoes. He struggles to let out any noise except a high pitched and strained "Ow."
Christopher walks over to Iris, standing over him. A look of betrayal washes over the Undead as Christopher holds the Spell Matter Disintegrator up to his face.
"Thank you, Iris." Christopher says softly, his face blank and unchanging. "You served your purpose."
The orb grows to be able to encompass the Lich entirely. "You son of a bi-." Christopher forces it downward, cutting off the Lich mid sentence, and from existence. A person sized crater is all that remains.
"Your, Highness. Why?" Jill Asks shakily.
"He's a traitor. Why would I let someone who betrays their master to serve me in the slightest? It's not only moronic but I'd basically be waiting to be betrayed." Christopher says bluntly.
Jill scrunches her brow, looking entirely appalled. "He helped us out. You two made a deal…It's not like you to go back on it like that."
Christopher rolls his eyes to the side, infusing it with annoyance. "It's called a lie, you idiot. Did you seriously expect me to give a shit about some old prick who sold his mortality?"
"He told you that wasn't true! He-" she argues.
Christopher groans, disrupting her. "He lied, Jill. Both was true. I recognised that name y'know, Morander Iris. He was Stocaea's first appointed torturer, back when the country was founded. His attitude all but confirmed it. I studied his books, marvelled at his techniques. He's a class A dirtbag, Jill."
"but he—" Christopher holds up his hand, halting her momentarily. His head snaps to something over his shoulder.
"There's teleportation imminent. Four individuals of unknown origin." His tone filled with earnestness.
"What? Who are they?" Jill says, her voice laced with distress.
"Their names are Dan, Dave, Daryl, and Gary." he calls out sarcastically. "How am I supposed to know who's bending spacetime just before it happens?! But we can make a good guess."
The three notice a slight corruption of the air before the mysterious entities warp in. A tall wiry frame hides the strength of the man presumed to be the leader of the group. His face is mildly sunken, a face you would find on one seen as malnourished. A ragged black robe adorns his unnaturally broad shoulders, covering everything excluding his feet. The only part of this man well kept is a pair of glasses resting upon his nose.
Behind him to the right is…A small girl?...No, that doesn't feel right. A small lady adorned in a black frilly maid dress accented with white stripes, white bows holding her hair into pigtails, and a white underskirt. Her face is unnerving by somehow wearing no expression, the normal metaphorical soul in one's eyes does not appear to exist within her black eyes.
(Nebulon) What's with all the black? Did they forget colours exist?
(Narrator) It feels sinister.
(Nebulon) You can say that again. The short woman interests me a little.
(Narrator) How do you mean?
(Nebulon) I'm sure it'll be clear soon enough.
On the ground behind the man is a little kid being protected by a battered and bruised Beerwolf. His Royal Butler attire seems to be torn from his body. Thank the gods he still has fur. Across his torso and back are a multitude of large open wounds most likely made by a whip. He is notably thinner than he was when he disappeared four days ago.
Christopher's gaze quickly snaps away from the mystery man as he notices what has become of his best attendant. His eyes twitch a single time before becoming completely expressionless. The Young King's arms go limp, the sinister aura returning once more.
Dime's text shines forth, appearing in blood red text in front of Jasyn and Jill.
(Dime) RUN! GET AS FAR AWAY FROM CHRISTOPHER AS YOU CAN! AND QUICKLY, TAKE ME OFF HIS HAND!
Jasyn sprints into action, wasting no time to grab Dime from Christopher's right ring finger, he takes off in a dead on sprint passing Jill by who seems a little stunned. "Get moving for The Mother's love! Run, Jill!" He shouts, snapping her out of her daze.
Jill places a speed enchantment upon herself, exceeding Jasyn's sprint. They stop at what they deem a safe distance, Christopher looking like a wisp of dust at the centre of the crater.
Out of breath, Jill has a confused and fearful expression strewn on her face. "What in Hel is going on? Why did we need to run?"
Jasyn tosses his helm to the ground, letting the cold air flow over his flushed face.
(Dime) I apologise for showing myself so suddenly. I sensed a large likelihood of a Sephicroth Rampage and took the precautions set in place by His Majesty himself. Allow me to prepare a view from here.
Dime's message fades, in its place is a flickery View Board with a side view of Christopher and what we presume to be the Dungeon Master.
(Narrator) I'm glad I split myself. This quality is awful…I feel Dime's silent sarcastic quip from here.
"I knew hurting the Wolfman was a mistake, fucking stupid dungeon core." The robed man says to himself. "Remind me that I gotta trap you back in your little hole, Gerti."
"Just do as you're told, Francis. I saved you, so I own you." Gerti bites, their voice monotone and stale.
"And yet you still need ME to operate your little dungeon. Without me, you are useless. So drop the attitude, and that body. It gives me the creeps." Francis retorts.
Meanwhile the dark demonic aura surrounding Christopher continues to intensify. His body begins to morph, bones crack and pop, muscles bulge and stretch, his eyes blacken, and his teeth sharpen. He continues to grow and contort to monstrous heights as a thin devilish tail slithers its way out from his trousers, whipping and writhing with furocity. A deep growl echoes through the crater bringing attention to no one but the transforming Human-demon hybrid. Thick black horns poke out and elongate from his skull, taking on the last feature of his transformation.
(Narrator) I don't remember what we called their Combination.
(Nebulon) I think it came down to two, right? Phrothices, and…Rothpiches?
(Narrator) That's it! Phrothices! I think that won the vote. It just sounds better.
Phrothices looks down at himself, inspecting his clawed hand. He takes in a large breath of air, looking up at the sky. A guttural growl escapes their lips as they exhale.
Looking back at their hands, they clench and stretch their elongated appendages. WE SEEM TO HAVE CONTROL. Their voice seems to double with that low, harsh, gravelly tone with a honeyed layer atop of it. GOOD…WE SHOULD TEAR THEM TO RIBBONS. Their features contort, a grin so wide it tears the edges of their mouth open, showing the countless rows of razor-like teeth behind it. Blood trickles from the wound and down their face.
The devilish aura surrounding them gets thicker, bellowing out. It leads to the feeling of a heavy weight crashing upon those near them. Beerwolf struggles to lift his head to gander at Phrothices. Clear fear causes the Wolfman's fur to stand on end. The urge to flee is palpable on his expression.
Phrothices spends many moments drinking in the tense atmosphere.
Gerti takes a few steps back, her movements just as stiff as her facial expressions.
"Gerti, What do you think you're doing?" Francis says, never taking his eyes off of the mutation.
"Putting my dungeon master in front of me." Gerti says bluntly.
Francis shows clear frustration to her, It's Statement? "Wh-*Sigh*Y'know what, I don't care anymore. But you do realise that I have no chance against that, right?"
"We have. Leverage." Gerti affirms, showing the tiniest amount of inflection in the last word.
DO YOU? The voice seems to come from everywhere. Phrothices claps his hands a single time, the sound making a shockwave that can be heard as it echoes past their spectators.
Francis and Gerti snap their attention to the spot where Beerwolf used to be. A quick glance back at Phrothices shows that they had teleported him and what he was protecting behind them.
HOW WOULD YOU TWO LIKE TO DIE. SLOW AND PAINFUL? WELL. Phrothices' sinister chuckle rumbles in their throat. NOT THAT YOU HAVE ANY OTHER CHOICE.
"Get us out of here DM. We lost our leverage." Gerti says, grasping Francis' cloak.
Francis gently removes his glasses and begins cleaning them. "I can see that you moron. Besides, we can't."