Whether it's a product of Desidera's special circumstances or Utultar's distraction, her attempts to shield the others are having an unusual effect. Small parts of that fire seems to be strengthening her shadows, and granting her more strength in return - though the rest of it responds by only getting more intense. Still, it means that her powers provide a shield - and a cooling effect - that helps the others withstand Utultar's flames. Combined with Urtz's supportive magic, the flames are temporarily rebuffed - for the moment.

Ky receives only a snarl - half in pain, half in rage - in response, which is a damning answer in itself. But even if he's not nearly as unflappable as he'd like to present, a daemon with wounded pride is still just as dangerous - perhaps even more so.

As Ky jams his weapon into the Herald's armor and Gunvolt's lightning bolts continue to slam into him, Utultar jerks and roars like an animal and clamps down a hand on Ky's blade. The plumes of dark fire, the shining sword, even that crushing half-severed sense of gravity - all vanish back into their contracts, leaving him seemingly devoid of all summoned weaponry except a mounting sense of dread and pressure.

What he's calling on isn't evident at first, until there's a sudden explosion between Ky and Utultar - not of lightning, but of searing, wrathful light. Not Radiance, the flame born to bear against the Heralds, but a fragment of something more primal and forceful. The flash alone is enough to blind; the explosion itself causes a rippling, rumbling shockwave powerful enough to throw people against the walls of the room, if they don't react quickly to defend themselves.

When the flash clears, Utultar is standing in a crater, and the armor that Ky struck has crumbled and fallen away, leaving one arm to be left exposed. What appears to be stone flesh, marbled with gold and bronze, ripples with stars.

"Oh, how I wish you mortals would know your place. This is becoming tedious."

There's an edge to his voice that suggests he's not quite as unshaken as he wishes to be.

He calls another contract with a snap of clawed fingers, but whatever it is, it's taking longer to form than his last few (ominous though that may be). It's a clear window of opportunity to strike.

Utultar howls at the combined force of Gunvolt's lightning and Desi's striking tendrils, that shell of his cracking and peeling further at the force of their combined attacks; gnarled, birdlike wings, each feather an intricate piece of stonework in its own right, begin to push their way out like a hatchling struggling from its shell.

Whatever he's drawing from the contract is manifesting itself, a long and foreboding shape. Some kind of lance or polearm, most likely - but it's not yet ready.

"More mortal tricks," he snarls, his voice tinged with equal parts pain and rage. His eye has begun to burn less red, more gold; a white-hot circle of fire that utterly fails to illuminate whatever lies beneath the darkness of his hood.

He lets out another sound - completely foregoing any sort of finesse for the raw power of the shattering bellow of some primeval bull. It makes the room quake, sending out a shockwave of pure force that ripples the floor.

His injuries are starting to slow him; he's clearly taken a great deal of damage. But he's a Herald, for all his posturing, and he has a daemon's pride; to simply fall without struggling and fighting, making the opponent pay for every inch, is too much to bear. It makes him dangerous - and reckless.