The Watchers of Night (
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daybreakacademy2021-02-28 07:02 am
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[Fourth Wall Finale] Night: Fall

[Fourth Wall Finale] Night: Fall
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As the sun goes down on the day of February 28th, the darkness begins to swarm in earnest around the place where the final Herald will emerge - the shores of a dark and polluted sea in the Outlands. Clouds of choking, magical ash roll over the sky to replace the clouds, casting the battlefield into an eerie crimson twilight. Dark smoke boils over the landscape, and the jeering, howling cries of those who would bring on Nightfall can be heard as they amass for their final battle.
Yet, still, the cacophony of the opposition is nothing compared to their silence as a vast shape rises from the water and flares its wings, blotting out the sunlight with its mere presence.
The last Herald of Night, the great primordial dragon Suneater, has arrived. Its only aim is to devour the sun - and crush anything that tries to get in its way.
A comparatively small shape, bubbled in a shining rainbow barrier and casting rays of light down on allied fighters, floats expectantly on the field. The former Herald Iriceli calls out to those who would do battle with Suneater directly:
“Come on! I’ll protect you!”
The battle with Suneater will be conducted in a single long thread, which will have its own toplevel. Abilities directly relevant to those engaging the boss in close combat will be put there.
A. Daybreak’s Moving Castle
While the Academy has many tricks up its sleeves to be deployed in time of need, this one may be the most powerful - and most secret - of all. After everyone is assembled or evacuated as necessary, the staff and students who specialize in artificer work come together in the courtyard, in front of the clear, cold waters of the massive pond known as the Cross of Life.
Headmistress Duchene looks over to the lead among the artificers. She meets her eyes, nods silently, and holds out her hands. The artificer quickly, carefully nicks both of the Headmisstress’ palms with a ritual knife, and steps back as Mila Duchene turns around and steps onto the ice. The frozen pond melts where her blood touches it, and she steps smoothly from ice into cold water, walking forward until she reaches the fountain in the center and grasps it with both hands.
And then the night lights up.
Someone watching from above might see the lines of light moving from water to stone, the very architecture of the Academy itself beginning to rise up and rearrange, and realize: the entire campus is a ritual circle.
Some schools were built for experimentation, for pushing the limits of the accepted. Some schools were built for preservation, passing on hallowed traditions. But Daybreak Academy was built for this night, and ever since the first stones were laid on the campus grounds, it has been storing sunlight, storing power, keeping it for this:
The main buildings of Daybreak itself have been temporarily transmuted from their normal forms into a giant, winged robot.
It radiates stored sunlight in a wide area around itself as it moves through the chaotic battlefield, providing something of a reprieve from the smoke that Suneater constantly spews.
From here, combatants and non-combatants alike can deploy and regroup as needed. The main medical facility and the Academy’s extensive defense systems and armory are all fully operational.
Tasks involving the base of operations include, but are not limited to:
- Aiding medical staff (retrieving incapacitated combatants, fetching supplies, healing or conventional first aid)
- Manning defensive weaponry such as gargoyle cannons and long-range turrets to shoot down attackers aiming to destroy or disable parts of the Academy
- Monitoring and communicating with others on the battlefield itself
- Defending the Academy from enemy intrusions
B. Battlefield
As expected, the fight itself is chaos. Suneater itself may have little to do with its far smaller followers, but everything from Outlands human cults to daemons and fae have shown up on the side of Nightfall, and they give - and expect - no mercy or quarter. While some are merely taking advantage of the assembly to try and snatch those on Daybreak’s side who they’ve taken an interest in for one reason or another, others are far more vicious and terrifying.
We encourage players to create their own specialised foes as needed, but as a rule of thumb, the caliber of these enemies can range from anywhere to mobs of low-level minions to solitary figures with exceptional combat ability. Not all enemies are focused on combat; many are focused on sabotage, distraction, and creating other troublesome effects like traps and illusions.
To make things worse, Suneater’s other gift is rolling out in force. Wherever the miasma it breathes and exudes from its very pores touches, combatants - friend and foe alike - are struck with hallucinatory visions, a sense of profound exhaustion and a bone-chilling cold. Regenerative abilities, shields, healing magic, and natural or supernatural protective gear can aid in combating these effects, but as long as the smoke exists, there will be difficulty in the fight ahead.
Those afflicted by the hallucinatory properties of Suneater’s miasma may see both enemies and friends as figures from their pasts, their present, their nightmares, or even manifestations of their fears, or any other number of things. We leave it up to player discretion as to the strength and nature of these visions, should you choose to use them in your threads.
Tasks involving the battlefield include, but are not limited to:
- Fighting (anything from simple clashes to sneak attacks behind enemy ranks)
- Rescuing or aiding injured or ailing combatants; supplying them with masks, first aid or protective gear as required
- Maintaining and protecting set miasma-free zones with magical lamps and other items
C. Wildcard
Battle is fierce, and enemies are, now more than ever before, inclined to show no quarter. And even in the relative safety of the Academy, the sounds of heated combat can be heard clearly.
This prompt is for anything still finale-related that doesn’t fit into the above categories. Please feel free to use this log to play out your own confrontations!
Valvatorez
As the sun set upon the world, the bright oranges and reds giving way to an unnatural, terrible darkness, Valvatorez looked up into the sky... watching the last vestiges of daylight pull away. Strange, he figured, that a vampire would miss the sun so much, even for a moment. But then... he never was orthodox. Breathing a short sigh, Valvatorez looked to his feet, the tip of his shoe brushing against a hard, red cooler, before his eyes looked back over his shoulder to the three people he asked to be here.
"Thank you all for coming. ...I know what I asked two of you to do isn't really fair. But you're the only ones I can trust to make it happen should... should the worst happen." His gaze fixated on Avery after that, though. "And you're here because I never forgot that you wanted to see this in action. But if things go wrong, I'm going to ask you to help them in return."
It was pretty clear what he meant. As far as he was concerned, they were the ones best suited to killing him. Kokoro herself was a Belmont... perhaps the greatest one to ever live already. There was only a handful of humans he respected as a threat centuries ago. The Belmont Clan was always chief among them. Ekkehardt knew him well enough to have some idea of his weaknesses by now, what few he had, and even if Valvatorez hurt him, he had no idea where his phylactery was... so it wouldn't be a permanent thing.
The vampire opened the lid of the cooler smoothly with his foot, revealing a series of blood bags... those that were about to be disposed of anyway. He nearly flinched at the sight of it, clearly not happy to be even entertaining the thought of what he was about to do. He inhaled deeply, and let out a sigh... both resigned, and something to center himself.
"I spent a lot of time thinking after what happened with Nemo. I spent so long trying to fulfill Artina's final wish and keep the promise I made to her. I have had to ask myself... which one of those things is worth more? ...More to her." He reached down into the cooler, pulling out a bag of blood. "...And I think I always knew the real answer. I just didn't allow myself to accept it gracefully, and that... I felt keeping both was atonement for my failures. Maybe it was."
He looked to his trusted comrades, his friends.
"But there'd be no point to any of it if there's no tomorrow, no world left. And if I did not give my all... that would mean the world would die because of that promise I made to her. So... this once..."
For once his words escape him there, but the sentiment doesn't. He pauses, and shakes his head.
"Let me know when you're ready. The transformation might get... intense. And I need you to be ready immediately if I frenzy."
[B]
Once the battle begins but before the Suneater takes to the skies properly, those that would come to Earth to start shit would be met by Earth's defenders in various ways. But as more heinous enemies begin to emerge from the Outlands, some daemons exult in the coming of a Tyrant through the portal. The pounding steps herald the arrival of a massive daemon, modified and fitted with rune tech. The creature lets out a bellowing roar, with dozens of cannon fodder daemons celebrating its arrival. That the Tyrant will bring down Earth's defenders.
And then suddenly, in a dark flash of black and red lightning, a smaller figure wreathed in dark magic warped in the monster's path. A glint of steel, momentary, fleeting, almost unseeable, slashed through the air, a rolling sonic boom in its wake. The monster split in half diagonally, bisecting in two separate ways and falling apart in a heap ingloriously. The daemons around them gasped in shock and fear, the only sound they made before an eerie calm settled in.
The dark magic around the figure dissipated, revealing quite an imposing figure beneath.
"You call that a Tyrant? ...Pitiful. Behold, true and total domination!"
Valvatorez threw out his hand, hundreds of blood red bolts shooting forth at the mooks, draining them of their energy. And while it might look like he intended to drain them into husks, he rather quite did something different. Upon being rocked by the attack, they staggered back, and looked upon the Tyrant in awe and reverence, before one cheered out their new King. Those calls erupted from the crowd like a volcano.
"Now go, all of you! Smite the enemies of peace and ensure that the future of all worlds is bright. Let them all understand that their permission to resist me is denied!"
A new small horde of daemonic allies rushed into the fray to aid humankind, leaving the battlefield until Valvatorez returns to the defending line, and gives a smile to whomever is waiting there for him.
"Ha. Still got it. Now, let's go. There's more to be done, don't you agree?"
[C - Wildcard]
[Anytime, anywhere, whatever. Hit me. And specify if you'd like Normal Valvatorez or Tyrant Valvatorez.]
A
"...Very well, Professor. We all do what we must. For what it may be worth, I do believe you have the strength. Yet you have us to ensure this goes as well as it can."
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He rolled the blood bag in his hand a little, before taking out the stopper.
"...Be prepared. I don't know what will happen next. You're ready?"
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"As we always must be. And... you have my thanks, Professor. For everything up to this point. I won't take this responsibility lightly, to you or this world."
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He put his lips to the bag, somewhat tentatively, before squeezing some of the blood through it. Instantly upon tasting it, he had quite a visceral reaction; eyes widening, pupils and irises contracting in the sudden shock. He almost jerked away from the taste; though instinctually delicious and nutritious, the taste almost put him off, thanks to the cognitive training he had spent centuries working on. Still, he overcame that distaste, downing one bag with great speed before reaching for another and another.
During the second bag, his dark power began to flow... misty black magic curling like smoke all around his body. It enveloped him over time, hiding his silhouette, the only indication he was still feeding being the second and third bag being discarded carelessly. By the time of the fourth bag, noises of effort, hunger, and strain came from within the mist, heralding a dark eruption of raw magical power that spired skyward.
When the magic finally began to clear the figure stood up... taller, more imposing, and broader than her professor was. Still, he stood much shorter than Dracula ever did.... but Kokoro would know very well that size didn't mean everything. ...Though his clothing might be incredibly evocative of the dark Count's garb.
A heavy exhalation escaped him as he came back to his senses.
"...Seems I worried you over nothing. My apologies."
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A
"A shame I had no time to fully put it through its paces, but this is an edge case, so the usual protocols for testing are somewhat more relaxed. And as far as I can discern, while there are many records of your battle record as a Tyrant reporting you as untouched, that's far more to do with your skill in combat than any innate toughness your skin might possess. Fortunate for me in both the best and the worst cases."
His polite smile has just the slightest hint of bitterness - he's not a man who likes to mix his work with his personal life - but it's a request that, for both professional and personal reasons, he would never refuse.
If what the daemon fears truly does come to pass, he at least owes Valvatorez the privilege of a peaceful death.
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"Thank you, my friend. I know that I have essentially asked you to move the world in case this goes wrong. And something that might come at personal injury in more ways than one. The gravity of this isn't lost on me. ...So thank you. For everything."
Removing the stopper from the blood bag, he held it closer to his mouth, the smell of the blood causing his nostrils to flare up.
"...Be ready to act fast. If things go wrong, my Tyrant self will not give you a second chance."
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"I wish I could tell you something so reassuring as 'I believe in your strength of will', but I try not to lie to my friends." His voice and gaze goes beyond calm; there's a kind of emptiness in it, a glimpse of Ekkehardt the assassin rather than the teacher and doctor, Valvatorez's colleague.
"And if you believed it - or if simple words could make it so that you did - then you wouldn't need any of us here."
He smiles. The smile doesn't reach his eyes like it usually does - that feeling of absence persists - but it's a gesture of good will all the same.
"It's been a pleasure. Good luck."
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"I appreciate that honesty. ...A vampire's hunger goes beyond mere instinct. I know it well... and even if I have largely mastered myself through starvation, feeding again is a new experience. But the time to dwell is past."
With that, he steeled himself, and raised the bag to his lips, and gave it a squeeze.
The instant the blood touched his tongue, his eyes widened, his red eyes contracting in shock. He nearly recoiled from it, but committed to the act. On one hand... it tasted awful, having long since weaned himself off the stuff, and that it had been frozen, preserved, and that it was old. But on the other, the vitae still within made every synapse in his mind flare in hunger and joy. It felt like an eternity for Valvatorez, even though he drained the bag in a matter of seconds, before reaching for another.
Into the second bag, the first started kicking in, dark, foreboding energy swirling around him. The pressure it put out was unreal, perhaps even rivaling that of a Herald. Darkness, darker than pitch and a moonless night, swirled around the vampire as primal noises escaped from him, while his throat filled with blood. Soon Valvatorez all but disappeared from sight, the grunts soon growing into a haunting, low scream of exertion.
Power. Raw power. It surged through every fiber, and he could feel his body warp with it. The darkest parts of his soul cried out for more. More blood. More Power. Don't stop now, take everything you can. The base instincts of a predator. They screamed at him, banshees in the darkest pits.
A third bag drained.
Through all the noise, he kept himself focused. Memories of everyone. Artina. Emizel. Fenrich. Hugo. Simon and Richter Belmont. King Arthur. The countless students he trained. His dear, precious friends now, Ekkehardt, Avery, Urtz, Jailbreak, Hector, Ky, Kokoro, Desidera, Christo, Rex, Desco, Bowser, Mario, Manfred, and so many countless more. He pictured their faces, flawed as his memories might be in this state.
At the end of the fourth bag, there was another unholy shout, as a figure, taller, broader than Valvatorez normally was finally stood up. The darkness around him slowly faded, his head lilted back, face toward the sky with his eyes closed. He said nothing, but the transformation was complete. Valvatorez's hair longer, tied back, his clothing much more archaic, and traditionally "vampire," more suited for the cutting edge of fashion in the 1600s rather than the present.
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A
Preferably not used on him, but if that was going to be the case, then so be it.
"I'll make sure to put your soul back where it belongs when I'm done with it."
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Oddly, Avery's reply somewhat put the vampire's nerves at ease. In a sense, that dark, brutal humor was something they shared, and something he found a pleasant solace in.
"...And yes. Loathe as I am to toss aside pride and a promise... this is a case where I think the spirit of what I promised is more important than the letter of it. Maybe that's me playing with a loophole or bending the rules a bit. But perhaps, if I need counsel on such a trial, I might hire you for it later. If you're up for the challenge."
His grin faded into a more focused resolve as he looked down at the blood bag, unscrewing the stopper.
"Make ready, my friend. There aren't many times you'll get to see the rebirth of a Tyrant. It'll be a concert of blood and violence on the biggest venue we've ever known."
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Even saying that, grinning as though it were another sparring match, Avery slips into the shadows, readying himself in his other form just in case.
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Once Avery has reverted to his battle form, the vampire gives him a single nod of approval before putting his lips to the opening and drinking deeply of the blood in the bag. His eyes flare violently to the taste, equally disgusted and ravenous, and the bag is drained in a matter of seconds. Hurriedly, he snaps up and downs a second... and partway through that, whirling darkness and shadow surrounded the vampire, a magical pressure rivaling a Herald building in the air.
A third and fourth bag were quickly drained, a solid two quarts of blood gone in a matter of moments, and with each passing second his power grew, ballooned, and eventually erupted in a dark column that pierced into the sky, punctuated by a low, guttural, primal scream.
When the darkness faded, Valvatorez rose back to his feet slowly, deliberately, and turned to face his friend. Antiquated clothing aside, Valvatorez stood tall, proudly, and with a commanding presence that would send a shiver up even daemon's spines. After a moment to fully compose himself, he finally spoke up, his voice additionally matching his form in command.
"And so I am restored. I trust it is not a disappointment."
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B - Also I'm feeling brackets atm, but if you want prose i can work with that
[A familiar voice rings out from behind Tyrant Valvatorez. Though muffled from all the noise going on across the battlefield, the faint sound of clopping can be heard. Slipping toward the side of him is Artoria, clad in her full armor set. Though not the one he likely remembers from their clashes in the past, it is strikingly similar. The main feature that seems different is her helmet. While she often chose to refrain from wearing one in the past, it seems times really do change. Though no one knew that better than them.
For a moment, she turns to face him. Though the darkness of her helmet obscures her features, it's not hard to see that she seems to be almost...reminiscing?]
It has been quite some time since I've laid my eyes on that form. I won't lie, it feels more than a little surreal to be fighting alongside you like this. But I cannot say I dislike it, either.
Brackets is good by me for sure
Truth be told, it feels surreal to take this form again. I never thought I would again, but today is... a special occasion. And who would've thought we would one day stand together like this against a common foe?
[The vampire laughed heartily, theatrically, and yet, genuinely.]
I won't even be coy about it. Fighting alongside the one who I fought to a standstill centuries ago brings me nothing but great joy. So, King of Lions, let us show these fools what it means to mess with unbreakable will and spirit!
[He drew Yoshitsuna from within his cape, the blade crackling with daemonic power, and stood beside her.]
Shall we make a bit of sport out of it? Who can fell the most foes this day?
Excellent
Even with her mask on, there is no doubt that Artoria is smiling. Her words, normally even and monotonous, are filled with a life to them that she hasn't expressed in years. As if to mimic the feelings of her master, Llamrei is quite excited herself. Artoria pets her loyal steed, before griping the reigns.]
Very well, King of Fear. Far be it from me to reject the challenge of such a proud and noble daemon. And, perhaps...a friend. [Outstretching her arm, Artoria readies the holy lance.]
Listen well, worshippers of the night! Before you stands the Once and Future King, Arthur Pendragon! I have returned from death with death itself in hand! Flee with your lives or face your end! But whichever you choose, failure will be all that is left to you! Your machinations will fall as the sun rises again! Now...TO BATTLE!
[And without a single bout of hesitation, Llamrei begins her charge as radiance begins to gather around Artoria's lance, rotating around it like the fiercest hurricane.]
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B
The Sword of the Creator glows warmly in her hands, having just been used to tear apart some incoming faeries with Ruptured Heaven.]
Of course. We have a lot to do.
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[A powerful energy rumbled through the ground, pierced through the air as a portal tore open. A massive six-armed daemon, skin a mix of scale and stone, eyes and massive toothed maw alight with hellfire and brimstone, lumbered through and let out a roar that staggered most mere mortals, but merely caused the Tyrant's hair to sway a bit in the breeze.]
He looks like a decent enough warmup for both of us. ...Let's give him a joint teaching lesson.
[Valvatorez started marching deliberately toward that massive, lumbering daemon that looked like it could carve a tank in half. Harmless black fire erupted from his feet with every step, happy to walk side by side for maximum intimidation factor. The flaming daemon swung a massive chain down toward them both with enough force to leave a scar on the earth; or it would, if Valvatorez didn't merely catch it with one hand, and then gave it a yank, pulling the monstrosity toward them and leaving it open for Byleth to strike at it.]
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Class is in session.
[She approaches the daemon alongside Valvatorez, quickly springing into action when the Tyrant yanks it forward. With the Sword of the Creator gripped tightly in her hands, she slashes upward with perhaps surprising force, aiming to knock the daemon further off balance.]
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B.
FORE!
[Someone chucks a molotov cocktail filled with cheap vodka and holy water up into the air, and then bats it straight into the enemy line with a massive warhammer.]
[Leaning casually on the handle of the Hammer of Midnight, Jail gives him a friendly wave and a wink.]
Hey Val, there's something kinda different about you tonight. You get a new haircut or something?
[A daemon attempts to charge at her from one side, flailing furiously due to the fact that they are actively on fire at the moment. She uses the warhammer to smack them back into their fellow Nightfall cultists without bothering to turn and look in their direction.]
[One could say that she isn't treating this situation with the appropriate gravity... but, then again, you could also say that Jail is treating the Tyrant King of Fear exactly the same way she treats any truly lethal, powerful, unimaginably dangerous threat: with the carefree disregard of a seagull stealing a french fry right out of the mouth of God. Her natural reaction to seeing something and knowing deep in her heart that it could tear her limb from limb with ease is to tease and taunt it, the bone-deep instinct of every trickster and troublemaker when confronted with undeniable authority made hallowed by force of arms.]
[Anything less would be insulting.]
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Valvatorez watches with something of a wicked smile as their enemies burn in some mixture of regular and holy fire, before simply returning her wave. He did chuckle at her essentially giving a cultist an offhand-backhand with a warhammer.
Jailbreak's seemingly blase treatment of the whole situation didn't bother him, because by now this is how he understands her to react to just about anything. Including horrible, terrifying presences. Perhaps especially those. She'd met every serious threat with that same sort of devil-may-care attitude, and that was just who she was. Not necessarily utterly fearless, as even Tricksters could know fear, but so unbeholden to the most basic of natural survival instincts that she might as well be playing a prank on the very concept. And he found that respectable, because there's nothing halfway in it.
He gave a laugh at the question, amused, but with that wicked tinge he so often used even before his transformation.]
If anything, I had the opposite of a haircut, my friend!
And I know the clothes are a few centuries out of date, but I didn't exactly have time for a wardrobe change. Still, I rather like the Vampire Classic chic.
[A wave of daemons thundered up behind Tyrant Valvatorez in the distance, growing ever closer as they spoke. A wave of his hand to the side was all he gave them... until hundreds of magical blood red spikes erupted from the ground and impaled them all to a man. As the magic faded and their bodies fell to the ground, their magical essence flew out of them toward the vampire, who simply absorbed it all without moving. The whole action came off with same carelessness that one would swat a fly away with.]
If you have ideas for how to improve the look for the modern age when we finish here, I'll be all ears.
[He sort of ran a finger over one of his now more obviously pointed and pronounced daemon ears, and gave something of a self-aware smirk.]
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[Using the confusion induced by the drugs and the cover of the haze, she ducks out of the area entirely and stealthily reappears over by Valvatorez, leaving her erstwhile opponents to flail confusedly at each other in the literal and figurative fog of war.]
Got two words, buddy: [She points at him with both index fingers.] Tiddy. Window.
It says "I'm so confident in my ability to take a hit that I'm gonna leave a patch of bare skin completely unarmored, right here over my vital organs". It's practically daring someone to take a swing at you.
Also, sometimes you just wanna look hot and that's valid.
B, before her thread with GV
She doesn't need to look, she can tell that it's him.
In that moment, she has a change of plans, and the colossal sword she had crafted twists and shifts into something else entirely, forming into multiple spikes that clamp down from above and below like a giant sideways bear trap. It's not enough to finish them off but it's certainly painful (and also really painful to look at), and as long as those spikes hold, they won't be going anywhere. Giving them a moment to realize the situation they're all in now, she then turns her head—only slightly, not dropping her focus nor letting any of them out of her sight—to make clear that she's addressing the one who just arrived.
"Valvatorez."
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He looks to Desidera, then back to the mob of daemons and monsters caught in the trap, being crushed by unflinchingly strong shadowy teeth. The enemies inside struggle against their trap, but... some of them stop and gasp upon hearing the name Desi uttered so casually.
"Hello, Desidera. ...I see you've been busy." He allowed his cool, detached facade to fade, his smirk turning more properly evil and wicked. Which led to him instead laughing. A commanding, vicious, terrible laugh, befitting a truly terrifying evil daemon. Or something to that effect. "How very nice of you to leave them trussed up like this. You've learned very well from me."
If those before them somehow didn't recognize the X symbols they both seemed to share, they probably got the message now. Eyes widened at the moment that they all realized that they fucked up. Some of them began to shiver, while others fought stronger still. He marched closer to the teeth holding the monsters in place, dark fire erupting from his feet at every step. His laugh broke over the din of battle again as he looked over each one of them again.
And then, abruptly, he stopped. His voice turned cold, threatening, and primordially chilling, as he loomed there, seeming taller than a mountain.
"Now then... what should I do to all of you?" He looked over his shoulder at his student. Valvatorez knew she wouldn't demand anything too absurd, but... it served as an effective method to show how beneath him all of these monsters truly were. That's in and of itself more of an intimidation tactic, and by now, he knew Desidera could recognize that. "I have just the idea. Desidera... tell me, has there been anything I haven't yet taught you that you'd like to learn? I do believe there is so much left that I can illustrate on these... volunteers."
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With his mulling over his options and then leaving the decision to Desi herself, Valvatorez is absolutely just toying with them, here, and she knows exactly how to play along.
"You're one of the people here that know what I'm capable of," she responds, "so I think I'll leave that up to you; whatever you think I'm ready for now will be just fine."