Bonding. Separating. Bonding. The motion beneath the veil. An infinite dance, an endless thirst. The light beneath the darkness. A veil thin, translucent, yet boundless, maddening; the vessel to carry that within. To behold, to consider, to abandon. Profound, absolute, yet meaningless. The heritage of night. Darkness, shadows, voice... that which the light did not reach. The absolute of emptiness. Infinity. To be lost, to be alone. To be aimless, thoughtless, without meaning or sense of self. Yet, in absolution, truth. For in nothingness there could be no doubt. With no doubt there could only be nothingness. Without question, without hesitation. Without reason.
Born of midnight, nay. To be.Isador's eyes flashed. The shadows around him, that which had formed his barrier, deepened and dropped to the floor like a liquid, drowning the binding vines. As the mirrors approached, the shadows expanded, and with them Isador's mental influence. In a single, perfect motion, the human clones and their swords came down upon him. And with this motion, as if to reflect their own, the floor came alive. Brilliant violet eyes opened in the depths of darkness beneath, and projected phantom chains upwards. For every sword, a chain, and for every motion, a counter-motion. A clash of ringing metal sounded through the air. Isador felt the impacts in his mind, tasting of every blade a minute flavor. The chains hummed with the life force of their master, that which hungered and yearned. But he could taste nothing.
"Wha-"
Isador twisted his hands, as though to wrestle with invisible force. His mind toiled, and his body dimmed, pouring its inner light into the world around him. The humans recoiled from their stroke, lowered their swords, and thrusted. Isador's chains vanished into a burst of smoke, and he threw himself upwards, into the air, before the vines could reform. Leaving the surface, his shadows vanished with his feet, and he traveled overhead the circle of robed figures, landing behind them. Again they splintered, seeking to surround him. Isador was prepared for this, and struck forward with a lance of glistening magneta - Excellion rose forth from his motion, spearing the closest mirror. His mind sensed Excellion's connection to the magic within, devouring it, but offering him little substance. His mind moved, as did his body, circling away from the incoming attacks, and swinging his lance to parry the closest as he repositioned himself.
The human clones closer stepped back, and those he had retreated from stepped forward, forming a wall of bodies. His eyes traced to every one, seeking their orchestrator. Even then the vines approached, faster now. He lowered Excellion into a stance, dispersing his shadow, attuning himself to the weapon's presence.
"You are not like any demon I've met. I wonder what secrets you hide," The humans laughter echoed.
Excellion, the only heritage he had of his homeland. It hungered as he did, but in a more primal manner. It drew from the world around it, even in silence. If he could focus on the motion of its activity...
The humans stopped in front of him, in a large half-crescent. Their swords vanished, and instead crossbows took their place. Isador scarcely had the time to reform his barrier before they rose and fired. Dull pangs thudded through his thoughts, then a sudden presence. A bolt pierced the veil, easily biting into his left shoulder. The force of the impact was very real, twisting him away from the mirages. Isador ignored the bolt, moving with the motion of its initial momentum, reaching out with his lance. Excellion pulsed with vibrance, casting a shadowy arc as it sung through the arc. The humans were reacting. They rose shields, and the blade struck.
For illusions, the phantoms were surprisingly durable. Excellion hit the first outstretched tower shield, tearing the image in half with its motion. But the second managed to deflect it, even though its hunger devoured a chunk of the image's frame. Isador lacked the strength of his distant fire foes to force his way through them all at once.
"Your weapon is impressive. It will make a fine addition to my collection," the humans spoke. Isador was waiting for their next advance. The shadows had devoured the vines, traveling along them during this period. This time, the chains shot outwards in a fan, towards the phantoms. The phantoms blurred with the shadow's embrace, then vanished as the shadows devoured their essence. One of them, however, was forced back as his conjured shield absorbed the impact. The human laughed as the chains dissipated, taking his shield with them. The crossbow bolt fell from Isador's shoulder with the motion of its shadowy skin then, too, vanished.
"You're strong, demon. I suppose I cannot play with you anymore," the man sighed. He rose his hands, uttering in an alien tongue. The air around him blurred, forming into a dozen two-handed swords.
The vines continued to reach for Isador on the floor, but instead reached into the well of shadows he had created. If he withdrew his shadows, he would be hard pressed to release them again as fast. The vines were feeding him their energy... but slowly. If only he could...
As the swords sprung forward, Isador dismissed Excellion. He poured his influence into the chamber, forcing shadows across the floor and wall. They pulsed vibrantly as his light diminished into the depths, just as the swords reached him. Chains sprung outwards, and blades bit into the demon. He allowed them to pass through his skin, attuned to the motion, and ignored their presence. Chains sprung forward from his shadow font. The human stepped back, certainly expecting an easy kill. He easily avoided the first chain with a sidestep, and then ducked the second. The floor crawled with violet eyes, pulsing, at first vibrantly, but then duller. Isador struggled with the scale of his influence, projecting another series of bindings. The swords bit into his shadows essence, and he could feel his influence weakening. The human was encircled by glowing chains, but he could no longer project any more chains. Isador fell to one knee, tasting of the human's flesh from the phantom's influence. The human, too, struggled to stand, bearing the weight of the devouring shadows, even though they had not yet hit him.
"You are no demon...," The human spat beneath bated breath.
The swords sought to dismember the demon, but with his essence so thinly spread, all they could do was whip through smoke. His body was barely visible, flickering between light and darkness. He had to endure...
The human began coughing as his internal organs were deprived of their mortality. His muscles aged, weakened, but still he managed to cling to life. He hands made faint motions, and the swords disappeared. Mirrors of himself appeared again, splintering away from his chained prison. They marched with animated intent to the walls, and drew forth lit torches. They hurled the torches to the book shelves, those who had become encased in shadows and were fueling his phantasmal prison. Isador could feel their heat as they touched the ruined papers and woods beneath his thin veil, and they easily set the room on fire.
Isador's control broke with this new presence, and the chains vanished. His body pulsed back to its original form, and the human collapsed to his hands and knees. The ground pulsed to life once more, but Isador was already moving. He gripped Starscourge, the golden hilt, and charged across the room before the vines had a chance to grasp him. With his landing he brought the weapon hilt down upon the human's head, soundly caving in his skull. Isador paused in this embrace, bladeless hilt in hand, blood pooling across the floor before him. His essence still felt thinly stretched, even though it had returned to him. His mind still reeled with the exertion. Never before had he attempted to push his influence so far. Never before had he needed to.
"I am that which demons fear," Isador whispered to the corpse.
More humans were surely nearby, Isador thought. He considered retreating, but still his curiosity and thirst burned. He forced himself to stand upright, laying eyes upon the globe once again as the light of flames danced across it. It was within reach now, and so he grasped for it in humility.
Show them your butt, and when you do, slap it so it creates a sound akin to a chorus of screaming spider monkeys flogging a chime with cacti. Only then can you find your destiny at the tip of the shaft.