The Warfather, Churl, entered the throne room and, much to the Emperor's chagrin, immediately dropped to his knees.
The Emperor stared at his servant's bowed head and said, "You failed?"
"I am not worthy of forgiveness, my lord," answered the old demon mournfully. He bowed so deeply that he was almost kissing the floor. "Punish me as you will."
"Oh, get up!" The Emperor rolled his eyes. "You know I hate it when you do that."
Churl complied, albeit slowly with the weight of his remorse. "It is my station."
The younger demon's gaze hardened as it fell upon the late Doviculus' double headed Staff Axe. "After all you've done for me, I should be the one groveling."
The Warfather shuffled uncomfortably and picked at the pages of his tome, the closest he could come to an embarrassed expression. "You are the Emperor now. You must never bow before anyone." When the young demon didn't respond, he cleared his throat, and in an attempt to change the subject, said, "I may have failed to procure a human as requested, but I did come away with some important and, dare I say it, grievous information."
"Oh?" The Emperor turned to him, interest piqued.
"I encountered the infamous 'Axe Man' responsible for defeating Doviculus," he explained. "He wields Succoria's weapon and wears her shirt... and he claims to have slain her himself."
The terrible, mismatched eyes of the Emperor widened. "And you believe him?"
"I do," came Churl's solemn voice. "The Separator was a gift to our ancestors from the Titans themselves. Now that she has returned from the future, the only way Succoria would part with it is in death."
His eyes closed, the Emperor leant with one hand against his throne with a heavy heart and muttered, "I had hoped..." He straitened and his eyes snapped open as he turned abruptly to face the door. "Do you hear that?"
"I do." Churl also turned towards the room's single entrance. He clutched his tome to his chest, hunched his shoulders, and said, "What an awful noise."
"Have you heard its like before?"
"No..." It was faint, and deep, and it grated on every buried instinct the two demons possessed. After pondering the alien impulses that were churning within him (a combination of wanting to destroy the source of the noise and tear at his own flesh), he began to walk towards the door.
The Emperor put out a hand. "Wait." Briskly he grabbed his predecessor's Staff Axe and tested the ornate weapon's weight in his hands. He then led the way out the door onto the hanging walkway beyond.
As soon as they were out in the open air the sound's decibel increased considerably, and was joined by the screams emanating from the upper levels; the mad wails of demons who were not faring so well against its influence. There were no railings in that place, so the Emperor and the Warfather went right to the edge of the walkway and leaned out over the depths of the Cloister. From that deep, ancient pit, the sound echoed.
"There." Churl pointed at a certain point in the dark. Barely visible was a strange black shape, not much bigger than the average demon, possessing great, noiseless wings, and emanating its horrible, resonating music as it circled the base of the Tower of Flesh.
The Emperor nodded. "I see it," he said. "Could that noise be singing?"
"Perhaps... but to what effect?" Churl looked around and noticed streams of dust falling from the ceiling of the great cavern. Now curious, he kneeled and placed a hand on the stone walkway.
"What are you doing?" the Emperor asked.
He straightened back up and answered, "The Cloister is shaking..."
"Like a few days ago?" The younger demon's tail twitched nervously. That geological event had already weakened the city's structural integrity. He feared that another one would bring the whole place down on them.
"This is something different," answered Churl. "...And yet..." There! Some other, more terrifying sound hidden beneath the strange singing and panic. It was quiet and deep as well, which is why the old Warfather missed it. It was the shifting grind of stone and the low moan of straining water. "The walls are collapsing."
"What?" As much as the Emperor wanted to deny it, when he looked at the small waterfalls that were already seeping through, he saw that there was much more water flowing then before. "No..."
"There's no earthquake, so it must be that creature's noise causing this."
The Emperor glared at the thing with a new revulsion and anger as he considered this. A black beast that could fly. Though it was impossible to tell from here, he would bet it resembled a deformed human. "It's nightfall..."
"My lord?"
"The enemy that attacks our people does so at night," explained the Emperor. "And now it attacks the Cloister itself."
Churl nodded. "An excellent deduction, my lord. However there are supposed to be many of these attackers. Where are the others?"
"No doubt above ground, waiting to pick us off as we flee."
Churl hung his head as he saw the simple brilliance of this unknown enemy's plan. "Then what can we do?"
The Emperor looked up where small stones were now being dislodged, and then down again at the loathsome form that circled far below. With a resigned sigh, he said, "Evacuate everyone."
"Are you certain?" The old Warfather was hoping against hope that he wasn't.
Alas, the young demon said, "Either we die in battle up there or drown down here. Which would you prefer?"
"...very well." Churl looked up, stealing himself against what was to no doubt be their deaths. He then noticed that the Emperor was unfurling his wings and crouching at the edge of the walkway, preparing to dive off. "My lord?"
"I'm going to buy you some time," said the Emperor, and then he was gone.
He could faintly hear Churl calling him back, but he didn't care. His wings were of leathery flesh as pale as the rest of his skin stretched between thick, strong muscle and bone, and he unfurled them to their full, considerable span. The rush of flight, and the thrill of a real battle had him grinning, his pounding blood driving out any foul emotions the enemy's song might have invoked.
Gliding high above his target, he matched its speed and course and, taking a readying grip on his weapon, dove at it. Just as they were about to collide, he swung, slicing it completely in half and passing through.
He pulled out of the dive and looked up to see his handiwork. "What..?" The creature was somehow still alive and unbisected. It glided along and continued to sing as though nothing happened.
The Emperor was much lower now, and in that dead air it would be impossible for him to generate enough lift to get him back up. Instead he clasped his Staff Axe between his teeth and flew over to the Tower of Flesh. The soft surface provided an easy purchase for his claws and hooves. Swiftly he climbed up until he was at the level as the creature, then he jumped off.
He caught up and took a second swipe at its shapeless black from, and this time there was no mistaking it. The blade went through. For a moment the thing was completely in half, but quickly the dark, smoke-like tendrils that seemed to make it up latched on to each other and pulled it whole again.
Seeing this, the Emperor changed tactics. If his weapon wasn't having an effect, he wouldn't use it. He strapped it to his back, waited hovering for his target to come around again, and then jumped on it.
The black stuff had no substance so he plunged his arms in, his claws meeting some sort of solid flesh and tearing blindly at it. This had a powerful effect.
The thing inside the darkness stopped singing and was now screaming a high-pitched, ears-bleedingly loud howl as it writhed and twisted itself around to face him.
It had claws of its own, and it scratched at him furiously as his world was suddenly filled with kicking, beating wings, blood, black mercurial smoke, and the rushing air of a free-fall.
Down, and down they fell into the dark, abandoned depths of the Cloister until they finally hit the very bottom.
This place had a sickly heat to it, and an even more putrid stench. Though the rusted braziers on the walls had long ago gone out, there was a weak, eerie light being cast by a thousand generations of phosphorescent fungi. The floor was covered in moldy water and countless bones, both new and ancient, the walls were brown and flaking with all the caked blood that had ever trickled down here, and over all of this was woven thick, root-like veins that pulsated in time to the heavy *lub-dub* of the Tower of Flesh's heartbeat.
The Emperor groaned as he lay still and tried to recover the wind that was knocked out of him by the impact. As he sat up, a booted foot planted itself on his chest and pushed him back down. He could see in the faint glow that the black smoke had lessened, and formed into a man-like shape somewhat smaller than himself.
"You can drop your glamor, human." the Emperor spat at it. "I know what you are."
What he got in response was a snicker. An echoing, evil sound. "Human? Hardly," it said in a syrupy voice. "I am your worst nightmare, and I am finally going to rid this world of your filth." It ended that by gesturing at the detritus around them.
The Emperor, tired of being on the floor, pushed himself up against the restraining boot and aimed a swipe of the claws at the creature, who leapt a few feet away.
It laughed and said, "You can't win this fight, but don't worry. I'm not gonna kill you today. I want you to go back up there and tell all the rest of your people," he sneered that word, "that their end has come. It won't be swift, and it won't be pleasant, because I want you to suffer everything you have wrought upon me and my own."
It looked up at the noise of crumbling stone. Massive chunks of masonry were crashing their way down to the bottom, and already the flow of water was picking up. Turning back to the demon it said, "Of course, if you want to warn them, you'll have to survive this next bit."
The Emperor had no choice. He took to the air just on time as the ocean finally burst into the chamber through multiple gushing entrances. Even as it poured through, it ate the cracks and holes wider so that soon the walls would give out entirely.
Luckily the displacement of air to water created a powerful updraft that he could ride, spiraling to the top, dodging rock and water all the while. When he reached one of the tunnel entrances, he stopped and looked back.
The Cloister was already half full with water and debris, the sound of its churning mixed with a gurgling death-rattle as the Tower slowly drowned. He was watching for his enemy in case he needed to block the passage, but in all the chaos he only thought he caught a single glimpse of eyes filled with satisfaction and madness before they vanished.
It was with a heavy heart and bone-weary limbs that he made his way up the rest of the tunnel. When he finally came out, the Emperor found himself facing the entire demon population, huddled together, comforting little ones, and in some places, sobbing. That's when the full weight of what just happened hit him.
His poor, hideous people just lost their only sanctuary in a world that had every reason to hate and fear them. They were doomed.
All he wanted to do was fall to the ground and weep, but with his subjects watching he held his head up and walked into their midst with confidence. He barely got three steps before Churl was upon him.
"Thank the Gods!" cried the old Warfather. "We feared the worst."
He began to fuss over the Emperor's numerous cuts, but was swatted off with a brusque, "I'm fine."
"Forgive me, my lord. I forget myself," he said as he bowed back.
A number of other demons came forward and one nervously asked, "And what of the Cloister, sire?"
The Emperor did not answer. Instead he closed his eyes and bowed his head, and catching on, they mimicked him as the melancholy gesture spread through their ranks.
The silence stretched for a long moment, before the Emperor finally broke it by looking around and the unharmed ranks of his army and asking, "Was there no battle here?"
"No, my lord," Churl answered. "We can see them flying, but they don't attack." He pointed up at the sky, where dark shapes could be seen flitting against the stars.
The Emperor stared at them, a quiet rage smoldering in his chest. "They're toying with us."
Lita had moved her chair outside the unbearably hot tent, and was sitting with her back to the door. She was leaned back, with her arms crossed and her legs stretched out, her chin resting on her chest, and soft snores emanating from her slightly opened mouth.
As evening finally settled on the town, and the lights kicked on, she was roused by a soft touch on her shoulder. The moment she came to full consciousness, she was aware of a tall, dark form looming behind her.
She was up in a flash, dropping into a battle stance and brandishing her weapon at the unknown assailant.
"Didn't mean to startle you." It was the Guardian, sunglasses back on and dressed in his full regalia. He even managed to get his robes back, which thankfully no longer smelled of rotten eggs. "But you may want to be awake for this."
"For what?" asked Lita, not relaxing in the slightest.
"They're here..."
Her eyes widened, wether in alarm or excitement she wasn't sure. "The Black Host?"
The Guardian only smirked. "No need to sound so worried. I'll be able to take care of it. You just make sure no one fights them, especially not Eddie. Got it?"
"I..." before she could get anything out, she was cut off.
"Lita? Lita!" That was Mangus, who was running and stumbling towards her up the pathway from the center of town.
Lita turned away to look at him, and when she turned back the Guardian was gone. As she stared around for the missing entity, Mangus reached her and, slightly out of breath, said, "Eddy's back! He says something's wrong and to meet him by the big sword."