Colosseum - Quarterfinal - Magus vs Dante

[Storyteller]

He was victorious again, and now Magus found himself standing on a dilapidated two-story building. Behind him was a large wooden chest stuffed with tomahawks and spears. A large flag mounted to the rooftop displayed some sort of tribal colors he didn't recognize.

"Huh," the man muttered with a shrug as he turned to look across the replica urban sprawl beneath him. On the far side of the sea of streets and buildings was another structure topped with a flag. The Kingdom's colors were something he recognized almost immediately, but the man who stood next to them was a stranger.

On the other side of the battle zone, Dante glanced around and waited for the signal. "Let's get this over with."

---

From his special viewing area, Victor von Magnus picked up the padded mallet and walked toward the gong. When they told him about this being the selection for the round, he'd felt a mixture of pride and disgust. The events that the citizenry held up as an admiral defense of their home was anything but that, and while he felt honored at having defended the Kingdom, Victor could never forget the events of that day.

"You ready, Baron?" Someone asked from behind him, shaking him out of his daydream.

"Of course," he replied, smiling as he struck the gong.

Judges – Gildarts & Minato

Dante posts first and may do so anytime after 1 PM CST.

Description of fight area and other information can be found here - <!-- l --><a class="postlink-local" href="http://omniverse-rpg.com/viewtopic.php?p=50443#p50443">viewtopic.php?p=50443#p50443</a><!-- l -->

Please refer any questions to that thread.

Word Limit: 750
Posts: 3
Time Limit: 48 hours
SP use is enabled. SP does not regenerate between rounds. Injuries may occur. Neither injuries nor SP use are factored into judgment, only the quality of writing

[Simon]

If he was being honest, Dante would admit that he wasn't really looking forward to this fight. Not that the matchup was a concern - fighting a dark magician in a depopulated urban sprawl happened to be far from the least desirable of fights, in the devil hunter's book. Even if his opponent possessed absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever, the half-devil wasn't going to feel good whether he won or lost. He had to make a preference, though, and living generally proved to be better than dying.

I thought you said death was cheap-

"Shut up," Dante spat harshly, wasting no more time lamenting on his omnipresent fault. Only two fighters, two flags they stood beneath, and one battle to be won. "Let's get this over with."

Again, the gong rang out with the blow of the hammer, and the devil hunter was off in an instant. The kingdom's signage and weaponry went unnoticed, or perhaps Dante simply didn't care. As the flashy mercenary vaulted off the building and hit the ground running, his hands found Ebony & Ivory, pulling both handguns out for quick use in the near future. Magus had seemed to mirror Dante's lack of caring, as the wafting remains of violet smoke were all that remained of the dark mage's presence on his own building.

Dante had played easy the last two rounds, fooling around with his foes. This time, the devil hunter was all business, and his business was booming. He slowed down as he reached the plaza of the city mock-up, tails of his coat whipping gallantly as he spun about on his heel. Like a living carousel, Dante rotated slowly in place, guns pointed from either side, head darting back and forth at the classical constructions around him. That magician fancied himself an easy hider, but there was no way he would to reappear without getting a few holes in his mug.

Can you feel it? Those violent, whipping howls - the black wind is strong...

A violet-hued mist began to coalesce around Dante, the air becoming thick around where he stood. Despite his wariness, the cloud did well to disguise the puff of smoke that reintroduced Magus to the world. Brandishing a shortsword, he lunged forward to nab the cocky red-coat in the back, the smaller blade dancing past the larger one on Dante's back. A sting of pain shot up the half-devil's side, and he suddenly twisted in the other direction, blindsiding Magus with a pistol whip to the side of his head.

With a deft roll away in retaliation, Magus left Dante alone in the miasma, allowing the latter to silently become powerless. The tiring aches from the last round seemed to return with a vengeance, and the devil hunter found it difficult to hold up his guns.

A bolt of roiling black energy burst on Dante's shoulder blade, and he couldn't stop himself from crying out. The burning pain invaded his brain, beginning to overwhelm his senses. This smoke wasn't just that - with every breath, the half-devil found his wounds pulsing with pain, the cleric's magics becoming undone. Another orb of Gloom darted for the half-devil's figure, and the ensuing blast to his stomach almost made him double over.

Dante desperately whirled his vision about, but he could see and feel only the mist. No matter- with a grunting heave, the nephilim launched himself as high as he could go. Still, it was not enough, the purple clouds still wafting about even 10 meters into the air. "Damn you!" Dante cried out indirectly to Magus as he fell back to earth. His boots planted harshly on the cobbled earth, and the nephilim found himself dropping to one knee.

"I'm no fool. I know who you are, what you are like," the devilish voice spoke from the shroud of darkness, "-and I will ensure you fall before me."

Don't listen, Dante. You can't hold back, use all your power, show this accused devil who is-

"SHUT UP!" Dante screamed in hatred, clicking out a flurry of bullets in a field around him. A voice cried out in pain and surprise, and the furious Son of Sparda stopped only to lock onto the source and pursue it. Summoning every ounce of mortal strength in his body, the devil hunter ran forth with fury in his eyes, his path set alight with streams of .45 ACP rounds.

Finally, he burst free of the miasma- and that shortsword stabbed at him again.

Wordcounter.net: 747 words, 4212 characters.

[Magus]

The man with the outrageous red leather coat and the silly white haircut suddenly screamed as though he was in an argument with someone, and though he could not see Magus, his reckless barrage of bullets grazed him on the cheek, shoulder, and thigh.

Then, suddenly, the man was rushing at him, guns clapping over and over again, spitting their deadly payload at the wizard, casings flying off erratically to the left and the right. It wasn’t hard to circle around to avoid the incoming metal storm and to ready his counterattack as Dante continued on his foolhardy sprint.

Magus braced himself – he hadn’t fought against such fury in a long time. He knew not what raced through his opponent’s head, but he could sense something raw; something savage and primal. His previous opponents had fought either out of pride – or of fear. This… this was something altogether different.

Just as Dante burst free from the Miasma, Magus lunged forward, plowing the tip of his blade into his adversary’s guts and straight out the other side. The audaciously dressed demon hunter shuddered and tensed uncontrollably, fighting the fiery agony radiating out from the horrific wound.

“Huh,” the mage quipped, his scarlet eyes dancing with something akin to amusement. “That was unexpected. And here I thought I might finally be pushed to exert myself in this tournament.”

“Y’know,” the impaled warrior rasped, choking on his own blood.

Magus patronizingly tilted his head in a pantomime of attentiveness. “Whatever it is you’ve got to say, you must be dying to tell me.”

“I’ve… got a lesson for you, actually,” Dante managed.

Magus literally laughed in his face. “And what might that be? A lesson in how to get your blood out of my clothes?”

“No, in gun safety.”

Magus looked down as a pistol was pressed into his gut. And then there was a bright flash as his body shuddered under some sudden, tremendous anguish. The bark of the .45 rang through his ears and he lost grip of his sword, stumbling back as Dante raised both his guns to Magus’ head, and fired.

The wizard fell, crashing onto the cobblestone street. He pressed a hand on his wound, knowing instantly that he’d suffered a catastrophic wound.

He opened his eyes to the familiar monochrome of the Place Between. His opponent stood, nearly frozen in time, guns drawn in front of him, identical gouts of flame slowly sprouting out of their barrels. A pair of bullets spun ever so slowly through the air in front of them, winding tiny vapor trails through the air as they went.

Magus sat up, grimaced at the pain that flooded his body as he did so, and then flopped over onto his hand and knees – his one hand still occupied with putting pressure on his gunshot wound. With a grunt of exertion, the Fiendlord climbed to his feet and clasped the hilt of his blade – still embedded in Dante’s flesh – with his free hand.

With a sharp tug, he pulled the blade free, stepping back into the material plane. In spite of his injuries, Magus raised his blade, intent on ending this fight here and now, and swiped at Dante’s neck, meaning to cleave his head straight off.

The foolhardy man seemed intent on keeping his head, however, and rolled out of the way, throwing up a hail of bullets as he ran to cover behind a building.

The barrage of gunfire forced Magus to beat his own retreat, and he ran stumbling down a narrow alley, bleeding through his armor and all over his gloved hand.

“Filthy dog,” the magister panted, rounding a corner and collapsing with his back up against the wall. “Why couldn’t you just… just die.”

Magus pulled his hand away to look at his wound, and then his bloody appendage burst into flame. Gritting his teeth and clenching shut his eyes, Magus pulled up his leather chest plate and shirt with one hand, and pressed his flaming palm onto his wound with the other.

He screamed as he literally seared shut his own flesh. He heard the sizzle and whiffed the stench of burning hair and flesh, cauterizing the wound, probably with the bullet still inside of him. It didn’t matter right now; as long as he could fell this insolent gunslinger before the infection took him, he could have it taken care of properly.

He looked at his work; a terrible, ugly red scar over milky flesh.

749 words according to wordcounter.net

[Simon]

With the foundations of a large stonework structure between himself and the dark magician, Dante at least managed to feel slightly more secure. The lingering aches had not quite subsided yet, and the nerve-burning pain found itself redoubled by the new wound in the nephilim's gut. He retched up a small helping of bile and blood, reflexively coughing to keep the windpipe clear. If nothing else, at least Dante had managed to return his pain to the Fiendlord in kind.

Ultimately, it had been luck. Though that burst of rage may have provided the effort that very well may have saved his life, the half-devil couldn't bring himself to depend on that. Dante had gotten this far not because of anger, but because of his skill, and he couldn't just change that now. This was meant to be business - professional, precise, focused, not furious and spontaneous.

When has holding back ever saved your life? You have the power to end this in an instant, and you refuse because it's "not right."

Shakily, the devil hunter slipped Ivory back into the handgun's holster, his right hand now tugging at Rebellion's handle. Sword and gun wasn't typically his style, but Magus proved himself to be versatile and tricky- if nothing else, Dante had to match the versatility aspect. A shrill yell of pain rung out from the opposite side of the street, and Dante darted out from behind the cover of his building. His bad self wasn't going to be the one in control here.

You nearly died back there-

Because of you.

You don't want to die, do you?

Not because of you.

The mercenary pulled the trigger and let loose several more suppressing shots, the bullets creating clouds of grit where they hit the stone walls. Another orb of Gloom erupted from the alley Magus hid himself in, and Dante deftly rolled out of the way. Several drips of blood spilled from the open stab on the red-coat's lower torso, but he paid it little mind even as the severed nerves ground against each other.

You're hurting us both, you know. Stop fighting like this.

A few more shots into the darkness of the alley, then Dante armed himself with his greatsword. Soon enough, the sorcerer materialized again in an attempt to catch the Son of Sparda off-guard, but the shortsword would not find purchase this time. Rebellion swung about and caught the smaller blade mid-swing; despite the size difference, Magus's superior might held fast and the sword did not budge.

Both fighters held the clash for agonizing moments, each staring and seething into the face of their foe. "You should have died, fool. If you're so determined to live, I'll make your living moments hell," the Fiendlord growled menacingly.

Sneering back, the half-devil retorted, "Not just to live. To win." His strength seemed to buckle for a moment, but quickly pulsed back, the creases on his face intensifying. Magus narrowed his eyes. Truly, this man was of the strangely determined sort; of course, his next spell was in the process of changing that.

"You will do neither-!"

"Hey. Gun safety."

In the same sudden instant, they both raised their free hands for a sneak attack; Magus found a bullet placed in his open palm and Dante had Ebony blown away by a splash of dark magic.

The sorcerer quickly wrenched his shortsword to break their struggle, tossing Rebellion aside with abnormal ease. Though the nephilim tried valiantly as usual to retort, his body suddenly felt heavy and strained - not akin to the ailment of the wicked fog, but as if Dante's own body had been left weak and frail. The red-coat brought both hands to bear on his broadsword, fighting to keep the weapon aloft with his limbered arms.

Magus, meanwhile, allowed his hand to erupt with infernal energy again, another cry of agony escaping his mouth as the new wound seared itself closed. With a renewed look of grim focus, the sorcerer brandished his sword again with a fencer's dervish, preparing to strike down his withering foe.

You can't let yourself be weak! Unleash your power!

"Can't be bothered to fight fair?" Dante taunted madly, his frustrations thus far manifesting into a general spite of the wizard. Even though he didn't stand much of a change still trying to swing his sword, the devil hunter still had one more trick behind his back, and he would have to make it count. Otherwise, his desperation would take hold...

Wordcounter.net: 749 words

[Magus]

The snivelling little devil hunter taunted him; something about a fair fight, all the while Magus’ Wither leeched the strength and life from his adversary’s veins, hurling his body forward through time until the moment before his inevitable demise.

The once pretty white-haired man was now a shrivelled up husk, wrinkled and stooped and spotted by age and illness. The rickety old man hefted his sword, its weight now throwing him off-balance. Magus chuckled, swiping the incoming blade away and out of Dante’s hands with an effortless back-handed parry.

His free hand darted out and clamped down around the now-old man’s throat, slamming him up against the wall of the modest bookstore behind him. Magus stabbed Dante in the gut once, twice, three times, before hurling the broadsword away and driving a hard cross across his face, and then started choking Dante with both hands.

“Look at you,” Magus hissed through gritted teeth, death in his wild, red eyes. “You’re pathetic! Did you ever think you stood a chance against me?!”

Dante gurgled and choked response, grabbing Magus’ wrist with a frail, liver-spotted hand.

“Why did you join this tournament, anyway? Fame? A reward? You simpleton. You know why I joined?” the Fiendlord grinned, gripping his hand on the back of Dante’s head and driving his face down into Magus’ knee, smashing his nose and dropping him to the ground.

“To teach them to be afraid.”

Dante coughed and spluttered as his vitality began to return to him. Magus watched as his opponent grew more youthful by the second, albeit marred by a bloodied nose, an eye swollen shut, and horrific bruises all over his face and throat. The multiple stab wounds in his gut didn’t help much either.

“Then… what…?” the gunslinger choked, obviously stalling for time. Magus raised an eyebrow. He was surprised he hadn’t crushed the fool’s trachea.

“I’ll win this contest, and I’ll use the fame to raise an army against our Divine Jail Warden. I’ll either force Omni to send me back home, or I’ll kill him. Camelot will quake beneath the boots of the Demon King before I’m through.”

It was Dante’s turn to laugh. A weak, choked bark of humor rattled between his lips.

“Even gods die sometime,” Magus growled.

“And-” Dante rasped from where he lay. “So do demons.”

Magus’ eyes widened but it was too late. Dante’s arm flicked up, shotgun in hand. A white burst of flame and then he was tossed off his feet, crashing onto the rough cobbles, his entire torso aflame with agony.

The wizard fought to raise his head and inspected the damage. His leather chest plate had been shredded, and his blood was spattered all over himself. He coughed, flecks of blood further staining his countenance. With a strained grunt of exertion, he propped himself up on his elbows.

Dante was nowhere to be seen. Licking his wounds, no doubt. “You fucking coward.”

If it was reversed, Magus would have executed his coup de graçe right then and there.

Every movement sent dolorous spears shooting through seemingly every nerve he had. Even his teeth hurt. There must have been a quarter pound of buckshot just jangling around in his insides.

That gave him an idea. Magus closed his eyes for a moment and tried to focus on phasing only his body, and soon, he faded away.

It worked; little lead pellets began falling to the ground with delicate little clinks, bouncing along the cobbles, but it had worked a little too well, as his clothing, including his famous cloak and armor, fell away with them.

“Well, shit,” Magus breathed as he phased back. Bloody and naked as a jay bird, he grabbed his pants and his boots and sprinted into an alley, where he hastily threw his pants back on to cover himself and tugged his boots back over his feet.

Already, he felt a lot better. Looking down at his naked chest, he realized he’d been lucky. Though parts of his torso looked a little more like hamburger than flesh, none of the shot pellets had gotten too terribly deep, and without them moving around inside him any longer, the pain was… tolerable.

Outrageously painful, but tolerable.

He’d been tortured enough times to regulate pain. This wasn’t any different.

It didn’t mean Magus wasn’t going to return the favor, however.

No. Dante had given up his chance for a quick death. Now, he would be made to suffer extraordinary, exquisite pain.

[Simon]

Crouched hurriedly behind an outdoor stand advertising different furs, Dante found himself experimentally flexing and relaxing his arm. The muscle seemed to have been restored, so that spell had worn off - but the wounds he had suffered in the meantime were more damaging that otherwise. He cautiously tried to peel open his swollen eyelid, failed, and then resigned to just vomiting up another tonic of acid and blood.

Alright, now that magician had gone and pressed Dante's nerves further than he'd like. God, what he'd give to not be impaled once in a while.

What an evil soul, right? You ought to pay him pack, see how he likes a sword through the gut.

Unfortunately, that suggestion now sounded appealing.

First things first, he'd have to go and get Rebellion back. Pumping the lever on Terminator, the devil hunter wrenched himself up, much to the agitation of his multiple stab wounds. Plodding quickly back into the open street, Dante spied where his two lost weapons were, along with- wait, a pile of cloth and armor? Those were... Damn. At least the half-devil might've gotten a funny kick out of Magus spontaneously undressing himself, if he had witnessed that.

Without wasting any more time, Dante began to run for his broadsword strewn on the ground. He was immediately harried from behind by a pair of Gloom bolts, and the pulses of scorching magic made him roll forward evasively. His right hand snatching up Rebellion, the Son of Sparda pulled himself back up, ready to intercept whatever the sorcerer had cooking up next.

When he glanced back towards where Ebony had tumbled to, however, Dante was not expecting Magus to be standing there, toting the black-shined firearm with both hands. Yet, there he was, ready to fire.

Oh, you goddamned-!

The spry mercenary cut himself short at the report of the handgun, ducking down to let the .45 round dig a bloody line across his scalp, as opposed to through it. In one swift motion, Dante focused his demon energies and exploded forward in a burst of speed, Rebellion poised for a flying stab. Magus had enough time to mentally scream another curse at the undying devil hunter before the tip of the large blade mashed painfully under his ribcage.

Rather than impalement, however, the dark wizard was instead blessed with all of Dante's momentum, being violently thrown backward into an empty wares stall. Sawdust peppered the air as the simple wooden cart crumpled, and Magus appeared to be buried in the ensuing pile of shattered planks and awning cloth.

Recovering his footing after his impulsive Stinger maneuver, the Son of Sparda returned Terminator behind his back and scooped up Ebony rightfully. "You know," Dante began, blood trickling down his forehead, "I'm getting real sick of your crap. Now come on out, so I can go ahead and end this."

With a groan, Magus pulled himself out of the splintered wreckage of the outdoor stand. The burning shots pain in his chest evolved into a minefield of lit nerves onto his whole torso, with the new bloody wound in his gut being the zenith. Glancing around, the sorcerer was met with a twinge of relief that he had managed to slip into the immaterial plane unnoticed.

It was merely a twinge, however, quickly replaced with an overwhelming wave of dread. The dark figures weren't just on the outside anymore. Magus could see them in the buildings within the arena, peering eyes sniping holes into his composure from distant windows and alleys. He couldn't afford to use Shadow Step for much longer; this battle had to end, now.

The black wind releases its terrible howls...

The agitated devil hunter was about to sling another threat at his invisible opponent when, speak of the devil, he appeared right behind Dante, attempting to wrench the white-haired man into a headlock. The magician proved to be surprisingly stronger than suspected, and the Son of Sparda's first effort to tear away Magus's grip with a free hand fell flat. Snarling wrathfully, the Fiendlord roared into Dante's ear, "I'll make you suffer!"

The mage erupted in Shadeflame, and the crowd roared with bloodthirsty excitement. Both combatants began to feel the violet flames consume them, Dante crying out in agony as Magus grit through his own pain. "Burn! Burn, you damned worthless fool!" the demonic spellcaster yelled, all too ready to see this persistent man finally die in his all-mighty grasp.

Now! Awaken the devil! Wake up, Dante-!

Wordcounter.net: 749 words

[Magus]

A bright, violet-tinged firestorm erupted from Magus, engulfing him and Dante. The wizard maintained his vicious headlock as the searing fire roiled out in a glowing, ravenous sphere of hungry energy, burning all that it touched.

Dante, caught at the blast’s epicenter, screamed and struggled, but Magus held fast, squeezing his arm around the devil hunter’s neck tight. The mercenary’s flesh burned, melted, cracked, and peeled from his body, blistering and twisting under the intense heat of Magus’ mage-flame.

But the twisting and defiling of his flesh wasn’t wholly due to the flames that whipped around them, scouring at his flesh. Magus quickly realized that the man in his grip was… mutating. There was a flash of strange, arcane motes, not unlike the ones Magus was intimately familiar with, but they reflected symbols unknown to the dark wizard.

In a flash, Dante had become some kind of terrible beast, having embraced his demonic blood that ignited his profane Devil Trigger. With a guttural, inhuman roar, Dante jerked up, smashing his armored dome into Magus’ chin, breaking his hold and sending him reeling.

The conflagration that swirled around them suddenly withdrew onto Magus’ flesh, still dancing on him. They remained in the center of a raging inferno, as half the block had been ignited by Magus’ great and terrible anger, but the monster before him no longer burned.

The thing that Dante had become raised its sword and lunged at Magus, swinging its blade to cleave him in two. The Fiendlord narrowly leapt over the attack, landing behind the creature and breaking into a run.

He raced into a burning building; a store dedicated to fancy clothing. Fur coats and hats, silk gloves, gold and silver jewelry. What wasn’t on fire glittered attractively, as though in an attempt to delay Magus from navigating through the collapsing halls.

The vampiric-looking man darted out the other side of the building and pounded down an alley, just as the monster chasing him smashed through the wall directly behind him. It charged, blade at the ready, quickly eating up the distance between them.

Magus looked back and flung a quick Gloom bolt at the creature, who made no effort to evade it, taking the blast right in the face without so much as a flinch. Instead, the monster leapt through the air, over his head, and crashed down in front of him, cutting off his escape.

“Why’re you running??” it demanded, before leaping in with a flying knee that doubled Magus over. Dante followed up by driving the pommel of his sword down into the back of the mage’s head, before catching him with a rising swipe of his blade.

Luckily, the blade caught most of Magus’ body at once, and instead of slicing him in half, it instead scooped him up and hurled him through the air. Unfortunately for Magus, Dante followed up again, leaping after him and carving into his flesh with a downward swipe which launched him into the ground.

Magus rolled over onto his back, a huge, savage gash across his chest, snaking down across his torso to his hip. “Ha!” he coughed through his forced laugh. He knew he was beaten, unless he could find some wedge to turn the tide. “Some parlour trick. From pathetic pretty-boy to big, scary monster.”

“That’s how you want to go out? I’ve met children who could produce an insult more scathing.”

“Yeah?” Magus grinned, even as his life force ebbed out of his wound. “Tell me, do the kids insult you before or after you offer them candy and a ride on your ‘demon horn’?”

Dante said nothing, instead raising his blade for the killing blow. He swung his weapon down, just as Magus revealed the charged bolt of Gloom he’d been hiding. With a roar of effort, he blasted Dante’s sword hand, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon.

Rebellion tumbled through the air and clattered to the ground out of reach. Rather than step over Magus to get it, Dante drove a brutal kick to his ribs, before straddling him and squatting down to deliver punch after punch to the face of the suddenly defenseless wizard. A thick Miasma befell them, but it wasn’t doing Magus any good.

Dante’s spiked knuckles literally chewed Magus’ flesh to the bone, sloughing off skin in disgusting, bloody flaps to reveal the ivory beneath.

Magus struggled, knowing if he didn’t act soon, he would die on this street.

wordcounter.net: 750 words exactly

[Magus]

Something snapped within him as the preposterous alien creature continued to pummel him. He’d been beaten by monsters like him again, and again, and again, until finally, yet another band of monsters took him in. Gave him a home, in exchange for his servitude.

To be extra generous, the routine beatings and constant derision he suffered at the hands of Ozzie and his subordinates came free of charge. But he had surpassed Ozzie, and in his grace, offered him a place as one of his generals, until the pain had lingered too long and he’d put the green bastard to his scythe.

Lavos had beaten him down, too. Not once, not even twice, but three times, the creature had beaten him down. An alien that had been unto a god, and he had surpassed it.

So, too, would he surpass the demon currently beating the shit out of him, for he was the King of Demons.

With a roar, an explosion of flames and fury erupted from his flesh, staggering Dante off of him and onto his feet. It hardly fazed him, but it didn’t need to. Magus leapt to his feet, his face dangling from his cheekbones like a macabre puppet.

Magus raised his arm and a scythe materialized in his hand. Magus screamed, half in agony, half in rage, and plunged the deadly spear-end into Dante’s chest. The grotesque devil metamorphosed back to his normal form, albeit now with a 7-foot haft jammed through his torso. He stood, coughing and shuddering.

“Why can’t you die?!” the Fiendlord thundered.

“I can,” Dante rasped, falling to his knees. “It’s just… really hard.”

The wizard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Fine. Live, then. You are extraordinary, demon. You should think hard about joining my army and help me rise up against Omni. You’re strong and cool under pressure. I could not imagine a better soldier.”

Magus turned and shambled off, to rest again before being let loose once more into the meat grinder.