The Simulacrum

The Lord of Inanna was a beautiful catastrophe, a violent poem written in the language of stars and shadow. There, against the bruised canvas of the Abyssal sky, Noir wasn't merely flying; he was the storm, the very epicentre of a maelstrom of raw, violet power. His wings, vast and leathery, beat with a rhythm that was less a physical act and more the thrum of a dark, primal heart, each downbeat sending shudders through the very fabric of the world.

He was terrifying and magnetic all at once. The power that radiated from him wasn't just an oppressive force; it was a caress, a silken promise of absolute strength that curled around you, making your own pulse flutter in a dangerous, heady dance. His demonic form, with its newly lengthened horns and expanded wings, should have been a grotesque sight, but there was a dark artistry to it, a terrible beauty in the way he commanded the chaotic energies swirling around him.

He wasn't just a man; he was a force of nature made flesh, a fallen angel crowned in amethyst lightn—

<Whoa-whoa-whoa! What the crap is this bloody bodice ripper nonsense? I swear, I look away for just a femtosecond, and some new bollocks raise their ugly head every single time!>

A slow, wicked grin bloomed across Noir’s features, a predator's triumphant leer that held no warmth, only promising a beautiful ruin, the exquisite agony of a fall from grace. It was the kind of smile that didn't just touch his lips, but claimed them, a slow, possessive curve that spoke of absolute certainty and the dark, thrilling—

<Stop! We don't have time for this! Seriously, is this thing broken?>

«The breaking/destruction/cessation of existence is only—»

<You shut it too. I wasn't talking to you.>

«...»

<Good. Let me see if I can...>

Noir surveyed the crater, his expression flat. The youths' assault was proving to be irritatingly persistent, but ultimately, futile. His calculations were simple: their stamina versus the near-limitless energy flowing from the Mana Well. It was not a difficult equation to solve. The noble families squabbling in the town below were irrelevant background noise, their petty ambitions rendered meaningless in the face of his ascension.

Out of all of them, the Celestial girl and her near-limitless supply of golden fire were the only variable of any note, but even that was a known quantity. He was simply waiting for her to exhaust her reserves. The rest were trivialities, obstacles to be cleared on the path to his new reality.

<That's... better, I guess? Let's just roll with it. So, let's recap: Josh, Deus, Elly, and Snowy were in the air, chasing the stupid horny bastard around. Judy, Ammy, Ollie, and the two noble ladies were on the ground, taking cover by the Mana Well, while Penny and the Ninhursag patriarch were duking it out with the head of House Ninurta. As for the rest of the town...>

The conflict in New Larsa unfolded with predictable yet chaotic geometry. House Gula made the first move, deploying shock troops to seize the central plaza and the mayor's residence. Their objective was likely to secure symbolic assets before the battle for the Mana Well concluded. The local constabulary was neutralised within seven minutes of the initial engagement.

House Enlil's response was characteristically indirect. Rather than meeting Gula's forces head-on, they utilised their superior aerial capabilities to attack Gula's supply lines and command posts. This resulted in scattered firefights and numerous small-scale structural collapses. The primary cause of civilian casualties appeared to be falling debris.

Loyalist factions of Houses Shamash and Ninhursag, were caught unprepared, still engaged in a chaotic melee with the forces of House Inanna and their allies. Their forces were fragmented, and what resistance they offered was fierce but disorganised, amounting to a series of localised holding actions.

Communication blackouts were initiated by all belligerent parties shortly after hostilities began. The only reliable information now originated from direct observation, which was limited. The tactical situation was therefore a fluid mess of opportunistic aggression with no discernible long-term strategy beyond securing immediate advantages. The invasion was less a coordinated campaign and more a violent, opportunistic asset grab.

<In simpler terms, it was a flustercuck that threatened to spill into the main event. Great. Because we didn't have enough variables. At least it's not likely another Lord of the Abyss would show up to muck things up even harder.>

With a sudden roar, a new voice joined the cacophonous battlefield.

"Where is he!? Where's the bastard who dared to cheap-shot me!?"

The Lord of House Nergal burst into the crater, his minotaur-like Abyssal form cracking the featureless grey ground under his hooved feet. He held a colossal, obsidian warhammer with a brutal, jagged head aglow with a dull red light. His entrance disrupted the ongoing melee between Penelope and the two Abyssal patriarchs, forcing the three combatants to disengage.

"Lord Nergal! Where have you been all this time?!" the Ninurta artistocrat fumed, nursing a shallow gash on his side.

The bull-horned Lord of Nergal ignored him, his burning eyes scanning the chaos. It seemed that in his outrage, he had only just recognised the dramatic change in the environment. He stopped, lowering his warhammer, and stared at the desolation of the crater. The missing castle, the eroded landscape—it was all a fresh wound.

Yet, he did not dwell on it. His attention quickly snapped upwards, where Noir was still clashing with the airborne heroes, then to the Shamash matriarch and the others by the Mana Well. Then, he looked back to the Ninurta patriarch.

The situation called for many a question. What exactly happened here? Where's the Emperor? Where did the Peacemaker disappear? Yet, he ignored all such inquiries in favour of a simple, furious roar.

He charged forward, each step shaking the ground, the warhammer raised high. His target was the rotund Ninhursag patriarch, and he closed the distance in three ground-shaking strides. He clearly concluded that the time for questions was for later, and defeating all the enemies in his sight took precedence.

<Yeah, sure. He just happened to wake up right now and decided to be unreasonable and just fight whoever he saw. Can you be any more obvious?>

«...»

<Cat got your tongue? Whatever. My turn.>

However, before the bullish Lord of the Abyss could get close, Penelope darted into his path, her zweihander swinging high. The man reeled back and readied his weapon again, but by then she already leapt back, her superior mobility and smaller frame making her a difficult target.

Nevertheless, fighting an Abyssal Lord in her lonesome was not a sustainable course of action, but her gamble had succeeded in drawing the newcomer's attention.

"Ammy! Tag in!" she cried over her shoulder, startling the Magi girl.

"Huh?! W-Wait, is that a code-word, or...?"

Seeing her confusion, Judy helpfully pushed her from behind. "Go. Keep him occupied."

"But what about the...?"

Before she could finish, fire and lightning erupted again as the Ninurta and Ninhursag patriarchs resumed their battle, their struggle spilling into her immediate vicinity. The two Abyssal Lords had moved past the point of finesse, their powers lashing out in a chaotic storm of uncontrolled fury.

"If you're worried about the injured and the non-combatants..." the Matron chimed in, clearly misunderstanding the source of Amelia's hesitation. She stepped forth and, like a star of an opera, she extended a hand as she sang a spell, a slow, thrumming melody that formed a thick layer of swirling silver dust around the group. "...that shall hold out for a while."

"I haven't heard you sing in ages," the Shamash matriarch noted with an inscrutable expression, watching the dome shimmer.

"It's been a while since we last battled, hasn't it?" she answered with a wry smile.

<Okay, so they do have some sort of history. Neat. But more importantly, move!>

Amelia's legs jerked forward, as if prompted by some unseen force, and she stumbled her way towards the brutish Lord of Nergal, her frilly dress fluttering in the chaotic winds of the crater. After the first few steps, her gait grew more stable, and her expression hardened into one of grim resolve.

She skidded to a halt a safe distance from the clash and, with a quick, practised motion, she extended her arm and chanted a quick spell. In a flash, a familiar silver staff appeared in her hands. She took a deep breath, the very air crackling with the raw energy of the surrounding battles, and raised the staff high. As she did, she began to chant again, this time a completely different incantation, a complex web of syllables that wove a tangible web of energy around her.

Then, as soon as she finished, her eyes snapped open, and she yelled, "Penny! Duck!"

The young knight reacted without hesitation, her combat reflexes honed by years of rigorous training. She threw herself to the ground, and a split second later, a dozen spheres of yellow-hot flames shot forth from Amelia's staff.

<Welp. She's anything but inconsistent, I suppose.>

The individual balls of fire moved in curved trajectories, and the Nergal patriarch hurriedly swung his hammer. The head of his weapon collided with each of the fireballs in turn, and with each one came a small fiery explosion that gradually pushed him back. He staggered and grunted under the pressure of the attacks.

Of course, such spells could hardly hurt him while his Barrier was intact, but in the heat of the battle, ignoring a dozen fiery explosions was easier said than done, and even if they didn't deal damage, they were certainly disorienting.

Just then, Penelope rose from her crouch and yelled, "I'm tagging in!" as she unleashed another round of swift slashes at him, her zweihander gleaming with a silvery light as it clashed against the Nergal Lord's warhammer.

"I still don't know what that means!" Amelia complained, yet her eyes remained focused, and she was already preparing her next spell in her mind.

<That should take care of that. The two patriarchs on the side are...>

The two Abyssal men were still engaged in a battle of life and death, the lightning-clad true Lord of Ninhursag against the fire-wielding Ninurta usurper. Their forms couldn't have been more different, yet their eyes burned with the same light of hatred, years if not decades of mutual animosity reaching its final, violent crescendo.

Their powers flared and clashed with each other, the air crackling and sizzling as the two forces met. It was a stalemate, neither willing to give an inch, their pride and desperation fuelling their every move. The crater floor cracked and buckled under their feet, the very ground shaking with the force of their struggle.

<... yeah, let's just have them have their own showdown, or whatever.>

«Curious/Odd/Incomprehensible. Your care/investment isn't consistent/stable/not-inconsistent.»

<Hey! Stop scratching me! I'm trying to pay attention here!>

«Attention? Different levels of attention/tending. Why?»

...

The Ninhursag patriarch, a veritable Zeus of wrath and voltage, attempted a particularly dramatic leaping thrust, a manoeuvre that no doubt looked absolutely spectacular in his mind's eye. He was supposed to be a descending bolt of righteous, lightning-wreathed fury, the embodiment of his house's tempestuous wrath.

In reality, his foot caught on a particularly stubborn piece of displaced rubble from the castle's unmaking. For a single, comical moment, all the gravitas and divine fury evaporated, replaced by the ungainly flailing of a fat man whose ambition had dramatically outpaced his coordination. His eyes went wide with a cartoonish panic, his arms pinwheeling wildly in a desperate bid to reclaim his balance. He let out a strangled squawk that was less 'vengeful god' and more 'startled chicken'.

<... What the heck was that?>

«Weak reaction/counterforce. Must track/follow/investigate further. Might be ploy/trick/diversion.»

<What are you doing?>

...

Without warning, the ground cracked, and a long fissure extended from the Nergal patriarch's location. The fissure zigged, and then it zagged, moving with purpose and unnatural speed, as if it were a living thing burrowing through the rock. It slipped under the silver ward deployed by the Matron and raced directly towards the ones taking shelter inside, ready to erupt and shred them all to—

<Goddammit!>

...

Before the attack could reach its mark, the wounded and pallid Shamash matriarch moved. She was just a blink of an eye faster, her enormous scythe materialising seemingly out of thin air as she planted the tip of the curved blade directly into the path of the fissure. The very tip of her weapon glowed with a faint amber light as the crack slammed into it, and with a thunderous CRACK, the attack dissipated.

The Matriarch stumbled back a step, a thin trickle of black blood running from the corner of her mouth, yet her eyes remained cold as she glared at the bullish man.

"Lord Nergal! Have you no shame?!"

The Abyssal aristocrat only clicked his tongue, then dodged out of the way of Penelope's latest assault, his form surprisingly nimble despite his bulk. He parried her zweihander with the shaft of his warhammer, the clash of their weapons ringing out like a church bell in the dead of winter.

«Stronger reaction/force/sensation. Still weaker/fainter/less defined than before. Unexpected.»

<Ow! When I told you to stop scratching me, I didn't mean you should—!>

«Taste/Trail is less rich/detailed/interconnected. Hiding/Concealing? But then why bother/attempt/self-impose? Why not run/escape/self-entomb?»

...

In the meantime, the battle in the air was nearing its own crescendo. The Lord of Inanna, drunk on the power surging through him, grew more reckless, his attacks more devastating. He was a whirlwind of violet energy, a storm of pure, unadulterated destruction, and the heroes were caught in its path.

Yet, with his confidence came arrogance, and with arrogance came mistakes. He was so focused on the grand spectacle of his power, on the sheer, overwhelming force he could now command, that he failed to notice the subtle shifts in the battlefield, the small, almost imperceptible changes that were slowly turning the tide.

Deus, her Celestial flames burning brighter than ever, drawing upon the might of her old soul to keep up with the Abyssal Lord's relentless assault. She wasn't the only one shining with golden radiance either; Joshua, linked to her by carrying a small yet not-insignificant fragment of her soul and power, was pulled along. His Celestial powers flared in concert with hers, and it wasn't just the glow. The more she drew on her golden light, the more Joshua's power surged in tandem, a resonance that was elevating them higher and higher in perfect synchronicity until they could match the seemingly endless power of the Abyssal Lord, if even for a time.

<Eleventh-hour power-up. As expected, really.>

In contrast, Neige and Eleanor were only providing support for the two of them, their attacks serving as diversions, forcing Noir to divide his attention. They couldn't keep up with the raw power on display, but their coordination was impeccable, a seamless dance of ice and fire that kept the Lord of Inanna on the defensive.

"You think this is enough?" he roared, his voice a cacophony of overlapping echoes. "You are but sparks in the face of an inferno!"

Despite his boasts, it was clear to see that he was getting more impatient. Was he unconsciously aware of the ticking clock, the impending implosion of the Abyss wrought by his own hands? Or was he simply affected by the urgency of his opponents, sensing their growing desperation?

Whatever the case, he finally decided to end the stalemate. With a deafening roar, he raised both hands, a swirling vortex of violet energy forming between them. The very air crackled with raw power, the ground below trembling in anticipation. It was a strike meant to unleash the endless power within him upon them, a decisive blow that would end the battle in one fell swoop.

It was at that exact, fleeting moment that a single signal echoed through the minds of all the heroes present.

"{Beluga to the pod: the shark is in position. I repeat, the shark took the bait. Go, go, go!}"

The quartet in the sky erupted into motion. Deus, her face a mask of grim determination, swept her hand towards the man in the sky. From her palm erupted a blindingly bright ball of amber light, flying directly towards Noir. It should've been trivial to dodge it, if not for his focus on gathering the energy for his own attack.

However, the heroes left nothing to chance. Just as he was about to move, the Lord of Inanna found himself suddenly lethargic. It wasn't just his limbs that were slow to respond, but the violent mana surging around him, the very energy he was commanding, felt sluggish, as if wading through a thick, invisible tar.

He glanced up and saw that he was being showered by a strange, glittering dust. Neige, her form shimmering with exhaustion, was channelling the most formidable spell she could muster. It wasn't an attack, but a wide-area dispel, a field of glittering frost designed to slow and freeze the very mana in the air.

It was but a momentary distraction, yet one that Noir could not expect or readily counter. Before he could recover from the sudden onset of mystic lethargy, the amber ball of Celestial energy erupted in front of him, yet it wasn't an explosion, but an unravelling of countless thin chains of light, wrapping themselves around him.

They dug into his form, into the very vortex of power he commanded, and he let out a furious roar. It was a spell designed to hold Bel of the Abyss, to lock someone in place so that they could not escape by any magical means, and while they never had an opportunity to use it against him, it worked perfectly well on the self-appointed new Emperor of the Abyss.

The golden chains pulled taut, and for a brief, shining second, the violet maelstrom surrounding him was contained.

But that wasn't all. During all this time, Eleanor was nowhere to be seen. In fact, she wasn't in the air anymore, but perched on top of one of the surviving walls of Castle Shamash, her draconic form growing more pronounced with each passing moment. Her skin was turning into a mosaic of crimson scales, and her horns, now longer and more regal, curled back from her brow.

It was clear what she was planning to do, but it was a risky gamble. To unleash True Dragon Fire, even a full-blooded dragon would've had to prepare themselves. For a Draconian, it took even more time, but in the chaotic battle in the sky, such an opening was rare, yet now she had it.

She took a deep breath, her chest expanding as she gathered the primal energies of her heritage. The air around her shimmered as she opened her mouth, a deep crimson sphere materialising in front of her. It was a sphere of pure, unadulterated draconic power, a swirling vortex of destruction that promised nothing but oblivion.

She kept pouring power into it, and the sphere grew and changed colour, from an angry red to a churning orange, then a bright yellow. The first time she used true dragon fire was against Noir during the kidnapping incident at the school, so it was fitting that the second time she unleashed it would be against him as well.

Yet, this did not come without risks. The powerful beam of Dragon Fire she used against the Chimera back in Digirmah took her several minutes to prepare, and yet it was nothing compared to what she was charging now. If she unleashed it hastily, it would definitely cause a terrible backlash, permanently injuring her throat, or even—

<Nope. Not permanently. We can't let her lose her voice.>

...

If she unleashed it hastily, it would definitely cause a backlash, potentially injuring her throat or even temporarily losing her voice.

<That's... still a little harsh, but I suppose—>

«Curious/Intriguing/Utterly illogical.»

<Oh, what now? Don't you see we're in the middle of something here?>

...

This was a moment of do or die, and Eleanor didn't hesitate. As dangerous and painful as it was, she unleashed the torrent of True Dragon Fire with a roar that shook the very heavens. The beam of incandescent energy shot across the sky, its shimmering outline aglow with all the primal colours of the rainbow, and it collided directly with the bound form of the Lord of Inanna.

He had little time to react. With inhuman effort, he moved his arms and the vortex of energy between his fingers, and hastily redirected the power of the spell into a more defensive purpose. The amethyst light exploded outwards, forming a massive dome of shimmering, violet energy that enveloped him, and a moment later, the torrent of draconic fury slammed against it.

The very world seemed to fall silent at that instant, the only sounds the roar of the dragon fire and the crackle of the violet dome as it strained against the immense pressure. On the surface, it was a classic display of the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object, but that was a shallow observation.

It wasn't a battle of clashing forces, but one of negating properties.

Dragon Fire was inherently anti-magic, capable of unravelling spells and enchantments on contact. True Dragon Fire was even more potent, capable of searing the very mana from which they were woven. It burned away the very foundations of mystic phenomena, leaving behind a void where magic once stood.

Noir's shield, on the other hand, wasn't a spell in the traditional sense, but a physical construct of pure mana. It had no intricate patterns, no complex weaves to be undone, and with the Mana Wells supplying him with endless power, the shield kept rebuilding itself faster than it could be unravelled.

It was a battle of attrition, a contest of pure, raw power. The Mana Well versus the very essence of dragon-kind.

And in that contest, the Mana Well was winning.

The cracks that appeared across the violet dome were not signs of its collapse, but of the strain it was under as it held back the torrent of draconic fury. Yet, it held, and with each passing second, the light of Eleanor's attack dimmed.

Finally, with a final, defiant roar that ended in a pained croak, her attack fizzled out. She slumped over, clutching her throat, and collapsed against the castle wall. The violet dome around Noir vanished, and he hovered in the air, panting heavily, but unharmed.

It was his moment of triumph... or was it?

High above in the sky, a bright comet was descending. It was a streak of brilliant gold and deep crimson, a star falling from the heavens to strike down the arrogant self-ascribed God of the Abyss. In its essence, it was very similar to the attack Joshua used to break the ice slide in Digirmah, during their escape from Castle Ninhursag, but its focal point was different. Instead of his shield, it was all centred on the black sword in his hands.

Noir saw it coming, but he couldn't react in time. The frost, the chains, the exhausting of his powers, it was all a ruse to create a single, perfect opening. The comet of spiralling lights descended with a blinding flash, Joshua roaring at the top of his lungs as he swung his blade.

Then, the attack met its mark.

"Aaaargh!"

Yet, it wasn't perfect.

<Oh, goddamit. Do we really need to have a third phase for this boss battle?>

It was hard to tell what happened. Maybe the Lord of Inanna managed to move with sheer survival instinct. Maybe Joshua, unaccustomed to taking a life, hesitated at the very last moment, his grip faltering for a fraction of a second. Or maybe it was just simple, unadulterated luck.

Whatever the case, the comet of golden and crimson light passed by Noir, and they both fell from the sky with a deafening crash. Joshua was unable to cushion his fall, and he tumbled across the cracked ground, while Noir landed on his back. Then, a few seconds later, a pair of severed wings fell right next to him.

They were black and leathery, and they were smoking from the cauterised wound where they used to connect to the Lord's back.

Noir's scream wasn't of agony at this point, but pure, unadulterated rage. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling at first, then straightening himself, and the very ground beneath him shook. His body flared with violet energy, and the chains wrapped around his body began to snap one by one, just enough to let him move unimpeded. He was bleeding from the back, a steady stream of dark red blood staining his fine clothes, but that hardly seemed to matter.

"Boy! Are you all right?" Deus cried as she swooped down from the sky, her form a streak of golden light as she rushed to Joshua's side.

"I'm fine," he answered through gritted teeth, pushing himself up with a pained grunt. "I missed."

She responded with a terse, "It was close enough," and nocked another arrow of light on her bowstring. "He's injured now and grounded. We've got the advantage."

No sooner had she said that, Noir erupted with a new wave of power, more violent and chaotic than before. The very air around him crackled with raw energy, and the ground trembled under his feet.

"You insignificant, miserable insects! You think you can defeat me?! I AM THE EMPEROR!" he roared, his voice a cacophony of overlapping echoes. "I AM A GOD MANIFEST!"

Yet, something else happened as well. The Mana Well behind them suddenly pulsed, sending a wave of violet energy rushing toward him, far more than before. And when it washed over him, the bleeding from his back stopped, and the wound began to close, the flesh knitting itself back together with an unnatural speed.

"NO MORE GAMES! I WILL PERSONALLY GRIND YOU ALL INTO DUST!" the wingless demon declared as the black inky substance of his magic and the violet light from the Mana Well coalesced around him, forming an enormous, monstrous avatar, a towering effigy of pure wrath and violet fire.

<Sheesh. Third phase it is. I just hope we aren't going to have one of those fourth phases where everyone's tuckered out, and the villain and the hero are just slugging it out one-on-one without powers. That would be lame.>

«I don't/can't understand/comprehend/internalize. Why are you caring/tending for some actors/constructs/figments more than others? Is it a ploy/distraction?»

<Listen, pal. I admit that I do care about some people more than others, but—>

«Not people/consciousness/those-who-have-emerged. Actors/Figments.»

<There really isn't much of a difference.>

«Nonsense/Madness/Distraction. They are not real/substantial/true.»

<Oh, don't give me that hogwash. Most of the people here are more real than whatever toothy planet nonsense you are!>

«Stop/Cease being infuriating/maddening/distracting. Only Emergents/those two have emerged/those who are in the process of emerging are real/significant. Actors/Figments are meaningless/insignificant.»

<… So you are not only a creepy predatory moon that constantly bites and claws at people at the drop of a hat, but you're also a, what? 'Emergent supremacist' too? Jesus F. Christ, mate. Do you have any redeeming qualities at all?>

«I like flowers.»

<…>

<… Excuse me? Could you repeat that? Because I could swear you just said yo— Argh! Mother of a father of an uncle of a goddamn goat merchant!>

«Forget/erase what I said/uttered/revealed.»

<Ow! Bloody goddamn…! Stop biting me just because you're embarrassed! What are you, a kid?!"

«…»

<Aaand now he's gone. Seriously, what the heck was that? … Whatever. Let's just try to finish this up before he comes back and starts nibbling on me again…>