Zac was just about to cast himself as the plucky newcomer who breaks up the established couples to form a new, chaotic harem when a sharp, surprised hoot cut through the air.
"What in the hells was that?"
Andras had pulled the cigarillo from his beak and was pointing its glowing tip up at the aerial, necrotic hologram. The owl's usual lazy amusement was gone, replaced by a look of sharp, predatory focus.
Zac and the others all looked up, trying to find what the owl had spotted amidst the swirling chaos of the battle. For a moment, there was nothing but the usual carnage.
A sharp squawk sounded out next.
"What in the hells is that?!" Halphas said, slamming his taloned hands onto the table and shooting to his feet. His eyes were fixed on a small, seemingly insignificant corner of the battlefield.
Zac's eyes darted across the projection, trying to focus, but he didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for. On a battlefield filled with fire-breathing demons and knights wielding swords of pure light, what could possibly be out of place?
Bune was the next to spot it. The Left Head leaned forward, its eyes narrowed in analytical focus. The Right Head gasped, a small puff of violet smoke escaping its nostrils. "But that's… that's against the rules!"
Zac looked around the table. The mood had shifted from jaded commentary to genuine alarm.
Skarg snorted out a cloud of frost. "I told you we should have been there."
"Those scallywags!" Nock roared, his chivalrous demeanor replaced with outrage. "This is a flagrant violation of the Accords of Carnage! Outrageous!"
Amidst the growing indignation, Marchosias was now utterly silent.
The Captain stood slowly, his knuckles white where he gripped the back of his chair. His amber eyes were fixed on the projection, but the anger was gone. In its place was something Zac had never seen before, a look of raw, undisguised, almost... longing.
Zac looked up one more time, his gaze following the Captain's. And then he saw it.
It was a figure, tall and serene, moving through the heart of the chaotic battle. Its skin was stark white, seeming to cast its own soft, internal light on the blood and mud around it. It carried a massive war hammer made of dark, polished wood, inlaid with what looked like gold. Zac couldn't make out the details of its face from this distance, but he knew he was looking at the anomaly when he saw the wings.
Six of them.
They weren't feathery appendages. They were vast, sharp, geometric constructs that looked like they were made of stained glass depicting scenes of divine judgment. They floated behind the white figure, not flapping, but held in a perfect, celestial array, catching the light of holy blasts and hellfire and refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows.
The figure was not fighting. It was… proceeding. It moved in a slow, straight, inexorable line directly through the battlefield, a calm island in a sea of violence. When a demon lunged, it would swing its war hammer in a graceful, almost lazy arc. The impact was silent, but the demon would simply… cease to be, dissolving into a cloud of dispersing motes. When a paladin tried to salute, it ignored them.
It was heading directly for their side of the battlefield, a being of such profound power and alien grace that it made the war itself seem like a petty squabble.
'Is that an angel?' Zac thought, his mind struggling to process the serene, terrifying figure. 'Of course there are angels if there are demons. Duh.' But this was different from the cherubs and robed figures from Sunday school paintings. This was a weapon. A living siege engine made of light and glass.
But what did Bune and Nock mean, 'against the rules'? Zac had assumed an eternal war between Heaven and Hell would be a no-holds-barred affair. Were there weight classes? Prohibited moves? A referee he couldn't see?
His train of thought was derailed by a sudden chorus of savage, triumphant howls from the demons at the table.
Zac looked up at the projection. The mood had shifted from shocked outrage to a kind of bloodthirsty glee.
"Get 'em, Glasya!" Halphas squawked, slamming a fist on the table.
"Tear its wings off!" Skarg roared.
Zac scanned the battlefield, trying to see what had them so excited. He found it. Another figure, this one moving with brutal speed and purpose from the demonic side of the front lines, was cutting a path directly toward the white-winged angel.
It was a doberman pinscher man.
Tall, lean, and corded with muscle, his fur was a sleek, glossy black. Massive, leathery brown wings, more like a bat's than a bird's, beat powerfully, propelling him over the battlefield in short, brutal bursts. He wore no armor, only a complex harness of dark leather straps that crisscrossed his chest and torso, studded with silver rings. He was the picture of raw, disciplined violence.
'Rough doggy daddy,' Zac's brain supplied instantly. 'Oh god, the leather harness. That looks so good. It would look so good on…' His eyes involuntarily flicked to Marchosias. He tried to imagine the stern, dignified wolf captain strapped into a similar, suggestive outfit, all that grey fur and muscle bound in black leather… Zac felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.
He forced his attention back to the projection. The doberman demon was working his way across the battlefield, not with a hammer, but with his bare hands and teeth, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He wasn't ignoring the battle; he was reveling in it, ripping through paladins with a savage joy that was the complete opposite of the angel's serene detachment. He was on an intercept course, a black dog of war sent to meet the pale seraph in the heart of the battle.
As Glasya-Labolas tore across the battlefield, a fine, crimson mist began to emanate from his body. It was an aura, a veil of pure bloodlust. Where it touched, order dissolved. Paladins dropped their shields, their eyes glazing over, and began manically attacking their own comrades. Demons forgot their formations, turning on each other in a frenzy of mindless violence. The doberman demon carved a trail of pure, self-sustaining chaos as he rushed toward the angel.
Zac watched, mesmerized, as the demon closed in on a phalanx of heavily armored knights. Glasya didn't slow down. He just swung his claws in a wide arc in front of himself. The attacks didn't even seem to connect, but the paladins in his path were eviscerated nonetheless, their plate armor peeling away like fruit rind as they collapsed into bloody shreds.
"He's just flying in a straight line," Andras sighed, sounding unimpressed. "That mutt should at least try to be a little sneaky. No artistry."
Skarg laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "That mutt is too old to learn new tricks. He's wasting time with the blood mist, if you're asking me. He could just kill them himself in less time."
"Yeah, he looks shorter than Marchosias, too," Zac added, his mind obviously elsewhere as he continued to compare every demon to his new gold standard.
Zac watched as the demon and angel finally met.
As Glasya's red mist of bloodlust washed over the angel, the stained-glass wings seemed to absorb it, the light within them glowing a fraction brighter. The chaos-inducing aura had no effect.
Glasya moved in to attack, his claws flashing in another invisible, armor-shredding arc. But this time, as they neared the angel's wings, the invisible became visible. The air itself seemed to warp and shimmer, revealing the ghostly, shimmering outlines of wicked, three-pronged tiger claws extending from the demon's knuckles.
Glasya's eyes widened. He faltered for a microsecond, his forward momentum slowing just the slightest bit, surprised at having his ultimate trick revealed.
The angel didn't even try to block.
Its hands, which had been resting on the massive wooden war hammer, lifted the weapon high. It brought the gavel down in a slow, graceful, unstoppable arc.
CRACK.
The sound was not an explosion. It was the sound of something ancient and brittle breaking.
The mighty Doberman demon, the great and terrible President of Hell, shattered. He didn't bleed. He didn't scream. He simply broke apart like a clay pot, dissolving into a million shards of black ceramic and dust that were instantly scattered by the wind.
The projection flickered. It went dark.
The dining room was plunged into a heavy, shocked silence, the only light now coming from the flickering candles. The show was over.
Zac broke the silence, his voice a small, confused whisper.
"Did… did that angel thing just, uh… turn off the BDSM dog man's magic powers?"