"Tuus Vastinius est melius..." The voice was a whisper on the wind. Midnight's Mother did not appear to Arcas in pomp and bombast, but like a memory that had been long since buried away. To see her there in her shining, silvery breastplate from which hung ribbons of black that might have been silk or shadow, was to feel that she had been present this entire time- Only now Her silvery nimbus, like a crown of barbed chain, shone and rotated over raven locks that wafted in the same breeze that carried Her inaugural whisper. From out this nimbus, tethers protruded in many directions, but the most prominent to those present were those that descended far down to the scene below, where they were linked to an æthereal collar at Franky's throat, a pair of manacles on either of his wrists and another that tightly encircled his Hobbie. As soon as the erstwhile entrepreneur became aware of the tethers, he would feel them tighten not at his neck but upon his soul- Muzzling not his mouth, but his very mind and forcing him into the state of silent subservience he had consummately engendered of late. All at once he was paralysed… perforce a passive observer to the wages of his recent sins as far above him the old foes reconnected.
"Ave, Arkas Princeps Lucis... Since we did part at Kaladon, hither have I dwelt... drawn to the surge of æther that did stir Our ancient pow'r e'en whiles We did languish in the fell prison into which thou didst cast Us." There was no enmity or accusation in this simple statement of fact known to them both.
"Mickle be the sources of nourishment I did hither find... the sweet nectar of Sacrifice doth abound in profusion in this land of hierarchical Domination that doth forge such taut and terrible Chains. Their initial Sacrifice woke whilom puissance within Me, and in this 'godless' land have I found many who worship at Mine altar some knowingly and others..." She glanced down to Franky and sighed, "...unwittingly."
Suddenly the harsh pull of Her chains would whip the incapacitated archdemon bodlily toward them and within seconds he was suspended by the ætherial manacles binding his wrists. A silent observer in his own mind, Franky would watch as the desert dominatrix turned to cast a faint smile toward her ancient archenemy.
"Ofttimes did this one invoke My name with wanton abandon and seek to empow'r himself by practising Mine art: Sacrifice most sacred." Her gaze fell upon Franky directly now, and she sneered.
"Link by link hast thou thyself forged the Chains that do bind thee unto My dominion. In thine effort to wield might enough to vie against Gods, thou hast nourished and strengthened one of Their number. Perforce do I claim a tithe from every Sacrifice that is made, for I am Sacrifice. But from one such as thee? One who doth o'erreach in seeking to claim what is Mine by right without according Me My due? I shall take no mere tribute... I shall bankrupt thee of every mote of might thou didst dare to gripe in My name." She would inspire a breath as Franky's essence was siphoned through the chains that bound him to Her nimbus.
"Thou wouldst claim the mantle of a king, but what knowest thou of Majesty?" The question was inevitably rhetorical, as She asserted the Dominion Franky had unknowingly granted and repeatedly reinforced with each invocation of Her undisputed domain.
“Fie!” Her gaze, now full of ire, turned to Hobbie as she twisted her wrist to tighten the chains rounding the animated shield until they cracked the creature in twain and drew forth the gem of chaos that brimmed with entropic energies.
“Lightbringer, I bid thee call upon the formidible force of thy fathomless Father to tame that fell artefact that we might employ it to undo the havoc this one sought to wreak. Zaichær is not his to Sacrifice. It hath been claimed by another and this…” She gestured with disgust to the warping breach as it brimmed toward another explosive event, “...this is redundant. We have seen this all before and lot long ago that grim Glade of yesteryear when first this cataclysm did ope the welkin and doom this realm that doth nourish Me so.” She turned to Franky, her chain receding from the inert, shattered shield that had served him in sundry forms, allowing the pieces to fall to the tattered earth below. With that, She reoriented him so that he could watch as they went about their work.
“Thou shalt tarry hither, thou high-sighted knave, and We shall consider thy doom after We have undone thine imperious exploits.” The Imperatrix would hover toward Arcas and the gem, as the demon drained into her through the veins of her chains, slowly feeling his power wane back toward that of the goblin he’d once been.
