Timaeus felt the psychic energies swirl around him, in weird directions.

The Demon’s face was still as he was put at unease by the sloughs of energy that sluiced around his body. Then, like some wicked sorcerer he whispered and flicked his hands in complicated patterns. He lifted his right hand to the sky, and a flaming broadsword appeared in his grasp, a beacon of war.

As an ethereal dancer, he vaulted through the effervescent mists, his sword swinging in contorted motions. Many times he thought that he had come close, but his nemesis remained elusive. Nevertheless, Timaeus’ waltz continued along the gale and loam, his lodestar-blade conducting the aria of sparks and energy.

The effort made Timaeus’ blood croon and whine with delight. And silently, he made a vow to sate this carnal lust, no matter the cost. His visage become one of impish pleasure, smiling and laughing as he leapt and soared, swung and stabbed.

He soon discovered, though, that this psychic attacker was more than some desipient mortal. And that made him laugh all the more; Flames burst from his body, at all angles.

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