OOC: Short story, closed to Ploay and Dispater. If you are not one of the invited, but do want in, PM me. However, you'll have to bring a pretty good reason for being in a separate dimension.



In all aspects, it was the Grand Cathedral as Arael remembered it. White marble, silver-veined, held him captive, rising up high on all sides. The Fallen Angel had lost count of the times he'd attempted to bash through the metallic entranceway at the other end of the hallway, thrashing until one more strike would have broken the trembling, fatigued fingers handling his bloodred greatsword. And yet, there was not a single scratch on the gate's surface to acknowledge his efforts. The great pillars that symmetrically lined the main pathway, from entrance to altar, loomed over him. At times, Arael thought that he could see the alabaster stone shiver beneath the load of the ceiling, as though it would not hold out much longer. Sometimes, he hoped that it really wouldn't. He could not get out. He was doomed to silence, to an eternal tranquillity that none should ever hope to bear witness of.

And yet, he'd slowly learned to cherish these moments of hallowed lifelessness. For the maddening loneliness of this holy prison was preferable over the other danger that its impenetrable walls harbored. Arael knew that it would not be long before that threat surfaced again, although he had to admit that he'd lost all sense of time while being here. It was a growing tinge of unrest, the itch of being watched in his gut which informed him; he'd learned to listen to his body in these instances, and it had saved his life on more than one occasion. For now, though, the shady anxiety drifted in the background, alike an enemy army on the horizon: menacing, but still far away. Arael decided to deal with the danger as it came. He hovered over to the altar. A golden chalice stood upon it, glimmering diffusely in unearthly light. Arael looked up. The Cathedral's walls were dotted with beautiful windows, but those did not seem the source of the ubiquitous luminiscence. The light was just... there.

A scouring sonance resounded behind his back. A signal of warning jolted up his spine. It had come. He turned around. His hand tightened around the grip of his blade, one metal pressing firmly against the other. Nothing had visibly changed, but the atmosphere had shifted into one of brooding tension. Arael's heartbeat and breathing accelerated. His sword slowly rose into battle-ready position. His other hand swiftly joined its counterpart at the grip, releasing a fading echo throughout the vestibule. And as the remnants of the war-hungry sound departed, the denizen of the Void arrived.

Arael reacted in a split second as a sourceless shadow slid over the wall behind the altar. It had stopped behind him. The Fallen Angel looked upon it with muscles tightened. Something was strange. Normally, the Void - as he so aptly called the formless blackness that continually threatened his life - attacked as silently as possible, trying to catch him by surprise. This time, however, it remained still on the wall. It had no eyes, yet Arael could feel its gaze passing over him - a stare of disdain, unworthiness. Anger brewed inside of him. Chaotic energies began to revolve around his blade, sparks of crimson lightning passing over the glimmering edge. A chorus of angelic voices began to sing in unison, a bombastic organ guiding their cult-like chants as the shadow of the Void leaped at him, and finally gained recognizable form.

He stood aghast.

It was not a monster, as so many times before. Not an assassin. It was not even a mirrored version of his former self, trying to coerce him into becoming one of those lie-spreading, elitist Angels once more. In nigh slow-motion, a feminine form twirled through the air. Ashen wings revolved around a lithe body, covered mostly in robes as black as the long hair that wildly spun around a face that the Fallen Angel knew all too well. The shining steel of Ploay's enchanted sword struck like lightning, and in his bewilderment, he was only narrowly able to block it. His eyes were still locked with the violet orbs of his sister, and though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was only a mirror image, he could not deliver any kind of counterattack. In his craving for destruction, he had not once been able to harm her, the only family he knew, unless she'd consented to fight in the first place.

Consequently, he was steadily being pushed back while he attempted to create some space between him and the Void's cruelest form, failing the task miserably. Blood had appeared on the gray robes that covered his legs, his crimson chest armor dented, the blood-colored armguards battered. Sweat pearled on his forehead. He saw openings in the fake Ploay's guard, but when he tried to react and strike her, it was as though he walked into an invisible wall. It was hopeless. With her powers over wind, the Void-created Guardian launched him straight into the Cathedral's unrelenting doors, smashing all air from his lungs and launching his sword out of his hands, the blade landing several yards away, well out of his reach. With a malevolent smile, his black-winged sister's mirage walked over to him, sword at the ready for the killing blow.

Damn it! Why you, big sis?! I've never attacked you... I even tried to help you... and now... Why won't you help me?

The final thought was a baneful outcry, raging far into the center of time and universe, breaching the portals between dimensions. Arael somehow knew that his real sister had heard it. But how could she help him, when she was on Arda and he was... here?

Listless life hazed around the Guardian’s mind throughout time for what seemed to be endless. People whom she saw on a normal basis disappeared from existence; traveling to other parts of Arda. The only reliable power she could truly trust was the wind, it was always in the sky, chanting of little nothings. Glorious angelic buildings loomed around her in this holy city almost as a never ending shimmer. Even in the presence of night; luminance glowed though the street corners. Most angels were in their homes at this time, fluttering their last ounce of light as they made their way to join with their family. Ploay had finally come to peaceful terms with her angelic brethren; who weren’t to blame for her eventful past. Only her father was to blame for the crimes that happen so long ago.

Gently turning her emotional lips into a smile, she spotted a small family though unclosed windows. They looked so happy with one another. Slowly the small smile faded into the night as she passed over their house. Tonight she walked on the virtuous streets in order to take her time. On occasion visiting the city of angels brought her some felling of joy in her listless heart. The brown leather sandals made soft sounds in the quiet night. Only sound she could hear were her own footsteps, and the soft coos of wind. Continuing to walk so began to remember the angelic brother she had. Luminance covering the darkness seemed to remind her of him. “Where in Arda are you?” She softly whispered while looking up at the star lit sky. Maybe he had found himself somewhere, and had forgotten all about his bigger sister.

Soon her dark clothed figure was walking closer to theGrand Cathedral she had known for it to exist, had seen it up close; but never once entered it. There was no reason for her to. Ploay did not or would not worship nor would she give any sort of advice in that Cathedral. No, her heart was healed still yet she had no wishes to keep up with angelic affairs if they had nothing to do with her brother. With her tanned hands in her pocket, she turned her head to the left, the other direction as she began to pass the sacred building. Swallowing hard the building was almost out of view and would be behind h er shortly until she had heard something earth shattering.

Why won't you help me?

Suddenly her heart skipped a beat while her body stood still as stone. Breathless, she repeated the words over in her head, or the sound was echoing. Ploay knew that voice anywhere, it was none the less her brother, but where was he? Arael? She thought as she whipped her body around to see what if anything was behind her. Nothing. Looking up in the sky she thought maybe he was flying when he spoke, still nothing. With those violet orbs widen in confusion she commanded the wind for her aid. Where is my brother?! She angrily asked the winds. Floods of wind currants rushed madly across the city, looking for the breath pattern of Ploay’s brother. Quickly the currants came back, nothing near, nothing here. Where than, find him, Ploay than in a pleading thought to the wind. Wind whirled in circles once more yet still came back but this time the wind said something else, Is’s hear he seems to be in there, but not quiet so.

With a confused look, she looked at the Grand Cathedral, was that where he was? Would angels really let her brother to come here after his known reputation. No the wind said he wasn’t quiet there. Whispering though the wind, she sent a message out as she walked closer to the Cathedral. “Find me someone who can lead me to my brother who isn’t quiet in the Grand Cathedral but in another realm, and I shall give a reward.” The whispering wind carried the message across the city in hopes to find someone who could help her.

Dispater... how could you describe such a sophisticated creature, belonging to a race that the most creature didn’t know what exactly it was? Almost anyone heard and feared in the same time the concordant killers, planar walkers, hit-men and assassins, selling themselves only for the right price to the right people. And through right people they understood those entities who represented superior power, such as Gods and Demigods from every single plane of existence. The few who have studied and mastered their knowledge in what concerned the other levels of existence would know that the killers belonged to the Outer Planes, but unlike all the other creatures they were not native to anyone. Mainly because they were an experiment, or at least that’s how it was thought to be. There ware actually two legends wandering around, both seem as accurate and as good in what concerns the appearance of the concordant killers. Some say they were an experiment by gods of neutrality, who sought to create the perfect stewards for maintaining the cosmic balance, they created them by combining and infusing both celestial and fiendish energies, total opposites, forced to live together in what later became to be a concordant killer.
Others hold that they were created by a long-forgotten demigod to serve as bodyguards, he wanted his bodyguards to have the advantages of both angels and fiends but none of their weaknesses. They failed in that endeavor, they failed to protect their creator, and their master was lost to a shadowy rival. Without direction, they settled into the role of mercenaries, eons ago, and remained like this even to these days.

They never talk about their past, about their creation, so no one would know for sure. Whatever the truth, as beings of neutrality, concordant killers are concered with the balance of all forces in the planes, seeking balance in his life even as he serves and hunts those of more extreme alignments. And as a creatures of oppositions their intentions were very hard to decipher, sometimes they are evil or chaotic, other times good or lawful, whatever behavior was needed in order to take their mission to an successful end, and preserve what each of them consider to be Balance.

Dispater made no exception, he was a concordant killer, the first to step upon the realms of Arda, and was currently on the outskirts of the Sanctuary of the Angels, a side of his felt very drawn to the city, but the other one was just repelled. The feeling he got was unsettling, he felt like the harmony of his inner being was slowly disrupted. He had to focus, he hated when this happened. Dispater was currently walking in his human form, there was no point of maintaining his true form when he was so close to a city inhabited by celestials, because his appearance was mainly fiendish, he could be easily mistaken for a demon or a devil, the only angelic thing he owned were his wings, they were feathery, yet a little dusky.

Just when he closed his eyes to focus and meditate to settle down his inner being, he could feel a whisper, carried towards his ears by the wind. How could that be possible, was he hallucinating already? But no… he emptied his head of any thoughts and just listened to the whisperings, they called out to him, something or someone was summoning him, needed his aid, and there was a reward in the game if he was to accept. No doubt, a demigod needed his assistance, and he would not turn it down, not now when he had so many opportunities, the reward might also be good enough to satisfy his need for weapons and other combat-oriented weapons.

He forgot about his inner struggle, doing so it disappeared, and started off into the sanctuary itself. The angels living there looked upon him with suspicion, his eyes were like they never seen before, they were glowing, the most hypnotic emerald color, he had swirling energies instead of irises, more you looked more you would feel your head spin. But he returned none of those gazes, and continued, towards the location from which the whisper came.

Then he could see her, a female angel, standing tall before the Grand Cathedral, the most important building in the whole city. He knew! She was the source of the whispering. Strange readings he got from the Cathedral itself, it was not normal feeling of holiness, it felt weird, as if a demiplane consumed the building from inside, with a vast knowledge of the planes and the ability to plane-walk, Dispater could feel the planes, each had their own energies and power.

“Who called?” Came the voice of Dispater, penetrating the silence, it was a deep voice, resonating a lot of charisma. His glowing eyes scanned the area, he was not far from Ploay, and even though his whole being pushed him towards her, the voice of reason stopped him from taking a step further. He didn’t like to make assumptions, assumptions were bad, so whoever summoned him had to show themselves before him, and communicate him the nature of their problem, and what was he supposed to do.

Behind her the wind had finally stilled itself, and a voice came to her ears. Turning her head she could only hope that it was someone she really needed. The appearance of the voice looked like a human man. Appearance wise told her this couldn’t possible be the person she had called for, yet somehow seemed to hear the wind. Yet the chance of the man just being annoying at the calling like a sleeping person would be if they had heard a loud horn. Ploay didn’t want to disturb anyone, and had believed to have kept her whispers as quiet as possible, only getting to those whom needed to hear. I must work on that, she thought to herself while looking at the ground for a slight moment. Time was of the essence, thus the guardian did not ‘beat around the bush.’ While raising her head back up, she studied his glowing green eyes; very uncommon for humans.

Turning her body around to face him, Ploay held a still gaze with her violet orbs. “If you are whom I’m looking for, time is of the essence. My brother is in need of help but he isn’t here per say,” Ploay paused and turned her head towards the Grand Cathedral with a sigh leaving her breath. “Please, if you hold the power to take me to him, than by all means hurry!” Sharply she turned her head back to the man, and held a worried look in her eyes. That face aged her appearance, it wasn’t very becoming of her to look so old with concern. Yet that was the feeling in her gut, she could feel her brothers pain, although she had no idea just how far away he was from her. Ploay hadn’t even spoke of what she was, guardian of the wind, nor did she explain what the reward was. Indeed she would reward him with something, right now she wasn’t quite she what that would be. Her main concern was the thought of her brother, Areal.

Please brother be strong, if he isn’t the one to help you, than I will find a way I promise. Ploay thought although she had no idea just how to help him if this man couldn’t help. Was the mistress of wind, not time and space. In truth the only hope laid within this stranger who seemed very unlike all the other human mortals she had come across. This one held an eergy she couldn’t describe inside, but outside she doubted her trust in him. Big things come in unique bodies, a cool breeze gently spoke to her.

Dispater looked at the woman and the woman looked at Dispater, they both doubted each other. He doubted that she was the source of the whispering and she doubted that he was the one able to help her. Such an interesting situation, it almost amused the killer, but it was no time for entertainment, the task at hand was more important. They should move fast, someone was in danger of being killed, not like he cared to save a life, but his mission was now to bring the demigod to that plane and save the threatened being. Funny, how his human appearance always helped him blend perfectly among commoners, if only he could conceal his eyes as well, but they were the living proof of Dispater’s true being, and they would never not allow him to forget his heritage and true form.

“Yes I can feel it… The Cathedral is consumed by an invisible demiplane, walk through the iron gates and you would see nothing, walk through the gates of the cosmos and its true nature will show itself, as well as your brother, endangered as he is…” The killer became a little philosophical and almost talked in rhymes, but he snapped out to reality just in time.

“I assure you I am nothing close to a mere human…” He spoke, proud of his origins, and before she could even say anything else, he walked to her. No! He ran to her, his eyes became the only things she would see, everything became a blurr around them, nothing was what it seemed to be anymore, a tunnel-like vision formed between the two, he continued to run towards her. It seemed strange that small distance that once was between them could be traveled in such a large amount of time. He ran, but the distance between them did not diminish, it remained perfectly the same, that until she will end up with Dispater’s whole 800 pounds-weighted frame slamming into her. Taking another traveler with him was something very hard and consumed a lot of energy, it could be achieved only through a powerful physical shock against the other one.

It was probably the first time she traveled between planes though Dispater didn’t warn her before, he didn’t tell her about the shock she would get, he didn’t feel like doing it, there was no time either. Her vision will go black for a flash of a second, and by the time she blinked for the first time she would see herself engulfed by a whole new surrounding: the very inner walls of the Cathedral. She was were she wanted to be, her brother was somewhere beneath her. Ploay was the first to appear, but followed closely by Dispater, his body sustained somewhere into the air by invisible wings, while in human form his wings were invisible. On the other hand, the killer didn’t suffer any shock, traveling between planes was something on a regular basis for him. He spotted her brother attacked by some strange creature; his arm outstretched and his index finger was pointed into the direction of the angel in red armor, in case Ploay didn’t see him.

Bereaved of any majestic stature he might have once had, Arael lay helplessly at the feet of a sister that was not his family. The Fallen’s wings were spread out over the aureate surface of the gateway he sat against, both left and right, their ashen tips curling back towards him as though ready to form a funeral pall. The Void stood still in front of him, heaved its fake Sword of Air, slowly, in triumph. The most random of thoughts struck Arael as he saw his doom approaching; the Void did not seem to have any kind of shadow. It was a shadow. But, if that’s so, a little voice in the back of his mind preached with curiosity, how can there be a winged shadow to your left? And another one, a humanoid one, to your right? He frowned, his thoughts momentarily ripped away from the edge that sliced towards his jugular ever so slowly. His dim red eyes shifted upwards, but where he’d expected to see the marble ceiling, he noticed something very much different.

Ploay!

There was no doubt in his mind that this was not a cruel image fed to his tormented mind by the Void – his spirit felt her presence, her support; an oasis in the drought of his hopelessness. Sweet chaos once again raged alit inside his battered soul. Fire and brimstone coursed through his body, and he welcomed the pain it brought, drawing strength from his destructive cravings once more. The fake Ploay’s sword had nearly reached him, but with adrenaline roiling through his mind, it was as if time stood still. His crimson gauntlets knew where to be before Arael could even command them to go there. He grunted as the mimicked Sword of Air clashed with his armor, but held onto the edge tightly. His own protection dug into the flesh of his hands. Blood streamed over his palms, but he did not let go. You’re not her! he repeated mentally, time and time again. The adamant mantra fuelled the fire that could be seen burning in his eyes. You’re not her! You’re not her!

It took three seconds, but to Arael it seemed like an eternity of forcing his mind to see the Void as it truly was. The fake Ploay pushed at the sword with both of its hands, but as Arael’s resolve strengthened, its fear-inspired strength withered. Crevices of shadow appeared on the angelic Void’s face, then on its hands. Darkness oozed from the wounds as Arael crawled to his feet, still holding on tightly to the sword. His body lingered dangerously close to the state of the legendary berserker: a force that he could not restrain, and a force that would kill him if allowed to be unleashed. He sought the Void’s false, violet eyes, and was pleased to notice that those, too, had reverted to darkness. Lines of decay started to run down the counterfeit Sword of Air, the steel crumbling beneath the relentless squeezing of Arael’s injured hands. Then, with the angelic chorale in the background reaching the zenith of their vocals, the sword shattered. The steel fell down to the floor, sending roiling echoes throughout the Cathedral, and as it touched the marblestone, it seemed to turn into liquid darkness, like thinned-out tar.

The Void’s spell broke, completely. The image of Ploay was gone, replaced with a faceless, human-like shadow that rapidly crumbled at the edges. The final remnants of the shadowblade seeped from Arael’s dented gauntlets. The Fallen Angel, aware of the excruciating pain in his fingers, feated upon the current of rage that guided his actions. One final roar boomed through the alabaster narthex as he grabbed the crumbling horror’s face, ran for five steps, and launched it at the great altar at the other end of the vestibule. The Void faded with an unheard scream of defeat, vanishing into thin air before it could make contact with the pure marble it raced towards. Only silence lay in the wake of Arael’s sudden outburst, briefly interspersed with heavy breathing on the Fallen’s part. The power of chaos quickly left his body, leaving him with only pain and bewilderment as to how he’d avoided death.

He turned around and looked up as he trudged towards the golden door. The true Ploay hung in the air, and now that he could see her, he wondered how the Void could have ever managed to mislead him – his sister was unique, and one of the few things he still treasured on Arda. His interests quickly veered over to the man that was hovering beside her. Arael winced as he looked the man in the eye; not out of fear, but guided by fury. Within the creature’s emerald eyes lay captive the immediate opposite of everything Arael stood for: balance. Balance and order. Even as he moved further away to grab his sword from the Cathedral’s shining floor, he could feel the white-haired entity’s imperturbable dispassion gnawing at his intestines. They had not exchanged a single word, and already Arael knew that at one point in the future, near or far, he would come to battle this creature.

But not today, for it seemed that Ploay had found an ally in this quintessence of equity. Perhaps I even owe this abhorrence my life… The thought left a tart feeling upon his tongue. He forced his attention back to his sister, although he had to continually prevent his blade from blazing up with crimson lightning, the bloodred steel enraged by the beryl-eyed stranger.

“So glad you could make it, sis…” he started out dryly as he looked her in the eye with a gleam of joy inside his eyes, although the emotion itself had been long lost amongst the twisted pathways of Arael’s mind. Ploay was someone that deserved to live on when he’d destroyed everything else, and created paradise. Unlike billions of other Arda-dwellers, her existence was not a blemish upon the pristine Creation. He wanted to inquire as to how she’d arrived here, but was rudely interrupted by a horrible screech. Turning around, he saw another shadow flying straight at him. This time, it had the form of an axe-wielding werewolf. Before Arael could heave his blade, he felt a hairy shoulder connect with his breastplate, and he was knocked into the wall with a gigantic crash. This time, however, he managed to hold on to his sword.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that two more shadows had formed near the altar, though he could not see what form they had taken. What was more important was that they were both traveling at high velocity, straight at the Guardian of Wind and her dimension-traversing companion. He wanted to cry out a warning to his sister, but his sight was quickly blocked by a bulk of hair and decayed armor; the Void Wolf had rediscovered its target, and ravenous hunger glimmered in its pitch-black orbs. The Fallen jumped aside, narrowly avoiding the dagger-like nails on one of the beast’s sweeping paws. His greatsword carved a path through the air, but the werewolf nimbly sidestepped his overhead strike. Apparently, the Void wasn’t planning to suffer defeat at the hands of its prisoner and the two new trespassers – it had given each of them a new, powerful opponent to deal with.

Dispater took a few seconds to recover after the dimensional journey, this proved to be a successful one, he wouldn’t have to crush against the ground once more, like he did many times before. This was a simple procedure mainly because the demiplane to which he traveled and was at the moment was not so powerful and complicated, not so large and populated as other ones were. His arm lowered immediately as the fallen angel trapped inside the Cathedral acknowledged them.

Dispater’s eyes had fallen on those of the angel, and in turn those of the angel had fallen onto his. The very second in which their gazes remained locked seemed like an eternity, so many emotions and feelings were directed from one to another, they did not even exchange one word and already they knew more than they needed to hate each other. They were complete opposites, yet now they were on the same boat and the circumstances made them to fight as allies against this strange force, the Void. But even Dispater knew that he could not exist without his opposite. Yes, he could foresee many violent encounters between him and the fallen angel, but as much as he hated to admit none of them would be able to strive and declare himself victorious, no one is above the law of the universe, and the law of the universe says that opposites will always exist and co-exist.

So they fought against a creature entirely made by shadows, able to take any form it so desires, able to go into people’s deepest thoughts and animate their greatest fears in order to gain the upper hand in battle and eventually win. Such an interesting creature, but what was exactly? Well, in spite of Dispater’s many journeys throughout the many and different planes of the universe he couldn’t really tell, it was the first time when he saw a creature such as that.

It attacked the red-armored angel in the shape of an werewolf while other two similar entities had formed near the altar, one for Dispater and one for the woman which called out to him and asked for his help to get access into the Grand Cathedral.

The two shadow entities were currently shapeless, but as one of them began to head straight towards Dispater it started to take the same shape of a concordant killer, in fact it took the shape of Dispater’s true self, fighting with yourself proved difficult from time to time for those weak-willed people. It stood, a full 8 feet tall, with a shadowy body extended with a pair of shadowy wings resembling those of an angel, they were feathered and slightly darker than the rest of the creature’s body. From the top of its head, instead of hair, a vapor rose, it looked like black smoke, the creature itself looked like a muscular fiend with the wings of an angel, it even wore the same piece of clothing Dispater wore, the weird dark robe, polished with bits taken from the blades of his fallen enemies. An exact replica of Dispater in all its might, but it lacked the colors, and that was its very weakness. The concordant killer could not be easily tricked.

Enraged by such insult brought to his address, the killer turned towards the shadow-self as it traveled towards him, his silver brows narrowing slightly, he did not draw any weapons, instead he shaped his hand, giving it a scarlet skin, and long, wicked ebony claws. He left to meet the shadow somewhere in its way, allowing himself to free fall towards his target, keeping his hand ready, mocking the dark entity by showing it the true nature of himself, and not the failed replica it resembled. The shadow swung its sword but missed the falling frame of the Dispater with only a few inches, but those claws of the killer went through its very core, disrupting its molecular structure slightly, only then he realized that his enemy was somewhat composed of a semisolid material.

Dispater was weighing up to 800 pounds so his landing onto the floor of the Cathedral was pretty nasty, cracking the white marble slightly beneath his feet. To diminish the shock, his knees bent slightly. By the time he was there, the hand returned to its flawless human appearance, reaching quickly for his Infernal Sword, he was not an adept at fighting bare-handed. The sword itself was a magical one, enchanted with the wicked ability to feast on the souls of those which it slays in battle, giving the energies to the wielder. Dispater was fighting usually with heavy weapons, which required a lot of strength and dealt colossal damage.

He had enough time to prepare himself, as the shadow enemy was still recovering from the latest hit, but it did the unexpected and disappeared, surprising the concordant killer by reappearing behind him, thrusting its shoulder into his back and sending him flying a few feet through the Cathedral. His still hidden wings allowed him to not lose his balance and land on his feet. A grunt of anger escaped the base of his throat as he turned to face the shadow once more, but it was not there anymore, it disappeared, attempting to deliver another sneaky attack, it was playing dirty, all Dispater could do was to anticipate its next appearance. His sword swung to the left then traveled into the shape of an arc towards his right, the shadow has been hit through who knows what miracle, but only slightly, and disappeared for the third time before being hurt even more. The killer cursed himself for not delivering a clean strike which would have sent the shadow back to its maker.

A moment of unsettling silence and peace has fallen, only the breath of Dispater could be heard and the other two battles going on in the background. But Dispater had eyes and ears only for the task at hand, the shadow self.