Second Intermission: Gathering of the Wicked and Close Associates...

In the dim corridors of the decrepit mansion, a bizarre figure sauntered cheerfully toward a particular door.

His appearance was as eccentric as his attitude—something between a Mad Hatter and a circus ringmaster, dressed in asymmetry and menace. He wore a harlequin mask, expressive despite its stillness, and a bobbed haircut dyed black and dark green, with a fly-shaped braid dangling over one shoulder. His coat was equally flamboyant, decorated in chaotic patterns that echoed the aesthetic of insects and decay.

With no warning, he kicked the door open.

“WELL, WELL, what do we have here~? Our lovely little council of chaos—Evil and Associates, is it still called that~?”

The room, previously cloaked in silence, was abruptly filled with his theatrical voice. Several heads turned with varying degrees of recognition, irritation, and confusion.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Rydia asked, clearly annoyed and unamused. She didn’t recognize this particular Follower of Dracula.

"I haven’t seen you in centuries... and you’re still late, Baal’thazar," another voice chimed in, much calmer and more refined.

The speaker was tall, with ash-black hair and dark skin. Though his head, hands, and feet appeared human, the rest of his form was a writhing mass of spectral souls and negative energy, barely contained beneath a sleek black trench coat.

“Nigravos, old friend!” Baal’thazar sang. “How go your feasts and experiments~?”

Zeltha, who had been dozing in her chair, now sat up with an audible groan.

"Why the hell did Azrael drag you out of the Dimension of Complete Chaos? You were better off locked in there..."

Baal’thazar turned his masked face toward her, neck cracking at a slightly unnatural angle. His tone became mockingly sweet.

“My dear Zeltha~ You look like you just woke up from a beautiful nightmare.”

She glared at him with a mix of fury and exhaustion.

“Whoa-ho-ho~! Saints and flies, that glare could kill a god,” Baal’thazar added. “You're really terrifying when I look you in the eye... nerd~.”

At that moment, a heavy mist began to seep into the chamber. From within it, the tall, cloaked figure of Azrael materialized—The Grim Reaper himself. 

With slow, deliberate steps, he entered, his presence immediately restoring order among the chaotic gathering.

“The reason for this meeting should be obvious,” he said in a low, echoing voice. “And yes, Zeltha... I was the one who brought Baal’thazar and Nigravos back. Despite their defeats... their talents are needed again.”

From beneath his cloak, Azrael unfurled a large board resembling a war game—each section representing a region of Luminovia. Pieces were already placed, some marked with symbols of the Infernal Tyrants, others with signs of conflict.

Azrael gestured toward Nigravos, who silently extended a pale, spectral hand. A floating crystal sphere rose from his palm, swirling with shadow and light like a storm trapped in glass.

“With the Lone Demons now active,” Azrael continued, “we needed to test their potential. Nigravos has been overseeing the deployment of trial beasts. Let us see how they fared.”

The sphere pulsed—and the first vision began.

***

The image shifted to a scorched plain, where a monstrous Manticore roared as it unleashed twin streams of flame and poison from its maw. A figure stood in its path—wounded, but burning with fury.

It was Tatsuya, his clothes tattered, his eyes glowing with a violent crimson flame. He didn’t flinch as the fire approached.

“So this thing breathes both fire and venom?” he growled, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see if it can handle hellfire.”

Twin infernos clashed midair—the Manticore’s breath against the concentrated flame surging from Tatsuya’s palms. He stepped forward with unrelenting aggression, each movement sharper and more controlled than before.

“He's still reckless,” Zeltha muttered, “but he’s improving…”

***

The scene shifted. 

Now, a young girl, no older than eleven by appearance, stood on an ancient ceremonial platform, facing a grotesque Chimera—lion head snarling, serpent tail hissing, goat skull glowing with arcane symbols.

She tilted her head, voice innocent but cryptic:

"The Lion roars... the Serpent poisons... and the Goat conjures..."

The Chimera exhaled a wave of searing flame.

The girl raised her hand—absorbing the fire effortlessly into her body. Her eyes lit up, mirroring the flame, and she let out a delighted giggle.

“Jijijiji~ Now burn for me, okay?”

She mirrored the Chimera’s attack—but amplified. The fire she returned was double in size and intensity, crashing into the beast and sending it hurtling back, roaring in agony.

Rydia narrowed her eyes. “That child… What even is she?”

Baal’thazar chuckled. “Cute and psychotic~ My favorite combo~”

***

Once again, the sphere twisted—and now the scene was deep in a mountainous ravine. There, a massive Behemoth lay motionless, already defeated. Standing atop it was a middle-aged man in a long trench coat, casually shuffling a deck of worn-out cards.

He took a puff from a cigarette and laughed to himself.

“And that, my dear Behemoth... is how you lose a bet.”

He flipped a card into the air. It spun like a coin, then caught fire and vanished in a puff of dust.

Azrael raised an eyebrow. “His geomancy is more precise than expected.”

“I don’t care if he’s precise,” Zeltha muttered. “He smells like whiskey and debt.”

“Exactly~” Baal’thazar grinned. “My kind of hero~”

***

There awaited a colossal creature: a segmented insect with countless legs, half worm, half beetle, with the sliminess of a snail. Its immense body coiled and twisted, becoming a living projectile.

"No matter how great you are... insects never surpass birds," she whispered, her voice muffled by the mask.

The creature rolled in a sphere of defense and offense at the same time, but the air itself had become its enemy.

"That woman... she moves with grace and elegance, though always tinged with arrogance."

"And those birds aren't simple birds. They're fragments of herself... extensions of a changing body."

***

Rydia was the first to break it.

The sphere revived for a moment, briefly showing Ayato and his group facing the three-headed monster. 

His sword flashed in unison with those of his allies, and the fight progressed more by the coordination of the group than by the boy's individual prowess.

"He is not without power... but his dependence on others is evident. He does not adapt on his own like the others."

"Simply put: without his companions, he would be dead. Tatsuya, the girl, the gambler, and Yuzuru… they all adapted on their own, with brutal speed. He, on the other hand, clings to his allies like a cane".

"Even he's comparable to the inept drunk Sylphidia, even though she's not the most reliable ally, so to speak..."

"Then he's not worthy of being among them, nor of..."

The Succubus was about to respond in the most disingenuous way to look good in front of the others, even though she had boasted that Ayato was her 'champion' days ago.

Baal'thazar laughed with grotesque hysteria, bending backward as the mask on his face trembled.

"Oh, saints and flies! This is delicious! Isolde~!"

Baal'thazar pointed at the vision with trembling fingers, almost entranced.

Rydia looked at him strangely.

Zeltha leaned toward her, whispering in a low, venomous voice, loud enough for everyone to hear, pointing a finger at Baal'thazar.

Baal'thazar stopped laughing for a moment. His head lolled to the side with a crack, and then he let out a squeal of glee.

He pounded the ground with his makeshift cane, his demented laughter echoing off the walls.

The council remained silent, watching the harlequin mask tremble with each spasm of laughter. It wasn't mere madness: it was the jubilation of a monster who had just reconnected with the deepest scar of his past.

Azrael sighed, his deep voice echoing in the room:

"Threat?" The Harlequin's laughter turned into a shriek that rent the air. "I am the threat! Even you, Azrael, cannot contain me."

A ripple of silence swept through the room, enough to make the fog tremble.

But Baal'thazar paused for only a few seconds before laughing again, mockingly, as if the attempt at authority were a game.

A sigh swept through the room. Nigravos watched silently, as Zeltha rolled her eyes.

"Sure. Let's finish the formal part. The Infernal Tyrants... there are only six left. There were originally eight."

"One of them," Azrael continued, "was recently eliminated by Ayato, Isolde, and Vera. The coordination of those humans has upset the balance.

Baal'thazar, still laughing, pointed a trembling finger at the board.

Azrael closed the board with a solemn gesture, while the entire council remained silent, comprehending the magnitude of the changes: the Lone Demons had shown strength, two of the Hell Tyrants had fallen, and Baal'thazar... was more uncontrollable than ever.

No one dared break the silence. Every shadow seemed to hold secrets and threats, and every presence... a reminder of old defeats and future confrontations.