They come, a plague of impure thoughts and twisted forms, disgusting refuse of the earth and sky that dares to kneel upon this sacred ground. He watches the mare through a screen of impassive eyes, her words like so many stones thrown into still water, casting ripples of acknowledgment yet leaving no mark. She is stupid, he thinks, this hornless beast of inferiority and her pithy attempt at wit. She is a blight on this earth and deserves none of his time. She will not sway this creature, this monster of another realm, this vast beast of time and destruction.

More come: an abomination, a child, a weakling, a sacrifice. Three are struck down by the demon's wrath, and the child of angels remains; he stands beside his brethren and takes pleasure in this recognition of their superior blood. He is mighty, a prince of darkness in a world of light whose shadows are devils that tread at his feet. He hears the demon's promises and he finds them suspect, the actualization of these claims unlikely. Wrapped around the expanse of his mind is a thread of curiosity, an eager yearning for what the monster beyond must claim; and so he does not laugh in the face of death, but watches it in silence and lets the others speak.

Mockery and pleading are the offer of the shifting silver brother, an invitation offered that the beast would do ill to refuse. Demonchild wonders if the stallion has doomed them all, and cares not; should hell step through this shifting gate, he will welcome it with open arms, taking his place as heaven's liaison and casting a shadow across the earth, great enough to swallow sea and sun.

First he must have what the creature defends.

Restless magic stirs in the cloven beat of his hooves and rises thinly through blood and bone. What to cast, what to conjure; large or small, it must be enough to create a distraction for the beast to pursue. Ideas settle in and the behemoth steps aside, willing sunlight and magic to weave itself into his mirror, his twin.

Instead, he finds himself lost. He fades away like so much smoke, a memory of something that once stood tall. In a gasp of air he disappears, invisibility casting its magic cloak over the demon's sightly form, and once the cloud of confusion fades, then does a grim satisfaction take its place. Demonchild held his faith to the forefathers, and Cinnoru has blessed him on this day, taking the power he has ever possessed and changing it into something more suited to his purpose. Instead of creating the reflection of life, the threads of sun have taken away, now turning him invisible to searching eye. He is truly a ghost, a creature of sky and stars, an enigma sent to rule this earth.

He steps forward and does not see his legs. The orb lies within so many steps, and if only the others will keep the beast occupied... Demonchild reaches with an unseen nose, and the inches between his skin and the gates of Hell stretch infinitely in that moment. He can feel the lift of sensitive hairs in the heat of the rift, tingling in sensation, tail arcing long and unseen beats behind. A pause, a wonder, a moment to secure the magic that hides his form in its unforeseen malfunction, and he reaches forward to grasp the egg, neck stretched and head poised to quickly usher it from the demon's grasp.

[ doppelganger magic and stuff. ]