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A shrill, sinister laughter echoed as twisted shadows spread across the ground like writhing tentacles or billowing demonic fire. At the edge of the darkness, a demon with black wings hovered in the air, his limbs as thin and pale as dead branches and his face half-hidden behind a distinctively hellish mask.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Oracle High Reverend Weaving. I’m not here on behalf of Pope Ludwig.” Wayne had transformed into a demon convincingly with his incomplete Philosopher’s Stone.
He had been using this form often to intimidate Hesione. You wouldn’t want to do this and that, would you, Śār? After enough practice, he had gotten his disguise down perfectly, playing a demon with ease.
The incomplete Philosopher’s Stone had come from the Papal State and had been Archibald’s favorite disguise. Angels had to maintain a virtuous image as righteous figures, and clandestine activities would be out of character. But doing the same things as a demon? They had no qualms shifting the blame.
Later, the stone changed hands to Wayne, who found it equally useful for dirty work.
The Papal State’s craftsmanship and the official endorsement from a Śār guaranteed the quality of Wayne’s disguise. Weaving...
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