[center][img]http://s5.postimg.org/4yiaesk6v/ioi_naked.png[/img]

[b]THE EMPTY LORD[/b][/center]

He had heard the call, felt the penetrating invitation. But he'd been expecting it. For the longest time, this variable remained undefined in his plan, like a flickering fire at the end of a long road. And now it was coming to an end, forcing his hand to examine the triviality himself in lieu of sending ambassadors on his behalf. His followers, having been soothed and informed of the new changes, remained behind in that secret world that existed in between the Three Worlds' inhabitants' compositions. Even the one with the rictus grin who had betrayed him understood the wisdom of letting his lord handle this.

And handle it, Ioi most certainly would.

As a large semi-transparent blue rectangle multiplied itself in place and phased him onto the Surface, it was the first time since the Great War's beginning that Ioi, the Empty Lord of Maioi (a northeast region of Hell), breathed surface air. As he exhaled through his unseen mouth, dark purple smoke rose into the air, and joined into tiny little dark orbs that joined the rest hovering around him like wandering wisps. His form, though dark as slate and unclothed, actually warped the reality of the space he occupied. Light bent around him, barely able to bounce off of him and go into the eyes of those who may see him. Shadows were delved under the bending photons, the two elements merging into a purple smoky essence that seemed to breathe out hot air as it followed him. Dark crystal lattices, none no larger than a human palm, were embedded in Ioi's body and radiated not [i]power[/i], but insensible abstracts of information.

With purpose, he took a stride toward the Sword that had previously been Hazumi, a strange oddity of a person whose files filled an iota. Eight small slits on his face, glowing as though empowered eyes, bore down on the two-bladed instrument and its simplistic, unassuming European style. A strange symbol above his eyes vibrated lightly as Ioi assessed the secret details of its composition. It was as he expected from long ago: a gathering of the essence of these worlds. Again, it beckoned him -- anyone really -- to grasp its handle and change reality.

Which [i]he[/i] had been doing all along, surely and slowly.

Less smoke escaped him as he stepped forward again, seemingly ignoring the situation around him but in fact had planned this window of opportunity--it bought him a couple minutes before anyone would notice. For his was not an aura of angel, human, or demon (though that had been his former nature)--as the Council who could not make sense of Chimeras, so would anyone else would struggle to sense Ioi. But once they were able to, they could no longer hide from him. Not that he was searching for them, as he had no need to--it was his way to be where he needed to be, and nowhere else ever at the wrong tick of time.

He seized the Sword, its almighty power trying to surge through him and beg him to embrace service of the world. Holding the blade tip skyward, his eyes dimmed in intensity as he realized how easily he could change the worlds. His wisps flitted around the blade, trails of smoke fading into light and shadow, and back again. He understood what this was for, in fact, the whole feeling was bittersweet. 

He lowered the sword, [i]disappointed.[/i]

The use of this instrument by him would unbalance the amount of hope and despair that he needed for his plans' fruition. There was no way he could proceed with this opportunity without obvious despair-causing changes. Although before, when he had been planning his return as a herald of an invasion of the Three Worlds, he would have gladly used this Sword. It would have been checkmate...

But Ioi, the Empty Lord, and the last of the Dovetail demons, knew better. It took a while, but he knew better, for when the [i]truth assumed him[/i], he realized a better way; a safer alternative to reality's inevitable subduing. Unfortunately, destroying the Sword was not a great idea and he knew that while it still existed, it would continually call to someone to wield the essence of the world, for better or for worse. He turned around, his window of opportunity fading down to its last few seconds before someone would notice him. His options were before him, and Ioi decided to wait. Simply wait. Nobody was going to destroy the Three Worlds, but he was not going to keep it for himself. 

He did not need to: even now, his Iotan essence was communicating with the Sword... abstract to abstract.

His wisps, now forty in number, swirled around him flawlessly, from his three clawed feet to the top of his bald head. The Sword in his right hand, his left hand clenched and released, its dark purple claws trembling. Smoke quietly sifted out of his mouth again as he very patiently waited for those empowered variables to show themselves and solve the equation of this confrontation with him. 

And normally, time and patience were beneath Ioi and never influenced how he acted, but he hoped things would hurry along; after all, he had a [i]honeymoon[/i] to commence...