[i]And what of it?[/i]

These words cut through the silence of the abyss, causing the thousands- nay, millions -of tendrils, aglow in a wash of blue and green, to shudder and split.

[i]Flesh Golem down...[/i]

As the noise faded into the background, he turned his gaze to the centre of the many tendrils, seeing one grow a dark crimson, pulsing gently, an ephemeral vein. With a subtle noise, it stretched across the darkness, reaching towards him. Nox was tempted to touch it. He hadn't seen mayhem in a long while, and his urges were great. This time, however, he felt something was slightly amiss. The tendril was jumpy; twitching, chaotic. This was not normal havoc he could sense, not a simple tug upon the fabric of time by lesser beings such as himself, or even the cry of a demi-god. No, this was a far more grandiose vibrancy that could only be described as "fate"; a word he despised in all its forms.

His musings broke free when the tendril violently shuddered and turned a bright violet. Curiosity began to crumble and turn to fear as he watched it reach out to him, its intent unfathomable. He couldn't tear his vision from the tendril as it drew ever closer.

Just as it was about to reach him, he felt something tug at the edge of his consciousness. As the tendril brushed against his form, he felt a surge of insurmountable pain- a rare occurrence for a demon -and abruptly awoke, bolting upright.

At least, he [i]would[/i] have bolted upright, had he a body of sorts. He would have gasped for air, clawing at the ceiling for the first moments of waking from what was, for all intents and purposes, a nightmare. But he didn't.

Because he was a music box.

Well not a music box. He was trapped [i]inside[/i] a music box, and as much as the store owner protested that he was basically [i]a[/i] music box, he wasn't. That wasn't the matter at hand, however.

If Nox had a brow, it would have furrowed. Instead, pretty much instinctively, the music box let out a dischordant whine. Demon's dreams were oft prophetic, and this one was no different. But a violet tendril was not something he had encountered before, and the searing pain he experienced as it brushed him was incredible; terrifying, as it embarrassed him to admit. He had not felt a level of fear this great for many years. Havoc was a delightfully gleeful experience for a demon, but when the havoc extended beyond the mortal planes and reverberated through their very souls, it was no longer simply havoc. It was something more.

The fear had faded somewhat, but it remained as a splinter in his soul, and he had a feeling it would not leave so soon.

Snapping out of his musings for a moment, he focused upon his cage. With yet another dissonant chime, the music box sprouted a small, unblinking eye that began to move around, examining its surroundings.

The sky outside was dull and boring, at least to Nox. He sometimes enjoyed the sun, of course; the tales of his weakness being light were sources of endless amusement to him, as many an adventurer tried to destroy him by throwing petty torches or bolts of light, only to be consumed with little hesitation.

With a bit more focus, his weary mind forced the music box to sprout a few mechanical legs from its underside, wobbling to a standing position. He skittered over to the door, which, for some reason, was ajar, and wandered outside.