[b]Sayanastia![/b]

Killing everyone would be trivial. Desirable, even.

The first step: Assume her true form, releasing a reality-shattering shriek that would crack this cacaphonic world. Every person at this party would be rendered empty, the remnants of their bodies as delicate as drained eggshells, only curses where their hearts once beat. 
The second step: Finish the wine

... only...

She does not think about the physical damage to her body. It is irrelevant - call yourselves paladins all you like, none of you wield the Aeon Blade or any of her sisters. No, the hard part is making sure their blades only fall upon her flesh and do not tear her dress. That itself requires a lot of thought and careful positioning, which affects how long it takes to strategize how she might assume the form of a ten mile long avatar of cosmic annihilation - [i]also [/i]without tearing the dress. Should she simply undress? Nobody would survive to think about it afterwards, but that also did not seem to be sufficiently [i]elegant[/i].

And before she can investigate that thought more deeply, she is being addressed. Yet another pure-hearted maiden warrior about to be cursed for the sin of not being Heron. Had they met before, like this? 

"Saved you?" said Sayanastia, frowning. As she thought about it she snapped up a hand to catch a falling heartblade. The hand came away, fading in a burst of mana, and a great talon of black burning smoke emerged from the stump where it had been. Using the enormous claw she batted away the paladin and left a corrosive arc of boiling violet negentropy on the floor. As she extended a long, sharp heeled leg to step over it, the massive talon condensed down into a starless void in the shape of Civelia's missing hand. She paused - all of her moves were followed by pauses these days, such a slow and deliberate sequence of gestures, as she assessed and judged if the destruction she had just wrought was sufficiently beautiful.

"Saved you." she repeated. "I do not remember saving you. I did not intend to save anyone. All I intend is destruction and ruination. All I intend is to put out the stars and eat the earth and burn the conceptual framework that gives rise to life. All I intend is to destroy you, interloper, to destroy your world, and to destroy everything that you cherish and desire."

She extends her void hand, intending for it to become her terrible claw once again. It does not. She scowls at it. Civelia. Civelia's influence. Civelia's trap. This was another part of it, no doubt. To attack her heart by poisoning herself. To attack her heart by placing her somewhere she cannot escape without becoming ugly. To attack her heart by shaping it like her own. "I hate you," she said, to her hand, to her claw, to herself, to her nemesis, forgetting for a moment that the interloper was there.

Then she placed that void hand against her chest, and drew forth a heartblade of her own.

It was a brutal thing; a long and heavy kanabō forged of white marble veined with black. It was set through with studded barbs of twisting corruption, lashing out with small connective electrical bolts to every nearby surface. Of course there was lightning - Heron had forced it into her heart too many times for it not to be there. Of course there was marble - the thing could have been carved from a toppled statue of Civelia. Of course it was a bashing weapon, a crude and terrible and absolute thing that no armour or wall would be proof against. 

Of course she held it lightly. All that weight that would have snapped a mortal wrist instead being applied perfectly to the point where flesh met shadow.

"You shall fail," announced the Dark Dragon. "You shall all fail. I shall not be trapped here, not least by beauty. For I shall become in war more beautiful than any of you dare imagine."