A well of satisfaction was filling in the knight's stomach as he stared down the central eye, his next target. There was no way he'd let this opportunity slip though his palms. In the frozen silence of the first eyes' destruction, the knight made the first move, dashing forward and full speed, toward the floating eyes. As Death began rattling off his keys again, he played a particularly narrow key, which sirened its annunciation to the brawlers above and below with a squeal–which contrasted the mellow-dramatic tone Death was playing towards almost perfectly irritating.
This particular keys development in the memorized sheet created a swelling of fear to rise in the gut of the twin remaining eyes of the eldritch beast of quizzical creation, forcing them to reroute themselves from the gripping terror created from the light press of upper right, blue pinky finger. They swerved it opposite directions, taking an equal amount of ash, and quickly reformed with a physical–spine chilling body.
Each took a vastly different shape–yet both were equally small considering the great vastness of its initial body. From the central eye, which dashed towards the knight's original position, an uneven amount of legs were sprouted and built agonizingly from the cloud of ash, creating six human-like legs at the same height, and a single, limp left leg, that was only the half the height of the other six–creating a rather odd attachment to the creature's long, noodle-adjacent torso that was nearly vomit inducing. Its shrink-wrapped, abyssal skin chasmed in places, letting oozing black blood to drip from wounds created on creation–much to the knights' dripping disgust.
The knight may not have been able to tell what was going on with the left eye of the former triad, but the popping, ripping, and various forms of squelches kept him from looking in the direction of it. When he heard a stand out lurch of agony from behind his back, a tint of green plastered itself across his cheeks, attaching via the bridge of his nose, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, the knight simply couldn't with the numerous explicit sounds of corroborating actions gorishly creating a body from foaming ash. He blinked away the tears forming from the sounds, and the lack of stench to go with it, and dashed towards his already physical opponent, as it stared it down with that same erratic gaze that froze the pore on his skin.
The heavenly bodies of fire somehow got to the beast the knight, launching volleys of arrows, spears, and other weapons created from the same infinite well of fire that created them, while a few flew into close quarters still hovering above the wooden, uneven flooring, trying, and failing, to land any sort of blow on the monstrosity. Despite its disproportionate, exaggerated limbs making it seem far too stocky to move properly, the sickeningly thin creature moved like water between the angels blades of fire–expertly evading the attacks, and swiftly extinguishing the flames with a practiced ease that came with an exorbitantly long time of hard fought battles with fire itself, yet it failed to account for the quickly approaching knight–which had eliminated a third of itself no time at all.
Its slippery form evaporated on intervals–carefully evading wounds that could otherwise have given the angels of fire the precious few moments to land the decisive blow leading to the end of the second third of the creatures life-but it didn't survive this long without learning to deal with such feeble foes–even when they were unkillable.
As each angel came back from the ashes like their summoner's father, the silhouette of what was once a congregation of humans, stepped crucially around a few dizzyingly fast thrusts from the three spear wielders around him–but it was all in vain. The knight was a few paces behind the hallucination of a lunatic, clenching his fists tightly–ready to rain brimstone onto the twitching horror. He squatted low–for once not hearing the groan of his armor in protest as he launched himself into the open air of the nest, above the creature, above the angels, yet below Kanaft's great claws–twitching nearly as much as the creature he was watching–he was waiting for his moment to strike–his moment to prove himself, that he was worthy of his purpose–his creation, so when he and the knight locked eyes for a moment, both were able to make out something they had never seen in the others eyes. An anxiousness the knight had never seen, and an excitement–or a thrill Kanaft hadn't noticed in the knights' constantly turbulent eyes. It was in that moment that lasted longer than hours that a sort of understanding flooded through them–like a skeleton unlocking the closet door and walking out, there was an obtuse, gratifying feeling of trust the sprouted from what felt like no where in the moment, yet, to the knight, it wasn't exactly artificial. It was–nutured, and just like that, the moment ended, but the slippery, easily deflatable trust that Kanaft and the knight shared now felt ironclad–it was strange. If the knight could hear the keys Death was playing–he might've understood why the pair melted down together to create infallible trust in one another. The alluring scent of those keys that seemed to place the final stones into the brick road that made up his and Kanaft's relationship, fully solidifying it–something that he might've been angered about if he knew of it–alas, he knew nothing. Time resumed, and a plan followed suit. Their eyes moved to the creature below, and quickly changed his trajectory–aiming for the center of the creature's back. Its spine stuck out like spikes of wood splitting a great empty plain in half against the pure black, barren landscape. It was a simple plan, but sometimes simple was all that was needed.
The knight scourged his way through the blustery winds as he winded his hands behind him, fists balled into fists as the spine grew closer to him, and in what felt like an instant after the crucial moment with Kanaft, he brought his fists down first, shattering the spine of the abomination in zero seconds after impact. Silence consumed the room, but Kanaft didn't wait. As the knight fell, he swooped down from his position high above the battleground, uncaring if the beast had seen him or not, with his claws heading his descent into the fight. Kanaft's talons glowed with a soft radiance as they grew closer to his angels of fire, and just as the knight landed, shattering the spine of the creature, Kanaft was nearly in front of it. Its back half shuddered, as the mid section flatted to a pancake–before once again returning to its true form of ash in the wind. Its hide may have been too tough for the angel's swords to penetrate, but for the knight's brute strength, it was nothing–simply, incomparable.
Kanaft stared into the single greenish yellow eye of the beast, watching it scream in pain internally with a cruel satisfaction. There may have been a time where the creature in front of him had completely wiped him out in battle, with its hundreds of eyes at the time, but not anymore–this creature held but a few eyes, which is why it went into hiding, and now he had the satisfaction of ending it, cruelly. The detestable thing had vexed him for the longest time–and he would be thrilled to see it disappear–for it to release the souls of all those trapped in the concentration camp of its mind–the deliberately tortured souls juicing the creature of the corrupt, power hungry man, that had put his father to sleep, yet, now, he started into the creatures eyes–gazing at the hundreds of trapped souls, and the hate that had built in his heart had no place there anymore. It drained from his being, leaving behind the sad, all-knowing pity that he felt for the souls lost to insanity in this tortuous body, so when his claws eventually landed on the golden eye of an unnamed shapeshifter, Kanaft felt nothing. He could not feel anything in his hyper intelligent mind as he crushed the glowing eye, or when he could feel the viscous liquid that had once been the lifeblood of these creatures being on his talons. He simply landed next to the knight, who was on the floor, watching as the perpetually crying faces of the souls, smiling in gratitude as they were whisked away by the ever present, gnawing presence of Death himself, playing a thoughtful lullaby for all in the vicinity.
The pair stared at one another again, black eyes meeting the shadows covering brown eyes–a silent conversation ensued, a tangible feeling of gratitude coming off of both, before both tore their gaze away. There was only one remaining, the last life of this creature–thats what they both figured, at least. There were a great many things that both felt as they stared at their final opponent. It was feeble, something all of them shared–prehaps it was because it knew it was out of time, or maybe even that it was scared–if this thing even knew what being scared was outside of the memories of the souls that made up the creature. Fear was far too humane for something like this abomination to express, yet it still managed to do so. It too steps back, its bipedal, skeletal figure shuddering while crying black tears against its equally black, expressionless, faceless head. The void of it, made the sight uneasy, almost mocking the true fear of something natural. It gave the knight an almost aimless anger. It was held by a ribcage and a spine for a torso–with overly fleshy biceps and triceps, with thin forearms and hands that looked almost as skeletal as the bare skeleton that was its torso–with short, stubby legs that looked incomplete. It wasn't human, yet its hesitance, gave an illusion of it, and to the knight, that hesitance was the seed of all the people who had looked at him in their final moments–their distraught faces bare to his vision or behind helmets, it didn't matter–they were still there to his eyes, and this was too close to that.
He took a step back of his own–something Kanaft had noted–but instead of trying to communicate with the knight, he simply dispelled the rings of fire that illuminated the nest. Leaving him in the dark–the only sources of light in the grand space being the now finite amount of angels still hung in the sky like puppets on strings–playing to the tune of Kanaft and his will. The labored breathing was gone, all sounds really, except for the keys of Death. The lullaby had transformed in a manner that could be considered abrupt if it didn't fit so well after the slow sheet to invite the souls to their true home after death. It was mellow dramatic, slowly worming its way into a chaotic mess of climax and resolution as one, that the knight was involuntarily leeching off of.
With a soothing deep breath, the knight forced back the memories of all the dim eyes staring at him in their last moments, even some of his closest, and spoke aloud for the first time in the fight, "You can bring the light back–Kanaft. Thank you–friend, that was… helpful," The words were rigid despite his soft speech, as he tried to find the right words to present to the bird, but he was quick to see once again as the rings of fire manifested to life once again, letting him see the disgusting creature again. He kept his mind sharp, and his eyes sharper. Breathing in deeply, he thought momentarily before speaking–trying to articulate what he wanted to convey correctly.
"Your collage of souls–they don't belong to you. Let them go–creation of destruction." There was only silence following the meekly voiced request. The thing across from the pair just took another step back, almost mistakenly falling into one of the many troves of black that made up the distance in between the giant twigs of the bird nest they were fighting in with its short, stubby, thin legs, while its faceless head portrayed nothing in its single glowing eye of despair.
"So be it–beast."