[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Oh, quel magnifique! Quel délicieux!" Catherine's shrill laughter ripples through the early morning. What perversities in Providence allowed for such ironies?

Emboldened by the armistice that yet binds them, Assassin chooses to reveal herself, stripping off the cloak of concealing mana like a boudoir gown. Even if a battle could be fought, this corneille-petite presents no threat whatsoever, even with those adorable blades he has stowed on his person.

La Voisin manifests in front of the stranger, yet the face she shows is not the one Isaac has grown so fond of -- dignified in its aged beauty -- rather, the true visage of her soul, ripped from the furnace of Perdition.

She hangs inverted in the air in front of the young man, her upside-down countenance level with his. Tarry, melted flesh is split in a grin of deformed teeth, now broken as the wreckage of an exploded tongue licks mortified lips. Where her eyes should be, a cusp of fire-fused bone, blackened and bubbled, hangs in inhuman regard of Mr. Kite. Her familiar coils around her, its slithers rattling her skeletal gown.

"Not quite God, mon garçon." A raspy chortle escapes the murderess. "How rarely do little lambs like you get to tour the abattoir en avance? Is peace not a marvelous state of the world?"

Assassin's demented smile stretches all the wider, and a pulse of electricity courses through her demon, making tiny lightnings dance across her teeth, standing her hair on end. The sensation is nearly as thrilling as the fantasy of what she could do to this lost soul before her if only Ruler's geas could be broken.