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"You're right," the demon lets out a huff of air. Her eyes focus on Tiff. "I should be focusing on you... and you should have brought a warrior with you!"
Her words punctuate a flurry of motion. She dashes at Tiff with a speed your eyes can barely follow; indeed, without some of the enchantments woven upon your glasses, you would have have missed her for a blur and a blink. Leading with the tip of her spear, she aims for Tiff's heart. Your friend bashes it away with the side of her staff, and counters with an open palm that burns with purifying flame. Dodging the wave of black fire, the demon takes the momentum of her parried spear and sweeps at Tiff's feet.
Tiff, however, is already gone. Though she cannot compete with a swordswoman, circulating her vast <span class="mu-i">leben</span> through her body keeps her from losing to the demon's sudden blitz. It's something every sorceress must learn - even one as weak as you - if they wish to survive fights against the inhuman beasts known as monsters.
It's enough to keep her from dying.
It's not enough to let her win. Between her fire and her staff, Tiff can avoid losing immediately. Every jab of the demon's spear is just barely knocked away, every rushing assault is broken by a wave of fire, but ultimately Tiff is outclassed by the Demon's physicality. With every blow those strikes get closer to piercing her guard. Clean parries become glancing blows that tear at her clothes and cut at her flesh, and if you cannot figure out the truth behind these woven refractions soon...
You stare at Amalia and Daphne. Their eyes are distant, their hands wander their bodies and play with themselves in ways that are entirely inappropriate. You would rather avoid that fate and break that spell if it's at all possible. But the weave is complex, the woven refractions of dream and memory creating an artificial space that you are on the <span class="mu-i">verge</span> of grasping. Delicately you pull upon the threads, seeking the truth behind the texture overlayed upon the world and the pattern that manifested this bounded space.
The blood moon shines bright, feeding the demon. It must be at the center of the riddle, but how can you grasp something so far away?
As you contemplate the web of refractions, Tiff jumps back from another exchange with the demon. The top of her robes are tattered beyond repair now, having become rags that only constrain her arms. With a rip she pulls them off, revealing a wiry and muscled torso riddled with the scars of life upon her arms and ample chest. The shallow cuts from the demon's spear will add more to the cacophony, some healing fully and others scarring over. Her back is painted with an illuminated manuscript that reads:
<span class="mu-i">For the Angel of Death spread His wings on the Blast,
And breathed in the face of the foes He passed;
And the eyes of the Sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!</span>
