Dread

She shined illuminated by strobe light. Kellen thought what dread work of angels? As the girl danced on stage. Behind her the portal to Azmouth had opened— and with it a legion of damned spilled out. The girl proved an ethereal cloud as the monstrosities roared past her.

“Rejoindre la danse de la mort!” Screamed a velvet vested man swinging a gold rapier. The monsters veered towards him but we’re put down in a frenzy of blows. Blood and bile splattered the dance floor. A group of young girls wept in the corner as the man let loose a deranged cackle, “je veux plus!”

The monsters that spilt out of the portal obliged him— and he did in kind as he spread them amongst their predecessors. The purple foxglove light of the portal flickered once before extinguishing. The ballroom darkened by actions and offal— the sound of slowly abating fear and sniffles filled the muted room. Kellen looked around for their surprise savior, but the man was gone. A single iridescent feather lay on the floor where he stood. Even from where he stood by the wall, Kellen knew it was the calling card of Montaigne.