Once more, Arthur would see himself in his dark room, his one true solace. The board has been reset, a new player sitting against him. One with Horns and a wicked smile, quickly taking the first turn.
Nc6.
Arthur would be quick in taking his turn, grabbing ahold of his pawn and thinking to himself. "Okay...The Blasphemous brat has me damaged by my stomach. I can't move any further than what I already have, meaning I need to pull him closer to trap him in salt again. He's already read that attack, though, so I must keep an eye out..."
pd3.
Nb4.
pc3.
pc5.
Be3.
The figure stared at the board, taking his time to understand its next move. "So far, the cretin has done nothing but hurl sigils to either cast it as spells, don it as armor, or summon it as familiars to fight in his stead. My salt can break the sigils in an instant, and the demons summoned would be killed depending on I assume its strength. These pieces need more time..." His mind wandered as he looked at the board, trying to find a concrete path to take out the pawns, envisioning them as the sigils he was casting, while also being wary of the Knight with its sudden movements. The demon then makes its move.
Rb8.
A throw. Arthur was perplexed as to why he would do such a move, yet he simply would ignore such a question and moved his Bishop to take the pawn. As soon as he touched the Bishop, however, he stopped himself. "Wait...What has he been doing the entire fight...?" He'd try to remember the fight as a whole, seeing the boy develop around his tactics, watching him bob and weave any chance of salt from interacting with him. The pieces were quickly falling into place for the Hunter. He was being used. Tricked. Pushed into taking a maneuver that would end up being a detriment in the long run. And yet, even when he came to such a conclusion...
He'd still make the move.
Bxa7.
As he'd take this move, the opponent's grin grew wider as it'd grab the board and threw it with as much force as possible, flipping it over, the pieces falling over. "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!?!?" Arthur screamed, bringing him back to reality as he'd see his mouth being infected with another Sigil, one that came from the bullet itself, an outcome he hasn't been prepared for.
Gaap, the Goetia Demon of Philosophy.
As he bit into the bullet, its effects were made almost immediately, having his body slowly begin to dissolve, the salt in the air quickly drying his body out. Zazel would speak as he'd fly through such air, his skin smoking itself the more he's exposed to it. "Animalism. The Philosophy of people being Animals. I took it upon myself to make that literal, if you don't mind. When I saw you guys fighting and seeing how much it's a detriment to the human skin, I realized another weakness it holds. It's a double-edged sword on your part. If too much sodium gets inside you, you're pretty much dead to rights, yeah?"
"That's what Gaap's for. With it, I can materialize Philosophies into a physical state. Have fun being dried out like a slug..."
Never has Arthur been so outraged by his own magic used against him in a manner that he never accounted for. Both parties are now being killed under such sodium invading their system. The Hunter would roar as he'd try to use the Salt to explode the halls itself, evacuating and abandoning his entire Magic style as a result. "IS THAT THE BEST YOU GOT, HEATHEN!?!?" He'd screech, still feeling the effects of such osmosis killing him internally, yet was quick in unbuckling one of his belts to reveal a vial hidden in them, a potion to restore his insides, though at the cost of his arm and hand being removed in the process. His energy is now at an all time low, with Zazel smiling as he'd try to charge in, setting up Asmodeus to burn the man alive, following with Stolas in scattering some stars to explode around his area, acting as the definitive end for the Bounty Hunter.
FWOOOSH!!! KA-BOOM!!!
A massive storm of fire and sparks wafted across the environment, the barriers of Khepros activating once more, shielding any and all properties away from the devastation. Zazel would try to turn around and heal Adel, hoping he wasn't caught in the crossfire, before hearing a voice. "I SAID....IS THAT THE BEST YOU GOT!?" The demon paused his steps as he turned around, seeing the Hunter still standing, tanking both magic abilities without even flinching. His clothes weren't even scorched. The man merely spat out the teeth that were infecting him with such a style, the sigil eradicated from such intense heat, his mouth now a stream of blood, not caring about his appearance anymore. "I don't think I need to repeat myself, but if you're so Neanderthalic that you couldn't comprehend our difference in skills, then so be it: Your death is CERTAIN upon the Lord's Hands. Even if you would get the upper hand again and again, you will NOT escape his judgement. I...am LIVING PROOF OF THAT NOTION!!" He'd scream, feeling his arms numb from not only the damage, but the strain in utilizing his Final Gambit multiple times in the same fight, yet still casting it onto the debris, letting the salt come back and connect his hands across the terrain. Despite such heat being enough to melt it, he'd channel his energy across the area and let it slowly absorb into his body, detaching the cape and letting the excess enter into his system.
He was killing himself with such a stunt, yet through his energy and maneuvering such salt, his body would start to take a new form. His eyes now clear and vacant, absent of any features, his teeth sparkling white, his skin creating vein-like spikes that trail from his arms and thighs down to his wrists and ankles, his hands and feet quickly dissolving and taking a new shape of the melted substance, letting it shape to whatever he desired. His belts and accessories now having the eyes to properly move, staring down at the demon with such judgement behind it. A ring of salt is quickly made around his head, with such a ring making eyes, allowing Arthur to see once more. "Now I have become the Lord's wheel... His Ophanim..." He'd began, getting himself into a stance, watching the salt pool over and attach itself to his back, sprouting out like wings. "...Your judgement is nigh, Hellspawn. Nihil awaits you. You will not escape his wrath, nor will you be absent of your crimes."
"Thy end is now. Wash your neck...for I shall cleave it...as His Majesty's Headsman..."