Inside the walls of the Pomest'ye, the Beast of Blackpool's gaze shifted from side to side in the darkness, his grip tightening round the Staff of Sarsu'um and the arcane nodes humming a slow tune in his body. He couldn't see nor hear a thing as he walked, as though his father had dulled his basic senses with a curse and forced him to tread the darkness like one would murky waters. He walked but heard no steps. Widened his eyes but saw nothing. Scowling, Fraga sighed in frustration, careful with his strides and relying on his immaterial senses to guide him until finally - he felt something. It was subtle, the faint crackle of his allies' etheric auras, but it was there. Following it's quiet trail, Fraga began his search. Vengeance it seemed, would have to wait.
Elsewhere, near the dungeons below, the Bashir Heir and his allies stormed through the Pomest'ye cruel depths, torches lighting their path while the slow and heavy slithering of Ezra's basilisks echoed in the blackness their light had not yet reached. But soon, a serpentine head of armored green poked out the shadows and hissed, it's long and dagger-like teeth dripping with venom, and it's horrible eyes of lurid yellow threatening to open and stop the hearts of those who gazed into them. The Forgotten Prince however, was quicker, leaping through the damp air and driving his blade into the basilisk's heart. Crying out as blood spurted from it's wound, the basilisk swung it's head all about, shrieking wildly in anguish before collapsing on the ground with a thud. And as it lay on a pool of it's own blood, the slithering of the others grew faint - and was heard no more.
Then, from the darkness where their torch light had yet to reach, a dank and hollow step was heard. "You were always a nice boy", a soft voice echoed sweetly from the shadows, "You look just like him", the voice rasped, the sweetness dropping from it as it grew more rotten and less feminine. "I've missed you...", the voice wept low before abruptly falling silent. And the silence was deafening, lasting for what felt like an eternity until a step was heard. The strides echoed slow and sluggish, as though something were dragging itself along the darkness shrouding the dungeon's damp hallway. Then... something poked out the shadows from a corner... fingers, abnormally long and bony, lengthy and dirty nails scraping the stone wall. And slowly, as if sliding her bare feet across the ground, a tall and thin woman emerged... his mother, Nia Bahati.
But her hair was no longer golden, instead flowing as black as the tattered dress draped over her. Her skin was pale like a corpse's flesh. Her face was elongated and disturbingly large. Her eyes were close and crooked, white and featureless with one tilted higher than the other. And her expression vacant.. save for her abnormally small mouth pulled back into a harrowing and permanent grin. Ezra stood in a mangled and twisted form of the Forgotten Prince's mother. It was an unnerving and horrible sight, the kind that sent a thin sheet of cold down the spine and ripped apart one's sanity with a glare.
And with an unblinking stare, the Mad Strix cast the presence of madness, threatening to render the minds of Musa, his men, the Dublin Devil and his sister loopy and paranoid as he begun his slow burning psychological torture. Slithering back into the shadows, Nia's face twisted and contorted, her mouth growing far larger than before with rows of sharp and drooling teeth as she pulled herself back into the darkness with a subtle threat left lingering in the air - that she would feast on their flesh should they venture deeper into the Pomest'ye.