The audacity of the Demon Lord was breathtaking. To simply walk into the middle of a divine war and attempt to steal a sacred artifact was an insult of the highest order. Amon-Et and Oghma Scyre, for the first time united in purpose, turned the full fury of their power on Graz'zt.
But the Dark Prince was no mere demon. He was a lord of the Abyss, a being who had carved out his own layer of reality through sheer force of will. He moved through their attacks with an effortless grace, the divine energy parting before him like water around a stone.
"Such passion," Graz'zt crooned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But your power is so… one-dimensional. All fire and light, or all whispers and madness. You lack subtlety."
He reached the dais and picked up the Dawn Scepter. He held it up, admiring the way it caught the clashing lights of the battle. "Lovely," he said. "It will make a fine addition to my collection."
"You will not leave this place, fiend!" Amon-Et's avatar roared, unleashing a supernova of holy fire.
"You will be unmade by knowledge you cannot comprehend!" Oghma Scyre's voice hissed, and the very concept of "up" and "down" began to twist around the Demon Lord.
Graz'zt sighed, a theatrical expression of boredom on his perfect face. "This is getting tiresome." He snapped his fingers. The flow of time in the Gray Keep stuttered, then froze. The divine attacks hung in the air, motionless. Only Graz'zt and, to his surprise, the demigod champion Folgreis, remained unaffected.
"Ah," Graz'zt said, looking at the stunned paladin. "A true champion of faith. Your will is strong enough to resist my little temporal trick. Impressive." He gave Folgreis a charming, predatory smile. "But are you strong enough for this?"
The Demon Lord vanished. A moment later, he reappeared directly behind Folgreis, a wicked-looking blade already arcing towards the paladin's neck. But just as the blade was about to strike, it stopped, blocked by another sword—Fragarach, the Retaliator, held in the hand of a new figure who had appeared from nowhere.
It was Leo, his presence shielded from the gods by the chaos of the battle.
"Well now," Graz'zt said, his smile widening. "A new player enters the game. And with such a fine toy." He looked from Leo to Folgreis. "It seems my little shopping trip has become a party."
Leo didn't speak. He simply met the Demon Lord's gaze, his own eyes cold and calculating. He had not intended to intervene directly, but the opportunity was too perfect to ignore. The scepter was now in the hands of a third party, one who operated on a transactional basis.
"You want the scepter, don't you, little demigod?" Graz'zt asked, reading the intent in Leo's eyes. "Very well. Let's make a deal. Help me escape this tedious divine squabble, and I will give it to you. A simple exchange."
Folgreis, recovering from his shock, raised his own sword. "Do not listen to him, heretic! He is a Prince of the Abyss! His words are poison!"
"Oh, but I'm being perfectly sincere," Graz'zt said with a pout. "I have what he wants. He has the means to get me out of here. It's a simple, honest transaction. Isn't that right, my mysterious new friend?" He turned his full, charming gaze on Leo. "What do you say?"