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"I am not a part of your flock! What do you even want from us? You have done nothing but show off since we've gotten here!"
Olivia was now as angry as she was scared, how dare he insinuate that they have anything to do with one another, how dare he read her mind. fuck him. He's not my real dad.
Still crouching on her knees within the liquid, Oriel just stared at her crimson-stained hands, unable to move. The sensation of the Tyrant taking control of her, -puppeteering her very organs-, made her feel so utterly corrupted that she couldn't think of an adequate way to purify herself. There was just no way to clean her soul of this at all.
"It's... in my skin..." A coarse whisper escaped her trembling lips. She wouldn't let herself cry. No, the abomination couldn't have the satisfaction. Instead, she sunk her head into her elbows in a rather pathetic fashion, airing her 'tainted' forearms as if they were burnt. "In total depravity you'll find your true soul... In total depravity you'll find your true soul... akhh... I won't... be... In total depravity you'll... find your true... soul..."
"Not part of my flock?" The Tyrant made a tsking sound and shook his head, as if correcting a small child. "You know not what manner of spirit you are of."
The Tyrant took the somewhat spherical flask containing the Homunculus in his hands and began to examine and hold it aloft while speaking. "You lot are like the little fellow in the flask here. You are trapped in a flask and know and see little of the world. What you hear is twisted, distorted by the echoing walls of the flask. Unlike the Homunculus, however, you do not all yearn to be free of your flask, which is of your own making."
"I am the Tyrant." He said proudly as he placed the Homunculus back on the table. "What I want is to help you become the people you are meant to be. He is the will and the way and He has a plan for everyone and everything."
"Before the Law," immediately several circular rows of Adamantine Golems formed from the blood, and proceeded to prostrate themselves before the Tyrant's throne, "even the mountains bow down."
"We don't need your 'help', we have the Saint to guide us..." Rosaline's voice trailed off at the end. There didn't seem to be much hope in talking.
Immediately two massive columns of the blood-like liquid erupted upwards before shifting and solidifying into the form of a grand statue of Asmodeus with the Saint prostrate and bowing before him, wrought in adamantine, ruby, and gold.
"Before the Law," the Tyrant began happily, "even the gods bow down."
"Kneel." As the Tyrant rose, the group found themselves unable to resist his command, their bodies instantly complying with his instructions no matter how much they tried to fight it. He approached the group, once more walking upon the surface of the blood. Crouching down besides Rosaline he placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice somehow even more paternal now. "Please, my child, tell me what 'cultists' you are looking for, so that I may help you. It would be my pleasure."
Rosaline had trouble remembering the name for a moment. "They're... the... Festival of Hope?"
"Ah, yes, the Carnival of Hope." the Tyrant said. "Quite a nasty bunch of degenerates. I am sure you shall see to it that they get exactly what they deserve."
The tyrant paused for a moment, as though in thought. "I wonder, however, if you shall be thorough enough to see their benefactor brought to justice? The tomes and reagents needed to summon foul Demons into this world are not simple or cheap to come by. The Carnival of Hope is a disparate lot, but few of them have any real intelligence or wealth."
This guy just wouldn't cut to the chase. "If its not you, who is it?"
"Saint, girl," said Ramirez, savouring the diabolic energy coursing through him, "have you never heard of the expression 'know thy enemy'?"
The Tyrant turned to Ramirez. "Tell me, my son, do you know where you are right now?"