An evil King.

Unembarrassed by the reality of this, Pheel thought he was an evil King. In his story, the story in which he lived, there were evil Kings. He could understand their motivations, fine - that was entirely fine. He understood Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz's motivations because... he explained them to him - maybe actually he was currently actually doing that right now, to his face.

“I, and in fact you, only exist because I will it.”

He could completely, had to, unfortunately, had, no choice but to - completely empathise with him; every thought, action, plan. Everything the maniac wanted to do. But that didn't stop him being an evil King. An actual lord of Demons, and a massive, massive man, which was what he was right now. Even if, to what ambiguous extent he had no idea, out the eyes of a Cyclops.

A King Actor on a stage, his beard: massive, everything massive, his barrel chest, his arms, his massive hairy arms, visible, revealed out his armour that only covered his chest. The muscles there didn't need to be indicated on any armour as they were on his chest: sculpted into the black plate armour on his chest.

Massive. It was all massive. He was the massive King Actor Demonlord in a well resourced stage production of something with a lot of court intrigue, and also ghosts, - supernatural elements and gallons and gallons and gallons of blood.

Which was the colour of the cape that went back to his knees, but also his beard – not ginger a dark, sanguinary, red, so deep almost black.

So why was Phinz-Twoan regarding him slyly, no pun, that way, out his head; seeing the desk too – which Pheel thought really projected out the Cyclops behind it: the middle section less complex than the top and bottom, it was just the place with Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz and the desk - no.

Whatever mystery Phinz-Twoan saw out his head, projected that way, it took everything he had. Everything, in his ability to see universes the way he intended to - of the abilities of one of the most gifted Slys who had ever lived, it took everything. Seeing Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz that way. It took everything. He could tell. Why?

That was a mystery, among many - among a few he could think about certainly, that was, what mysteries were revealed/concealed, as they related, but not just to how the Demonlord looked - or did not look, out of that Cyclops' head. This was a thing for which the answers were -

Which was the colour of the cape that went back to his knees, but also his beard – not ginger a dark sanguine, red, so deep it was almost black, and also -

“I, and in fact you, only exist because I will it.”

Pheel got - he was given the distinct impression, that this phrase, which currently now assailed him, wasn't by any means the first he'd thrown at him, just that penetrated. And that also it wasn't even the first time he'd said it.

“When this collapses, and it will. What you have done here. Because you are a stupid selfish nothing – but I don't – let's not communicate like this, Pheel. I'm an – artist, too.” He offered Pheel one of the most sincerely fake looks he'd ever seen.

“Three civilisations will collapse. You understand. On the 'strength',” he could hear the inverted commas, “of this story, of this strung together narrative quest thing you've shoved that poor bastard into.”

He was sitting. Phinz-Twoan, looking at him/half looking at him, shoving his consciousness – maybe projecting his consciousness - directly between them. Across Massimo:

- Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz - constructing who he was and what they had to agree he looked like. Pheel had no choice in the matter.

Sometimes he thought Phinz-Twoan was making him, but that was a crazy thought.