The challenge has been ACCEPTED. Archons March On provides us with this devastating riposte. I recline, defeated, amid the bloody remnants of my hubris.
But ALL IS NOT LOST. It is now my serve and I shall destroy you utterly. Here is the image that providence and my foe's ingenuity has provided me:
And here is what it is: The Anti-Anti-Anti-Pope.
What are its aspects: height, darkness, the creaking of gibbets, a rich dry fruity contemptuous voice like every corrupt untouchable authority. Lots of spidery hands to give you blessings.
Why fear it: schismophrenia. In the presence of XYSTVS no two people can hold the same system of belief. Take sanity damage whenever you agree with anyone on anything. Cities burn as one-man cults wage bloody battles in the streets, overcome by rabid philosophising, tearing ancient dogmas like "murder is bad" to shreds with their bare teeth.
Whence it came: a holy empire torn apart by petty disagreement. A controversy over ritual - should the chasuble be trimmed with five rows of lace, or only four? - that came to symbolise every smoldering factional vendetta. Hate and smug stupidity embodied as a guy.
How to beat it: Establish a tradition of respectful intellectual debate and resolve your differences one microfeud at a time through the painstaking application of reason and logic. Or just cut its head off.
MY TRIUMPH IS COMPLETE. To stand against me now would be foolish. But in my munificence I have granted you another chance to defeat me. What, or who, is this: