Chapter VI - Asunder

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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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A few moments passed as one of Captain Sam's crewmates-turned-sound engineers muddled at the consoles and single computer. Nergal eventually grew impatient and headed behind the screen to try and coach the still-hesitant damned soul in the art of adequate audio compression.

"Now, we wait a while so our friends back in Walpurgis can assess what we've sent them," said Erin. "We don't have anyone in the Gentlemen with exactly the same ear as Lucian Rothchild or Nereus' command over the Black Speech, but we have a small platoon's worth of career-long Squid linguists."

Al nodded. "I haven't met this Whitney fellow before. What are the Gentlemen like, exactly?"

Nergal grunted as he worked. "A clan of assassins with cultivated morals. Their work is quick, clean and efficient. They've made leaps and bounds since the original insurrection's desperate attacks in Dalarath, going from bull rushes with clumsily deconstructed Black Speech to a strong command of social stealth, modern armaments, arcane defense and coordinated tactics. Leave it to Void Weavers to turn from verbal suicide bombers to sophisticates adept at taking and saving lives in but a few centuries...The Loyalists mostly followed along, but the White Brotherhood changed, trading its fury and outrage for a kind of... panache, I'd say. Composure and grace, all of them. Even Jubal - who's by far the crudest of the American cell leaders I've met - makes our enemies look like petulant children."

The gargoyle scoffed. "So they whack Loyalists and then act all deferential?"

Lionel fixed his tie's knot. "No, they're simply objective about it, as I originally hoped they'd be when they first petitioned me for armaments. They kill whoever they must if they must - and take no pleasure in it. Menial and grim tasks aren't cause for celebration. Killed Loyalists leave behind their own family units, now broken. A dead zealot means some of Dalarath's fledglings are raised without answers to their questions, which gives rise to rage and resentment - as well as more insanity and death.
- So what do they do when they can't kill Loyalists?"

Erin shrugged. "They run counter-ops like this one, embed their own numbers in society like their enemies do; and then do everything they can to ensure our collective survival. In our case, we're indebted to a panel of sixteen former Prelates, all of them professors in their field. Ever heard of Alistair Frommer?"

Al shrugged. "Aidan Drake's sister is his partner's student. Nick Billings," explained Ereshkigal. "We've long suspected Billings of having been touched by the Black Speech, so we sent one of our own men to go undercover at Brown University. Well, Alistair was undercover, but the incursions threw us all in survival mode. We have it on good authority that Billings fled to New Jersey for now, while Alistair stayed nearby."

A few more seconds passed, Sam's loaned crewmate clicking his tongue. "I gather it's done its work," he said. "The green bar is full, and queer words of a sort are scrolling on by. Just numbers and dots with odd names."

Nergal nodded. "The packets are being routed. There we are - see that last address? The Walpurgis office received the master file. It's up to them, now. All we can do is pack up, re-arm ourselves and help you hold this ground."

Hearing this, Alphonse opted to head closer to Aislinn. The way back down from the stepladder was a bit steep, so he parted his arms slightly. "You want I set you down on the floor, McConmara?" he asked her.

* * *

"We all have our tasks, I didn't feel like bothering her and I felt confident enough in my abilities - as well as Aislinn's - to resolve any issues diplomatically," replied Magnus. "Don't forget, Neasa, that your sister is also my lover. I wouldn't do her justice if I relied on her while other issues are occupying her."

Bres smiled, but didn't push the point home. Archie was left picking lint from his chair's armrest, which he did for a few seconds. He sold the whole aimless and diffident attitude rather well, too.

"Well, that's capital," he then said, adding a small smile for effect. "You shall find my worries have been settled, dear boy. After all, I'd hate to see you fall under someone else's sway so soon after our dear mister Swinburne."

Tom had a split-second of hesitation. "Oh? Erm, right. Swinburne. I'm sorry, I've been so caught up in inter-planar politics for the past few hours I just didn't quite click..."

Rendell hadn't picked a seat, his bulk making him prefer to pace around the living room, poking at some of the warthog and selkie's curios, observing a few hung paintings and photo frames. "Perfectly understandable," he said. "After all, those Southern Fae aren't exactly the sort one would wish to dwell on - and I should know. Elysium has a plant of its own in Phineas Sharpe's nascent Halcyon Collective."

Bres' smile turned a bit nervous. "I'm sorry, do you make it a point to hound your own colleagues like this? I'm aware that I've been out of the limelight for several centuries, now, but this would be unorthodox in any era."

Gregory didn't reply, instead sending a cold, calculating gaze back at Neasa and Protis. Bres and Tom should've been able to pick up on his deliberate mistake, as he'd identified Swinburne as a Fae and not as a Void Weaver. Archie's continued lint-picking seemed to serve as a non-verbal means to urge for caution. With Bres' goons in the backyard, it wouldn't be a good idea to land accusations so soon into what had turned into a disguised interrogation.

"My apologies," he said, smiling at the Fae, "we've all been rather taxed of late, with Tom and I having recently battled our fair share of abuse. It won't be any surprise if I state the city's condition has left many to wallow in despair. I, myself, have only just started recovering some semblance of my former poise."

Bres opted for a show of relief and empathy. "I'm sure it's been difficult - my people and I are culturally distinct from the Tuatha as well as those who once sought to enslave us. It's made it hard for us for easily interact with the mortal plane. The Void Weavers did leave us with gifts we can leverage, but you'll find Rhys and Collri, out on the balcony, only speak Gaelic's earliest form. Tegid is reasonably fluent in your English, and I've had to infiltrate London-Upon-Faerie for a few years, to learn what I have. I can pass for Summer, but then I suppose your myths and legends would have already told you."

Herbert took a seat and steepled his fingers together. "A wonderful show of adaptability, Your Highness - however, my nascent empathy is left unfazed by your issuing demands following what I'm sure Tom phrased as a humble request. Let's hear those provisos, shall we?"

Bres shrugged lightly. "Well, we're largely homeless. We Fomorians have no State or country, the luckiest or unluckiest of us fall under the Finmen's sway and are remade or reborn as Servitors. Void Weavers aren't keen on venturing into Faerie, but both clans despise my kind, so we've settled ourselves in a region we call the Far Isles, near the borders of our plane. Life there is rough - some might even call it ruthless - and we lack most common amenities. Your small cove and its island; they've been deserted by the locals in the wake of the Goat's abuses. We would ask to claim it as our own."

Wormsworth's eyes widened somewhat. "Mertown? You expect us to surrender Mertown? Not only is it not ours to part with, it was thoroughly invaded by Leviathan's forces, following the Mac Loch and the various boaters and dock hands' departure from Hope!
- I'm aware of it," noted Bres, "but I can't express my own tithe of power as head of the Fomorians without land. A lord without a tithe is no lord to speak of; I'm barely more than a spokesman for my own people, as things currently are."

Rendell perused Tom and Aislinn's bookshelves with a grunt. "Eminent domain isn't on the resistance's side, of late, so your fall-back plan involving making the same offer to Allocer seems likely. Then again, Magnus did summon you. The Fae might view you as a back-stabbing snake, I would rather err on the side of pragmatism."

The Fomor's leader shrugged lightly, head craned to look at Rendell. "Well, obviously. I'm entrusted with the survival of a species; you'd think I'd be willing to do anything for them. I wouldn't be here if Tom here didn't share this trait with me.
- I obviously do," noted the warthog. "With Bres' forces at their full strength, we'd have an army at our backs. Pair it with Gabriel's angels and our own massing of deserting demons, and we'd have more than enough to make substantial in-roads, do more than strictly retake Hope. We could move north or south, take the fight to Massachusetts or Connecticut, retake the tri-State area, maybe even shadow the Goat in Maryland! It all hinges on our either retaking Hope or on Lucifer's return obliterating our enemy's morale."

Archie's right eyebrow gently creaked. "If recognition unlocks so many wondrous possibilities for us, why haven't you simply petitioned Titania and Oberon again?
- I told you, I can't risk coming forth as I am," opposed Bres. "The idea of Children of Autumn and Spring is only barely starting to make traction thanks to this era's Progressive strides, nobody is ready to accept those like us. You might be, but your Vernon Haskill and Eirean McHale would quickly explain to you how and why our monstrousness must be feared. Summer and Winter both believe we lost of ourselves when we succumbed to the Others' influence, and they never believed that anyone could ever conceivably break free!"

Herbert tapped his index fingers together. "Hm. Apart from eminent domain over Mertown, what are your quid pro quos?
- No silver or cold iron worn in our presence as either weapons or jewelry. If my people take Hope back for you, we request a tithe of young demonic blood once per year. The depth-dwellers left us infertile, so now we convert those we can to keep our numbers healthy and ward off diseases and infections. We'd normally offer one of our Changelings in exchange - they differ from the Tuatha's in provenance and function - but I assume you won't mind us visiting pain on Allocer's defeated forces."

Protis didn't verbally add anything, but his clicking groan carried no small amount of suspicion. He took a few steps forward, head moving in an almost birdlike manner, and then slid a too-smooth glance across the waiting goons and Bres' own seated form.

"You come from beyond the World-Veil, taking from both Star-Spawn and Veil-Born. You are summoned as the Fiends are and speak of customs and humble needs as the Oath-Weavers do. Resourceful thieves, you are - taking from everyone, becoming no-one. Becoming monsters. Becoming legend."

Protis dug inside his cape, pulling out a glowing purple orb. Inside the dark glass, what looked like a miniature galaxy lazily swirled about. Power thrummed outwards, something about it causing Bres to very briefly give the object a hungry and questing look.

"Would you take this," asked the Akari, "not knowing what it is? Power enough to save all days for a thousand generations or curdle blood for millions more?"

Bres nodded in the negative, but not before glancing at his subordinates. "No," he said, "I wouldn't. I confess, I don't even know what or who you are.
- I am Akari Seer," replied Protis, "And I do not See you., Bres of the Far Isles."

He narrowed his eyes. "I will turn to your weaving - and I will undo it."

The Fomorians' leader scoffed and glanced back at Tom. "Quality friends, Magnus - here I was thinking I'd find a man who's more careful with his entourage!"

Archie looked like he'd been about to interject, when his phone's buzzing made him excuse himself with a muttered apology. He'd barely said anything, however, that his facial features widened with what looked like a sudden display of acute concern, along with tangible relief. Without waiting for anyone to ask him what was going on, he pushed open the doors to Aislinn and Tom's patio, shouldered one of the goons aside and headed for the balcony, where he furiously tapped away with both thumbs.

* * *

Archie's response was, well, textbook Archie, as far as text messages were concerned.

By George and all the saints, woman, I thought you both lost! No apologies could ever heal my shame and regret in leaving you both behind, but your surviving seems obvious to me, now - as capable as you both are. I find meagre comfort there.

There came a pause.

My current matters now pale in comparison - every fibre of my being tells me our besnouted friend is under Bres' geas, or that we are being subjected to some other sorcery I cannot yet fathom. Not that I care for it, having seen your sweet, bracing words... Quigley having lost his touch with the Art and Silas being occupied on the front while Monsieur Duvivier mends our earlier-deceased; I am left with but one candidate. Zebediah Buck.

I will expedite matters with the Fomor's envoy - or excuse myself, at the very least - and take the Daisy Two on what might be her final jaunt. I have seen these barbs and vines you speak of tear through automobiles whilst we first retreated to the tower. As dangerous as they are, I believe sufficient power could allow me to punch through one of the weaker segments. There is one spot we ran through, where I remember the vines only looped in on themselves. The brambles and vegetation that followed blocked off all access. However, if Zeb is capable of anything, it is of being recklessly destructive. The way might seal behind us, but I would much more rather be trapped here with you. The required privations have toughened and wizened Anjali, I believe she would understand if I were to seek to end your isolation. As a pure soul, she exists now as the sum of our sacrifices as a family. I've spent too long wallowing in self-pity; I must act before another tragedy saps the youth out of her.

Watch for me, my love. You will know me by the explosions and blazing fires in the southeast, from your position. Should I fail, you are to cut my remains free and destroy them, if and when the brambles lift themselves. These wretched Fiends cannot be trusted with 1850's technological standard. The thought of one of their numbers animating my armature sickens me.

Ever faithful,
Archibald.

Having read over Crystal's shoulder, Belliard couldn't quite repress another hiss of approval, the fist pump now traded for a hand on Lowell's shoulder. "Righto, rescue party's on the way!" he said. "That means we've got even more pressure to handle things with the wounded, we'll need every able-bodied chap what's not fit for the stretcher to come packin' in a short while - and we'll eventually need you two to distract Allocer's troops so they don't just follow the smoke and fire to Holden's breach."

* * *

Leonard nodded, his gestures looking perhaps a tad impatient. "My thoughts exactly. We should-"

He couldn't finish, however, as out of the temple came Shen Long's almost leonine mass of white fur, nearly gathered in a Manchurian bun and a long, pointed beard. His gaze was set above the temple grounds' outer walls, seemingly focused on both the shining sun and the patch of blue sky that surrounded it. His expression looked both oddly serene and uncharacteristically grim.

When he lowered his head to smile at Miranda, regret tinged his features. "It pains me to have to meet you this way, friends," he said, "but we must head indoors, all of us. You too, young Nephilim."

He fixed his eyes back upwards. "A great evil flies for us. Even our occupiers shall pay their toll."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "Is it Valefor's men, Sifu?
- No," replied the Eastern dragon, his tone poised and assured. "Wrath's forces may be drawn out in the ensuing chaos, but the shadow I sense is different. Craven, like Gluttony - but cold and precise. Do you remember my words on wise and watchful Fiends, Kevin?"

The young man nodded. "That we should worry once they come up with a concrete plan. I'm paraphrasing, but-"

Shen Long nodded. "This is that day, child. Tell your brothers to ready themselves."

John Shou looked back to the goat and hybrid. "Sorry if we're cut short on banter; looks like we're going to have to carve you a fresh launch window; or else you're not leaving here!"

* * *

"Obviously," commented Naberius as they walked off, "this quagmire needed another wrinkle or two, wouldn't you say?" he sarcastically asked his queen. "Rogue angels wouldn't be surprising in the least, Gabriel wasn't able to rally everyone around Angelic Command. Some opted to stay in Heaven, others flew closer to God - thus proving their distaste for our lot - and a fair few did follow along with Gabriel, only to force Hope's innocents to contend with winged and sword-toting booties with a taste for bureaucracy."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Aislinn nodded affirmatively to the gargoyle and let him guide her down to the floor. Once she was back on a level surface again, the selkie gripped the duffel bag in her mouth and galumphed out of the impromptu recording studio. Thanks. Be back in a few," she responded as she left the area.

Now back in her human form, she placed her sealskin back in the bag and sighed. "I'm glad that's done, and all we have to do now is wait for the Gentlemen to do their part and hold down the fort here. In the meantime, I'd really like to check in with Tom. I know he wanted to do this agreement on his own for the most part, but the whole thing seems sketchy for some reason. I'm familiar enough with the Irish mythos to know Bres was an asshole, despite meanings of his name "kindly" and "beautiful". Unfortunately, Tom has a weakness in overestimating his strengths, so I'm concerned. We had this issue when we summoned his friends to this plane and a few other close calls. If we don't have anything else to do, I'd really like to check in on him and the others."

***

At the proviso of eminent domain of Mertown, Neasa narrowed her eyes. "Why can't you just move in beside the returning residents? The McLochs are a grumpy bunch, but they do at least welcome those who need a place. They heed to the old hospitality customs. Why not share the island? Also, your displayed behavior would lean in your favor of the Fae seeing that you're trustworthy and capable of being accepted for what and who you are," she countered.

***

While the werewolf didn't seem cheerful, she did appear relieved to a certain degree. "Right, and also make sure Archie survives. I know he's willing to sacrifice himself, but I'm not willing to part with him yet," she said firmly. "Plus, Anjali doesn't need the trauma of potentially losing her father," she admitted.

***

Both Miranda and Nami began to head inside the temple, while the Nephilim let her empathy extend outward to see if she could feel what was heading for them. "What's coming? I need to get these two over to Naughton, and the shuttle would likely be one of the fastest ways there, barring any complications from these foes," she asked.

***

"Well, it's an alliance that doesn't bode well and could potentially harm the entire group, Aidan especially," Meris said, then becoming slightly more withdrawn and somber. "I also think I might have found my son's soul in plain sight," she told her right hand man.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"It's quite alright," nodded Nergal. "I won't add to the retinue, but it might help to remind your guest that my wife and I, along with Marquis Samigina of Solomon's Court, are present here. The Fomor are not stupid, but they've grown desperate. If not adequately deterred, they might think to press whatever issues they have on hand... aggressively."

Otto nodded. "Another word to the wise - they favor the crafting of living flesh to suit their needs. Their final designs as Animates creating other Animates have the merit of being more stable than the Void Weavers', but they're quite skilled at duplicating targets. Not as part of a Veil, but as a full and complete physical mimic of the original. I'd find an excuse to check the other rooms in the penthouse, while remaining polite. If they've duplicated him, they'll have kept him alive, if unconscious or asleep."

* * *

Bres appeared confused by Neasa's argument. "Why share something that's been abandoned? Have they shown any willingness to return?"

Herbert's eyes slid skywards for an instant. "I believe the modern conception of ownership is escaping you, Your Highness," he said. "Marauders and raiders might lay a claim on whatever it is they touch or wherever they may roam, but the inhabitants of the small dependencies on the island would still like to consider these shores as theirs. You see, the Goat's very flaw is in assuming that might makes right. The laws of this land will not bend for any aristocrat or liege-lord of the Fae, recognized or occult."

The Fae's eyes moved strangely, something in their irises momentarily looking feline, then almost aquatic, like a Void Weaver's irregular pupils. It felt as though Bres' mind were fairly alien, and as though Herbert's explanation struck him as both inconvenient and too complex for its own worth. His vexation was obvious, but still tightly marshaled.

"Others have yielded to the Fae in the past," he countered. "I have many gifts to offer, tokens of good will and equanimity. The old customs were mentioned, and your Warlock has shown me deference."

Tension left his features, and he smiled again. "I'm sure we can reach an agreement."

Archie nodded politely. His hands had now been brought together, his legs crossed at the knees. Quiet and professional tension filled his frame. If he was worried, it hadn't touched his mind yet. "I've no doubt we will, Your Eminence," he said, nodding. "However, you shall find us inflexible in this matter. We would consider Mertown as its legitimate residents', if only scions of Leviathan had not laid a claim on the island."

He shrugged lightly. "Would you agree to a reverse bargain? Help us reclaim Mertown and prepare it for the arrival of its rightful occupants, and we may be willing to consider a means to harbor some of your Fomor.
- That isn't what I offered him," countered Tom, who set his glass down and gave Archie an arch look. Archie returned it for a moment, and then raised his head.

"Mister Rendell? Would you be so kind as to sweep the penthouse for us? We wouldn't want undesirables to interrupt our palaver, wouldn't we?"

Bres' eyes widened, his smile growing more forced. A touch of magic entered his words, but he barely could start his sentence that pain made him wince. Stammering, he tried to push out what had to be a geas a few more times, only for Bres to narrow his eyes at Tom. The warthog tried to look confused, but a touch of fear was visible in his eyes.

Protis briefly leaned on his staff, then used both of his sets of arms to slide down its length until he sat in a cross-legged position on the floor. His lower arms steepled their fingers, the higher pair resting his own weight on his knees. "Ah, yes," he crooned, "so he who was thought foolish is not so foolish, it seems... Craft-work against Oaths from the High Fae - not something for fearing dabblers to attempt."

Rendell tried a door handle. "Are you suggesting our man would have allowed himself to fall under our guest's sway?
- Yes," chirped Protis. "To force his hand, to leave small, weak sticks on  playing field. If similar mistakes were made before, why not learn from them? Turn weak chinks in armor into a distraction."

Panic touched Bres' words as he gestured to Tom. "I- I gave him my word! My word is my bond, as it is with all Fae!"

Whistling, Gregory went for a shoulder tackle and broke the office's door open. Ogling and sniffing about, he needed only a few seconds before he spun on left his heel in an almost debonair manner and tried the other door.

"I don't doubt you did give him your word, Milord," replied Archie. "However, I've scarcely met your men - and, it seems, this particular warthog."

Herbert slid his eyes towards Neasa. "Dearest, would you be so kind as to break Tom's right wrist for us? I do believe a point must be proven..."

As could be expected, Magnus stood up, looking greatly alarmed. He backed away hurriedly, eyes now wide. "Come on, now, it's me! You wouldn't hurt me, would you?!"

Archie tapped his right index finger on his left knuckles. "No spells, Tom? No sudden swarm of minor Hellspawn, no summoned friends in the elevator? Not even mister Mathers and his weapon fixation? I'm disappointed..."

* * *

"Righto," agreed the pig. "Wouldn't wish this on any tyke - let's get to it so you're free to do your thing, eh?"

He quickly packed up and headed for the staircase. "As for our guys 'fore shite hits the fan; we've still got penicillin and some antibiotics left. I'm no nurse, but I'm an anthro and you're a werewolf; and we've got folks who're startin' to smell pretty rank. If nobody's gone septic yet, it shouldn't take long. Then it's organ failure, and we'd be knackered if that happens. We need the manpower; we can't hold our own at half strength."

Belliard grunted as he shifted the laptop and equipment's weight. "Then... There's those in quarantine. Two of 'em are chained up in an interior courtyard on Brickston - they're full-on possessed, right minds haven't resurfaced in a week an' they won't eat fresh food no more. Sickbay's got a few folks showin' minor symptoms, but all we've got is a file clerk what dropped out o' Seminary school. Not that many people to keep any sort o' faith, but you've got a badge."

He looked back to the two women. "You've still got something to believe in. That could make a dent."

* * *

Nami's empathy extended as it should, reverberating both the tightly-coiled fear and determination of those within the premises, as well as the growing incredulity of the demonic entities beyond. Even the temple's siege leaders had turned their heads towards the sky, it seemed, the demons' take on surprise being tinged with rage and frustration. Resentment grew in the demons Allocer had posted, enough for images to rise out of the thick emotional haze Nami could now perceive. Something was coming, or at least the servants to a particular power in Hell, someone the mainline Vices only grudgingly collaborated with, as much of a necessary compromise he happened to be.

Belial. 

Deep down, every Pride Knight and footman knew he wouldn't be up to snuff without armor and weapons designed by Hesediel's former colleague. Every incubus envied the Smith's apparent control and focus, every disciple of Sloth envied his human-like balance, coupled with a highly personal conception of Evil that went against what the Goat envisioned. True Evil took its time. It learned from its foes. It didn't gloat, didn't grand-stand and didn't act out of contempt. Competent Evil didn't try to bloom or cover the world in overgrowth - it survived. It was smart and patient. It was ultimately self-serving, yes, but only in the ways Humanity could already comprehend.

A growing sense of determined malice began to grow, rising out of the horizon and enveloping the sky. As it touched the sun's corona, the first distant sounds of wings flapping would reach Shen Long and Nami's ears. Then, a blot formed against the sun. It moved as its wings beat, and as a distant roar of equal parts challenge and guidance rang.

More black outlines grew, even as the first one gained in definition. It looked like a dragon, if the Pit had harbored its own strain. It could be assumed that it did, as some dragons had certainly been wicked or short-sighted enough to doom themselves. Another roar sounded, and the increasing horde began to circle the temple, their massive wings displacing enough air to create eddies that shook the trees and displaced more water from the pond.

"They've penned us in," quietly observed the Oriental dragon. "Former brethren from the West, and I recognize a few snout shapes from Aldergard and Watatsumi's kin. Fallen and damned, all of them."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why aren't they attacking?"

* * *

"Now, that sounds notably more encouraging," noted Naberius as he adjusted his monocle. "How exactly did a Void Weaver's soul skip both the Others' demesne and both supernatural planes?"
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"Thank you for the advice; I'll be sure to check! You're welcome to follow me," Aislinn said, before telekinetically rising from the floor. Given the uncertain conditions of her boyfriend, the selkie didn't want to waste time by even just running. She flew from the recording room and zipped through the corridors toward the penthouse she shared with Tom.

***

In the meantime, Neasa nodded. She quickly rushed Tom before he would try to counter her approach. "Sorry, Tom or whoever you are. If you're really him, some Hellfire should be able to heal you relatively quickly," she addressed with a hard look.

The strong woman swiftly twisted the warthog's right wrist in the wrong direction, until cracking sounds were heard. Not trusting him, she pinned him against the wall, one hand holding the arms and her weight pressed in on him.

***

"Right," Crystal responded as she went to retrieve the aforementioned penicillin and antibiotics. Andrea followed after her. "How do we handle them, if they're not feeling cooperative? Even if someone's sick, they can still be a handful." her daughter noted.

"Gloves, first off. It's preferable if we stay in our human forms, so they don't become upset. However, if we have to go up against possessed in our lupine forms, no biting whatsoever. Claws only," she explained.

***

"They want something," Nami stated calmly as she also observed the gathering forces, her eyes drifting to the Oriental dragon. "They're allies of Belial, so they might want to bargain. If any of us try to leave now, they will attack. However, they're staying their assault because they have a motive to hold off the attack."

The Nephilim recalled what she knew of the demon known as the Butcher or the Smith. She tensely bit the tip of her right thumb and then gritted her teeth. "It might be that they want Joyous Death. It's a weapon they can use for their own purposes," she surmised. "Belial could temper it with Hellfire and either tarnish it or add to its abilities."

***

Meris shook her head and frowned uncertainly. "I'm not entirely sure, so I can only speculate. It's possible that the Chamberlain dumped Chauncey's mind and soul in the Darkhallow to keep him out of the way. The other Void Weavers just think he's the mind of a Squid that never woke up and eternally wanders the Darkhallow. Perhaps he got busy and hasn't kept up with him, so our son was left to his own devices. During the past 500 or so years, he became more ephemeral and elastic. He was still drawn to our area of the Darkhallow and found his way to a closet connected to our home," she mused. "He has no memory of who he is, and he seemed troubled by the notion of even the suggestion of his connection to me and Nereus. If the Curator is my son, it'll be a Herculean task to have him understand who he truly is and want to return to his original body."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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The scream that left Tom's lips wasn't Tom's, that much was obvious. It was an odd, ululating cry that made the three Fomor outside spring into action. The resulting open fracture spat out slow arterial gobbets of oddly bluish blood, fear and rage fighting for room in the doppelganger's eyes. Shots were fired, but both Herbert and Protis raised shields of their own, Archie taking position behind both men to count their shots as he cranked up his main spring. After twenty-four impacts, he jumped upwards and propelled himself past the Akari and demon, not immediately caring if his brand-new gibus stayed behind with his allies. The demon and alien obstructed Neasa's view, but by the sounds of it, Archie's arm-blades had come into play. More oddly aquatic bellows and trills were heard as some strikes landed, Archie grunting a few times as well. The normally muted sounds his bellows produced became a bit more audible.

"Is this how the Fomor conduct business?" archly demanded Wormsworth. "If that truly was your best shot, Bres, consider me disgusted."

Bres' eyes widened. as he stood up. "We're desperate," he said, "and we've never known anything but strife. Myth paints us in a bad light, the Tuatha distrust us, those who usurped and twisted us disregard our existence since our rebellion - we have no-one. What would you have done in my stead? Extend trust willingly?! We've tried before, many times over, and every time resulted with us being forced to slink back to Faerie's borderlands!
- You betrayed the Tuatha, as the story goes," countered Herbert. "You lit this fire of yours - not them.
- As per Dalarath's orders!" shot back Bres. "We were chattel, slaves only lucky enough in that the Others wished to use us to infiltrate the Fae! Our prison was in our minds, and I can't take back what They made me do! I can't take back what survival forced on us afterwards!"

"Found him!" then came Rendell's mocking, sing-song declaration, a bit muted by distance. "If your intent was to spirit him away, you should've looked further than McConmara's tattoo parlor..."

Tom's copy pushed out a wail between clenched teeth, his voice affecting a Hebridean twang. "What were we supposed to do, throw him over the banister?! We didn't want to kill your Warlock, for God's sake, and we couldn't risk him being spotted by anyone below! Shifting me took a heavy toll on me Lord, and he couldn't afford to shield him with air at the pool's bottom!"

In flying up, Aislinn wouldn't be able to immediately see Tom, but she'd certainly spot three quarters of Rendell's silhouette, standing in front of the door to her studio's utility closet. A little exerted power and two applications of a basic non-corporeality spell, and she'd be able to effectively zip upwards and through the last baywindows, then up to the penthouse's terrace and through her studio's own baywindows. Following that trajectory would make it easy for her to blindside the three Fomor who were currently more preoccupied with Archie than with what was happening in her own living room. Her perspective would come complete with a visual demonstration of the Fomor's protean versatility, the now-disarmed and wounded guards tearing their clothes' sleeves as their arms contorted, screams of both challenge and pain sounding as one went for a pair of what look like scythes carved out of bone and supported by a network of Eldritch tendons, the other flattening one hand into what looked like a toughened organic shield, while turning his other arm into a club-like protrusion.

* * *

"We don't 'ave thirty-six solutions," shrugged John. "Either we've got ourselves a dabbler with enough of a grasp on sleepin' spells, or we conk 'em out like I'd do with mates who woulda gone too rowdy. It ain't subtle, but it's as compassionate as I can see things goin' for now. The only other alternative is dosing the bigger caseloads with whatever opioids we've got on hand. Lucky for us, we've got ourselves some o' Hope's satellite gang boys in our midst. If they ain't feelin' too selfish, we might be able to score fentanyl or oxycodone."

Once downstairs and out, he gritted his teeth together, lower lip pinched between them. A shrill whistle was pushed out, to which he added a circling gesture with a pointing hand, in front and above him. A group of men and of a few women who packed improvised weaponry and a few reclaimed guns walked out of the street's nooks and crannies, approaching them with both alert and attentive eyes.

"John?" asked Oliver, a former teamster for one of the city's contractors. He was a burly-looking human and definitely an ex-military type turned dyed-in-the-wool Civil Rights defender. His brush mustache was of the rare kind that looked decent on as square a jaw as his, set below eyes that were distinctly weathered. He looked like someone's idea of a bruiser with book smarts, the set of his hands suggesting they were his weapon of choice.

"Take the others and head for ICU, at the back o' the old Birks. Sadie's gonna shadow ya - she's on antibiotics detail. Storehouse is in the bookstore, over there - pack anythin' you can carry. The girls an' I are gonna stop by the infirmary.
- If they've broken free...?" asked Oliver, to which the pig shrugged again.

"Punch their lightbulbs out, use the stretchers an' straps we recovered from the ambulances on Ferris. I think I remember a few of 'em showin' Greed characteristics - try an' flash a couple diamonds their way; see if it calms 'em. We'll be there soon."

* * *

"I suspect we will find out shortly," replied the bearded dragon, as the black wings' altitude decreased. They let out a few more roars, banked around the temple, then breaking off into two groups. One regained a bit of altitude and expanded its ring around the temple, ignoring the warning shots Allocer's men shot at them. These same shots soon turned into full volleys, a possessed soldier being heard barking a request for backup on a radio. He didn't get particularly far, the perimeter-circling drakes soon raining down Hellfire on them. They might've been possessing or corporeally manifesting demons, but the posted cops and soldiers were just as prey to exploding gas tanks and ignited ammo reserves as everyone else. Their screams, all told, were fairly short. The other group perched on the temple, giving the group reptilian side-glances that accompanied foreboding hisses. If they ventured indoors for the sword, they'd be attacked.

Only one of them had continued swooping around, only to finally bank towards the garden. What looked like a massive raptor bird bringing up his claws for a grasping attack turned into the dragon's form shifting in mid-air, clawed feet turning into armored feet and legs, the typical batlike appendages of the Wyrm shriveling and giving way to arms even while its diminishing armpit webbing allowed it to reduce its speed and land safely. As expected, both its armor and scales varied in tones of slate-gray and black, something resembling Viking scalemail having taken shape across his frame. A few details suggested Infernal tampering, such as carefully-placed spikes and segmented plates sewn into areas where a truly authentic Viking armor set would've shown padded linens or bare cloth. His shield was strapped to his back, and a Brimstone-forged Viking short sword rested at his waist.

"Who were you?" demanded Shen Long.

The Infernal dragon apparently caught on to his question, finding no insult in it - or at least none at this stage. "I am Aric of Vinland, first true Jarl of your Western lands. I laid claim to the savages in your Newfoundland centuries before Erik the Red dared thirst for conquest."

Leonard smiled, but there was no mirth in the gesture. "The mortal me from a few months ago would've been impressed, Aric of Vinland. As it stands, all I've got in mind are some bad jokes about poutine and hockey. Would you mind skipping the braggadocio; we've got a flight to catch."

Aric looked none too pleased, but he drew in a breath and casually rested a gloved hand on his sword's pommel, the other one resting at his waist. "I laid claim to them," he continued, "but did not kill them. The Innu, Mi'kmaq, NunatuKavut and old Thule lived in fear of my brood and paid tribute - and those who fed and clothed us tasted of Safety and Civilization. On our wings, we lifted them to the other far ends of the Scandinavian merchant empire. In our arms, their women and men alike tasted grace."

Kevin narrowed his eyes. "How's that speech different from Allocer's?
- We respect your fighting spirit, unlike the bureaucrats of which we decimated the puppets, outside your walls. Allocer is no Jarl; no Moot was convened to crown him, no voices were heard among your people. Gratitude was offered and you were expected to take it without question. You questioned, as did the savages we claimed. Those who survived were worthy of our wisdom. Our aims are not alike, but we respect your dedication. So does our patron."

Leonard seemingly bristled, his features darkening and turning lightly translucent as he expended some of his stored rage with a sharp intake of air. Light seemed to take a darker hue around him, even as lurid eddies of negatively-charged via swirled at his feet.

"Your victims tell a different story," he said. "Rage and despair in the thousands upon thousands - and I hear them all. They demand, justice, Fiend - and I'm thinking about letting loose if you don't get to the point.
- So our fears were founded," replied Aric. "Offer your kind an outstretched hand and threats are flung."

The panda scratched his gut through his shirt. "I'd agree, but you did start by getting yourself damned, Aric. You wouldn't be looking like a World of Warcraft reject if all that nobility had amounted to something. What you should be asking yourself is this: Why did Aldergard Kuhn get Valhalla when I didn't? You didn't so much as get Hela, but you were big and buff as far as damned dragons go; so off to Belial's forges you went."

Aric chuckled silently. "Well played, but I never saw Belial's forges as the place of my punishment. It was Wotan's forge made real, so large as to leave your Hephaestus drooling in envy. It was industriousness and pure, undiluted purpose, until my and my brothers' armors were forged. What Belial offers to those who collaborate simply cannot be quantified. He offers you half of what you already have."

From a pouch at his belt, Aric pulled out what almost looked like a miniature crucible; its stone surface inlaid with glowing Infernal runes. Power gently thrummed within it, and a strange kind of orange glow floated just above it, as if waiting for an object to be placed there.

"Lend us Joyous Death," he said. "We've only just heard the summons the renegade depth-dwellers are preparing for the Lightbringer, and we know what the Goat intends to do once he hears it for himself. He will march back here, in the grandiose decay of Leonard Ephesian's body, and seek to crush you once and for all. His first and final judge comes and he knows, like all cowards, that the verdict is not in his favor. The sword alone may cleave thousands of Pride's numbers, but millions will descend upon this sad bastion of Humanity. If the Lightbringer cannot end this final war before it begins, you will need Belial's credit."

Aric's gaze grew more steady. "Belial is not Pride, mortals. He is not Sloth and will not stand idly by as you suffer. He is not Lust, and he sees you not as toys. Greed is not his province - he gives to all who beckon him. Your world's riches have no inner gluttonous hunger to sate, and he envies not what he understands and fully grasps. Most of all, he is not Wrath. Valefor may be calm as the storm's center, the forces he commands give your tormentors their fury. How often, pray tell, have you found demons who were truly their own? Four, five times, perhaps? How heavily does Solomon's Court weigh against the full onslaught of the Pit?"

* * *

"Well, obviously," nodded Naberius. "Would a lifelong blind man choose to experience sight if he has no concept of it? Would your son willingly choose to re-enter the corporeal plane after seeing but its reflection in the Darkhallow's myriad facets?"

Both questions seemed to be fairly rhetorical in tone.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Seeing the chaos erupting in their quarters, Aislinn stayed silent despite wanting to loudly swear a blue streak. She murmured a few words in the selkie tongue and cast a non-corporeal spell. She phased through the first set of bay windows, flew up to the terrace, and then went through last round of windows with another uttered incantation.

The roane saw the three shifting Fomors and quietly cursed, ignoring the urge to physically harm them. Instead, she telekinetically hauled them up by their ankles and restrained them in the air. Her immediate concern was finding Tom, but the current tension needed to stop immediately. She broadcasted a wide message to her friends and their aggressive guests alike, EVERYBODY, STAND DOWN NOW!"

Carrying the trio of troublemakers with her, she landed on the ground and hurried for her tattoo parlor, worriedly searching for the warthog. "Tom!" she called.

Given her younger sister's command, Neasa side-eyed the copy and merely kept him in place. "He's in your workspace, Aislinn!"

***

"We'll do the best we can, given whatever situation we'll find," Crystal responded to Oliver, while Andrea nodded grimly.

***

By now, the presence of the demonic dragon had caused a shift in Nami's appearance to look less mortal. No wings appeared, and she didn't emanate purity; however, a celestial gleam shone in her blue eyes. A subtle radiance lit her skin from behind. It didn't seem intentional but reactionary to his presence. She instinctively stood in front of the teenaged Fauness,

The effect even displayed itself in her voice, as it seemed less bound in the mortal registry and more distant and ethereal. "You're right, Aric; Belial's not like any of the other Vices. He's in his own category, but certainly not one that compares to Solomon's Court or any other demons who have rebelled. Any transactions of his always come with a catch. What's the catch of that crucible you're holding? Also, why does he need Joyous Death? If he's the marvelous smith that you proclaim, he could fashion out any blade he wanted with a slew of awesome powers. What does the Father of Orcs have to gain from this?"

"Father of Orcs?" Miranda questioned behind her.

"Back during the last Ice Age, Belial made a deal with some desperate goblins for increased strength and endurance. They became the earliest orcs. All of the perks were great until they learned they had to deal their demonic roommates. I wonder how many orcs are still able to function normally without their "buddy" clawing their way to the surface and taking the front seat, now that dear old grandpa is on the mortal plane."

She narrowed her eyes on the scaled Viking in a steel-cutting glare. "Care to fill us in on the details of why exactly you want that sword, Aric? What do we have to gain in trading it away?"

***

Meris sighed. "Fair enough. I worry for his safety, though. If Chambers wants to threaten his safety, he easily could. However, there's nothing I can do for him at this point. However, I do have some additional good news. Nereus is planning his escape soon enough and should be able to meet with us in a few weeks," the Heiress stated.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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With both goons of Bres' having been taken care of, Archie and Herbert were free to refocus on the Fomor's leader and Tom's double. As for the exiled prince, he attempted to speak over Neasa. "We had no choice!" he shouted, which earned him a glare from Wormsworth.

Luckily, Aislinn would find Tom being propped back on his feet by Rendell, looking more than a little groggy. He rubbed a hand against his face and squinted a few times. "Hello, love," he told Aislinn. "I'm sorry for the disruption, but this was an expected contingency. I mean, Bres knocking me out and sticking me somewhere out of sight on short notice. I counted on the rest of you to open him up, and I assume he's duplicated me."

Rendell looked back towards the penthouse. "Well, your doppelganger has a broken wrist, which has apparently freed up his inner Dublin native. As for Bres, he looks appropriately groveling - it's a pity I can't hear his hurried attempts at self-justification from here."

Magnus politely pushed past the Chimera and reached for Aislinn. "Well, in any case, my eyes haven't quite focused yet and my mind feels like Zebediah Buck's cobweb-laden guest bedroom...
- How did the discussion fare, prior to your being put to sleep?"

Tom yawned. "The usual - empty pleasantries barely hiding his attempts to find an inch to grasp on, something on which to base a geas... After about an hour's worth of pussyfooting, I gave him what he wanted. Deliberately. I knew he wouldn't dispose of me, I knew his Changeling wouldn't have had long enough for the simp job to be convincing, and I knew the rest of you were around. One desperate man and two bodyguards against a spy, a gaggle's worth of demons and angels and an Archmage? Add those I'd been expecting, if they've arrived, and you'll understand I had no reason to be afraid."

Rendell nodded. "You mean Nasif and her bug. It's in your living room, appropriately creeping out the Eldritch fop. Nasif left for the front lines about an hour ago."

Tom shrugged at that, lightly leaning on Aislinn's shoulder. "Well, one out of two ain't bad," he said, his agreeable smile turning to a slight grimace. "I need coffee," he grunted. "Bres' idea of arcane slumber isn't Sleeping Beauty material; it feels like the last time Quint abused sleeping pills, back when he still tried resisting Belial's siren song..."

In the back, Aislinn wouldn't have too much trouble seeing Bres gazing back at them through both windows. Soundproofing did its job and prevented her from hearing what he'd uttered, but you didn't have to be too much of a lip-reader to figure it out.

"Fucking Warlocks!"

Back in the penthouse, Archie couldn't quite repress a smirk at those words. "Now, now, Your Highness - let's not have you join the plebe with such vulgarities, eh? Besides, I'm sure you've lived long enough to catch sight of your occasionally entreprising dabbler in the Black Arts. Surely Tom can't possibly be your first."

Bres glared at the double. "I told you I'd voiced my doubts to the Pod-Keeper; it doesn't matter how much DNA his people had managed to harness!"

The double glared at Neasa, shivering in pain as he entered shock. "We're here now, aren't we? Our gift and our curse got us this far, and at least they've listened!
- They've listened until now, yes, and then where will we be? If Haskill and McHale so much as hear of our presence here, they'll advise them to reject us!"

Archie shrugged as he took steps back outside. "Well, I don't know about you gentlemen, but I know I wouldn't be surprised if I went around betraying my own people for the sake of Fel powers and then found myself vilified thousands of years onward. It isn't quite tactful, one could say... Not to mention how you mention living in the fringes of Faerie, which only puts you closer to those self-same beings you claim to have defected from."
 
The Changeling gritted his teeth. "Either we die slaves or to Summer and Winter steel, or your mortal knights and hunters cut us down! Where are we supposed to go?! The Far Reaches are still beyond Their pale and no man or woman ever willingly ventures so far off into the Realms!
- That's for others to answer," replied the Lord, "Crystal and Andrea need me and I've deferred my involvement as long as I possibly could!"

That said, he sprinted across Tom and Ais' terrace and then scaled his way to the penthouse's rooftop. The helipad's high-speed elevator would take him back to his car.

* * *

The pig and both werewolves made their way to the small furniture store that had been turned into an infirmary, one bend short of the exclusion zone's northeastern perimeter. The wall of reddish-black brambles and thorns could be guessed at from where they were, one partially consumed corpse turning its blind gaze toward them to let out a warning wail. They stopped as soon as it became clear they weren't looking to leave. Display beds had been turned into equal parts sitting areas and gurneys, the severity of the displayed injuries increasing the deeper they went along the store's floor. Dehydration, shock or mild bruises and cuts gave way to more serious gashes or to those who nursed a fever, bundled under extra blankets. Separators had been hastily erected to isolate the merely ill from those who were in critical condition; and their state was rather alarming.

The Goat's harsh manipulation of the East Coast's weather patterns hadn't simply caused a premature summer; it had also thawed out and bolstered a great many microbiological fiends that had laid dormant in the Earth's permafrost for millennia. Old and forgotten strains of what looked like common illnesses had taken root everywhere on Earth, but not all of them responded to modern vaccines or treatments, let alone arcane curative efforts. The shift in weather was a godsend for your average strain of pneumonia, and this was anything but. Rasping coughs and breaths seemed frequent, as did desperate coughing fits that eventually gave way to projectile vomiting. Some were so feverish as to have gone past the point of shivering.

Others hadn't been so lucky. The word Quarantine had been spray-painted in red on the wall, an arrow pointing to the meager office spaces beyond the store's showroom.

In the far back, a cat anthro who looked to be about in her fifties nursed a male Sphynx anthro, its improvised bed being a recliner laid out as far back as it could go.

"Safiya," nodded John, "how's Hamid doin' today?
- His pulse is too low," the cat replied, her voice kept soft, "and he's burning up. I'm doing what I can to keep him awake... I don't think he'll survive the night.
- We've got a few things, at least," he said, stepping away for Crystal and Andrea to step forth. "We can at least try and break his fever, love. If all else fails, we've got something for that, too."

Safiya eyed the path to the makeshift quarantine area. "They've been noisy, lately," she said. "They're not like regular possessed.
- Why's that?" replied John.

Safiya seemed uneasy. "Before Hamid and I were trapped, we saw what the Goat's decree did to Hope. We saw people lose control of their own bodies in minutes. Most of those who did went pre-verbal or something - but I guess the bastard had picked some people for special assignments. The possessed are either absolutely feral - or sentient and cruel. The other retrieval teams brought back stories of some of Allocer's demons even holding down jobs in the enclave, but we didn't get to see anything like that on our end. These ones, though? It's like they're evolving, or re-appropriating what's left of the memories of Randy and his people. They've started speaking again."

She thrust her chin towards the corridor, Belliard taking a few steps in while being careful to stay out of sight from the windowed door they'd barricaded. His ears twitched lightly as he crept one or two extra steps closer. Crystal, however, wouldn't need to eavesdrop on the possessed. Being a werewolf, all she'd need would be a little focus to put the infirmary's noise aside and focus on the grunting voices in the other room.

"The boss... Big man... Hold on for... big man. No kill. Wait, he say. Wait. No kill, don't scare. Control body... Control - always control. Better than others... Words  coming - we..."

A pause.

"Smart is strong. We suck the marrow from memories - expand our minds. See? See how words come, now. We're strong, stronger than the ferals and the usurpers. Soon, we'll take every... cell... of our bodies, and make them ours."

Belliard walked back in with a grim look on his face. "There's more o' those in the old Birks store's vault. I think we've seen enough o' what happens when they're left alone. Let's treat those we can, then I'm headin' back to the Harp t'get me gun. Thibodeau an' Crandall wouldn't have wanted to see their own bodies used like this."

* * *

Aric kept the crucible lifted. "I asked you to lend us Joyous Death. You'd be the ones to wield it. Belial and I know enough to understand you wouldn't trust us with it. He and I want a structured coexistence to take place. The lessers would work in service of their betters, but we would be prepared to assist you as each of us non-mundanes have ever assisted the mortal plane."

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "An aside, if you don't mind... Why didn't the Father of Orcs claim Thomas Quint's corpse as he'd intended? Why give a rogue incubus such an opportunity? I don't honestly believe my friend owes his corporeal existence to his own craftiness alone."

Aric rolled his eyes. "The theft happened as Magnus indicated it did; Belial simply allowed it to happen. Quint's body was a reminder of long hours of buffoonery and incompetence, and there were other sheep out to pasture.
- What happened to Quint's soul?"

For now, the Viking set the crucible back in its pouch. "It was obliterated. Torn apart and scattered to the Pit's four winds. If the incubus' lust managed to burn out the body's filth, then it's all the better."

A pause. "I don't imagine you can disclose to us who it is Belial has his sights set on?"

Aric shrugged. "A different sort of hopeful artisan was chosen. A dealer of death with different tools than Quint's. Someone more attuned to my Lord's proclivities."

Shen Long sniffed lightly. "A tortured soul that had been offered much power... His change of coil means nothing, the other Princes have much to gain in resurrecting this city's mad Warlock."

Aric nodded again. "We know. Tracking individual grains of sand on a beach would, however, be easier. Only Angel Time would allow one such as a Throne to recover each and every particle, and no scion of Heaven shall ever set foot in our forge."

That said, the dragon offered the goat a tempering glance. "Are you satisfied? We want the same chances you desire against the Goat. Let us imbue the sword, and we shall take our leave."

* * *

Naberius glanced at the way ahead, turning the last corner before Nickar's studio. "Outstanding news, Meris!" he energetically replied, "Your centuries of resistance have finally bared fruit! I would temper delivery of these good omens before the Marquis, however - I fear he may either smother you in a hug or derail your efforts with an impromptu round of drinks."

Melmoth glanced back as they came in. "Whassat about drinks?
- Why don't I let Meris share the news, hm?" suggested the canine, then stepping aside with an impish look in his eyes.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"There should be some coffee left from this morning. Might not be the freshest, but it'll have to do," Aislinn said, helping to lean against a counter in the tattoo parlor. At as odd it might've sounded, the tattooist had kept a separate coffee maker in the workspace. Previously, she had just liked to come here for quiet and kept one on hand.

A few minutes later, she handed the warthog a to-go cup and prepped it how he liked it. "As for Bres, it might seem counterintuitive, but I think we should get them patched up, to show them our intentions," she mused. "A kind hand might make up for what we did and make them more agreeable, to a degree. We'd still need to watch our backs."

Neasa eyed the changeling and then Bres. "I think being nicer might do you some good, boys. We can get you cleaned up and be able to discuss matters like civilized sorts; how about that, eh?" she responded some sincerity.

***

"How do we know guns will stop them?" Andrea asked cautiously, also hearing the murmured words.

"Well, it's the only force we have on our side, with explosives and exoskeletons definitely off the table," Crystal answered with a sigh. "Hopefully, we're just putting them out of their misery, rather than accelerating their states."

"Yeah, but who are they waiting for? The big man?" she countered.

The former deputy chief frowned uncertainly and shook her head, only murmuring noncommittally.


***

Nami still warily eyed the dragon and glanced over at Leonard, John, and Shen Long. "What do you think? I'm still not sure about all of this, but it's your call," she said to them.

***

Meris smiled at the Broker. "I met with my husband and have good and bad news we discovered during our visit. The most pertinent is that we should be able to pick up Nereus within a few weeks and finally have him with us," she explained. "There's a lot details to cover, so we're better off speaking to everybody at once."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Tom took a grateful sip, something in his features suggesting he used his inner reserves of lust to avoid waiting for the caffeine hit. There was a faint glow in his chest underneath his clothes, and he slowly exhaled what had to be a measure of his imposed lethargy and the aggravation it caused. "I agree," he told Aislinn and Neasa. "Unfortunately, we're both Warlocks and we only have a basic first aid kit, up here."

Protis shrugged as he stood up. "Not to worry. I will assist the exiles."

Bres seemed suspicious. "I've heard things about Void magic. Nothing good.
- I am not of the Vanguard," lightly admonished the Akari. "They are our shield among the stars, we are the caring hand beside it."

That said, he gestured for the double's wrist, his own arms bristling away as the man stifled a scream. Slowly, gingerly, he used two of his arms to cradle the injured limb, a purplish-blue glow covering the fingers of his upper appendages as he gestured over the gash. Slowly, it began to close and the broken bones began to meld.

"Do you have a form of your own to assume?" asked Rendell, which made the double nod in the negative. "We are fragile without an assumed form. Most of us choose to appear as Summer or Winter Fae.
- How fragile are we talking?" asked Tom.

Bres shrugged as he watched the warthog empty the coffee maker's old batch and work on a new one. "We can only pass for our targets because of our ability to fully conform to the template's genetic information. Crafted forms like mine require years of physical contacts and stored information. Relative nymphs like Declan," he said, nodding towards the warthog Protis was nursing, "Are at their first handfuls of successful duplications. His organism hasn't learned enough to have a reliable immune or endocrine system on its own. Without a form to acquire, he's virtually helpless. For all of our theoretical immortality and strength, a cold could kill him.
- So he can't go back to his nymph form," noted the Warlock, to which Bres nodded. "An adequate leash, in our times of servitude. Infiltrate our enemies and survive, or stand weak and frail."

Something made Rendell pause, then step forward to rest a hand on Declan's uninjured limb. "You should find my genes more than sufficient - or Protis' as well, for that matter."

The clone's eyes turned distant, as though he could review both DNA strands mentally, or somehow assess the offered information. "The Akari's strand is adequate," he then said, "but yours is... unique."

Rendell's hand went up to his lapel, his smile turning self-satisfied. Declan glowered in response. "That wasn't a compliment," he said. "A species cannot exist as a single man. Of your lot, I'd hoped to touch Aspasia or Spearhead, instead - or another Chimera."

The T-Rex looked as though he'd been slapped, Tom sending him a look that combined equal parts caution and amusement. "Feel free to pick and choose," noted the warthog. "Warlocks traditionally hold grudges, but you're in luck. All the good ones I know of are here in this tower, today."

He then raised a finger. "I'd still like to have that suit back, eventually, though," he said, pointing at his double. "We'll find five or six minutes to go shopping in Obsidian Plaza, once things die down.

Bres hesitated, looked out the baywindow at his still-dangling cohorts, and then back at Neasa. "Can this do-over include seats for my bodyguards?"

* * *

"Let's focus on what we can handle, first," noted John, who then began to dig in the supplies they'd carried to try and assist Hamid and Safiya. "Remember, loves," he said, as he chucked a bottle of sterilizing cream and wipe packets bundled together at the two werewolves, "sterile fields first!"

He might've been a thug, but Belliard's checkered past came in handy when it came to guerilla medic duties. The pig's gestures didn't have the refined practice of an ER physician, but they were definitely effective. Clawed thumbs checked for pupillary reflexes and pulses, his gaze withdrawing whenever he needed to assess someone's temperature without a thermometer. He bit syringe caps aside and spat them out carelessly, but his needlework was as precise as a lifelong nurse's, and the few IV poles and bags they'd scavenged were quickly set on triage and set up. The more frightened ones received a few soothing words or a joke or two, previous scavengers or fighters earning a fist bump or an arm clasp.

Once he circled back to Hamid, the Sphinx looked like he'd recovered a tiny bit of strength. "Is it true what they say?" he murmured, smiling as he did. "Jonathan Morley Belliard, one of England's most notorious crime bosses, would've gone toe-to-toe against Charlie Bronson in jail - and won."

The pig eyed his scarred knuckles and scoffed. "Strewth, that's a long way back, Hamid! I, um, did a lot o' stupid shite in me time, and all of it led me to where I am today; wearin' stained Saville Row clothes, stuck away from families an' friends I'm accountable to... Y'don't rise up in a gang's esteem by startin' with diplomacy, unfortunately. Hurt enough people and you get caught. Hold on throughout yer term, hurt the right people while you're inside, and more respect comes yer way. None of it looks good on a resume, but goin' from punchin' lights out to keepin' goons on track eventually sets up your managerial skills. Just as you think you're done punchin', one o' your men fails a routine funds transfer. The trail o' dead and ruined men leads back to you and, well... someone decides you're back on Square One."

He shrugged. "Then you, um, meet Charlie Bronson, discuss paintings, books an' past jobs... An' you open yer own fat, stupid mouth on somethin' the short-tempered bastard doesn't take well to."

The pig snapped his fingers. "Broke my snout's bridge, one punctured lung and messed-up liver, six metacarpals an' three ribs - but I put him down for the count. Hands an' chest hurt like Hell when the weather's humid now an' I've got a wicked case o' sleep apnea thanks to that deviated septum, but I'm alive. Bronson woulda killed me in that cage if I hadn't put him in traction first.
- So you did good, right?" asked Hamid, which earned him a silent, if reproachful look from Safiya.

John grimaced. "I had me lot in life, Hamid. I took me chances. England's scene's set with savages, all of 'em. The Russians, Chinese or Japanese - none of 'em that much better. I came here 'cuz I'd hoped I'd learn somethin' from the new heir to Meyer Lansky an' Lucky Luciano. All o' the business, none o' the bloodshed. There were three mob bosses here before shite came down. Three, Hamid. All of 'em keepin' the smaller gangs in check, all of 'em turnin' what we could claim for ourselves into something clean - somethin' you can put on a resume. No need for vigilantes or supervillains for hire. For guys like me, movin' on to kindness is easier once you've tackled efficiency - and that, I definitely did pick up from my previous conferences with the Commission."

* * *

Shen Long exchanged a glance with John Shou, who handed him the sword. The dragon then glanced back at the goat and Chimera, hefting the weapon like a jeweler appraising a fine piece of art. In some sense, the Dao's thin and flexible martensite blade, alloyed with jade using the conjoined fires of Fuxi and Nuwa, definitely qualified as fine artistry.

"The land of Qin was no more a whisper on the wind than this steel was raised from its earthen cradle by my father and mother. I was born on the banks of the Yellow River, near Shanxi, over four thousand years ago, and raised by the first of the Three Sovereigns of China. As with our Western brethren, we recognized the threat posed by these walking animals and the weak, innocent humans of the Neolithic era. We also recognized their potential - their innate grace and perfection of form. We sought to protect that grace from the wiles of those mortal men and women who would seek to end it. In other lands, metalworking was granted unto Mankind by the future Fallen and in others still, mortal ingenuity led to the same results. In my lands, however, we gathered those of Magic and those of Ash to our forges, bade them sit at our table as we wrote and dipped our claws in ink."

He then planted the sword in the space between two stones. "This is but wrought steel and jade. On its own, it is a mere object. Offer it to someone with promise, however..."

Something to his gaze made Leonard step aside slightly, letting the dragon offer Miranda a steady and strangely soothing glance.

"Pick up the sword, young one," he quietly suggested. "Open your heart to it. Your mother's people had no say in their creation, but they are noble to a fault even if they themselves are unaware of it.
- Are you sure, Sifu?" asked the panda. "I don't mean to question you, but she's got no training in our field - Aspasia's a jarhead, a medic and a survivalist. She probably has CQC down pat or something similar, but-"

The dragon quietly raised a hand. "Remember how you felt when I first handed you the sword, John. Were you prepared?
- No, but-"

He smiled. "You're my Wanderer, dear boy. You'll do fine, I'm sure of it. The more able hands we have, the better our chances."

Aric, in the meantime, couldn't repress a sneer. "You give your sword to a child, Easterner? The dragons of the East truly are doomed, then.
- Only the foolish ones are," replied the dragon, a tranquil smile on his features.

* * *

The more Meris spoke, the more Melmoth's eyes seemed to light up, the usually black and oily smoke that rose from his mouth and nostrils growing lighter in tone and composition. "Lucifer's horns, Meris," he swore, as he approached her, sticking an as-of-yet unlit cigar in his mouth, "that's terrific! I'm just - that's - Wow!"

As it turns out, Sam wouldn't be the one to attempt to bear-hug her, the Broker having briefly locked the Archmage in a hard clasp, laughing as he did. "Endgame, baby!" he exclaimed as he let her go.

Having heard them, Amduscias had more or less led the others a few paces back. "I wouldn't count me spoils before winning, love," he said, clicking his tongue at the Broker. "It's less about endin' it, at this stage, as it is about clearin' the game board for the next phase. Rebels Versus Loyalists, Void Weavers in the open - an' all the ancient evils Goatsie's nonsense managed to rouse. If I were a Hyperborean Warlock, I'd be mightily chuffed at the prospect of all that permafrost goin' poof... It'd mean I could crawl outta me millennia-old tomb an' frown at the last coupla thousand years' worth o' progress in arcane safety standards."

Melmoth blinked. "What about us?
- Oh, I suspect we'll all get used to civvy life somewheres," airily intuited the demon. "In any case, the fight won't be about us Socratic types no more. We'll kick back, chip in when we can - an' we'll be free."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Neasa awkwardly eyed her sister, while she fetched three empty chairs. Aislinn righted the three Fomorians and gently placed them in the chairs.

Aislinn shrugged. "We'll have to do," she said to Declan. "All resident Chimeras are out at the moment. Aspasia's on assignment, and Spearhead is off at WySec, based on what we last heard. Miranda's not here, either, to my knowledge. Though, Aspasia likely wouldn't be too keen on letting her daughter lend DNA to someone."

***

"The Commission will likely reform once Hope maintains some form of normalcy," Crystal mused. "I never thought I'd say it, but the order they created would help greatly in containing some of the trouble we'll see after things calm down some."

"As for your past, will we can do is the make the best of it with what we've been given and sometimes blunder through life until we get it right."

***

Coming out from behind Nami, Miranda blinked a few times in disbelief and pointed at herself. "Me?? I figured Mr. Shou would wield it. Or maybe Nami-san?" she blurted, green eyes widened.

"Don't count yourself out, Mira-chan," Nami countered, smiling encouragingly. "You've got a level head on your shoulders. Also, don't forget your ancestry. You're a Chimera, but you're also a dormant Wyldfae. My grandfather told me what she was capable of when she healed him and fought in Eien-no-Yuki; she impressed an old daimyo. You inherited the same potential."

"Well, Mom did train me some," the young Fauness mentioned uncertainly, trying to convince herself to the idea of wielding the blade. "Archery, some martial strategy..."

The pilot nodded. "You've also got gumption. I don't think Shen Long would offer it to you if he didn't have at least some confidence in your capabilities."

The characteristic humor of the Fauns filtered through her response as she approached the embedded sword. "Well, it's not like Joyous Death is going to do a "She-Ra" trick, like the way that sword did for her, right?" she chuckled awkwardly, gripping the hilt.

The Fauness closed her eyes and allowed whatever powers the sword had to enter her heart, pulling up on it from the stone.

***

"There's that, but we do have more immediate concerns," Meris admitted, lips pursed tightly. "Such as the Chamberlain colluding with one of the Host in an effort to doom our own plans by using a loved one of Aidan's against us," she briefly explained.

Abdiel happened to be following after Melmoth when she heard the Archmage's statement. "WHAT?!" she bellowed, her dark brown eyes alighting with actual flame. It was obvious this revelation had triggered her status as an embodiment of Justice. Light shone behind her skin, highlighting muscle and bone. Her bodysuit, with its absorbed cosmic heat, reacted to her nature as a Throne. Dozens of searching eyes manifested on its surface, while the background against them swirled angrily with the all the colors of a raging solar storm. The nearby demons wouldn't feel any harmful purity emitted from the Wheel of Fire, but her anger was palpable nonetheless.

"WHO IS IT?!" she heatedly implored the Heiress, looking as though she was ready to either haul the traitor before the Heavenly Tribunal or throw them into the Abyss.

Taken aback by the sudden shift in her demeanor, Meris appeasingly put her hands up in order to calm her down. "I don't know yet! All I saw was Chambers speaking to the angel in question about their plans, along with the body-snatching thief in my son's body! They didn't display any identifying features!"
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