Chapter VI - Asunder

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom tsked in mock disapproval. "Fie, darling - do you really think I'd stoop so low as to rub our considerable combined power in our enemy's faces?"

He then canted his head. "I'd be lying if I didn't say it was actually tempting, but the common adage about our lot being wiser than most should also be kept in mind."

Declan scoffed at this. "I knew about false modesty, but fake vanity's a new one for me."

That got a smirk out of Bres. "You're still barely more than a nymph, Declan. Give it a while," he said, then refocusing on the Warlocks. "We've got a lot to do - we should get to it. If you don't mind, we'll take the same path out that we took to come here; it'll be more discrete.
- I really wish you didn't," opposed Tom, "I haven't so much as cleaned and re-filled the pool yet!"

The leader of the Fomorians shrugged lightly. "We don't get to choose our liminal spaces, Magnus. Least of all, us boogeymen."

He briefly glanced along the corridor they'd come through and then back at the couple. "Don't forget to magic up some sense of order back in the penthouse - we all disturbed a few things, and something tells me you'll want to present a pristine background for Mister Clean-Cut Sewer Rat..."

* * *

Nasir followed along, keeping her own pace casual. A few loping bounds were all Eliphas needed, and Zeb keeping to a mincing half-jog he hadn't been sober enough to use in a good few decades.

As expected, what was left of Archibald was in the corner formed between the alley wall beside the Harp & Blackthorn and the dumpster that had once been regularly used by the mobster and pub owner. His clothes were singed and torn where limbs had been blown off, the porcelain plates of his face were either cracked, shattered or missing, and where a trail of blood would have preceded the sight of a man having had his legs blown off, bent brass camshafts, cogs and pinwheels littered the floor in front of him. What had once been a gentle, muted ticking noise in his chest was now a loud, laboring clatter. The amount of damage impacted the fluidity of his gestures, making the Clank's raising of his head and the attempted self-deprecating salute look unusually robotic.

"I really have to hand it to the Queen's engineers," he said, "they're long de-de-dead, and they've seen me through two World Wars, Elysi-si-si-si-um, drowned temples in India..."

He scoffed. "I don't think they could've planned for that look of disapproval, darling dear," he told her, his voice skipping like a broken record. "I do believe you've just killed me."

Nasir put a knee down. "You've done a fine job of that yourself, Holden. Lie still - this is going to hurt."

Before he could ask what she meant, Nasir's hand was wreathed in a purplish glow, something in the exposed abdominal cavity responded in kind. Archie's back arched and he tried to scream, but no sound could escape him, safe for a few croaks. More internal mechanisms were disturbed, they protested and wrenched as she pulled at something, then were soon pulled out as the foreign object was removed. Nasir hadn't done much more damage, all things considered, as all of the clockwork she also expelled had been chipped or bent prior to her intervening. What had caught her interest was a length of the now-dying perimeter wall's constituting bramble wall that had lodged itself in his abdominal cavity. It was covered in tiny red spines, several of which had remained lodged in various nooks and crannies of Archie's hollow interior. Repairing him would've been costly, but Crystal wasn't without knowing the others in Magnus Tower had access to other monetary resources. Considering, it was more liable to be time-consuming than anything else, especially since nobody at the Tower had currently advertised themselves as being decent Clanksmen or service providers for augmented individuals.

Still, once the foreign mass was removed, Archie immediately relaxed, his one good eye fluttering as though he were trying to push tears of exertion out of it. "Thank you," he told Nasir, sounding out-of-breath as he spoke. "How are the others?"

"Fine," growled Eliphas, with Zebediah casting a wary glance about the alley. "Fine-ish, considering," he replied, looking disturbed by the amount of corpses he and his brother had strewn across the street. Belliard was still slung across Eliphas' neck, features taut with pain and what had to look like swollen joints along his right arm, but nothing that looked serious, otherwise.

"Thanks for the rescue," he said, "but this is a bloody stupid idea if I've ever seen one, Holden," he said. "I don't imagine Magnus Tower has a Lord Holden Blows Himself Up budget set aside for ya."

Archie let out a small laugh at that. "I know - I perhaps foolishly hoped that Meris or mister Rothchild could do something to make this worthwhile...
- If their Architect wills it," noted Nasir, her tone sobering.

* * *

Weakly, Shen Long helped to stabilize Miranda's trajectory, owing to this being her first flight. Their landing wasn't especially graceful, as they slammed against the hold's far wall. At least, the noise was more than audible enough for Nami to realize she could close it. Doing so would confer some measure of stability to the disturbed aircraft even as behind them, Ephesian's conjured spirits harassed the surviving dragons and effectively covered their escape.

The door between the seating compartment and the hold then clicked open, as Kevin and John rushed forward, and helped to free Miranda from Shen Long's grasp. The dragon's grip had begun to weaken, and he parted from her with a weak groan.

Kevin looked utterly distraught. "There's blood - what do we do?!"

Channelling his nature as the dragon's Wanderer, Shou drew on his past lives' memories and neatly pushed the young human aside, parting the dragon's clothes at the chest, then feeling along its perimeter as the dragon's breath turned ragged. "I can't say for sure, my medical license dates back to 1836! I'm thinking damage to the pericardium, probably a cardiac tamponade. If we had a syringe or a lancet or - anything, I could try and partially drain a ventricle to even pressure, set us up for reanimation..."

He then checked Shen's eyes, finding them to be unusually dilated. "There's something else," he hurriedly said. "Damn that fur of his, I can't see if he's in shock..."

The panda then brought Shen's focus back on himself by gripping his head. "What stabbed you?" he asked, in what sounded like some archaic form of Mandarin. The others wouldn't understand much of it, but they'd catch the word Long. Long for dragon. 

"A Wyrm's vestigial thumb," sighed the panda. "Oh, no... Aldergard's peers valued honor above all, but those who betrayed his trust or the mortals under their charge sometimes tipped their wings' thumbs in poison. Pair that with enough length for stab wounds to be significant, and these bastards made sure they'd get the last laugh if they were bested in single combat..."

In the meantime, as the stabilized craft glided towards the city's core, Nami's radio crackled to life. The speaker's voice was hoarse and spartan, starting with a growl.

"Orion Shuttle 4NG3L, this is Wyvern's Security Director. You are operating outside of your license's designated corridor. State your business, or you will be fired upon."

* * *

"Shall I set you on your way?" asked Naberius, as he turned to open one of the side rooms' doors, more than likely with the intent to open a gate to Faerie. He opened the door, frowning at the sight of the room beyond the panels, then closed it again. Adding a bit more of an effort of will, he opened it again.

Nothing.

"This can't be right," he muttered, adjusting his monocle as he tried a second door, then a third. Amduscias tried to open one on a length of bare wall, only for strain to mark his features. "This ain't good," he muttered.

Seconds later, an armor-clad demon ran down the hallway, stopped and gave Meris a curt bow. "Milady - conventional Gates have ceased to function across the Mesa. An aircraft from the IDF is on approach. They are asking us to surrender your friends on behalf of our American allies."

Three frowned sharply at that. "Like Hell, she is. We need Robertson's research on the Gates, he's the only one who can set us on our way.
- So how do we 'port back to Hope if we can't open a Gate?" asked Melmoth.

"If we can't travel across planes the way we usually would, then we have to do it the way the Architect would," he said. "The way the Void Weavers used to. Rothchild has enough power to annihilate concepts like Time or Distance, now - the old Squids didn't travel anywhere, they made their destination come to them.
- We can't fold space with magic," opposed Melmoth, "that's Karthian-grade quantum physics! I've been hearing Grayskins sayin' folding space while on Earth would be pure madness since Romanov got turned!"

Drake sighed. "I have to assume the Architect accounted for that - we have to."

[TennyoCeres84]

"That'll be easy enough," Aislinn said with an awkward chuckle, as she looked back at the mess they had left behind. She then looked back at the Fomorian leader and nodded. "We'll be in touch; stay safe."

***

"Hopefully they'll come through," Crystal agreed to the statement, then sighing with some tiredness. She eyed the exotic-looking woman and the rest of them. "Thank you for the help. However, who are you, ma'am? If I had to guess, you appear as though you're from Paradise."

***

After slamming into the cargo bay wall, Miranda had merely been disoriented momentarily and had likely earned a few sound bruises on her body. She quickly let Kevin and John take Shen Long and found a nearby seat in the cabin. She worried her lip as she watched the two men assess the elderly dragon's state, looking down on the sword with some frustration. Still, her focus returned to the plight of the injured Sifu.

Nami was quick to respond by picking up the radio receiver. "This is pilot Nami Urakawa requesting an emergency landing. There is a grievously wounded Oriental dragon on board, and he needs immediate medical attention. We were fleeing demon hostiles, and the shuttle has sustained significant damage. There are five adults and one child aboard."

***
Abdiel's gaze drifted from Melmoth to the blocked Gate. "He's on our side, so I imagine he would have gifted Meris a means to circumnavigate her way around the world."

"During my time with the Architect, I learned many things about time and space, so we'll just have to see how much we can bend madness then," Meris responded defiantly with a click of her tongue. She recalled how easily time and space could be called forth in the Archtect's plane and mused it worked similar for transporting one's self across liminal spaces and distances. Having been to London in the past, she could visualize the city easily enough to "pull" the location to the door.

Exhaling, Meris grabbed onto the knob and turned it, while envisioning the destionation coming to her at her beckoning. She then opened the door, hoping to find the urban landscape in front of them.

[IamLEAM1983]

The two shapeshifters nodded, their forms obfuscated by a concealment Veil just before they passed the door leading back to the ground floor's common area. As for Tom and Aislinn, their way back up to the penthouse was marked by the warthog industriously laying the groundwork for his contacting Calhoun. It took a few code phrases, Tom affecting Quint's unaffected voice from decades prior, and patient chuckling at what had to be unfortunate jokes, but he eventually had one Jimmy Toretti on the line.

"Alright," the Italian-American Freak said, "what you're gonna wanna do, Quint, is head up to your digs, clear things up, make sure you've got an unobstructed angle on the city from at least one direction, and then shoot a panoramic video on yer phone. I'll forward that to mister Calhoun, see if there's any landmarks he can draw on. Don't text me the vid - message me on Whatsapp. We don't do obvious data transfers."

Tom clicked his tongue. "It won't be too long, the brunt of the stuff that got knocked around is outside. Five minutes should do it. You'll have to excuse the dingy early-spring pool, I'm afraid.
- Eh, we've seen worse," replied the vampire. 

Tom hung up, looking like he expected Neasa or Aislinn to ask him why he'd gone on the phone as Quint. These were probably contacts dating back to before the warthog's corruption, or at least from its earliest days, back when the warthog had probably sported fur and didn't look quite so jaundiced.

"I can't wait to see his face," he said, as he started replacing chairs, a bit of relish twinkling in his eyes. "Back then, even he knew poor old Thomas wouldn't amount to much."

A few reset books and knickknacks later, he looked back to Aislinn with a slight moue. "We should get a familiar," he noted. "Something to seal the deal, maybe impress the occasional gullible visitor... How are selkies, when it comes to cats and dogs?"

* * *

The white-haired woman picked up Archie, then handed the torso, head and arm to Crystal. "Helena Nasir," she replied, "former xeno-biologist for NASA, now Queen of the Vanguard. We stand as Gliese's single defense against arcane and supernatural threats."

Archie gestured at her. "I don't suppose this light, erm, cerulean tone is natural, is it?"

The woman shrugged lightly as they walked back. "Paradise is home to many supernaturally gifted species and individuals; one of them being the Akari, who feed on one of the particular manifestations of via, out in deep space. They call it Ether and see deep space as, well, a sea of sorts. An ocean, as rife with life as worlds locked in-orbit can potentially be. Life we, unfortunately, lack the tools or natural ability to perceive. I and a few researchers followed the Akari on one of their harvests, back in 1978."

She paused. "We were... changed. The naive ones among the station's denizens call us cursed, those who see call us blessed."

Archie's good eye blinked. "What happened to you?
- We see and can draw upon dark energy - the connective tissue of the Universe, where common Matter ends - and shape it in accordance to our will. If you have a passing understanding of physics, you will understand that Matter and Antimatter cancel out one another, and also balance out one another.
- How does this relate to magic?
- Every force in the Universe has its inverted twin," she explained. "The Black Speech and the rebels' rediscovered opposite, the balancing alchemical Elements countering one another, Matter and Antimatter, via and what we call the Void...
- Are the Void Weavers related? With a name like this..."

Helena nodded, looking away to briefly see if Hamid was still contained. Seeing that he was, she refocused on the Daisy Two's mangled remains, her right hand once again glowed with a purplish haze. Frowning lightly, she attempted to reassemble and parcel out the car's remains, knowing how precious it had been to Archie. She stopped after a few seconds, having at least made things easier for any future metal reclaimers or clean-up crews to follow."The Squids are to Earth what the Akari and my daughters are to space. They once weaved the Void, in accordance with their name, and lost that power as they decayed. Protis once told me his elders had sensed power akin to theirs welling forth from Earth, and grew concerned once ripples of Antimatter stopped reaching them. This is partly why they welcomed us - why my daughters and I exist as we do."

Archie's gaze then grew lightly hopeful. "Could you mend me?
- Kinetic magic was never my gift," the Queen replied, looking neither particularly concerned or sad. "I'm surprised you held out in such a primitive shell for as long as you did - we finance many markets here, both illegal and sanctioned. You could have joined your Bagley in modern attire.
- And end two hundred years of familiarity for the sake of software optimizations and being vulnerable to viral attacks?!" lightly exclaimed the Clank. "Perish the thought, Your Highness!"

"Well, you can't possibly stay like this," noted Zeb. "Digitized souls can be made ethereal again, living in a Duesenberg or Nakayama shell for a few months could be an acceptable sacrifice.
- A few months," testily replied the Clank, his voicebox skipping again. "We don't even know if Lu-Lu-Lu-Loooocifer alone could put an end to this!
- All the more reason to change," growled Eliphas. 

"And how, pray tell, would we find a purveyor of armatures in a devastated Rhode Island metropolis? We've seen shells get hijacked by demons, leaping out of storefronts with eyes turned red and price tags still attached!"

Nasir smiled cryptically. "My agents have means of protecting crucial items. We can always visit one, if you'd like."

Archie sighed, swiveling his good eye in Crystal's direction, to see what her perspective would be.

* * *

There was a slight pause. 

"Stand by for taxi," said the guttural voice. "Lower all locomotive enchantments on my mark."

Warning lights flashed on the helipad in front of and below the shuttle, two small and black figures almost bounding to what looked like a pair of hover-bikes. From up here, all Nami would see was that their legs bowed like a Blue Chimera's. They soon rose up to her and flanked the craft just below the cockpit, applying what had to be strong adhesive pads to its side. They had to stick with equal parts magnetism and some sort of mass-produced spell, as solid as their hold was.

"Three, two, one - mark."

The wings dispelled, the hover-bikes connected to the shuttle and slaved its propulsion and guidance systems to theirs. All Nami had to do was sit back - or perhaps tend to Shen Long - while the pair guided her craft to the pad.

"Helipad crew en route," joylessly growled the voice. "Welcome to Wyvern Securities, Miss Urakawa."

Behind and in front of them, two anti-aircraft batteries shuddered and tracked a shadow that seemed to hide behind a cloud bank. A distant roar was heard, followed by the far-off flapping of retreating wings. The AA batteries shuddered again and lowered their warheads. Double doors slid open back ahead, more black-clad and reverse-jointed figures filing into position on the shuttle's flanks, rifles raised to cover anyone's exit from the cargo hold. The last figure to leave from the roof hangar looked like a White Walker dressed in Larry King's shirt, slacks and suspenders, skin a wrinkled pale gray, wisps of white hair clinging to the skull, a braided white goatee still clinging to the chin with supernatural fullness. He'd probably been fairly muscled while alive, the cold and damp of the Draugr's birthing catacombs having reduced it to a vague suggestion atop a bony frame. He looked thin but solid, the lower half of his red tie flapping in the wind, below his clip. The Draugr's eyes were impossibly blue, almost glacial - and just as impossibly alive. Beside him waited a Red Chimera clad in black tactical gear, his ochre scales faintly reflecting light on his forearms and on the sides of his neck. He, and the other Reds, looked as though you'd stuck the head of one of Jurassic Park's velociraptors on a human frame. Instead of hooves, he sported three clawed toes out in front and a toe along the heel - perfect for latching onto perches, gaining more torque while sprinting - or goring someone's chest open with a few stomping motions.

In seeing the state of the crew, the Draugr craned his head back and barked something in what had to be Swedish, adding a twirl of an index finger. Out rushed a six-person pack of Blues - some of the former comrades of Miranda's mother - who quickly took Shen Long from John Shou and Kevin and placed him on a stretcher.

"Garrison," growled the Red, "Room Two. I will not let your workers  or our refugees see a dragon in this state, sir," he told the Draugr.

"I agree," nodded the vampire, who sounded a bit like Max Von Sydow, if the actor had caught a bad throat infection. "We can't have his state demoralize the personnel."

Kevin didn't look too pleased. "The Black Goat's taken America over and you're still looking to arrest undead crooks?!"

Magnus' disapproval wasn't so much as voiced - his glare almost made Yip shiver. "Our common enemy has plunged the world's economy in chaos, those who were previously too cowardly to act are now emboldened. We have fifteen thousand outstanding accounts to protect - accounts tied to NGOs, foundations, other pockets of resistance, immortals with families they care for - there are other battlefields. Add to this all those who have deserted us to follow the Goat's inane economics of excess, and you'll hopefully understand."

They headed inside, Haraldson waving away a small retinue of Blues and Reds packing thermal cameras, modern etheric tracking solutions, and odd metal flasks. One of them took position again once the vampire, head Red Chimera and shuttle occupants had passed. What had to be holy water was splashed on the hands of the Reds and Blues as they passed, a human woman wearing WySec slacks and a tee-shirt checking them off on a tablet.

John frowned at that sight, looking away as the dragon was whisked away to the attending barracks. "Can't be too careful," appended the lizard, something making him blink. He gave Miranda a bit of a side-eye, nostrils flaring. A low, somehow inquisitive growl resonated in his chest.

"You bear Aspasia's blood," he told the girl.

* * *

The desired effect didn't quite pan out as expected. As focused as she might've been, Meris had no practice or expertise at this particular trick.

At first, there'd be nothing past the doorframe except the expected room. It was another sitting area, with its Middle-Eastern undertones, profusion of pillows and short, nearly-ordered rows of books. Then, the entire room lurched towards her, as if her POV had been a camera intent on zooming past the window's artful grille. Meris' stomach and sense of balance both quailed out of protest. The weird lurching motion hesitated, then stretched out past the room and for a few miles in Israel's sky - while all the while, her subjects both panicked and organized some sort of response to the impending attack. She'd dimly be aware of her guards hurrying to the ramparts with swords and weapons in hand, while the worming motion of her field of view accelerated exponentially. 

Soon, a hand rested on her shoulder. Instead of losing her focus, however, she'd find that someone with some power had decided to share the load. It had to be Drake. Nausea faded, her view of the Spanish coastline soon obeying her will and slithering towards the West. Every time they stopped, the floor she stood on grinded and groaned against the sudden presence of open space out ahead, puffs of dust being sent out as the doorway seemingly rested on stone, dirt or concrete with a slam or a thud. Eventually, she'd recognize West London's squad brownstones, along with the shops along King's Road. On some level he wouldn't be able to fully verbalize, Aidan guided Meris' hand around one of King's Road's blocks, spotted a deserted parking lot that stood well out of sight, and nodded to her.

A blast soon echoed throughout the room, faint cracks appearing in the fresco-covered walls and the coffered ceilings. The report of distant helicopter blades could be heard, circling around - and below them.

"Oh, no," breathed Naberius.

Amduscias' eyes, however, turned sharper than before, and he clapped his hands a few times, adding supernatural power to it. "ALRIGHT, GENTS," he called out, "THIS AIN'T A FIRE DRILL! PACK UP YER THINGS, WE'RE LEAVIN' FER LONDON! AGARES, VASSAGO - WE'VE ONLY GOT A FEW SECONDS!
- WHERE'S SAMIGINA?!" shouted someone.

"BOYS AT THE DUTCHMAN CALLED HIM BACK!" shot back someone else. "THEY'RE TRYING TO STRIKE THE IDF FORCES FROM THE REAR!"

Melmoth then grasped Meris' other shoulder while looking back to Abdiel. "Go, go! We'll cover ya! Abbie'll set us back on yer trail!"

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn chuckled. "Well, I mean, selkies can keep pets. Though, they generally have to like water. Dogs tend to like water more than cats, but you do get the occasional oddball cat that loves living on a ship or surfing," she said with a smirk.

***

Crystal frowned with some uncertainty. "They do raise good points, Archie. You're more vulnerable as you are now. You could get a replacement body that resembled this body, but it would be more resilient. Plus, the parts making it up are more readily available than the current one. I know you've grown accustomed to this one and the transition wouldn't be easy, but I would think it's worth the consideration, right? I obviously wasn't alive when you changed from a human body to your current one, but you got used to that eventually. This is the same sort of thing, only just slightly different."

***

The obvious statement mildly took the girl aback when the Red Chimera made the observation, but she only blinked at him once before nodding. "That's because she's my mom. I'm Miranda Robertson," she answered. Given he knew of her mother well enough, she mused that his familiarity likely pinpointed to the identity of one particular Red Chimera Aspasia had spoken highly of. "Are you Spearhead, by any chance?" she guessed. "Mom's talked a lot about you from her past, so I had a hunch you might be him."

***

The chaos that erupted around her forced Meris to steel herself as she focused on keeping the gate stable. She looked back at Melmoth with concern at the fact that all of this was happening. "Okay, please stay safe! We'll try to get back with you as soon as we can!" Aspasia looked at the cracking ceiling and walls and shouted, "We need to go!! NOW!" she shouted, with the selkie nodding to her. She then hurried through the door with the fauness, the human, and those of her Court who had chosen to follow her.

Once they would have left, Abdiel nodded to Melmoth. "This attack is all too convenient! Nobody knew where we had gone, except for those back at the complex! We definitely have a mole who has an in with the Goat and Chambers!" she shouted.

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom clicked his tongue. "Hrm, we'll see, I guess. The right kind of shell with the right kind of spirit... That's more of a long-shot, granted, but I do know a few tertiary demons and a few non-angelic Celestial entities who wouldn't mind a stroll in the flesh for a decade or two. Having an Opinicus around could be fun, if you can stomach inhuman patience."

He replaced a few other books and objects, setting the living room's chairs back into position, and then moved outside to take care of the poolside furnishings Neasa and the Fomorians had thrown about. "They're not Thrones, they're less overt in terms of power than angels, but they do fly closer to God than most angels in the Choir's lower tiers. Celestial knowledge is more their yen, and they figure snooping around Heaven's more private corners is part of their raison d'être. I always thought of them as being God's counter-spies, even if they themselves wouldn't be aware of it as such."

Setting a chaise longue back into place, he stopped for an instant. "Come to think of it, our familiar wouldn't need a body. The Gates are open, so they could just waltz through, all corporeal and ready to settle into the life of a house pet, plus perks."

* * *

Allocer's men moved in, keeping their weapons trained past the group. "Follow Captain Matheson," said one of the possessed officer, "he'll take you to City Hall for processing and re-assignment in the enclave's residential quarters-
- Sod off," shot back Belliard. "We're taking the survivors to the Tower, and you're not stopping us!"

The pig sustained the SWAT officer's discolored gaze for a few long seconds, something making the cop step back. Belliard nodded and then looked off to one of his surviving lieutenants. "Henry, you're with the folks. Walk 'em to Magnus Tower. If anyone stops ya, tell 'em you were with me.
- You're not coming, boss?
- Nah, we've got a crippled Clank to look after, and I could use some o' Paradise's hypo-sprays for me arm. One shot and I'll be good as new."

Archie seemingly resented the descriptor. "Crippled? I am merely damaged, sir! My armature was designed with-
- The best o' the eighteen-eighties' technology, yeah," interjected the pig. "I'm British, I know me history. Trust me, you'll wonder what the bloody Hell you were doin' stuck with perpetual movement as your life force for two hundred years, once you step into chrome. You think you're fast? I've seen some guys 'cross the pond with faster reaction times than you could muster even after fully windin' yerself up, Milord."

The spy nodded his head in grudging allowance. "It's simply the matter of their being a certain romanticism about us old-fashioned Automatons. We're a dying breed, with more and more of my kind choosing to make the switch to modernity! Staying as I was felt worthwhile, it felt as though I was preserving a piece of history for posterity!
- An expensive piece," noted Zebediah. "City Hall never told you, but we footed the bill for a few of your restorations, before you were reactivated. We had you fully disassembled, cleaned out, repaired and replaced if and when needed, and then put back together by hand, thanks to career watchmakers. That was back in the late seventies and early eighties, so you can forget 3D-printed molds for new brass cogs, pinions and everything! Everything was hand-forged, and we replaced a few of your outer fascia's porcelain pieces, too!"

"We're not as wealthy as we once were," growled Eliphas. "This cost us."

Zeb chuckled bitterly. "Between my alcoholism, my philandering, my research, the constant shoring-up of Buck Manor's foundations and the almost monthly renovations to Eliphas' cage, putting a few million aside for you was a tall order. The days of small-town wealthy patronage are over, and our standards for being crassly wealthy as of the late eighteen-hundreds now barely cover our own respective eccentricities. Madeline says we're no longer rich - we just make struggling look distinguished. Things have gotten easier since Magnus freed Eliphas from the feral aspects of his curse, but Evangeline and Nicholas are still around, they still drive me up the wall and I still turn manic on occasion because of them-"

The cursed werewolf growled once, his eye gleaming in a silent warning. "This isn't about us, Zebediah - or you. Archibald doesn't need to hear of our sacrifices; the whole city knows about them."

Still, the lich chuckled nervously and eyed Nasir. "I don't do sobriety too well, Your, erm, Highness. Would it be possible to stop by a liquor store so I, well, can take the edge off somewhat?
- Your hallucinations can't harm you," coldly replied the Queen as they walked. "Frank Brenner should have a stimpak you could inject yourself with to abate withdrawal symptoms."

Zebediah gritted his teeth. "You don't understand, they come back when I'm sober, and - and I've never had it in me to fight my own wife and child! They're not hallucinations, they're frighteningly strong and motivated etheric presences! Third-tier apparitions! Coherent vapors, specters, ghosts, call them however you like! I don't want them out here, with civilians and innocents and, well..."

He eyed a demonic traffic controller and blinked. "Or with Infernal salarymen who possibly haven't asked for it!"

Still, Archie had paid attention. "Wait, back up," he asked. "Frank Brenner is your agent?!
- One of only eight Pilus in town," replied Nasir, "with a naturally noisome and occasionally malodorous disposition that is likely to frustrate most demons looking for a suitable host. He is fine, I'm sure of it. So is his stock. His real stock, at any rate."

* * *

"I am," replied the Red Chimera. "If you are here, then Aspasia fares well. Her supernatural life partner has done well for her."

Magnus winced slightly at that. "Decades later and still holding onto Elysium's social conditioning... You'll have to excuse Spearhead, Miranda; I've only seen him lighten up when he has a target in sight. He means well, but he's rather blunt.
- It keeps me honest," replied the raptor. "Niceties are the stuff of liars and demagogues - I should know."

For now, he stomped off and away from the group, back towards the barracks. The vampire seemingly relaxed slightly at that. "I still remember when mister Kuhn sent me his file, shortly after his release from Chimera Row. He'd been hounded by practically every PMC on the globe; martial interests had been quick to spot the Transgenics' potential. He turned them all down, appending a bullet-point list of each group's sponsored war crimes or bungled operations to his refusal letters. From Blackwater to Academi, all of Erik Prince's PMC groups tried to hire some of Spearhead's former unit members. So did Ruthven Corp's Raven International. He told them to, and I quote, induct more shell-shocked soldiers into the Ordo Dracul, if they were so desperate for trigger-happy goons."

He smiled as they headed for an elevator. "He reached out to us, and wasn't surprised to learn we'd opted to give him time to do his due diligence and research Wyvern's background as thoroughly as he could. Our Ops division operated under mister Kuhn's watchful eye, and all our operations have always been vetted by our sociopolitical consultants. We're not above reproach, but we're not mercenaries either. Our focus is on legal transparency, both in ourselves and our clients."

Ephesian kept his back to the doors as they closed. "How does the company fare, without Kuhn and Starr?"

The Draugr sighed. "As well as could be imagined... We've had resignations, yes, but also new hires. Those who couldn't flock to Magnus Tower - or who mistook me for its administrator - rushed our front lobby. We've refugees to tend to, but also new posts to fill. Distance also allowed for some of the Pit's rebels to join us first. Having Pride Knights on the ground team keeps the campus clear - and keeps the surrounding five blocks safe. That's quite a bit of real estate, with office spaces we've turned into ad-hoc apartments or condos we've secured for their occupants. We're not as sophisticated as the Warlock's own defenses, but we're also the only tower with permanent sniper nests and a watch on constant rotation."

He then looked at Nami with the same patient grin. "We'll have your shuttle flight-worthy again in short order, Miss Urakawa. She's being taxied into one of our hangars as we speak. I'll send for an update on Shen Long in a short while; our staff needs time to work."

* * *

"Yeah, I gathered that much!" replied the Broker. "Let's do what we can for this place first, we'll stew on this later!"

He took a sharp drag on his cigar. "See ya topside!" were his last words, before he exhaled a plume of black smoke that seemingly engulfed him and then turned snakelike, whipping ahead and along the corridor to the nearest staircase. A piece of debris from the ceiling fell on his formed coil, but the "body" of the length of snake reformed behind it without interruption. By the time Abdiel would have phased through the upper floors and reached the upper battlements, wisps of black smoke were uncoiling from vents beneath her and the soldiers' feet, feeding an expanding cloud that soon towered above them.

In the skies ahead and below them, choppers were busy targeting the mesa's load-bearing segments. Other aircraft were on the way, seemingly trying to target the same who were attempting to bring the tower down, which at least suggested that not everyone in the IDF was fine with carrying out the relayed instructions of an illegitimate politician. Abdiel's keen ears wouldn't need much to understand that the rebelling Israelite forces were risking their lives and careers - it stood to reason the Goat had dirt on the country's own PM, or that he'd promised a swift and bloody end to all territorial disputes in the area, in exchange for his support.

Behind the core attacking group, Sam's Flying Dutchman ponderously circled a group of helos, firing cannons at a preternatural pace. A few shots went wide, but a cannonball wasn't too good a thing to toss at a chopper's rotors. A few of them saw their blades either ripped off or knocked out of alignment, which sent them spinning helplessly along the rotor's axis - to crash either against their own friendlies or in the desert below.

Melmoth's black cloud kept expanding, soon taking the rough shape he'd once unsuccessfully attempted to assume in front of the Fire Throne, to show his overall weakness. Smoke and soot turned into a top-heavy and musclebound torso, Melmoth's head and face looking a tad leaner atop it. His increased mass making his gestures ponderous, one big mitt reached out and closed around one of the helicopters. He didn't seem to care that the craft's blades kept slicing through his constantly re-forming fingers, the engine revving up in protest as Melmoth brought it closer to his face.

"Sorry, fellas," he said in Hebrew, his voice turned deep and crackling like a raging forest fire, "looks to me like your accounts need closing."

He drew in a breath, the soldiers could dimly be heard screaming, and he then unleashed a column of soot-laden flames from his mouth, searing the craft's occupants and near-instantly superheating the plane's fuel reserves. Now holding a flaming ball of tortured metal and seared flesh, he tossed it at another helo, bringing it down to more screams and more wails of wrenched steel.

* * *

From the noise of the collapsing tower to the comparatively distant urban din of King's Road, the shift had apparently been a shock for a few of them. Having been pushed through by Aspasia and Amduscias, some of the group had tripped and fallen to the floor the moment they'd emerged. The sensory shift kept them from getting back up immediately, Agares merely blinking dumbly behind his now-crooked visor cap and Vassago looking utterly lost. Several others had followed, most of whom Meris would've only met in passing or nodded to, but all those of the seventy-two servants of Solomon she'd personally spoken to could be accounted for.

There were far less than seventy-two souls splayed out in the parking lot. Only twelve had made it out, along with her friends and those that had followed her today.

"No," weakly started Naberius, kneeling on the asphalt as his trembling hands cradled his cracked monocle. "Not London, not now! All of us were still bonded to Meggido, to Solomon's high seat - our bonds are now undone! We cannot exist without them, and a Steward is nothing without a castle! We were to move, yes, but not here, not now!"

Eyes wide, he turned back and grasped Three's shoulders. "Am I fading?!" he asked, his voice quiet with alarm. "Is the Pit recalling us?! Don't let them take us, Drake!"

His wide eyes turned to Aspasia. "A miracle! That's it - maybe the, the shock of all this awakened your Fae half and you could all bond us to you with a geas! Command us, O Fauness, so that we may serve our Queen-"

Three shook Naberius' shoulders. "Snap out of it, Cerberus!" he said, employing the canine demon's old Roman name. "We can't do anything for anyone who didn't make it to the Dutchman in time or who couldn't teleport or fly away. Now, we have all the more reason to reach Titania and Oberon, all the more reason to get that damn drum, and all the more reason to get back to Hope before the Goat decides it's time we got our own ass handed to us!"

Naberius' face blanched. "Did you say Hope? Oh dear lord, my body is still there! It'll die if I don't return to it in time!"

Three kept the dog's gaze on him. "Someone in the tower will find it, Nabs. Someone will, I guarantee it. They'll take it to Medical and get it hooked up on a respirator. Once you get back, you'll have time to decide what to do with it.
- Whatever do you mean, decide what to do? I pushed it through the SAS and butler school, I most certainly am keeping it!"

Three's gaze stayed level. "Depending on how busy things are, someone might not stop by to check on you for a while. Your apartment's on the seventh floor, Naberius. That's a lot of ground to cover, a lot of time for brain damage to settle in if your autonomic reflexes stop and your body stops breathing on its own. You won't want to inhabit a severely disabled shell, believe me. Besides, you're corporeal right now, aren't you?"

Realization made the demon blink, and then shyly pat himself. He hadn't been summoned, and he existed on his own, in the mortal plane. 

"By George, you're - you're right! Have the planar barriers grown so thin already?
- And they're still getting thinner," croaked Agares as he stood up. "Before long, going to Heaven's going to be as easy for us expats as turning a knob on a door. Zero spellwork required, and we'll be attuned to this place well enough to stomach God's light without flinching. That's if Vassago's last projections hold out."

The pallid and dumpy librarian looked confused. "The probabilities are - were - fairly high, yes. I can't say for certain, all of my other Selves stayed behind. I -"

He blinked. "There's only one Me, now. All of my other Selves died - I can sense it."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn helped the warthog continue to tidy up and nodded approvingly to his thoughts on the Opinicus. "That wouldn't be a bad idea to consider. We might be able to have it snoop around it if it felt so inclined. Additionally, I'm sure there's some groups in Heaven that weren't too keen on our notions of assimilation. Having one around might give us a heads-up in case there's some plotting against our efforts," she mused.

***

Crystal noticed how Belliard was able to persuade the demon SWAT member to leave them be with just a stare. After he left, the werewolf lightly scoffed. "It'd be nice to make demons leave just by staring at them, huh?" she rhetorically asked.

She then shrugged at her beau's surprised at Brenner being Nasir's agent. "It honestly makes sense. It's not common that we get Drifters, Space Mages, or the likes of Tyler Renny down here all that often. I'd imagine the head honchos on Paradise would want someone they could rely on for info that couldn't be easily swayed, especially with something like a demon incursion, right?" she suggested to him. "Regardless, we should get over to him and see what he has available."

***

Nami smiled appreciatively. "I understand, and thank you." She then turned to Magnus. "My parents were unfortunately some of those who had to leave for the time being and help those at Magnus Tower. My father was assigned to look after Hope after Elysium came and went, since it seemed Hope was a location that would be a major player in important events. Add to that, their marital geas also lent to their decision, after Mr. Kuhn and Ms. Starr's funerals. Their hope is to return to WySec once the current situation comes to some form of resolution wit the Goat being removed from power."

Miranda frowned with some frustration. "I know Matriel's your dad and all, Nami-san, but it doesn't feel like this is ever going to end..."

The Nephilim frowned pensively back at the teenager. "It will; we'll all make sure to see it through to the end. Hopefully, with all beneficial parties assimilating and working together to fix things for the better."

***

Abdiel had easily shifted to a fiery form, sans wings, and phased through the floors and ceilings until she reached the battlements. Watching the approaching choppers, she understood that there was inner conflict within the IDF and approached the situation appropriately. She flew past the friendly forces as a human shaped phoenix, singing an emboldening seraphic song of victory for them. The enchanting melody carried Hebrew lyrics of El Shaddai's blessings for a better future if they continued to strive toward peace. As she passed those who were assaulting the tower, the hymns rang out about the Almighty's justice on those who chose hubris and power and the precarious fate that awaited them at the end of life's journey. Naturally, the swansong was followed by her launching engulfing fireballs at the offending aircraft.

***
As Naberius temporarily panicked, the Fauness shook her head at him. "It's not like a switch that can be just flipped because it's convenient. A sudden escape's not enough to trigger it; as far as I know, only battle will do the trick."

"Probabilities or not, our best bet is to get our bearings, find the nearest Fae, and see if they can direct us to Oberon and Titania," she said as she eyed Vassago.

With that said, the field commander motioned for them to stay put. She did what did she did best and discreetly clambered up the nearest building and put her nose and ears to the air. Even if she couldn't smell magic, Fae still had their own scent that indicated their presence.

While Aspasia scouted around, Meris ventured close to the surviving Court members. Her expression was marked by a deeply grieved furrowing of her brow and tearing eyes. "I'm sorry for the loss of your bond and your friends, and I will do my best to get them back as your Queen. We will repair the palace, but you all have physical forms of your own. Use them to help me fight against the bastard who caused this!" she swore.

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom chuckled knowingly. "Oh-ho, but there is, darling. There most certainly is. We'll find some naysayers plotting for as long as it isn't made clear that the public opinion is behind us. Even then, considering what we're up against, I wouldn't be surprised if we eventually found ourselves facing an angel who'd be intent on hitting the Reset button on Creation - and that's not keeping everything else in mind."

There were down to just a few things. "Remember Harrison Arkham? Coach and Aspasia investigated him, last winter. The last I could speak to either of them, all they knew is that he had designs for specific spots in town - spots that were massively de-valued as of the incursion. They're currently in no-fly or excluded areas, and Centennial Park is what it is, for the time being. Once we win this, he'll be able to swoop in with a portfolio full of urban renewal projects, and he'll spend a few years with the city's Urban Development division in his pocket. Whatever it is he's working on, he'll have exactly what he needs technically as soon as Lucifer saves our collective skin."

He clicked his tongue. "We still have access to the Triads' share of Mammon's funds, but it's hard to start a bidding war when there's an actual war raging outside our window. There's that, and bidding slightly more peanuts for contaminated lots that sold for a risible amount of peanuts would put a giant sign on our back: Dear Mr. Arkham, please feel free to kick us."

The warthog paused. "I considered letting Rendell in on this so he'd take some of the heat for us, but I'm not keen on giving him easy access to local real estate. I'd ask GrifSec, but old Nigel did the honest, righteous and impractical thing I expected him to do: every penny he could mobilize went into keeping the tower's defenses up-to-date. He's leading heists against Greed holdings across the tri-State area, but I don't know that he'll ever be quite as wealthy as he used to be. Purchasing blown-out condos and office buildings wouldn't be too hard - renovating them would be. All those Hell-brambles, that Brimstone - they make pyrite contamination in foundations look like child's play."

Bending down with a slight groan, he replaced a disturbed book and stopped by a mirror in the living room to quickly inspect himself. A quick reset of his lapels and a slight tug on his cufflinks covered personal adjustments, and he recovered the fedora Declan had briefly stolen from him. He glanced at Aislinn. "I don't think Calhoun is particularly set in the twenties and thirties' social expectations," he said. "You don't need to cocktail-dress it up for the few minutes he'll spend here, I think."

* * *

The pig had settled with a shrug, when confronted with Crystal's statement. "If you'd known me before all this, you'd know I'm good at starin' people down. I wanted to make it back to the motel in Sandhill when the boys an' me got stuck in Renton, so I got good at intimidating freshly-possessed lower-tier Fiends."

He'd then added a self-deprecating scoff. "Couldn't do shite with the aggressive ones, though - talent only goes so far."

After hitching a few short rides, they stood near Mertown's shores. Frank Brenner's shop hadn't changed much, the front windows still hawking everything to Chinese refurbished cell phone batteries and repair services, game console mod-chipping solutions, alien data processing solutions - and easy money. If it was electronic or had rare earths or metals in it, Frank Brenner took it in exchange for cold, hard cash. Nothing he did was exactly eco-friendly, most of it was shady on some level, and everyone in town knew Brenner was one of the few men to visit if you wanted everything from free 4K TV to somewhat legal Paradise hardware. They approached the shop to watch as a demon in civilian clothing angrily whipped the door open and stepped out.

"STAY OUT, BULLY!" shouted Frank Brenner in his Russian-accented English. "YOU MUDAKIS THINK YOU NEED AUGMENTATIONS TO SCARE MORTALS - HAH! I'VE BEEN ARMING THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD SINCE YOUR RED FISTULAS OPENED ALL OVER TOWN!"

Owing to his small size, Brenner didn't actually walk out to heckle the departing customer; a speaker mounted close to the window, outside, slid along a rail and kept pace with the Fiend, delivering the alien's ethnically-mixed expletives all the while. The demon punched it before walking past it, the speaker's servos protesting for a few seconds. The grill then righted itself and whirred back to the rail's starting point.

Nasir was the first to walk through the door, opening the way onto what a sleazy pawn shop would've hoped to turn into after growing up. Holographic displays of alien boxing matches demoed a set of holo-projectors on a nearby shelf, Paradise ideograms sharing space with flickering kanji and Cyrillic characters. Openly illegal modified parts for Clanks and other androids from the nineties and onwards took a display, with a number of so-called "arcane foci boosters" waiting in their own case. They started jittering about like jumping Mexican beans as Zebediah approached them, looking more bemused than interested.

"Sorry about that, friends," started a surprisingly deep and blustering voice. "Sometimes, a line has to be drawn - and I've got enough mounted weaponry to-"

A brownish-beige fleshy orb wearing a small and slightly distended Hawaiian shirt climbed up the wall on the other side of the main counter, acting like a helium-filled balloon endowed with stumpy legs and slightly longer arms. It spun lazily about its Y-axis, exposing more of its actually pear-shaped body. Something like a drooping aardvark's snout waited just below strangely expressive dark eyes, the tip of the nose dropping past a lazily grinning mouth that only sported four large teeth. Brenner grew sparse hair about his head, had seemingly no sexual characteristics to conceal - and generally looked the part of a male Pilus, someone who'd have to silently expel gases to forcefully steer himself or who'd have to serenade females of his own species with long and complex belches.

He stopped, floating in mid-air and looking rather stunned as he cheezily smiled at the deposed Deputy Chief. "-to serve as a legally-acceptable display of my many mounting arms and display accessories, of course, eh-heh - and all at fair prices! Never would I so much as dream to threaten one of our own fair civilians, especially not one of the Infernal scum who stole their privileges from the fair and common folk!"

The Pilus then noted Helena's presence and briefly tensed, doing his best to expel enough gas to at least look like he was standing up on his counter. It didn't quite involve anything so cliché as the sound of a sustained and particularly ripping fart, but it did sound like the world's least-subtle valve being opened. He then attempted a low-gravity curtsy. "Not that the word common applies to you, Your Radiance! Whatever could such a humble representative of the Pilus Commercial Network as myself do for you, I wonder?"

She pointed to Archie, all smarm and good cheer leaving Brenner's features. "Boshe moi," he quietly swore.

* * *

"Oh, it will," agreed the Draugr, as they left the elevator and entered what had been Aldergard's penthouse. Nothing had changed, safe for the addition of a large granite slab, a few steps off to the left of the desk. On it rested the Wyrm's axe, balanced on its side thanks to deep notches in the stone's surface. Elder Futhark runes surrounded the stone's rim, Scandinavian lore-stone carvings depicting the birth, life and death of one of the few men worthy enough to carry Odin Olfather's name.

"The Goat's forces are brazen," he said as he approached the baywindow behind the desk. "They broadly telegraph their strokes and rest on their wide numbers to ensure victory. Pride has completely subsumed them. They've been feeding concise reports in the hundreds of thousands, both from offices like mine and in a wide swath of human rights representatives across the globe. The Hague is playing nice with Washington's usurper, but only in order to cover our tracks. Defeat or capitulation would trigger mass trials the likes of which the world hasn't seen since the days of Elysium's defeat. As soon as we have time enough to safely issue citizenship to our collaborators, our oppressors will benefit from the same right."

He clicked his tongue. "That would earn these monsters the burden of responsibility."

The vampire then glanced at the axe. "It would also grant me vengeance."

Leonard nodded as he inspected a few of the Wyrm's exhibited art pieces. "Beyond the obvious corporate ties, what was your relationship with Aldergard?"

Haraldson crossed his arms against his chest. "Draugr like myself are born in death - as well as reborn to knighthood. No one knows exactly when the first of my kind was made, but we know it was made out of a pact with an ancient Wyrm, as a boon granted to Aldergard's kind by Lilith. Dragon lords sometimes leave their fiefdoms unguarded, and some take to forming a special force to safeguard their holdings in their absence. My old battalion and I were made out of old Norse visitors to the Orkneys. We came to Dragon's Peak - Kraketöppen - in search of conquest, and found a higher calling, instead. We served the keep in life, died as warriors, and then rose in death to honor our fealty and pride."

He smiled. "It didn't stop the selkies and humans from mistaking our withered and frozen forms for enemies, or wights rising from the grave. Culture mis-labels my kind as some variety of Scandinavian ghouls, but we rise at night to keep watch - not terrorize. At least, not for those of us who honor the old codes. My muscles are tougher than a mortal's, I can stomach punishment the likes of which many gifted would choose to avoid, and torpor only claims me when I am dismembered or drained of my blood. Luckily for you all, feeding is more difficult, however."

Ephesian mutely quirked an eyebrow. Haraldson shrugged. "We Draugr cannot feed on the innocent. The sweetness of innocent blood makes us ill. Only miscreants nourish us."

Leonard smiled. "It must be difficult.
- I receive regular shipments from the keep," Haraldson said. "We give a choice to those Wyvern tracks down who couldn't be expected to survive a prison sentence. They can live as a guest in Dragon's Peak, never to leave its walls, in exchange for regular blood draws. We keep them fed and fit, provide them with tasks and a sense of purpose - and draw their guilt through their veins. Of course, I haven't had to call for a shipment in several months. The blood of the Pitspawn more than suffices."

The goat canted his head. "I meant ethically. Who really is innocent?
- Anyone who is at peace with themselves, and anyone of which the presence does not excite my appetite. I know of your past crimes, Ephesian - I can smell them on you. I can also smell your resolve, your desire to atone. Your guilt would have a bitter, metallic tang - nothing I could easily stomach."

Kevin glanced at the rest of the office. "What about the kid who cheats in Math class, or well-meaning criminals? Could you feed on them?"

Magnus shook his head. "No. We were made to feed on the evil, those for whom guilt is hard-fought. Most mundane criminals are merely desperate - unlucky sorts looking for a way out. They only exist as evildoers for brief spurts - the pull of a trigger or the flash of a blade. As you can imagine, my kind can go on for years, sometimes even decades, without tasting blood. Evildoers that fit our admittedly Manichean standards aren't a dime a dozen. I find it keeps our pursuit of justice straight and true."

Kevin nodded somberly. "Then I hope you'll find those who attacked us, and I hope you'll drain them dry."

The fanged and animated corpse nodded. "They will bleed for us, mister Yip - this, I swear."

* * *

As could be expected, the Israelites Abdiel sang for were endowed with fervor that went beyond mere religious ties. They redoubled their efforts, but the Goat's strings reached far and wide. Melmoth did the best he could, but he was too slow and ponderous to account for every single attack, every single rocket. Before long, he had no choice but to let gatling salvos and rockets strike him, as he pressed the back of his massive mist form against the mesa's exposed and collapsing side. His focus shifted to keeping Meris' tower standing for as long as possible, in case other members of Solomon's retinue were still trying to get out. He saw a few streak past him, all in wings, smoke trails or multifaceted streams of light - and not all of them made it out alive. 

Soon, he could sense his strength starting to ebb. "Get the good guys to safety!" he shouted at Abdiel. "We're past support roles, hon - you gotta put the hammer down, or I'm takin' a long walk off a short cliff, here!"

* * *

Three kept his hands on Naberius' shoulders. "Hear that?" he rhetorically asked, "That's your liege giving you an order. You can either panic and jeopardize the rest of us, or marshal yourself and help us out. Don't forget: the whole world is in the Goat's paws, now. We aren't safe yet."

 As Naberius nodded, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with unspent tears, the group would be able to hear a pointed "Oi!" coming from the front of the strip. Back on King's Road proper, a London Metro Police unit had spotted Aspasia on her perch and climbed out of their squad car. The weather was unseasonable in Europe as well, owing to the bobby's shortsleeves, checkered-band cap and reflective traffic vest. He looked human, thankfully alive and very much not possessed, but obviously hadn't seen that many Blues scout ahead across low rooftops.

"Miss?" he called out, "Miss, I'm going to need you to come down from there!"

Hearing that, Three left the parking lot and came into the agent's field of view, still caked with dust. "It's alright, officer, she's with us!" he said, hands raised as he approached. Drake's voice made him flinch slightly and frown. "You're Americans? I thought Downing Street had closed all flights to and from North America!"

Drake made it obvious that he was reaching for his dog tags and shook them loose. "I'm Aidan Drake; this is Aspasia Robertson. We're both from Hope, Rhode Island. To make a long story short, we used a gate to come here. Lower-case gate.
- All the Gates to Faerie are closed except for the local ones," he said. "I don't see how."

Aidan nodded. "Like I said, lower-case gate. It'd be too long to explain, and I'm not willing to let my other colleague demo it in full view of the public."

Looking suspicious, the cop approached Drake and lifted one of the tags with a finger. "Aidan Drake," he said. "Weren't you the guy the Coalition exos and Raven's spooks implicated for something in the Middle East?"

Sighing, Three nodded. "I was involved in the Najeeban Incident, yes. Listen, I know the conspiracy theory circle's brought my personal history to a lot of people's minds, but the last thing I need right now is for you to get suspicious of us over this."

A few heartbeats passed, the cop then letting the metal tag fall back against Drake's chest. "I've got nothing against you, I just think the US Army dealt you a bad hand. Same with Transgenics and Elysium," he said, nodding to Robertson. "So, what do you need?"

Three pursed his lips together. "Is England still ruled by mortals, or did someone from the Pit take Buckingham Palace over?"

The cop, whose nametag read as G. Noyes, made an uneasy face. "It's Downing Street we've lost. Why bother with the aristocrats if possessing them was only ever going to mortify the vampires, dragons and Clanks, right? They went straight for the jugular, started wearing Labor types and Tories like skin suits.
- How's Victoria's armature?" then asked Aidan.

Again, Noyes seem uncertain. "You hear things around town: either the old girl's dead for good, or they hid her phylactery away or they stuck her in a Gray Box of sorts, some sort of computer to run resistance operations from a safe place. King William's forced to play nice with the new ruling elite, but we're having an easier job of it than America, for sure."

Three glanced about, noting the CCTV cameras. "You already had decent surveillance hardware before the incursions. Anyone with half a brain would've seen the potential.
- Aldous did, that's obvious," said Noyes. "Andre Aldous, the new Labor PM. Possessed bloke for sure - but he's one of the careful ones. Being an ocean away from the Goat means he can pretty much do what he wants - and what he wants is more constructive than what our American ambassador here keeps pushing for."

Drake nodded as Noyes spoke. "Andre Aldous - or Andrealphus?
- Didn't know you were a practitioner, sir," noted the cop. 

"I'm not, but you pick up a few things after two years spent around mages, demons, angels or the Fae. He's the former seventy-third demon in Solomon's Court, and he broke free once he got tired of enforcing the Elder Statesman's rules. He wanted to set his own pace, try his own hand at ruling a kingdom. This would be the first time he's actually succeeded. That makes him cautious - more cautious than the Goat would like. You owe tranquil streets like this one to a demon who understands how fragile and useful peace can be for anyone who wants power for themselves."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn puffed out a breath and looked down at her jeans and t-shirt. "I'd hope not. Alana might be able to pull it off, but I'd prefer to be as I am when talking to people," she admitted with a quirked smirk.

She eyed the computer over on the desk. "I think now's a good time as any, so how about we give him a ring?" she suggested.

***

Given the pheromones coming off the werewolf, Brenner would be able to detect they were a couple. "We're looking for a potential replacement armature or whatever else you might have on hand, Mr. Brenner," Crystal said with a partially listless tone. The sight of the automaton had obviously taken a toll on her, and she seemed to pushing through it nonetheless.

***

Nami frowned thoughtfully and looked over at Kevin. "We have some idea of who attacked us, remember? Aric and the rest of them were working for Belial, so that potentially indicates he's somewhere in the city," she noted. "Another angle to consider is that Belial tends to prefer porcine individuals if he's going to possess them. Boars, javelinas, pigs, and so on, going by what Otou-san told me."

The shift in subject made Miranda look over at the sword that same mix of sorrow, guilt, and frustration. She murmured, "It also didn't sound like he was going the warlock avenue this time, either. Aric said that he was approaching it with a a different set of skills, even if the ends were the same."

The Nephilim nodded. "Another thing I know is that Belial plays the long game. He's more patient than the Goat and more willing to wheel and deal with mortals on their own terms, even if it'll come back to bite them one day."

***

Abdiel opted for an impromptu blessing ward on the IDF soldiers who had been trying to stop their comrades in order to protect them. Her mind searched for any remaining demonic souls who might still be alive and were trying to flee the damage. She flung a few more fireballs at the helicopters that were trying to demolish more of the tower and gave the escaping demons a greater chance to leave and hopefully survive. At the same time, she sang a beckoning song to the demons for them to follow her and pulled Melmoth into her arms so he wouldn't fall behind or become too weak. Next came a fiery shield that covered her, Melmoth, and the survivors as they made their escape from their demolished home and sped away. The demons would feel protected, rather than smothered by any purity they might think would come from the Throne.

***

Aspasia willingly jumped down from the building and rejoined Aidan, glancing at his nametag. "Sorry, Officer Noyes. We arrived here at this empty parking lot, and I wasn't sure what we might encounter here. Hence, me being on the roof."

Meris thinly pursed her lips at the mention of Andrealphus, the name bringing to mind Solomon's memories of the dissenting demon. However, Heiress or not, she couldn't worry with him unless they somehow bumped into him. She hesitated noting who she was for the moment and held off from saying anything while Aidan conversed with the policeman.

[IamLEAM1983]

Settling with a smile and a nod, Tom picked a spot close to the arch that separated the living room and dining room, set his back to the baywindows on one side, and fished out his phone. A few taps later, he slowly panned around the room, carefully passing over the cityscape's clash of visual themes. Part of Sandhill and Renton were covered by Gabriel's command post and were clearly benefiting from the Celestial influences he carried. The trees there looked to have adjusted to the early summer, and looked green and healthy. Something seemed to tear at the clouds above the command post, creating a depression that allowed for more sunlight and cooler air to reach lower reaches of the atmosphere. Celestial Command drew on the Bliss, bathing the area it protected in a gold-white light. It had no brambles to summon, no thorns to conjure, having instead erected ramparts of what looked like Light-infused masonry - as if a section of town had been walled off with gold bricks.

Beyond the Celestial enclave's expanse, the torn urban canyons of the many small DMZ areas that crisscrossed Hope could be seen. No-one lived here anymore, nobody worked there, and everyone was directed away from those deserted and forlorn stretches for fear of inciting further aggression. Panning to the right, he passed over Allocer's territory, with its US Army-erected blockades and checkpoints, the apparent air of normalcy the city's former financial and professional core exuded looking almost rehearsed. Then, further off towards the right, he almost went full circle in covering Sandhill and Renton's westerly edges, the ruin of the Irish quarter's wall of brambles visible from afar, smoke still rising from Daisy Two's mangled remains.

He then swept his gaze and the camera down to the city's core, where the constant and muted pops and clangs of gunfire and clashing steel were met with what almost sounded like a Tenor choir hitting a single note in unison, Centennial Park's grass, stone and earth bending in response to both Sophia's will and Lucian's beckoning. Swooping angels looked like tiny points of light, the Damned like ants either fleeing from or trying to catch fireflies.

A never-ending column of angels flew out of Celestial Command and towards the battlefield. An equally endless drove spewed out of rifts north of Centennial in a thick, wide and writhing mass. Frowning, Tom quickly zoomed in on a chunk of blown-out office buildings that were located a few yards away from the demonic column's direct path. Out of one of them walked a few pallid and misshapen humanoids - the Fomor, most likely - their features darkening and turning more wicked as they approached the Fiends from the rear. For now, they joined the enemy's advancing ranks, blending in to the point where Tom eventually gave up on tracking them. He zoomed out and panned back to the penthouse's interior.

"Consider yourself formally invited, mister Calhoun," he then said. "I trust your associate informed you of my awareness of your plans. We're short on dark spots, but there's a little less light in the front lobby."

Pressing Send, he pursed his lips together, gave Aislinn a look of uncertainty and then plopped his smartphone back in his jacket's right inner pocket. Both hands went into his pockets, and he huffed out a breath. Now, they'd have to wait.

The Warlock had a few minutes to idly stare at their living room's paintings or exchange a few bits of small talk with his lover, but the front lobby's lights soon began to buzz and flicker. The front halogen soon gave up the fight, winking out with the Plink of its shattering filament, the light gloom that had only now just been created preternaturally darkening until the front door was no longer visible. A black void had swallowed their front door - 

The precise clicks of steel-toed leather shoes were then heard, white patent leather on black accents emerging out of the darkness. Hannibal Calhoun wore a black pinstriped three-piece, with a slightly ostentatious tie motif that would've been peak fashion as of the Roaring Twenties. His features were angular, ensconced in dead flesh and with eyes turned a preternatural shade of ambergris. There was something to his nose and jaw that suggested Celtic origins, more Ireland than Aislinn's Orkneys, with a carefully-cultivated silver half-goatee waiting below his lower lip. Apart from the bluish veins that crisscrossed his skull, he looked like he hadn't endured much abuse during his early nights; his eyes lacking that bright glint Arthur Holden sported or the blazing, mad light of pure insight that had characterized Horatio Grimley at his most jovial. He'd been tall for an immigrant from the turn of the the last century, his measured pace alone being enough to confirm the rumors: Hubert Francis couldn't have sired him, the pint-sized capo only gave rise to deathless Joeys and Micks with anger issues and some variation on a paranoid streak.

He removed his own fedora as he stepped out of the darkness, the pool of ink receding behind him, daytime leaking back into the front lobby. Hairless eyebrows were raised as he took the penthouse in for himself.

"Well," he said, his tone measured and just barely touched with the Midwest's rhotics, "you certainly have confirmed my suspicions, mister Magnus. Honesty is a rare boon in today's difficult times, and a measure of power is required to properly exercise it."

Callahan nodded at Aislinn. "It's clear to me that you both possess power enough to afford honesty. It's commendable."

Tom didn't extend a hand. "I felt we owed you the courtesy of making it clear we wouldn't stand for a power grab in our current circumstances."

Calhoun hung his head for an instant, the contrite smile that followed looking a tad frustrated, perhaps owing to his fangs. "I'll admit you caught me off-guard with that request, but the welfare of this city's Freak contingent never left my preoccupations. As a token of good faith, I've ordered the retreat of my agents from Sophia's tunnels."

Tom's pursed smile was rather obviously sardonic. "I'm sure Alana appreciates your not actively striving to undermine her already-compromised beau, mister Calhouncon."

The Chicago native shrugged. "I don't doubt it. I do know, however, that coteries of our kind tend to resonate appropriately to either single influences, or steady pairs. Alana alone can't be expected to shoulder the local brood, not unless she's prepared to fight a war on two fronts; and for as long as it takes for the local psyches to adapt to her own foibles and proclivities."

The warthog gestured for one of their chairs, and sat down. "Alright - humor me, if you don't mind. Let's say you're Alana. How does an already-addled vampire bring back another from the brink?"

Calhoun sat down, unfastening his jacket and removing his fedora. "Our kind is renowned for its neuroplasticity. What we give up to Lilith's curse leaves us surprisingly malleable, cognitively speaking. Some sort of mania or psychotic component nearly always surfaces, with torpor or severe damage inflicted to the brain allowing us to spin the roulette wheel, as it were. A Freak can spend decades as a master surgeon, then be effectively reset into an innate crowd-pleaser, then switch to a dedicated and seemingly-lifelong painter."

He lifted a finger-gun to his own chin. "All it takes is one well-placed shot - and enough blood for recovery during torpor."

Tom nodded. "But some minds are more resilient. They survive several regenerative periods as-is. Why is Arthur Holden cracking now, when he's had two hundred years and dozens of confrontations to do so earlier?"

Callahan sighed. "My employers have been fortunate enough to live beyond the demons' grasp or interest. I think both are to be credited for Old Chicago's continued existence. Centennial Park, on the other hand, serves as the front lines of your war. The pressure there is unrelenting. Holden is a flighty sort, an artiste through and through - he's too sensitive to grow the kind of battle-hardened callus you'd expect to be required, so he cracks. He cracks, and the beast planted in him by Lucifer's curse is starting to show through.
- Alana's tried to lead him away," added Tom. "He's turned paranoid. He won't leave the tunnels and he's conscripting civilians."

Hannibal scoffed bitterly and looked out one of the baywindows. "I knew a man, once. Well, a boy, really. Brass balls, initially decent leadership skills for us North Siders - and a ruthless streak a mile wide. Dean O'Banion, as he was called - the stuff of your average History Channel circle-jerk, nowadays. I saw pressure turn a man into a feral dog with an automatic, and then saw pictures of clipped chrysanthemums on a bloodied flower shop's floor. There was no raising this one from the dead."

He looked back to Tom and Aislinn. "Sometimes, the roulette spin goes bad. Decades or centuries go past, and then a trigger pops up."

Hannibal made a lazy mouth-popping noise. "The jack comes out of the box - and you have no guarantee that bashing its brains in will fix it."

Tom momentarily looked a tad crestfallen, but he seemingly forced himself to push past that initial surge of despair. "How about you? How is it that a Freak is sitting in my living room with no obvious quirks?"

The undead consigliere lifted a leg, resting his calf on his other knee, leaning a little deeper into his chair. "You've heard the old adage, haven't you? Crazy people don't think they're crazy. Most of the Ringleaders I've met carry enough vision or insight to buck this trend; I'm just not one of them. My insight is managerial and political, it doesn't peer into abstract concepts such as fate or destiny. At the most, I can be... mercurial, at times. I have my own agenda, one I care deeply for, and I've been known to react poorly to widespread setbacks. I doubt that makes me crazy; passion isn't the sole province of us Freaks."

Tom turned very still for an instant. "Have we set you back?"

Calhoun caught sight of it, smiled and waved the practitioner's unease away. "Not in any significant manner - it's already dealt with.
- How so?"

Calhoun's smile turned a tad frosty. "That's Old Chicago business, mister Magnus - it doesn't concern you," he said, warmth then creeping back in. "Besides, you summoning me here opens new opportunities."

* * *

For a few seconds, the alien settled with trading a crestfallen look between the Clank and Crystal, his mouth working and no sounds leaving him. It took Nasir rolling her eyes, her irises glinting slightly, for him to flinch slightly and grin again. "Well, if Her Radiance is footing the bill, then I suppose I should show you the high-end stuff now, shouldn't I?" he said, adding nervous chuckles for good measure.

Still, he gave Crystal a worried look. "Please, Madame, please don't fine me! It's no secret that most of my business is highly suspect, and those of my kind aren't suited for your Terran jails - some two-bit hoodlum with a shiv would pop me like an old birthday fixture!"

Belliard had briefly turned away and picked up some unidentifiable doodad from one of the shelves, watching its gyroscopic components twirl on their own. "That here ain't your Deputy Chief, gov - someone else's taken the seat, for sure. Until this blows over, Crystal's badge is only worth its weight in copper an' tin."

Archie rolled his one good eye. "Oh, for Go-Gah-Gah-Gah-God's sake, Brenner, I am a decorated spy; don't you think she knows all about necessary sacrifices, especially at a time like this?!"

The alien winced. "Oof - that voicebox has seen better days, that much is obvious... Well, erm, if I'm not subject to further inquiries later on, I suppose I could scrounge something up..."

Nasir headed towards the back of the store, as if she'd already visited it before. "We'll take your very best," she said. "If it was reserved, tell them they can send a broadcast to me, to discuss matters."

Seeing her walk away, Frank hopped down and behind the counter, pressing a hidden switch as he did so. A loud buzzer was heard, along with a creaking grate. The way led to Brenner's detritus-laden back yard, a narrow space of about seven by sixteen feet. Junk covered the floor in piles, with the only orderly area consisting of a row of Karthian space-expansion cabinets. Helena waited by them as Brenner floated and bounded his way past the group, looking rather anxious. The pig couldn't keep an amused scoff from his lips.

"So, what's that very best you're about to let go of, Brenner?
- An Alkaev Fencer Elite," he gloomily replied, "from next year. The American branch's factories stopped its production, thanks to the demons. The only sixteen models that made it out of the assembly line are worth about eight million dollars a pop. I had a deposit lined up for Suresh Gupta; the medical biotech tycoon from Mumbai. He has operable thyroid cancer and the funds to pay for it, but his wife Nirali was looking for an excuse to have a husband that could, ahem, suit her sense of stature."

Archie seemed oddly surprised, almost as if that was going against something he'd been expecting. "A Fencer Elite? That can't be right, can it?
- Why not?" asked Zebediah.

The spy turned mum and looked away for a few seconds. "I'd... rather not speak of it here, gentlemen. Or with you - no offense meant. This is more for Crystal and I, and for the lads back at the tower."

Eliphas grunted. "If I were you, I'd be thinking about how you're going to explain this to your daughter."

That left Holden to hang his head. "Oh, Anjali... What was I thinking; I should be past dumb heroics!"

Belliard, in the meantime, picked up a hypospray from the Med Tech aisle, shook it with a few practiced motions, exposed his swollen arm after rolling his sleeve, and then sprayed a fine mist of medical nanites over his bruised and seized arm. His eyes glazed over for a second, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief.
- That's sold by the box!" shot back Brenner. "You'll have to buy the whole set!
- Just put it on Queenie's tab, willya?"

A few seconds passed. Helena merely hooded her eyes and eyed the way back into the store as if the threshold itself were worthy of contempt.

"She says no!" shot back Brenner. "Emphatically, I'd say - and I know her!"

* * *

Magnus clicked his tongue. "Well, we can't go about screening all the ungulates and porcine anthros in town for a whiff of the demonic now, can't we? I'd advise waiting until the early days of some sort of return to a stable norm for the city; we're likely to see moneyed or powerful individuals emerge on their own terms, and our list of suspects will shorten considerably. 
- Speaking of," asked Ephesian, "do you have any plans for Allocer and his cadre?"

The Draugr nodded. "We do. We keep them safe for the time being; and then make sure they can't leave this plane of existence - or the country. Some of Spearhead and Aspasia's former peers have been collaborating with the Infernal enclave's forces at my behest. The official byword involves brutish economics, but the real motivating factor is my need to be able to close the vice on them too quickly for them to react. I'd use the same approach for Belial, but I've been warned of how crafty he is, as much as young miss Urakawa clearly has been," he said, nodding to the Nephilim.

"The last thing I want is to give demons an easy access to what still admittedly is Elysium's greatest successes. I can't imagine a Fiend with a satyr's stamina or a raptor's skill at tracking prey - neither do I want to.
- So why leave Reds and Blues with Allocer?" asked Kevin.

"Allocer and his cronies have already claimed the power they sought," replied the vampire. "Not only that, but Allocer is convinced he's doing good for this city. He cares, in his own ineffective and self-centered way. Corrupting men and women I so graciously loaned him would offend his sensibilities as a Pride Knight; I know he feels responsible for them, now. As odd as it might seem, my men are safer with him than they would be conducting perimeter runs for us, here."

* * *

Melmoth could only part with an oddly blustering cry of surprise as he was pulled away, not knowing where Abdiel intended to take him and the others. The bubble of protection she exuded engulfed and ate away at his unease, until his own formless visage could do little else except glance at her own protean nature, taking in her Celestial grace with more of that stirring lover's infatuation. He didn't have much thought to spare for the survivors for the moment, as he could only watch as slowly, the Mesa partially collapsed. Even then, his thoughts weren't directed towards it. Dimly, he realized that time and effort would allow Meris and the others to rebuild.

What a gal, was all he could think to himself. Most of everyone else he'd tried to fight for or with, demons or humans included, had presumed that a fat avatar of jovial Capitalism couldn't possibly be worth a damn if thrown in the ropes. It was easier to imagine him swooning over piles of gold pieces or delighting himself with the rifling of fresh stacks of bank notes - but sacrifice wasn't something Collin de Plancy had noted in his Infernal Dictionary, when describing him.

Of course, why would he have done so? Melmoth had been a Pitspawn!

What was he, exactly? All he knew was that strangely enough, he was content in this very moment, and could feel that this contentment had nothing to do with Abdiel's pall of reassurance.

* * *

"Well," said Noyes," it's like I said before - you're safe here. As for the Gates, though, you'll have to deal with unsavory types, I think. The bylaw is that we aren't supposed to let anyone out or through, but we're having a bit of a planar immigration problem, nonetheless. If you want, I can ring up a file at the car, find out who'd be of some assistance."

Something about that statement made Drake frown lightly. "Is the name Nodin Thorn familiar to you, Officer?"

Noyes lifted a hand at the soldier. "There you go - he's the head of a bunch of caravan ops across England, and we think he reaches Europe, too. We've been seeing new svartalves and a few of the Fir Bolg under cheap human Veils, so we think his network stretches out to Germany at the very least.
- Well, you can tell your captain to amend your files," added Drake. "Nodin Thorn has roots in America, and we have the same problem. You've been observing disappearances, I'd assume?"

Noyes nodded, which led Three to purse his lips at Aspasia. "Same M.O. as in Hope. Our boy's network runs wide, which means his central hub is likely here and not back home. I'd be interested in talking to him, if that lets us settle things with Titania and Oberon.
- Things?" asked the officer.

Three looked uncomfortable. "It's complicated - we need an old bodhran of the King and Queen's. I'm making it sound like it's junk, but it could actually help us stem the invasion's tide. We know the Goat is ramping up the pressure in preparation for some sort of bigger move. If what we've just been through is any indication, some of the UN's countries have started to bend the knee."

Noyes blinked at that. "Some countries? What - Where did you lot just come from?"

Three looked back towards the parking lot. "Meris, guys? You might want to come out, now. Make sure to tune a few things down so the crowd doesn't freak out."

[TennyoCeres84]

Since honesty was the current policy, Aislinn displayed it as she quirked a skeptical brow at the vampire. "Hopefully not just beneficial for your side, hm?" she said flatly. After his blithe dismissal of how he had already compensated for the setback they had caused, she remained leery.

***

Briefly gawping at Belliard's brazen use of the medical spray, Crystal then tightly pursed her lips in a show of disapproval. "John, if Mr. Brenner says she's not paying for it, I'd believe him," she said firmly. "You can't just take advantage of someone's kindness like that. I don't know how much that set costs, but you need to pay for it, even if it's through some payment plan." She knew that such tech didn't come cheap, so she knew that it was pulling at the Queen's purse strings and likely had little patience for someone she probably didn't trust.

***

Miranda listened to Magnus's assessment of his reasons of leaving the Blues and Reds with Allocer's group. "In some ways, Allocer and the Pride Knights are not that dissimilar from the way Mom and the other Chimeras were," she observed. "Rendell stood as the direction in their lives, since he's pride with a small p, but Allocer and the rest are thinking they're doing right by the citizens even though they think demons are still superior to mortals; that's their direction for Pride. It's good to have Reds and Blues on standby in case they try to escape, but having them close to Allocer's people also leaves them vulnerable to being humanized. I've seen it some with Paimon; it'd take some time and effort, but even just letting influences like music filter in could eventually weaken their ties to the Goat altogether and bring them around to see mortals more as equals. It swayed Mom and others' heart back in the day; the same logic can work with them."

***

The Fire Throne could pick up Melmoth's pondering to a certain extent, given how close they were. She also wondered if the bit of Celestial fire she had given him was providing her small glimpses into the Broker's demeanor. She could sense his uncertainty of his changing nature; he was no longer a Pitspawn, but neither was he an angel. He was somewhere in between. The transition intrigued and marveled her.

The truth of the matter was that Abdiel had simply wanted to put as much distance between the IDF and their party as possible when they had left. With Gates not being an option, reuniting the survivors with their Queen was going to be an issue. She spoke to Melmoth and the others within the protective cocoon. "I know you all have been through a lot in just a short while, but we need to assess our path from here. We know Meris and the others made it to London. The Goat's got someone in his pocket who let him know where the Mesa was, so he's able to track us to a certain extent. Gates are working on a limited to nonexistent basis, depending on the location. Taking a shuttle to London is obviously out."

"Did Solomon have any means of allowing members to reach him, in case there was an attack? A fallback plan? The only option I can offer is creating a small, temporary wormhole we can pass through space until we reach London. It's not directly going to lead us to our friends, and it's very possible it'll show up on satellites or other means of surveillance. However, that's what we have in our arsenal. What do you think?"

***

Meris had been concealing herself and the demons with a shadow spell inspired by the Freaks' teleportation. The illusion was lowered, so they could approach Noyes, Aspasia, and Aidan. As for the Court members, she applied some simple Veils to their visages to decrease their demonic natures and any potential wounds they might have endured during their escape, anything that might trigger the wrong reaction from the officer or surrounding crowd.

As for the Heiress, she appeared as a relatively harmless selkie. The headscarf she regularly wore was only loosely tied around her hair. Clad in a moss green t-shirt and jeans, the roane nodded to Noyes. "I'm Meris, Officer Noyes. These fellows are with us, and we've been through a rather harrowing experience just a little while ago. We were previously in Israel and attacked by the IDF. It's rather certain that the Goat is applying pressure to other countries' governments in order to stop resistance. I've met with Their Majesties before, so it won't entirely be a surprise for them to know we're here."