Chapter VI - Asunder

[IamLEAM1983]

Giving the bottle a perplexed look, Gallows finally shrugged it off, removed the twist cap and, as instructed, took a sip. Leaving the cap off, he then waited for the surface to turn still once again. That done, he drew in a breath.

"Alright. I'm not one for words, but bein' what I am, I've got somethin' to offer. I'm sure you've got some gist of what Belial's plannin', Matriel, and we're lookin' to act on it. There's some fires in need of bein' put out, and we'd rather snuff 'em now, rather than wait for the Smith to come in as the Goat's reinforcements."

Zeb kept his voice low. "This seems like an unusually lax approach to summoning a Throne...
- Intent matters more than formulation," reminded Maeve. "The planar mergers gave a bit of a boost to summons started by demons that are targeted at angels - and vice-versa. That puts us more than a little past the need for grandstanding in front of a pentagram or waxing all chaste and Catholic in front of a bowl."

The lich couldn't quite repress a scoff. "Maybe my handful of early teachers were right after all. Maybe the arcane arts are at risk of losing a certain degree of decorum, the field of study having become so thoroughly mundane."

Nergal grunted. "I wouldn't be so concerned," he said. "I've only expected basic courtesy out of those who summon me, at the same level I offer them. I'm not so craven or ambitious as to thrash against a summoner's circle or make demands or counter-offers. They've called me, my remaining civil and as pertinent to their line of inquiry as possible is courtesy enough.
- You're not exactly Melmoth," teased Erin. "He's the Labrador Retriever of demons, honestly," she said, grinning. "You called, New Best Friend? Let's chitchat, figure out what I can do for you. Oh, you're not even remotely part of my usual targets? That's great! You should summon me again, when you'll have time - let's make it Pizza Thursdays!"

* * *

The footman nodded in the negative. "I was never given a charge or title.
- You've been here a while," noted Tom. "Is there a name you happen to like?"

The footman gave it some thought for a second. "I would have liked to be called Gressil, but this name belongs to an incubus," he said.

Tom grimaced lightly at that. "Yeah - impurity and uncleanliness don't exactly work for a Pride footman. I knew a Gressil, a long while back - even before I woke up, he made me want to take three showers in a row every time I met him. Let's see, Lucian just made you all shining and chrome, to quote Fury Road, and you're from Hell, so..."

He clicked his tongue after a few seconds. "Addey," he said. "It's Hebrew. Addey of the red earth - it means Shining, if you follow its usual use in English. Aadalbert or Adelbrecht, if you're feeling fancy. You're still of Pride, I think we're nowhere near the point where a former footman of the Goat's would consent to being called Mike or Joe, but hey - baby steps."

The footman tweaked the pronounciation slightly. "Adalbert of the Red Slopes - I may have no ritual of mine, but I shall answer to this name, Warlock. Thank you."

The Warlock nodded. "Alright - portal slingshot maneuver, darling?" he asked, looking back at Aislinn. "I open two portals next to one another, you tweak gravity so he falls through the first and gets thrown out the second, at the right angle? I think I caught that in one of Aidan's video games, somewhere."

Lucian nodded at the demon. "The Celestials will see you coming - they'll catch you and restore you to the front lines, on the right side."

* * *

"I see you've put thought into this," nodded Oberon, for Meris' benefit. "A commendable approach, Your Highness."

Regis looked about ready to backflip in surprise, obviously because nobody had told him he'd been travelling with a defacto aristocrat. His widening eyes caught Titania's attention for a different reason, however.

"I'll admit to being curious," she said. "You witnessed the birth of one of Morgana's jungle trolls, and yet here he stands, as civil as any gentleman of repute. If you have any doubts, Lady Aspasia," she said, looking at the Transgenic, "I think mister Woodford's existence should be proof enough. I've seen the Wilds for myself, and most of those who take the Swarm in are reduced to fickle and cruel stalkers - intelligence left intact, but twisted to serve darker purposes. It varies from one individual to another, of course, but before today, the most respectable jungle troll I'd met was relentless in driving Morgana's enemies to reckless acts."

Three couldn't keep back a smirk. "So the last best troll was, in fact, a troll."

Oberon had briefly shifted to a look of mild alarm - as swapping zingers with the Queen of Days and Bloom might have seemed like a bad idea - but Titania's smile widened, showing teeth. Mirth touched her eyes, and she allowed her shoulders a few silent shakes - the quietest of peals of laughter.

"That's quite apt, Sir Knight," she said, amusement touching her words. "He was, or perhaps is, a man of his word. I imagine you ran into him, during your foray in that damnable forest. He claimed Kingston as his most recent port of call in the mortal plane - Jamaica, not Ontario."

Aidan nodded at that. "Garvey. We ran into him, Your Highness. I'd say he was, erm, instructional towards Regis, in his own way.

In hearing that name, something seemed to convince the rock troll to shyly put a foot forward. "If I might, Your Highness? You're speakin' to people who outsmarted jungle trolls, and one of the side effects of my misguided business partnership with mister Sharpe, here, is kudzu. It's already a problem in the South, as you probably know, but mine doesn't react to machetes or blowtorches. If it spreads outside o' one of my three power plants, we'll have an arcane and ecological disaster on our hands."

Regis nodded gravely. "I'm sure my newfound companions would assist you, sir, but I'm given to understand that matters in Rhode Island are of most grievous import, in the immediate."

Dwight McLusky beamed at that. "A polite jungle troll! Well, I'll be! I would've been glad to entreat you folks for a little help, but it's true that we're all in pretty dire straits, as it is. I'm forced to use herbicides by the truckload day in and out, but we're all holdin' on. I just wish it didn't have to involve this man's bigotry," he said, glaring back at the ossifrage.

He then looked back at the King and Queen. "May it please the Court, I'd like to repay my foolishly-incurred debt by comin' to these fine folks' help, My Lieges. Would it suffice as reparations enough?
- What could you offer them?" asked Titania.

In answering, Dwight looked back to Meris. "A gauntlet, Your Highness. The way I see things, one front deserves all the space it can get, while the other'd be better served with a stone-lined corridor. If this Azazel's a coupla thousand times meaner than a hornets' nest when riled up, the last thing we need is to leave space enough for Pride and Wrath to push forward. I'll have to work with the local Dryad to mend things back to normal, afterwards, but a little forceful engineering seems like a small price to pay for tactical superiority."

* * *

Melmoth was silent for a few seconds, his eyes hesitating for a second or two before boring into hers. A secretive smirk touched his features - not exactly hungry, not exactly playful; a bit like a badly-behaved schoolboy's sudden spark of inspiration.

"I'm thinking we could put down a few stones and trusses together, tonight," he said. "Humble beginnings and whatnot. The day's events were kinda harsh, so if it helps, I'd be more interested in some closeness, and a lotta shut-eye. It'd just be a shame to do it all alone, wouldn't it?"

* * *

Something clicked in the snake's mind, his eyes glinting in understanding. "Allocer - right. I'm guessing yours is more important than mine, mine felt like a slick car salesman with horns, more than anything else. Not much of a mayoral figure, on the whole, but he had the merit of making people feel safe.
- Ours is markedly more professional," cautioned Magnus. "He does have a heart, however, or has been playing the part of the empathetic politician rather aptly. He enjoys looking like a bulwark of stability, but we've never seen him bring actual comfort to the locals. He's reopened the local mall in record time, yes, but the help line for the incursion survivors is woefully understaffed, despite my company's offers to fund larger work shifts and openings. People need to grieve, they require time to process their shock or their losses, and all he offered them was a swift return to normalcy."

Quinn shook her head. "I've studied Doherty enough to know he would've stomped through a call center like that and demanded a place to sit and take calls on Day One. He knew people would've wanted to hear from the mayor, either to cry on his shoulder or to use him as a punching bag. He would've pushed through both outcomes. Something kept him under Centennial Park, and the locals know enough to know something's going on. Add rumors of the local Squids and the Promethean Order both measuring ripples in spacetime, and you've had crazy theories floating online for the past weeks."

Lucifer clicked his tongue. "A few are serious zingers - really inventive, but not terribly likely. I heard some radio chatter on the way over; some people are convinced Sophia's gearing up to make thy blubbery burgomaster go all bones an' mana.
- Doherty, a lich?" replied Haraldson with a snort, "you can't be serious! That man has a heart of gold, the brain of an ox and the ego of a peacock; he loves being a pinniped anthro! He's proof positive of the fat acceptance movement that took off not fifteen years ago; he wouldn't give his girth up for the world."

Harker snorted. "That's easy to do, when your own metabolism demands that you stay close to two hundred pounds north of your average human's healthy BMI. Only pinniped anthros and theriomorphs have the luxury of being able to pack curves and a pro athlete's cardio."

Seeing City Hall come into view, Lucifer couldn't keep a sneer off his face at the sight of the banners that praised Allocer. "You pompous prick, you," he said, leering at the posters like the mayor was some close friend of his he was about to troll, "you gloriously sanctimonious bastard - oh, I'm gonna love this, for sure."

The Draugr had barely parked that the right rear passenger door flew open, Lucifer carrying Lindsay in his arms as he all but bounded up the stairs, kicking the entrance's brand-spanking-new revolving door into motion. Amazo gave Nami a look that couldn't possibly have contained more skepticism, and reluctantly headed outside. Harker looked like she was more concerned with the potential assassins that would've liked to take a bite out of the resistance, while ironically enough, the walking corpse looked like he had trouble accepting the coldly administrative version of the city's core he'd been forced to work with since Aldergard's death.

[TennyoCeres84]

Feeling the tug of Gallows' summons, Matriel looked in the direction it had come from and looked to his wife, who was seated at the kotatsu that had been furnished in their apartment. Given her feline nature and fondness for heat, she was covered by it while also sipping a cup of hot green tea. "It's time, shin'aina; I must take my leave for now," he addressed her. "Ariel will arrive as I'm leaving, so she'll be here to look after you and the rest of the complex."

She rose from her spot and affectionately pressed her forehead against the angel's. "Be safe, Matriel," she said, lightly kissing him on the lips as part of the goodbye.

Given that both Thrones has wanted to be discreet about the switch, Matriel had created a temporary entrance to Heaven through a closet door that his sister would be able to enter through. In turn, he would travel from her private quarters to the Walpurgis bar. He ventured through the door and passed the Air Throne. "Be on your guard, sister. I fear the enemy may strike here, the heart of Mr. Magnus's efforts," he cautioned her. She nodded her agreement, the simple gesture conveying her sincerity in the given task.

Ariel closed the door and quietly took a seat in the apartment, nodding again as a greeting to the Malk. The African woman had regal features, her eyes a soft gray. She wore a navy blue blazer, a white button down shift underneath, black trousers and sensible black boots. Her curly hair was cropped close to her head. Around her forehead was a silvery white circlet, with a pair of draping earbud wires. The overall design seemed reminiscent of Art Nouveau or a pattern taken from Lothlorien. She gently pulled the buds from her ears, and they magically hung around her neck until needed again. WIth her ears open to the passing voices in the building, she began her sentry duty.

In Walpurgis, the group of rebels would see a white door appear in front of them. Delicate white light passed through as it opened, and Matriel stepped through. "Hello, everybody. I hear that I'm needed to rain on Belial's parade," he greeted them, a wry smile playing on his face.

***

Aislinn nodded. "That'll do well. Gets him where he needs to be," she answered, waiting for the warthog to open the two portals.

***

Meris was quiet as she considered the troll's offer and how it would lend toward their favor. She nodded in response and said, "I think that gauntlet will work well to our plans, Mr. McLusky. Azazel won't be alone, so we need to keep those around him away and steer him toward us. The less interference, the better," she stated.

***

Abdiel smiled fondly, a trace of playfulness marking it. "That sounds like a good plan for the night. Enlil probably has our room ready by now," she stated. She got up from her seat and guided him out of the restaurant.

***

Nami was quick to follow after the Lightbringer. However, she could feel her companions' concerns and said, "Act like you belong there because you do. This is our city, and this is one part in taking it back. Faith is a good deterrent against demons, but attitude is also important to show them you mean business. Show them what they're missing in their approach," she encouraged them with some angelic fortitude, then venturing up the stairs and through the revolving door.

[IamLEAM1983]

"Try a deluge," replied Bob, who gave the bar a once-over before taking his eyes back to the central pentagram Nergal had appeared in. "One last round before takeoff?" he asked nobody in particular. Zebediah looked like that question carried a smidge's worth of actual physical pain, which made the Sammaelite shrug.

As the group started to pack up, Nergal politely shouldered his way past Zeb and exchanged a look between Crystal and Andrea. "Rest assured, we'll all work to keep one another safe," he said. "That said, while Crystal has visited Hell in the past," he noted, looking back to Andrea, "you haven't."

He paused. "While you're more than welcome to come along, I can't recommend it in good conscience."

* * *

Tom focused for a moment, bringing both portals into being right in front of Bertie the demon. The armor-clad hulk gave the pair one last, uncertain look over his shoulder, and then jumped down. As you could expect from a double-portal setup, it triggered a bout of vertigo that made the footman scream, the sound dopplering in and out of the surrounding air in a way most Pride Knights wouldn't have found to be dignified... It didn't help that the setup resulted in Bert falling feet-first down one portal, and emerging feet-first from the other, giving him a disorienting look at his own lower half. Normal gravity would keep working until Aislinn took over and used the accrued momentum to more less shoot him out like a cannonball. For now, gravity kept sending him back down headfirst to poke back out feet-first - back and forth.

"A-a-anytime, now!" shouted the demon, Tom trying and mostly failing to keep a dignified look plastered on his face by holding his staff with both hands. Even Lucian seemingly had a bit of trouble keeping a straight face, while his tentacles worked in his favor: his own grin of amusement wasn't readily visible, so he settled with placing a hand behind his back, the other one on his cane's hilt, and rather visibly slowed his breath down - obviously to beat back the urge to chuckle.

* * *

"It's settled, then," smiled the rock troll, for a moment looking like he didn't need royal approval. Something to the surrounding silence made him remember his place, however, and he looked back to the royal couple. "That is," he added, "if it pleases Yer Majesties, of course."

Titania nodded. "It does. Help save Hope, Commoner McLusky, and you might find yourself duly recognized."

The rock troll didn't miss the subtext, his eyes glittering, something to his countenance suggesting it was everything he had to keep himself from letting out a classically Southern hoot of appreciation. It also visibly was everything Phineas could manage to refrain from throttling his former ally with his bare hands.

"Shall I tell my creditors that your infestation is a least concern, then?" he asked, clearly trying to see if Dwight wasn't the type to flip-flop at the memory of a detail that had just been pushed aside. Panic did very briefly touch the shale-skinned being's features - perhaps for a second or two - but he marshaled himself after looking back at Aspasia.

"No," he said, his countenance restored, "there's no need, Phinny. If my boys and I can turn the tide or so much as help where it matters, then I'll have strength enough to uproot them persistent floral spit-fucks with my bare hands," he said, his tone deliberately conversational. "Pardon my French," he then added.

Oberon smiled, something in the gesture suggesting leniency. "No worries, mister McLusky - you're not the most provincial person in this room."

The bird caught the subtext as well, this time around, and sharply straightened himself. "I daresay I'm done, here," he said. "Is there anything else, My Queen?"

And Titania caught her own barb, the ossifrage reminding her of a position he didn't have respect for. "You're excused, Sir Sharpe," she said. "Be safe on your way home - stay to those Ways we can still protect."

Three pinged Meris. "In other words, 'Go tattle at Morgana and I'll know about it before you reach New Orleans'."

* * *

While the vampire might have suggested individual rooms outwardly, it'd be obvious that he'd caught on to the pair being a couple. Abdiel found a single room in both their names, one of the suite's four walls being made of the old Austrian fortress' stones, the other three fashioned out of poured and reinforced concrete. Contemporary wall art and furniture worked in conjunction with a few potted plants and shelf-dwelling planters to give splashes of color to the space. A dresser, entertainment center and writing desk also waited, along with an ensuite bathroom. Just about the only differences had to be the presence of UV-filtering electrochromic windows - obviously for the sake of light-sensitive undead guests - and the more informational choice of bedside literature. No Bible was included, but a booklet detailing the Vienna Council's history and offered services could be perused, along with another small leaflet that listed a few of the titles that could be internally leased from the on-site library.

The Broker started poking around the writing desk and dresser, smirking at the sight of amenities offered to jet-lagged immortals who might still have a fondness for crisp stationary paper, metal quills and inkwells. The dresser was packed with generic his-and-hers slackwear and gymwear, but while the female selection might've fit Abdiel, especially rotund types like the Vitellians or certain plump personages with a fondness for pinstripes and cigars would've found it lacking. Spandex or polyester blends had their limits, and Melmoth wasn't eager to test them. Considering, he settled with drawing on his last stogie for the night one last time, and draped himself in the same black smoke from earlier. When it dissipated, the rumpled three-piece that had seen the mesa's last stand back in Israel was replaced with a comfortably slack two-piece pajama, charcoal with a black trim and faint slate-colored pinstripes. Curling his shale-colored toes, the Infernal Broker stretched and yawned in a way that had more to do with a naturalistic Ducreux painting than with a bearer of dark powers diverse, his yawn trailing into contented grumbles.

"Jeeze Louise," he swore, "I don't know if it's the food or the dragons or the fight - or all three - but this is the first time a long time that I've looked forward to a hotel night." 

Then followed a smaller yawn, stifled with a fist. "After all this time, I just don't know how the others down in Hell manage to skip sleep. I might never die unless God or the Architect decide to erase me, but I couldn't go a day or two without some down-time. Heaven's so far off now in my past, but I'm pretty sure I must've been one of the rare angels you could've caught snoozing on a break..."

He closed the blinds, sighing contentedly. "And Sloth doesn't so much as enjoy it! Absolute morons, I tell ya. Living has no value if you don't get to curl up somewhere just this side of toasty at the end of the day, and resting has no value if you don't get to wake up to the decade or century's idea of breakfast food, head buzzing with plans for the day."

He unmade his side of the bed and slipped into it with visible relish, grunting as he scooted himself this way and that, until he found the perfect spot. Then followed a long groan of release that terminated in dopey and relieved chuckles, his fingers interlocking at the upper base of his paunch's curve. Eyes closed, eyebrows raised and lips curling in a grin, Melmoth might've passed for a particularly grotesque - if contented - contemporary take on the Chinese Budai.

A few seconds passed, immediate relief turning into the early goings of relaxation - and he then creaked an eye open towards the Throne.

"Coming?"

The way he'd phrased that single word, simply resting besides Abdiel had as much romantic value to him as further soul-searching or more active cuddling would have. Being who and what he was, he'd probably stand to keep chatting if she still felt like it, but he'd probably do so with his eyes closed, until awareness would eventually leave him and his words would trail off. Still, he wouldn't need much prodding to part one arm for her, either.

* * *

As could be expected, Lucifer didn't give the time of day to any receptionist or security guard. Nami would see him blip in and out of existence a few times while he shouldered people aside and headed for the area that was still set aside for medical relief efforts, presumably to play catch-up with the way makeshift clinics worked in the post-merger world. Allocer had reduced the previously-cramped second waiting room to a few occupied cots and a wheelchair or two, but it didn't change the fact that many citizens were now in chronic need of care, following the incursions. With insurance providers still being shook up and working hospitals only just barely getting off the ground, payouts weren't coming and treatment was a crapshoot. The lucky ones had emigrated elsewhere in the early days, only to later find the Canadian or English medical infrastructure to have been hammered just as badly.

In many ways, it was obvious to many an observer that First World countries as they'd been known were now things of the past. It'd be years before some form of administrative normalcy would return to America, much less the rest of the world. Still, flaming Pac-Man eyes, an alien trident and a dangerous amount of moxie amounted for enough for an already-exhausted nurse to put Lieutenant Strong a few dozen numbers ahead in the queue. It wasn't fair or just, but nothing in anyone's current circumstances fit that particular bill.

One terrorized triage nurse later, Little Horn had his eyes on someone else's undue suffering. He'd caused enough of a scene for any notion of stealth to be a no-go, but the possessed cops, nurses and office workers all clearly recognized him: they didn't appreciate his presence, didn't provide any assistance, but also stood clear of him. The nightclub's attackers had consisted of a pocket of nitwits, these were the more knowledgeable sorts that knew enough not to mob or attack the Lightbringer or his friends on sight. Considering, the only obstruction they encountered was Allocer's secretary, one floor above. The woman looked a bit like the result of a demon possessing a stereotypical "Karen", punkish haircut on a mid-forties face included.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, her eyes glinting, "the mayor isn't in, currently. You can either wait there or come back in a few hours-"

Lucifer walked past her. "Kiss my interstellar ass, toady," he said, "I go where I please." Then followed his using his abilities to unlock the indoors latch from without, and opening the door. He ambled towards the desk and snapped his fingers.

"Alright, people!" he told the group. "Nami, you're on security. Coax every camera and microphone in this building into taking a snooze for a few hours for us, willya? Quinn, you're getting Veiled out of the picture and stashed aside - right here, next to the desk - in case things get hairy. Quigley, I'll need you to Veil yourself outta here just as well - but not before Veiling me into Wallace Doherty's spitting image. Magnus, you're on door duty. Keep Little Miss Brimstone all nice and compliant - and out of sight. In the immediate, I'm hacking into Allocer's day planner and whipping up an excuse to have him come back here ASAP."

Whistling, the demon stuck his trident against the computer's case, a spark of greenish energy jumping from one of the three tips and seemingly within the machine's electronic innards. The screen glitched out for an instant, the main login password filling itself in. He then navigated over to the day planner and perused a few old memos and emails, apparently to get a feel for Demon Karen's writing style.

"Chirpy, yet clinical," he said, "Gotcha!"

Fingers flying over the keyboard, Lucifer couldn't resist assuming a falsetto voice as he read out what he typed.

"Boss,

We've hit a snag with the underside struts for the new bridge, the Engineering team says it found larger-than-expected gaps in the cable sleeves. We know you'd agreed to a dark space for the Freaks to be able to cross over using Shadow-Walking, but the measured space feels more like a stash ground or a lengthy hidey-hole. A concerned citizen just came forth with someone looking to make a testimony, and we'd really like to have you over for it. 

I thought you'd like going through one of your old interrogations - it's been a while. Winky-face emoji, Crying laughter emoji.

Stay safe,
Susan."

His devious smirk turned into a bit of a snarl. "Note to self," he said, "once we've re-established what the Pit is for, remind the morons that Chirpy Internet Chatspeak is beneath them..."

[TennyoCeres84]

Andrea lightly grimaced. "Thanks for the warning, so I think I'm going to sit this one out. Escaping a thorny prison and dealing with evil Pitspawn there was enough," she said.

Crystal laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "That's fine, Andrea. We'll be back as soon as possible," she told her.

"Our actions in Hell and the current situation in Hope should make things interesting upon our return," Matriel noted.

"What situation?" Crystal asked, brows knitting together with concern.

"Sophia's cordoned herself off from Arthur in Centennial Park, and the Countess and Lord retired to London. We have a mole issue at Magnus Tower, so Ariel is there in my stead. Also, Lucifer returned and is probably going to irritate Allocer into possibly growing a conscience. This is based off what I saw in Angel Time."

***

"Doing what I can," Aislinn muttered as she focused her power on regulating gravity and the momentum the demon had accrued. The footman would then find himself projected out of the second portal and off toward the Celestials. While the situation was slightly amusing, the young Archmage winced sympathetically at the new ally essentially being flung off toward the angels. She hoped he would survive to catch up with Paimon later on.

***

"Oh, regardless of her acknowledgement, he'll probably tell Morgana at some point. He's a good little zealot, after all," Meris responded, waiting for the dismissed ossifrage to leave.

***

Abdiel didn't opt to use the offered attire and followed Melmoth's example. The chestplate and bodysuit faded from her form and was replaced with a pair of comfortable pajamas, a satiny mulberry color. The sleeves and body were embroidered with metallic gold thread in a an abstract fiery design. His yawns were contagious as she covered her mouth and squinted her eyes shut.

After his gentle invitation, she smiled softly at him and slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed. "Sleep's nice for the occasional break. I suppose I'm guilty of not taking the opportunity to sleep and just enjoy it for what it is. Though, with everything that's happened, rest is a welcome reprieve," she admitted. The angel curled up to him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her if he wished.

Given her proximity, the Throne's personal scents would become apparent to him, a faint spiciness mingling with the aroma of a fireplace. Her body exuded a seemingly hotter temperature that a normal human woman's would, yet it would remain comfortable to be next to her. He would hear a faint rustling of something against fabric. He'd quickly realize it was one of her wings. It draped over him like a lightweight blanket, crimson and garnet hued feathers providing a soothing presence to the space, sans the multitude of eyes.

***

Nami set to work on deactivating the cameras and microphones throughout the building. Her eyelids drooped as she quickly told them to take a break, to cool down from their constant surveillance. Like obstinate children, she found some security features took a bit longer to obey, but they eventually did.

[IamLEAM1983]

Archie's mood darkened slightly. "If I hadn't lost hope in the weeks prior, I might have had the foresight to ask Tom if he'd seen any signs of the tower being compromised.
- Steel is only worth its malleability," replied Nergal. "You bent under pressure, which makes you human, Milord. No one in and outside of Hope expected you to snoop out every single threat to our efforts. We can act on what we know, now that we've been made aware of it. All you have to ask yourself is if you have enough data available on-site to come to some understanding of our culprit's nature. It'll have to wait until you return home, for now."

Behind the group, a second portal opened, its edges rimmed with the lurid, reddish lightning of the Pit's blasted plains. Fine Brimstone dust was blown into the underground nightclub and onto the dance floor, the irregular flashes of lightning that shook the Pit's skies reverberating on the shined floorboards. Off to the east, the tortured and craggy slope leading up to Pandemonium's beaches rose over the horizon line, while the west showed nothing except a sandblasted and barren expanse of bare stone and wispy reeds poking out of cracks.

Gallows grunted. "Bad weather - usually means somethin' brewin' in the borderlands...
- We'll be travelling in the flesh," noted the weapons manufacturer, "so it'll be largely the same as those who crossed over with a supervised astral voyage. Archie, Crystal, Zebediah and Matriel will have an advantage, over the rest of us: they won't feel these winds. The rest of us will have to contend with them. Going on foot is a possibility for them, not for us."

Archie shrugged. "I don't imagine the Gentlemen would object to your using a Jeep or a Humvee out of their fleet, would they?"

Canting his head, Nergal dismissed the portal with a finger snap. "I doubt they will," he said, a bit of playfulness touching his words. "Let's find out."

* * *

Aislinn didn't need to worry overmuch, Heaven had grown used to Lucian's turning of Pride's vulnerable or more open-minded sorts. Bertie might've been shot off into the sky with a justifiably panicked scream, it was cut off when a pair of bone-white wings slipped right on top of him, the male armored angel looking mildly inconvenienced by the task of holding onto the footman by the, well, foot and ankle. The pair swooped down, circled to pass in front of the two Archmages - the angel shifting his grip so he could free one hand.

"I'VE GOT HIM!" he shouted, adding a Boy Scout salute.

"DON'T DROP ME!" Bertie shot back. The angel replied something else as he took off, but they'd only be able to make out the tone of his voice, which was a reassuring one despite the raised tone.

Lucian seemed like he'd seen other events like this. "He'll be alright - they tend to give the turncoats an hour or so in the rear camp, before they send them back out front. We might end up with a few Pride Knights stuck with a phobia of flight, but their getting out of Armageddon with the need for mild therapy isn't much of a failure."

Tom smirked. "I'll have a bungee jump station set up next to the helipad, come peacetime," he said, leaving it to the other two to figure out if he was joking. He then looked back in the Tree's direction. "Loved helping out the underdogs," he said, "but we've got a paranoid vampire to cool down."

Rothchild nodded and raised his right arm towards the tree, the same golden geometric shapes coalescing around his fingers as he etched a pulling motion. Perspective lurched forward, and the seeming leagues that waited ahead turned to barely a few meters. Looking down, they'd realize the Void Weaver had temporarily compacted space, as what remained of the floral arrangements that had been closer to the Tree prior to the incursions clipped through a few divots and creases in the land that had marked the more active stretches of the battlefield.

"I'm guessing you're never going to be late anywhere again?" asked Tom in jest, his tone suggesting the Squid's tricks made him feel slightly queasy. Still, he skidded down a fragile slope to the trenches below, and made his way to the entrance of Sophia's tunnels.

Lucian kept his pace measured. He might have looked calm, but his eyes were alert, now. "I'm increasingly acquainting myself with my kind's true gifts," he said, "and it seems as though we shared the angels' knack for a carefully constructed seeming of omnipresence. They used Angel Time, while the Architect's strongest sons simply ignored terrestrial distances. If we weren't in the seat of our compact with the Artisan and Architect, we were wherever we were needed."

A few bends in the trenches later, Lucian gestured for the pair to slow down. "Careful," he said. "The Architect may yet undo the damage Arthur has caused. I've tried to heal those I could but his blood fights my resolve. Try as I may, I cannot reverse his enthralled citizens' bond to him. We'll soon see if your presence changes things."

He'd no sooner spoken that a shadow shot across the space in front of the tunnels' entrance, letting out an ear-piercing shriek at the same time. An odd gloom stuck to the walls, floor and the arch of stones and roots that waited ahead, whispers and soft chuckles echoing along with cries or snarls. Those that spoke did so in a soft and uninterrupted litany, etching out a desperate and senseless prayer.

"Protect them, he said. Protect, protect... Protect at all costs, he said. At all. COSTS! But they've died! Almost all of them have died and there's so little of them left and we have to protect them - and we're so HUNGRY... Some of them were us, before he turned us. Or were we them? He pulls and calls, we see he used to call for plays or music or dance and song or scheme in the warm darkness - but now? Now, he hurts, because WE hurt. Because we died. Because he had no choice."

Tension went up in the air. "The tree... The tree, the tree with almost no leaves now, broken branches all over, like the fallen angels' swords - it has power, he says. If we give the demons that power - give it to them with a lit fuse, BOOM - then it all goes away. It all goes away. It. All. Goes. Away. It has to go away, it has to. There's no other way, no other way, no other way. Will the actor ever make voices again, or are we the voices? How much blood given, how much can we take? How much before it ends?"

They then seemed to sense the trio, the rear channels in the cacophony turning hostile. "Sophia! They want Sophia, they're here for Sophia! Sophia, Ciaran. Sophia, Ciaran, Sophia, Ciaran - KILL THEM. KILL THEM NOW. DRINK BLOOD, SURVIVE. COVER FOR SIRE - TEETH THROUGH SACRED BARK. Power enough to save the city. YES. KILL THEM, DRINK FROM TREE WE DRINK FROM THEM SAVE HOPE KILL DEMONS-"

It ended abruptly, with what had probably been a freshman in Arcane Studies launching herself at the trio. She'd probably been pretty, in an unassuming and bookish sense: an anthro calico, barely in her twenties, summer wear streaked with blood, mud and dust, with eyes glazed with the fear and hatred that had contaminated Arthur Holden's blood. Her fur had already started falling apart in clumps, and her hands were already distorted into raking implements, her claws turning long, fine and supernaturally resilient. Arthur's blood didn't have the same power as Horatio's, so the physical changes weren't quite as overt. Alana having been Arthur's sire, the failed actor and playwright had always stuck fairly close to humankind. Now, however, something darker than any misplaced cultural ambitions was pulling at him, changing the way in which his blood expressed Lilith's curse.

The girl looked desperate and angry - and well beyond any standard forms of reasoning. She launched herself at Tom with a tortured yowl, her now prominent fangs flashing. The warthog's mind was almost visibly parsing his available spells with split-second alacrity, but still found none that wouldn't cause severe damage. At the last possible instant, he settled with raising his staff in the teeth-filled maw's path, wincing as the girl's momentum made his arms ache.

Out of the darkness ahead, the sound of a few dozen beating feet and snarling mouths was heard - and it was coming closer. Rothchild stepped in front of the pair and erected a shield of golden fractals, like a billion tiny shards of glass rippling in unison.

"We cannot afford to run this gauntlet," he said, raising his voice, "I can tune their portals for our use, so that we can reach the central chamber!"

Grunting, Tom slammed his staff in the feline fledgeling's face. "Does that mean they could follow us through, too?
- I haven't had the time to study the Moon-Mad's relationship with the Great Work just yet," began the Squid, his words turning into a teeth-clenching groan of strain as a hundred or so young undead piled in on each other in the tunnel's confines, opposing a vicious mass to the Void Weaver's mastery of physics and energy.

"...but there is somewhat of a risk, yes!"

* * *

With one last nod and a slightly indignant-looking tug at his tie's knot, Sharpe left the room. He shouldered the Court's chamberlain rather rudely and stepped both out of sight and hearing. Dwight McLusky, however, didn't seem entirely relieved. "Don't take it out on the car, don't take it out on the car," he muttered, seemingly to convince himself. Then, seconds later, he winced.

"You alright, sir?" asked Three, to which the rock troll replied with a groan. "Yeah, yeah... Bastard keyed my car on the way out."

Regis blinked. "You felt it happen - is your vehicle bonded to you?"

McLusky's second sigh had more didactic undertones, like he'd given that lecture a good few dozen times in the past. "Rock trolls like me are born of and in earth an' stone, and every stone, every metal we extract or refine, we form a bond with. We wouldn't be good prospectors, refiners or factory workers, otherwise. I'd made a deal with a Ford plant, over in Mexico: ship me the molds an' electronics, an' let me do the rest. I built that Humvee myself, soldered each joint an' placed each rivet, outta steel an' aluminum I extracted and refined. I'd never owned something, before, I'd only ever just done things the way you folks do, with money an' exchanged services. That truck's my magnum opus, there's stuff in it you won't ever find out of any Ford showroom."

In speaking, Dwight had slipped an arm out of his jacket's sleeve and undone his right cuff. The craggy, irregular mass of shale-like skin looked unbroken, except for a long, white scratch mark along his forearm.

"Fuck," he grumbled. "Front right passenger door, too..."

The chamberlain entered the room. "Shall I have Rangers intercept him ahead of the way, Milord?" he asked Oberon. The king wordlessly consulted the rock troll for input, the troll replying with a dismissive hand wave as he reset his sleeve. "Ain't nothin' body work can't get rid of - it's just another confirmation of the poor fella's deluded mindset."

Titania stood up. "Chamberlain, have Athena's Aegis delivered to Magnus Tower - use our shadowed Gates," she said, then looking back to Aspasia and Meris. "While I gladly entrust the drum to you, I cannot deliver it to you here, for you to transport. Hell knows of our power and of our artifacts - we have no desire to leave such a weapon in such identifiable hands, on such obvious Ways as those you will travel back home on."

She smiled at Aspasia. "Once you return to the tower, look to your bedroom. You should find something on your bed."

* * *

For an unknown amount of time, both Broker and Throne slept soundly. Mel didn't snore quite as loud as you could've expected him to. His occasionally shifting bulk wouldn't disturb Abdiel and, as he'd made obvious, he had no desire to push things in the immediate.

Then, came a sensation that wasn't exactly common for both Thrones or Infernal speculators: the mental tingle of lucid dreaming, awareness sloughing off the mental fog of witless dreams, all of it without breaking free of slumber... Was this what Void Weavers went through every night?

Melmoth had awakened - if you could call it awakening - nowhere. Gloom surrounded him, with a shaft of light that came down from somewhere above him.

"Um, hi?" he called out. "I'm still dreaming, I know that much! Did a Squid make it to Vienna?"

No response. 

"HELLO?! WHOSE DREAM IS THIS?!"

The shaft of light expanded, points of light birthing in the darkness. Stars winked into being, above. Abdiel would find herself suspended among them, in human form, as though she'd been placed there as part of a giant diorama of some twilit scene. A little effort of will would allow her to descend. As she'd do so, the gloom would grow in definition: adobe and clay huts by night, the dusky smell of Mesopotamia, a primitive road fashioned out of the basic wheel and feet treads of countless humans, anthros and animals. Manure and sewage wafting from somewhere westward.

In the middle of the road waited a bundle of rags that shook in the weak wind. The gust also carried the distant sounds of something like Enlil's voice, playing his old lute, singing of Gilgamesh and Utnapishtin.

Melmoth stepped closer, something in the dream's logic prompting him not to worry about Abdiel: she looked fine. She was coming down on her own, maybe she'd assist him if he asked her to. The rags weren't shaking; a woman was sobbing underneath them.

The shaft of light shifted in tone, from the yellow band of indoors light it had initially appeared as, to the ghostly, silvery sheen of moonlight. Eyes glinted in the dark, brimming with tears. A hand was outstretched, the connected arm covered in bruises.

"Help me," quietly sobbed the woman, in a language Melmoth hadn't heard since before the Fall. Assyrian.

He felt his usually garrulous disposition wither, his self-assurance withdraw as something seemed to suggest solemnity and humility were the desired course of action.

"Who are you?" he asked in the same tongue, allowing her to grasp his arm. Looking down on himself, he saw he now looked the way he had before Falling: one of the stockier angels in the Choir, built sturdily and ensconced in a layer of cherubic fat that rounded his features. He barely felt how his thinning blonde locks had returned, how his nose had straightened itself. His suit was gone, replaced with a simple tunic that would've made him pass for a local anywhere across Civilization's cradle, between the Tigris and Euphrates.

The woman sobbed and spoke her name, the sound of it lost in the quiet wails. Distraught, Melmoth looked up to Abdiel. He wasn't sure if this was the result of his waking mind or of dream logic, but he felt she could help him. Something in the dream occluded his mind, made him forget the way he would've called out to her in normal circumstances. Or rather, it felt as though in this moment, no mention of Abbie or Abdiel would fit the event as it unfolded. Enochian left his lips, as naturally as if he hadn't stopped speaking it after Falling.

"You'll slay Remiel and Arioch, when the Lightbringer will incite his revolt. You'll denounce him, as fitting of one of those closest to God. Surely, you can protect this woman."

Half of his mind wanted to stop speaking, knowing full well how difficult these memories might be. Later, he'd wonder how she managed to reconcile Lucifer's apparent deception with what they now knew of its purpose.
 
* * *

Magnus and Francis placed themselves into position, the snake needing only a glance at a bin filled with the walrus' old pictures, news clippings and commendations to conjure up a realistic facsimile of the real article. Amazo's pig Latin was a leftover of his showman days, but he plied it with all the seriousness of a more classic incantation, power leaving his fingertips as he first hesitantly, and then more confidently waved at the Lightbringer's form, as if to try and use his arms and cape to hide him, as part of a disappearing act.

The end result was a suddenly hale and hearty-looking Wallace Doherty sitting in his chair, yelping in surprise as Disneyesque lankiness gave way to the local odobenus' contentious girth, along with his conservative attire. "Fuck!" swore Lucifer, Wallace's voice leaving his mouth. "Holy shit! The last time I was this fat, I had to beat a Ganymedan from Theta Praxis VI at an eating contest to win part of a stolen Celestial Compiler!"

Quigley couldn't resist. "A what, now?
- An Elder artifact - something that makes the olden Squids' Codexes look like a corner-store thumb drive. Long story real fucking short, part of my trying to debug Akoman meant I needed tools, and since I couldn't shoulder God aside and fix things for Her, I had to find the next best thing from within Creation. That's what I've been chasing down all this time, a Celestial Compiler. A relic of God's actual first civilization, one that's now as dead as the rest of what's in the Universe's cold fringes, tech designed by mortals to debug and alter Creation itself."

In the office's window, Haraldson emphatically gestured for the demon to shush it - their target was on the way. Indeed, their office's view of the parking lot would allow them to see a brand-spanking-new Genesis QX50 purr its way into Allocer's spot, the chest-heavy and suit-clad demon somehow not making the act of extricating himself from the vehicle look ridiculous.

Lowering his voice, not-Wallace looked back to Nami. "Bingo. Get in position - Frank's gonna ghost you. Think real mortal thoughts, m'kay? You're a baby Throne and he's an Archmage, and if a micron of your blooming Celestial splendor bleeds out, our goose is cooked. The moment I drop my Veil, you both pop out at once - but don't him with your Throne juice right out the bat, alright? He might turn suspicious and that might undo whatever progress I'll have made! He needs to think you're still just Matriel's Nephilim; he won't be ready to accept you as a Throne until we've rubbed his face in what's been obvious for you types since the incursion began."

[TennyoCeres84]

Crystal offered them a faintly wry smile. "Might as well travel in style," she said, waiting for Nergal to lead the way.

"It'd be better to travel as one group anyhow. Those who would walk might have their scents caught on the wind," Matriel noted.

***

"Do it, now! We'll have to cover for you, if they get through!" Aislinn shouted. Given that it was her twin and his girlfriend the mob of vampires were after, she tried to be concerned with being gentle with them. She pushed back at the would-be assailants with her telekinesis, beyond the Squid's shield.

***

Aspasia nodded humbly. "Thank you, Your Highness," she responded, bowing deeply to Titania in a way that was probably more influenced by her Japanese roots. "I'll do my utmost to ensure that Azazel can heal from his suffering."

Meris looked to the Chimera. "Aye, I'll help to make sure you're able to do that, lass," a bit of fondness for the Fauness' resolve filtering in. She then nodded to Titania. "Thank you for your help."

***

Abdiel's appearance had shifted to fit the area and the time period. Gone was the long-haired side cut, she had a fringed and light indigo shawl draped over her flowing locks. A simple metal band was seen underneath it. The shawl draped over a similarly colored dress, embroidered with a golden sacred tree and delicate rosettes. The attire hinted that she was dressed as a noble lady or possibly a priestess, even if only temporary, but it certainly fit her status in the Choir.

"I can protect her. Even with everything that has happened, I know she must remain safe," she addressed the angelic version of Melmoth and the mystery woman. She offered the woman her hand. "What is your name? How am I to protect you?" Her overall presence matched the gentler flame the Broker had encouraged her to take on, that of the welcoming and protective hearth. The human woman would find no harsh judge here.

Even if the memories were difficult to play back for the angel, she inwardly knew they were here for a reason. These types of dreams always had a purpose to them, so both of them had to figure out what the objective was. How was the woman connected to it? She felt like she at least knew of her, but she couldn't entirely place her for lack of knowledge.

***

Nami nodded and offered not-Wallace a reassuring smile. "Just because things have changed some for me doesn't mean I've forgotten the everyday minutia of life and how mortals feel," she whispered. She then positioned herself against a wall that had a partial column that would obscure her some and waited for Quigley to do his stuff to hide them with a Veil.

[IamLEAM1983]

The group followed in Nergal and Erin's wake, taking a stroll across to where they'd initially emerged in Walpurgis, in the Krieger's underground garage. As they'd briefly been able to see earlier, the Gentlemen had access to vehicles enough to make an MI6 agent drool with envy, covering everything from small and stealthy sedans to flashy Italian exotics or flatly utilitarian panel vans or the lead units of eighteen-wheelers. If a target required one of the assassins to pass for a Saudi heiress or a long-haul deliveryman in from Indiana, they had everything they'd need to sell the lie while on the road.

Seeing this, Archie hung back until he stood at level with Coombs. "This is impressive," he said, "but how do you manage to maintain your kind's disguises without access to the Loyalists' gruesome approach?
- Stem cell printers and culture baths," replied the Squid. "Our solution is costly, if elegant; and it allows us a finer degree of control than the mere use of the Black Speech to produce layers of skin. We no longer require victims, only donors and a handful of cotton swabs. Veils have sufficed on a day-to-day basis, however, and even this has waned in the wake of the incursions, as you've noticed.
- Surely you can't risk travelling to Hell in the open," objected the android.

Eustace nodded and broke off from the group as they headed for the Humvees and panel vans. "A fair point!" he called out. "Give me a few minutes and I'll see to it!" 

Archie briefly watched, thinking Eustace would need to return to the lobby or to his office in the wine-tasting cabinet. He didn't, instead jogging across the parking to a booth labeled Rapid Deployment. He smiled, taking a note to later congratulate Jubal on his men's sense of thoroughness. Nergal entered a brief negotiation with the fleet's mechanic, another Squid clad in what looked like designer Burberry coveralls suspiciously bereft of oil stains. Ralph Eames, as it turned out, simply plugged leaks with the White Speech on sight, leaving them patched until his routine procedures would allow him to contend with the spill or drops.

"I get ya, Chief," Eames told the demon, "but we're running short on immediate-use rigs as it is. I mean, unless you've got some express ticket to victory stashed away in Tahiti or Macau and you need a private jet and a Rolls-Royce, you've got the Ripper, here, or the Kidnapper."

The Ripper was a reinforced Hummer, complete with gun turret, barbed hubcaps, and several miles of standard ballistic and arcane protection covering its plates. As for the Kidnapper, the simple white van sported an odd logo, its sigils flowing whenever someone's gaze shifted. Archie wasn't a practitioner, but he could still feel the way the van practically urged him to ignore it. Something about it made him want to droop his eyes and politely disguise a yawn. Unfortunately, the Pitspawn wouldn't take to this kind of reinforced banality. Joe Average McDeliveryperson obviously wasn't a frequent sight around Belial's forge.

Nergal seemed to notice this, at least. "Hrmph. Two equally showy vehicles to travel a barren expanse where virtually anything man-made would stand out..."

His wife sidled next to him, glanced at him and then lightly elbowed him. "Come on, we all know which one you'd take, hoping that some critters from Envy or Greed might be prowling around the wastes looking for prey."

The horned skeleton's red eyelights rolled, following a sigh. "You know me so well, sweetheart..."

* * *

Using the selkie's support as a means to divert his attention from his own shield, Lucian raised a hand towards one of the pockets of shadow. The same golden geometric fractals bloomed in front of it, points of light shyly winking into view. He grunted, feet sliding against his weakening shield, the motes of light expanding like oil drops in a suspension. A few seconds later, it'd be hard to tell the difference between the tunnels' natural bends and the slightly more lambent ones that were in place courtesy of the Architect's terrestrial champion.

He grunted against the mob one last time, and then looked back to Aislinn and Tom. "Go, now! I'll be right behind you!"

They'd barely have time to notice Rothchild waving at them with a hand that the ground seemingly gave way. He'd locally altered gravity, sending them shooting down the short length of the first new corridor faster than they would have gone on their own two feet. It did mean that both warthog and selkie slammed into the far wall that now served as their personal stretch of flooring, then dropping those few inches to the actual floor, once Rothchild allowed normal gravitational pull to resume. Tom wanted to snap at the Squid for not giving them an advance warning, but it'd soon become obvious that the Void Weaver was doing everything he could to keep his chunk of the undead mob occupied. For the most part, it seemingly involved turning the entrance tunnel into a stony and earthen carnival tumbler, grinding sounds mingling with a cacophony of yelps and screams. Every so often, one of the old man's cries of challenge sounded, which more than likely signified the demise of one or more unwilling striplings.

Grimacing, Tom picked himself up and settled into a cautious jog. "Wish we had a few of Grimley's over, they're more used to this than we are..."

On the positive end of things, however, Lucian's new gallery twists and turns allowed for more air to circulate - and for the smell of a fellow selkie's marshaled fear - to reach them. 

* * *

"You're most welcome," replied Oberon, in his wife's stead. "I don't advise breaking off midway across, however. It might be safer for Mister McLusky to secure lodgings in Hope. It might also allow you to start concerting your efforts together. I'll have a delegation sent back to New Mexico."

The rock troll nodded. "And my company? What about my employees?
- We'll have a channel secured as soon as possible," reassured the king. "As per our customs, you have the right to issue a boon of trust, as worthy in this world as any signed notice of powers of attorney. Placing McLusky Hydrocarbons under royal protection would send a clear message to your former allies in the Halcyon Collective - and would place you out of reach, for the time being."

Dwight nodded. "If the common Ways are outta the you-know-what, I'm guessin' we're takin' one o' them shorter ones," he said, eyeing Nodin.

Oberon looked back to Thorn. "We've asked much of the Vanir already. Will you do this for us? I can't place you under Oath, after all you've done."

The brook horse grunted. "I would refuse your geas, Oberon - but I accept your request. One hop back across the Far Reaches is all I require."

Titania seemed satisfied. "As we expected. Will you travel by foot one last time, friends?" she asked of them.

The chamberlain had remained silent, but lifted a cautious finger. "Lord Haskill and Lady McHale would petition Your Highnesses for military aid. I've been asked to inquire as to your ability to authorize this quickly - they've offered to escort Lady Meris' retinue back to Hope."

Nodin grunted. "This complicates things slightly," he said. "We can cross my waystation-island in the Far Reaches by foot, but the aristocrats' mount would render this impossible. This would force us to travel within Winter's borderlands. There is an Infernal presence there, but Mab is proving to be challenging for those demons stationed in Faerie's depths. If we had a Malk in our party, our odds of parlaying passage would be greater."

Three eyed Titania. "We're friends of Gubbin, a Malk that originally was indentured to Gawain Machae. He's still back in Hope, though."

The Queen's eyes narrowed, a rare bout of craftiness visibly marking her features. "There might be another way."

* * *

For a few moments, dream logic unfolded as you would've expected. The sobbing woman practically melted between Abdiel and Melmoth's combined support, her feet dragging as the Broker's first instinct was to get her off the road. Once she wouldn't be at risk of having ox carts trampling her, they'd be able to address whatever deeper issues waited. Something changed from outside the bounds of Melmoth's sleeping mind, the dream's unspoken parameters changing. They were in front of the woman's house - barely a hovel, really - as if they'd walked her there. The woman's eyes glinted, her rough shawl fell from her face and, somehow, two pairs of arms encircled the lovers. She was as much at Melmoth's throat as Abdiel's, and the dream rendered even the mighty Throne powerless. In that precise instant, Abdiel was no more a Throne. As long as the dream willed it so, she'd be powerless to stop sudden claws from sinking into her biceps, or teeth into her neck. At best, she'd see Melmoth in a similar position, over her assailant's shoulder. Two identical women, two demonesses in the night.

Fear or confusion wouldn't be given long to settle in. Something in the bite sang in the demon and angel's puncture wounds, the most delicious of narcotics seeping through, reducing apprehension to the vaguest of whispers. Abdiel would feel the woman's grip shift around her, assault turning into physical support. A hand cupped the back of her head, while the other supported her waistline. The woman moaned as she fed, the noise striking at Abdiel's heart and spine like a hammer and chisel, if the sound of it was replaced with waves of pure, unrelenting bliss. The Throne would indubitably feel weak, weaker perhaps than ever before - but the experience was nonetheless rapturous. It might feel as though someone had finally given her free license to put all of her burdens down.

Common knowledge stated that most angels had no ability to relate with fledgelings or newborn vampires. Their nature made it so no amount of shared blood would taint their nature as God's crafted tools. Killing an angel's constructed vessel had never been managed before and even then, both Abdiel and Melmoth knew perfectly well that "dead" angels could simply be re-instanced back into Creation. Someone had probably landed a deathblow on the Fire Throne before, but it would've resulted in a brief pause of her physical existence - the smallest, least significant portion of her nature as the Throne of Fire; the part of who she was that could be remade, reshaped or redesigned ad infinitum.

Yet, when three tiny drops of something coppery made their way past Abdiel's lips, the Throne would very briefly sense death in the very way mortals did. Out of the rapture came numbness, creeping cold - and a certain stillness of the mind, not so much fear as the exact kind of lucidity she'd realize her sister Sammael often found in those she collected.

Abdiel didn't die, however. Instead, her head began to swim and cogent thoughts became harder to latch onto. Her normally distant heart might feel wrenched between the different arms of the scorned midwife's curse: wasn't she beautiful, with her dark eyes and luscious shock of hair, the proud slant of her nose? The Carmilla's infatuation for beauty crumbled apart in her mind as seemingly alien thoughts pushed through: If this was Lilith, didn't she have power enough to challenge the Goat? She could claim it for herself, if so she wished; wield that power and dominate all those who'd oppose her - 

A tiny, giggling version of her own voice whispered in her head: Ah, there's the Dragon; the lizard who lusted after so much she gave him rule over an entire strain of her own curse. The catch is, of course, that he BECAME the blood, and that all that remains of him is his willpower, his foolish lust for control... As for us, dear Throne? We're the voices your brethren thought the mortals were weak for hearing. Insight and madness, the cruel grasp of all the fruitlessness of your enemy's pursuit, the sad realization of your brothers and sisters' own delusions of perfection. We're all the hunches your poised Throne mind cast aside over the millennia, all the sniffed tracks, all the difficult truths, all the unearthed lies... Doesn't it just make you want to tear those robes off and cake your face in dust, to run off into the wilds and start brushfires?

Abdiel the would-be Carmilla wasn't far behind, however. It wasn't so much a voice as it was empathy and patience given a voice, something closer to her own self. She couldn't give up, there'd be no beauty or love left, nothing for her fires to warm, if they lost! Lilith didn't burden her children with immortality to torment them, some had been made for the express purpose of staying connected with Humanity across the centuries, precisely because Lilith feared angels might lose touch of what they'd been made to watch over. The war the woman had feared might come was here, but she'd known enough to know not to create unthinking juggernauts. Some vampires' greatest strength was their ability to provide solace. 

Solace, yes, but also a shield - a bulwark to lean on. To these vampires went dead flesh and stony limbs, the appearance of death meticulously designed to sow fear in evildoers, but hearts kept human, if not beating, at the core of their husks. The Draugr might never dance with a Carmilla's fluidity, their voices might sing with the croak of cold barrows where stones fell, but the truest among the Deadguard could be more just, more equitable, than the most lifelike recipient of the Dragon's Blood. She'd also feel the Vitellians' ceaseless hunger, here clearly presented as a boundless lust for life. The unluckiest ones were mere gluttons, the lucky ones dined on music as well as food, on poetry and artistry as much as on banquets lovingly furnished.

Oh, but there was another Hunger, too, something else that writhed around in the back of her mind: the Kenning, the Guildmates' irrepressible thirst for knowledge. Vampires made weak, who came into their strength centuries after the other breeds, but who were pillars of understanding long ahead of the others. Undead who sought out the distant lights of the future, who walked into undeath with rarely more than a sliver of doubt. Their bodies might wither, but their minds turned whip-smart, dancing around those venerable fools still entranced by Abdiel's simple candle-lights in an age of endless, ceaseless daytime, of light carrying objects and data at unfathomable speeds. Insight might not have been theirs, but brilliance certainly was. The Freaks could cavort and cackle their way to Truth, but the Guildmates built their fires patiently.

They were all in her. Lilith was all of them. She placed her lips near Abdiel's ear: 

"Lucifer is in danger. I have to show you, so you'll understand."

A sigh, almost like a lover's breath, on the Throne's cheek.

"I am sorry, Abdiel. I wish there were another way. I cannot be seen yet - and with prophecy, comes torment... I gave you the keys to understand, and now comes the door these keys unlock."

Weakly, she'd hear Melmoth softly wail, in front of her. He'd fallen to his knees, having been dragged down by his own Lilith - and piteous regret ate at what she'd see of his features.

"I didn't want to remember this," he said, his voice wavering. "Cain and Uriel..."

He drew in a breath, allowing it to come out ragged. "The sons of bitches..."

* * *

Nami's thoughtfulness made things easier for Amazo, who only focused on improving the column's partial concealment. They'd briefly hear Allocer being stopped by a strongly pressured Karen of a secretary, the door's frosted glass reducing his silhouette to a massive, hulking shadow of which the shoulders slumped and then rolled.

"Fine," the demon said, gravely. "You and I are going to have words, Haraldson," he then said. "This had better not be a waste of my time."

The door opened, and the Pride demon's stature fractured. His jaw dropped, he blinked a few times, staring at what appeared to be Wallace Doherty. The walrus, in the meantime, had blithely stuck his legs on the desk, crossed them and crossed his hands behind his head. Lucifer feigned a groan of relief.

"It's been a long road back to here," he said in the walrus' voice, "but it's been worth it, Allocer. I'd even love what you've done with the place, if I were the Softcore Orwellian type."

Allocer blinked. "You're below the Tree. You were pinned there - wounded, on some reports. How did you...?"

The walrus straightened himself in the chair, bringing his hands forward to waggle his fingers. "Magic. Superpowers, even. Heck, divine providence might've played a hand in it, too. All three were here in town before you folks came along, so who's to say I'm not being serious? As for my being wounded, well..."

He pouted. "You insulted a man and spat on an elected City Council. You didn't wound me, Allocer. You wounded Hope," he said, grunting as he stood up.

"You know you forced me to put Baverly down, right? Well, not so much you as your merry band of no-goodniks, all hell-bent on going on the most destructive night on the town we've ever seen... That popinjay might've chafed on me, but he was more of a buffoon than an active threat - someone who didn't deserve to die of septicemia and to have their body paraded around by some self-entitled spirit from the nether realms. Luckily enough for me, rotting flesh is surprisingly pliable. Baverley Walton might've been self-serving and duplicitous, but he had the city's welfare in mind. He had wild dreams of crushing me in the municipal primaries, next year, using good, old-fashioned mundane rhetorical weaponry. I could respect him for it."

He'd swerved around the desk and stopped in front of some of the newspaper clippings Allocer had framed. "You? You came here, tore down decades of earned trust and goodwill - and then propped up shiny inkjet printer screencaps of enclave-approved puff pieces, complete with your grinning mug posing with whomsoever came forth with a plan for the blocks West of Centennial Park. Allocer the savior, the inspired urban planner. Allocer the bleeding-heart Pride demon, more human than any of the horned wretches in Magnus Tower..."

He stopped in front of a political cartoon that depicted a cartoon rendition of Allocer, triumphantly standing over a wart-covered and hirsute caricature of Tom Magnus. His bristly mustache was pulled down in a frown.

Allocer sighed. "So, that's it, then. You've come to roast me out of office. I'm sorry to say you'll find that I indeed am not like most other Pride Knights. I don't shield myself in my ego."

The demon smirked. "I can indulge a few minutes of this. Then, I'm placing you where you should've been since the first incursions - in a stockade."

Lucifer-as-Wallace grinned. "Swell! Maybe I'll get a gander at your definition of proper procedure, while I'm at it! I won't tease you that much, though - let's be honest, hm? I'm not immortal, but I've seen enough to know competence when I see it, and you aren't all that bad! Beating back Valefor's thugs with the Urakawa girl and Herbie Wormsworth - now that's leader material! I'd have jumped in, but, well, I had to convalesce for a tad and, um, I can't exactly spit Hellfire, so..."

Allocer snorted. "How glib, mister Mayor. I only did what the situation called for. I've been doing this since the beginning of the incursions. To others go abuse or contempt, I'd rather your people trusted me.
- Yeah," groused the odobenus, "nothing inspires trust more than three boulevards' worth of posters covered in arcane cosmetics, stealing a color palette from the last DNC and presenting you as the city's ironclad ruler."

The demon's temper grew more gloomy as he glanced outside. "I rebuilt this town out of rubble, Doherty. I organized labor teams, and I held the line against my craven and duplicitous compatriots while power lines were being restored. I gave the Gluttony demons barriers they couldn't cross, circumscribed Envy and Lust's interactions with mortals. I wrote laws you never would've had to so much as consider, and applied them as fairly as I could.

Did we make mistakes? Yes. Have there been abuses? Certainly. Am I responsible? No. No, I'm not, but I'm also the only one who can step forth and put an end to these abuses my men report back to me. I'm the only one steering this ship, the only one who can steer it - because the demons who traded helmets for hardhats under my orders would never accept orders from you."

The walrus aped a few sobs. "But I held back my men's worst tendencies! I did what had to be done! You can't put me on trial, I'm one of the good guys!" he said, mocking a German accent. "Stuff like this was all over Nuremberg, Allocer, all across testimonies from anyone who whistle-blowed from the ivory towers of a Ponzi scheme's top tier or a dictatorship's palaces."

The demon's maw became backlit by a shy orange glow. Where bile might have risen in the mouth of a conflicted or wounded mortal with a scuff to their ego to nurse, Allocer's bile looked like it had the same volcanic properties as Paimon's. Allocer swallowed it back down - hard - and glared at the walrus.

"The Wallace Doherty I was briefed on isn't a man of rhetoric; he stomps and tromps into the issues of the day and all but devours them. Where is the vituperation, where are the effusive demands, the empty threats? A superhero's posturing plastered onto a mundane walrus anthro - that's what I swept under the rug."

The walrus smiled, the gesture looking almost malevolent. "If you had nothing to hide, Allocer, nothing to admit - you wouldn't be making excuses or accusations. You claim to have done good for this city. Show me the line, the exact point, where you looked at the Goat's plans and said I'll only go this far, but no further."

The demon fell silent, and Lucifer knew he'd hooked him. "You never read the fine print," the walrus said, sounding like he relished it. "You never asked for a preview, and now you're trying to convince yourself you're the lesser evil-"

Allocer's hand shot out, his eyes now gleaming orange-red, and he pinned the walrus to the wall. What appeared to be Wallace grunted under the strain, only to guffaw in cruel amusement, both hands on his assailant's wrist. Light burned in the Infernal mayor's mouth, and it was all that Allocer visibly had for his Infernal ichor to not dribble down his chin like drool. He slurped his liquid Hellfire away, gulped it down and smacked his lips in frustration. 

"You're not Doherty," he said, his voice trembling with dark power. "Who are you?"

"I'm the egg man!" cheerfully yelled the walrus, before his laughter could give way to choking croaks. Allocer's hand shifted around his throat, but Lucifer opted to use that extra breath to cackle. "Goo goo g'joob!" he added, looking as though this were an absolute riot even while his affected penniped features were turning blue. Allocer's free hand was closed, his arm and fist working almost casually, pumping into the mass of illusory blubber only once. It was enough to stop the anthro's burst of laughter and to turn it into a coughing fit.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" he shouted. Lucifer sputtered, coughed, wheezed - but kept on grinning. "Nobody you're convincing, Allie my man - and especially nobody who would've come alone. Face it, buckaroo - you're a patsy, same as anyone else in this town. If you think for even a second that your little pocket of administrative sanity matters in the grand scheme of things, I've got a two-way ticket to Washington for you, courtesy of Angel Time Airlines."

The fist and curled arm were lowered. Suspicion birthed on the former Pride Knight's features. Lucifer, in the meantime, smiled with teeth towards the spot he knew Nami occupied. 

"You know what?" he said, speaking to Nami but apparently speaking to dead air, from Allocer's perspective. "That part I said about you not giving him obvious cues? I take it back. Wow his socks off - you're warping us juust a few steps off the West half of the Reflecting Pond. There's a nice view there he's gonna love."

Allocer blinked. "Who are you - Why the White House? Washington is under full Infernal control, the White House's front lawn is a death trap!"

Fake Wallace smiled. "My point exactly, chum."

[TennyoCeres84]

Crystal scoffed in amusement. "You two are made for each other. Though, shouldn't we take the one that'll have us be a bit less conspicuous?" the former cop asked.

Matriel shrugged and smirked lightly. "That would be preferable. However, that'll probably depend on who's driving." He looked at the demonic couple. "Who'll decide that? A coin toss, perhaps?" he quipped.

***

Aislinn had groaned after being slammed around by Lucian's shuttling them off to another set of tunnels. However she was quick to follow after the warthog as he jogged. She could pick up the scent of her brother and hurried her jog a bit faster. "Ciaran?!" she called out.

"Aislinn?!" came the surprised response. It'd probably take a few more turns for the warthog and fellow selkie to follow the direction the male roane's voice had originated from. The closer they got, the quicker they would understand that Sophia had turned rather desperate to stay away from Arthur's new and dangerous progeny. Previously, the dryad's home was parallel to the ground, normally noticeable to park visitors by its round door. It seemed she had encased her subarboreal home with thick roots and bark and pushed it further down into the ground, hoping to put some distance between herself and the fledglings.

By doing so, the quaint apartment had obviously been shaken up. The window had been shattered and covered over with roots in the move. The home's Celtic roundhouse design could still be seen, but the walls had been thickened as more barrier material against the Freaks.

Ciaran warily slipped out of the front entrance with a rifle, as though he was somehow expecting a vampiric trick to make him hear his twin's voice. The time spent secluded from the rest of Shield had obviously done a number on the former dock worker. He still looked healthy enough, but fatigue wore at him. His neatly trimmed facial hair had become slightly shaggy due to the sudden loss of power after Sophia had forcibly buried the apartment. His gray t-shirt and blue jeans were marked with a few tears and patches of dust.

Aislinn beamed upon seeing her brother in the flesh, but she immediately winced as he broke his typical cool demeanor. "About fucking time!" he snarled with exhaustion and irritation.

***

Both women raised an eyebrow at the Faerie Queen. "What ace do you have up your sleeve, Titania?" Meris asked wryly.

"Between shadowgates and unknown passageways, it must be something," Aspasia answered.

***

While the Throne's body would have "died," the more alien aspects of her being oddly came to the forefront. She knew what they'd have to relive. Tears trickled down her cheeks at Melmoth's anguish and at the notion of the sights they were yet to see, but that feature contrasted starkly with the blankness of her face. However, her eyes would appear half-lidded, almost in a similar trance to the one she had expressed while rewriting the Jabberwocky's curse. It seemed the many vampiric experiences had a similar effect to her angelic mind, albeit marked by several imperfections her kind preferred to ignore.

Her voice gained the near and distant tone common to Thrones, but in a volume that the Broker could barely make out. "We must face the past. For in it, therein lies part of the solution to save Lucifer, Hope, the world, and existence as we know it. This is what my protocol tells me, so that the Elements and Justice remain intact..." her voice eerily drawled as Lilith held her.

***

Nami didn't bother to drop Amazo's veil and focused on her first attempt at using Angel Time. The process seemed difficult, yet it came naturally to the baby Throne.

Lucifer-Doherty, Allocer, and the rest of the hidden group would see the space of the office blip into darkness, until streaks of neon light streamed past them. They would lose all sense of their physical forms, ephemeral details they would return to later. They were pulled along on what felt like an extension of Nami's 'hands', more like an energetic tether that kept them together over the space that they'd travel. Crystalline dots and links between points in this space went on seemingly infinitely, all different possibilities they might have the chance to visit.

At the same time, they would feel themselves slowing down as they reached their destination. The sun was on its downward arc, casting a blazing orange and gold on what remained of the trees that surrounded the Capitol Reflection Pool. Nami had set them just as Lucifer had requested, just on the edge of the western side of the Capitol Reflection Pool. The scene started as appearing hazy and sharpened as they finished their journey. Thankfully, some remaining trees provided cover, even though Allocer had a clear view of what the Prince of Darkness had wanted him to see. Additionally, his demonic form was all present and accounted for, as well as everybody else's.

[IamLEAM1983]

Archie rolled a wrist, producing the coin Jubal had entrusted them with. "We aren't short on these, either. Shall we?"

The demonic couple exchanged another look, Erin looking amused while Lionel couldn't quite extricate himself from the dilemma. He signaled his assent with a grunt.

"He means heads," said Ereshkigal. "Heads is we go loud, tails is we go loud as an aesthetic."

The spy etched the motion of flicking the coin upwards, but stopped himself short of it. "No, I would rather someone impartial tossed it," he said, thumbing the coin back between two fingers. He then handed it to Matriel.

"How diplomatic," said Nergal, a smidge of sarcasm touching his words. Erin shrugged and pouted slightly. "Don't mind us, his Mythical Warlord ethos hates it whenever target elimination isn't involved in infiltration."

She stroked his jawbone with a finger. "Don't worry, my love; we'll get to play rough once we join the front lines back in Hope."

* * *

"Reinforce now," shot back Tom, "toss blames later! The Freaks need assistance of their own, and I wasn't about to let Horatio's troupe turn into a satellite of what's become of Arthur's refugees!"

Not giving much thought to politeness in the immediate, Magnus tossed his staff on Sophia's couch and moved to her living room's TV module. Grunting, he pulled it away from the wall and hurriedly unplugged everything from the wall sockets, then heaving against it from the side to barricade the door by pushing it in front of it.

Of the original practitioner refugees, only a blonde-haired girl remained, her skin festooned with a few arcane tattoos. She might've been a perky, slightly Gothic type in her late twenties prior to the incursions, but grime and exhaustion pulled at her features. Her previously Harley Quinn-worthy punkish pigtails were a frizzy mess by now, and she clutched a walkie-talkie that had been brought down to its quietest setting while still being audible.

"We're past the control point," whispered Astra Rothchild's voice amidst the crackling static. "We're through. Allocer's rent-a-cops didn't stop to frisk the trucks."

Claudia Tomlin sighed in relief. "Thank God. Are the sober ones still on their feet?
- Yes," replied Lucian's granddaughter, "Arthur's new mania looked like it spared a few minds. We've got six silent or shell-shocked types and four quirky ones. Ryan's been a chatterbox since his fangs came through."

As if on cue, a young man's voice tried to edge as closest to a scream as possible while still qualifying for a whisper. "Whoo! All aboard the Federation Starship USS Butthole!"

Strangled laughter followed, people who visibly had trouble chiding him while also admitting that any bit of accidental silliness served as a welcome stress-breaker.

Tomlin smiled, the gesture looking strained. "Stay safe, Astra. We'll keep you posted on Billy and Charles.
- Where are they now?" she asked.

The girl sighed. "They locked themselves up in a bar in Renton, to debate things over. Billy wants to stay here to fuck around with the invaders, Charles wants to follow you into Vermont, maybe from there to Canada. People need a safe place to heal wounds that aren't necessarily physical and for now, the further away from Hope they get, the better. Listen, I'll call you later, okay? McConmara and Magnus just broke through, somehow. They're here."

Astra's silence was a pained one; she clearly needed to hear more about her husband. Still, she swallowed her worries. "Alright, Claudia. Stay safe. Talk to you soon."

Tomlin closed her two-way radio and looked back at the pair. "Sorry about the fucked-up feng shui, the neighbors forced Sophia to go all Spirit of Carnàn on them."

Panting slightly, Tom managed a grin. "A girl who knows her Silmarilion is a girl after my own heart."

The strained smile returned. "I'd be glad, but it's putting a strain on her. She's simultaneously keeping the Nexus balanced, reinforcing and repairing her defenses and soothing the Tree as best she can."

She pointed at a half-crumbling wall that was all but supported by a mass of thick roots. "The things are turning thorny in spots, and I've got a numb spot on my right thigh where I scratched it with one. The Tree's picking up on her stress and turning more defensive. If Rendell's geneticist were around, he'd probably pick up something to the effect of the tree outside picking up rose bush DNA and splicing that with weak grass snake venom."

Tom glanced outside, at the favor of a half-buried window. "That's fairly good news, considering what we're up against...
- Yeah, sure," replied the girl with a dubious pout. "Good news for you, me, Aislinn - anyone in town with some degree of responsible expertise in the dark arts. Anyone else, though?"

The warthog sighed. "Any news from Arthur's girl?
- Lucian wanted to come down here with or without you; he has enough of a handle on his powers to get her out. She's pinned in or underneath the big gazebo on the East side of the park.
- And Dickens?"

Tomlin glanced at a closed door. "While Sophia's been multitasking, he's been trying to care for her. She can barely afford to rest, and he has to argue with her so she'll get a few hours of sleep. Cabin fever makes his old shyster tricks come back, I keep having to dissuade him from splashing cinnamon with rubbing alcohol and calling that a bolstering tonic to improve her humors. I checked to see if he was tempted by Arthur's draconian solution and he acted so insulted it went beyond being genuine and started to look vaudevillian.

Then, there's Jack Greene. We're getting news from the refugee camps out in Old Hope, in Little Kerry. The elves are small enough to dig subterranean megaplexes and they've been shrinking anyone who asks for it and offering them refuge, bypassing the Old Ways and Oaths until further notice. Greene's been holding out on his own, and we keep getting contradictory reports. Impossible ones. Greene can only respawn out of one patch and once per year, and he's just one man against the horde."

The warthog nodded. "I can see where this is going. He keeps dying and coming back?
- Yes," Tomlin said. "We think he bit the bullet and struck a deal with Mab."

* * *

"Not something," Titania said. "Someone. Is our asset in, chamberlain?"

The valet nodded. "He'd returned for, er, supplies, one could say. I'd already signaled the guard to bring him forth, Your Highness."

There was a rap at the door, which the chamberlain opened. Whispers were exchanged, and he looked back to the royal couple.

"Your spy in Mab's ranks, Your Highness."

He stepped aside. The man who stepped forth had a long face and a hawkish nose, salt-and-pepper flares better suited to the hairstylist of a Tim Burton project, fencing gloves over bouffant Victorian sleeves, and a sling of throwing knives resting against his dark waistcoat. Deep creases marked his features, turning lips that could've managed rakish smiles into austere lines Aidan immediately recognized. Malks being creatures of Faerie, it stood to reason that, as in Vernon Haskill's case, the father could look a little too dissimilar from the son for any blood ties to be obvious...

Titania inclined her head. "May I present Warwick of Blackmarsh, Count Haversham, late Marquis Ebonwall - now Ranger in the service of the Winter Court."

Warwick stopped in front of Titania and a few steps ahead of Meris and the others, then spinning on his heel with military precision. His frosty countenance cracked, as a smirk that was hard to imagine on Gubbin's face crept forward.

"Also the mayor of a small village on Winter's coast," he added.

Three blinked. "You're Warwick? You're Gubbin's father?
- And you must be Aidan," replied the man, his voice like a deeper, bolder relative of his son's dry delivery. "The eternally dumbstruck, endlessly surprised would-be outsider... My human seeming is no reflection of my age, dear Knight; human youthfulness is seen as a too-obvious tell, amongst us Malks. The elderly are typically afforded more secrecy. Gubbin being my son would be more obvious if you were to see my true form."

Aidan nodded in the negative. "I'm fine with it, it's just that Gubbin wasn't sure what had become of you, after he'd been left in the Machaes' employ.
- I never raised a wistful cub," replied Warwick. "What the Fae visited upon him was distressing enough, I would scarcely recognize my boy if you told me he had begun to open up to others."

That left Drake to scoff. "Then I at least know where he gets his reservations from. Judging from what you've told me, you'll probably think he's lost his marbles while working with us. That aside, I'm guessing you can take us across Mab's turf and back to Hope?
- Yes," he replied. "You have no time to waste on the Night Queen's jousting with the Damned and I have targets in need of elimination. Perhaps we can help each other."

He smirked again, the gesture secretive, and glanced at Meris. "Tell me, Archmage - did you know that the first pelt-wearers of your kind were not bonded to theirs? In the dawn of the selkies' history, some even shared pelts with human and anthropomorph friends, imparting speed and supernatural instincts to those who would have otherwise made poor swimmers. So did the first werewolves. It took centuries and the emergence of necessity to bind pelts to their wearers permanently. The Grimalkin have long since been able to pass a similar bond onto travelers they escorted."

* * *

And face the past, they did.

Lilith's looming presence faded, anguish seemingly left the both of them - and they'd find themselves standing in front of a crude stone hovel, standing a few hundred feet away from a more populated thoroughfare. Its single, flimsy wooden panel didn't do much to keep sound out, and more Assyrian came out, this time out of a younger version of Lilith's own throat, as well as a man's.

"I did what I did, Adym, to save Maghra's life. The baby was on its side and she wouldn't stop contracting - it needed time to realign! The flowers I picked from the banks weren't going to kill her, I'm sure of it! My own mother made that poultice whenever I hurt myself as a child-
- That's not it, Lilitû!" spat the man. "It's what you did afterwards that has the temple's guards and the governor spooked! You breathed life back into her after she died! Taking back what Innana's waters remove from us is sacrilege!
- Are you really going to sell me out because I did the right thing?!"

Tense silence followed. Behind Melmoth and Abdiel, a group of plate-wearing men with bronze swords and the ornate helmets of Assyria's guard were coming forth, weaving around the Celestial and Infernal couple as if they hadn't been there. One of the men banged on the wooden panel a few times.

"Lilitû of Akkad, come out! You won't get away with it this time, you witch!"

Adym spoke again, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Eva wanted this," he said. "She wants us to be together."

The guard shouldered the door open, Lilith's voice turning to desperate shrieks as she was manhandled out of the home. She looked infinitely younger, unimaginably more frail - and indubitably mortal, at the time. Still, fury soon filled her features, Abdiel being able to sense how negative via welled forth from her, called forth by Mesopotamia's unshackled and wild ley lines. There wasn't a Nexus here, this was centuries before Babylon would inherit of its Hanging Gardens - and of the world's first constructed Nexus as well as the first pact with a Dryad.

"I curse you!" she shot at Adym. "I curse you and a thousand of your generations! I thought you loved me, Adym, how could you?! I hope your firstborn show you how petty Eva always was with me and my own, I hope you live to see the poison she'll let seep into them!"

Sand began to blow across the scene, even as the woman was carried away. Sounds turned ghostly, going from Lilith's roars to the sounds of punches landing, ragged sobs tearing through the air. Decades were scraped away from the stone, and a new, similar street waited around them, once the skies cleared. Next to them stood a burnished man with unusually clear eyes for a Mesopotamian man, something in the lines of his features echoing Adym's. This was obviously their son. They'd find themselves following him, seeing him leave Assur's bustling metropolitan center to its sparsely-populated outskirts. He stopped in front of a ruined shack and knocked on its doorframe.

"Hello? Is anyone there?! I'm looking for a woman named Lilitû!"

From behind a mound of rubble walked a black-clad woman in her late thirties, even if her features had turned to stiff and lean with sorrow and hardship she could've passed for a woman with two additional decades on her back. "What do you want with her?" asked the midwife.

The young man let the hand that had been holding his bundle fall. "My father says I was granted a gift. I can't channel it safely on my own and I..."

He stopped, glancing down at his sandals. "I've already hurt people because of it. I want it to stop. My father told me to seek Lilitû for guidance."

Lilith smiled, the gesture sad, forlorn and knowing. "You're Adym's son, aren't you? Adym and Eva's?
- How did you know?" he asked her. She didn't respond. Catching the implied subtext, the young man licked his lips. 

"My name is Khayin," he said. "I... I killed my brother. My mother says I'm cursed, but I've managed to do some good in the past, with a lot of effort."

He parted his hands, as if in offering. "If I'm angry, I kill what I touch, or I corrupt it. Abel had earned the priests' favor after claiming I hadn't butchered animals at the stall properly. My mother had stitched gloves for me, but I'd had to swap them out for sturdier ones, for work. Abel stopped at my stall and gloated and I..."

Cain swallowed hard. "I removed my gloves, and I - I just placed a hand on his shoulder, wanting to tell him this wouldn't stand. I - I didn't think! I didn't-"

Lilith closed the ground between them and embraced him. Cain kept his arms to his side, careful not to touch her, but still pushed his cheek into the crook of her neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

Over Cain's shoulder, Lilith seemingly broke the script of events long past and looked directly at Abdiel and Melmoth. "This was the beginning of the end, now that I've had centuries to think it over," she said, in English. "Adam wanted to believe Eve was just meek serendipity made flesh, but I'd seen her looks. She wasn't just a Nephilim, she'd been Created, not shaped by evolution like the rest of Mankind. Uriel had ventured to God's seat and done his best to use the Tools without the Artisan noticing, but his disdain for Humanity tainted his efforts - if this wasn't by design. Eve wasn't born, she was Made, and she'd been Made by the more impetuous of the Lightbringers out of sheer spite."

She scoffed. "A female angel without wings, angelic perfection without the grace of immortality... I used to think Adam should've known. I was being labeled a monster, a pariah - and he'd just married the real monster. In so doing, he'd manifested my curse. He'd doomed his sons to sorrow and seeded all of Mankind with a figment of Uriel's hatred... How many wars, Abdiel, how many genocides, because of that glimmer of hatred that was planted in Man's flesh?"

Melmoth looked confused. "I've seen Uriel, he doesn't so much hate mortals as he doesn't understand them. This? This is out of character for him - and I'm the least in-character Fiend you'll find. I know a thing or two about breaking the mold.
- And he doesn't," opined Lilith, who still comforted Cain. "Uriel's mold is seeping. He hasn't noticed, as naive as he is, as sure of his lasting goodness as he remains - but he sees what mortals have done to and accomplished with Creation. I don't need to tell you how he feels. If you know how Gabriel feels, all you need is a leap of logic."

The Broker licked his lips. "And the boy?
- Cain? I brought him comfort," she said, gently grasping one of the young man's arms. Surprised, Cain lightly parted from her. She raised a hand to his cheek and gently cupped it, wiping away some of the tears that fell with a thumb. Her eyes again returned to the pair, now tinged with sadness.

"In those days, the Fertile Crescent's power still coursed through me. I was powerful, more powerful than I knew - and I withstood Eve's corruption. I opposed it with the last drops of kindness I thought I had left."

She looked back to Cain, as though the boy were a figment, a faded memory. "In the end, the lackeys of other men would take him from me. In losing Cain, I found Lucifer."

* * *

Allocer blinked and wavered. First came the shock of apparent teleportation, an all-too-human sense of nausea churning in his bowels - and then shock.

There was nothing left. The skies above were soot-covered and tinged with red, as fires both common and Infernal raged across Washington's cityscape. The Capitol had been blasted open, black smoke billowing out of the gaping wound in the pitted, formerly painstakingly-shaped white masonry. Bodies floated in the Reflection Pond, in the dozens - of all possible descents, both mundane and supernatural. Its waters had turned black as a result. The Pit's brambles and razor-sharp vines grew out of cracks that snaked towards the White House, the only building within the visible expanse where lights were turned on. The pops of gunfire echoed intermittently, along with shrieks that either sounded inhumanly gleeful or terrifyingly human - and wracked with terror. Off in the distance, a small group of human and anthro rebels were tossing pipe bombs at Pride Knights decked in adapted riot gear. They riled up a few of the behemoths, which prompted an excessive response: three Knights belched flame on the mortals, turning their shouts of defiance into immediate screams of agony. Debris littered the streets almost uniformly.

Lucifer dropped Amazo's provided Veil, while the Knight was distracted. "The national capital under your boss' rule, Allocer," he said. "What were you promised? That he'd keep to the rule of law like you and the other suzerains he's installed? That he'd respect your own sacrifices and heed your demands? The only reason you haven't seen fit to come down here sooner, buddy, is that you were lied to. You, the regional commanders - you were all treated like simps by someone who only cares as long as his tuchas is sitting pretty in the Oval Office. Abyzou was stupid enough to try and game both fronts on Valefor's demands, but most newly-minted Feds are only sent countrywide to keep you bumpkins in the straight-and-narrow."

Amazo's lips pouted and his brow furrowed. "This is what us rebels have known since the incursions began, Allocer," he said. "Everyone back at Magnus Tower knows about this, about the way the Goat is spitting in the face of those very same people he's trusting with his stolen States, provinces and countries. All he needs is for the world to burn, for our tiny and honestly insignificant speck of Creation to burn in his name. Your sacrifices, your efforts, your admittedly commendable attempts at engendering empathy for us mortals don't matter, in the grand scheme of things."

Lucifer nodded. "In the end, you'll be deposed. You'll be thanked for your efforts by some horned chamberlain with a fresher sense of Pride than yours, too young to realize he's just someone else's puppet. If you're lucky, the Goat's going to expect you to fend for yourself in the margins of History. If not, I'd expect severance pay by way of Greco-Roman jousting - and he'd rig the game to make sure you bite it."

Allocer looked down and swallowed hard. "No - No! There has to be a reason for all this! You've brought me here, I'm sure we could seek an audience and have it all explained, I was told he'd be reasonable with us administrators!"

Lucifer sighed. "Did you just hear yourself?! I revealed myself to you, and you're so shocked with all, so quick to spring to denial, that you haven't so much as paid attention!"

The bigger demon walked off. "I know who you are, Lucifer - always so perceptive, always a step ahead... If you're perceptive enough to see which Venal Sin I descend from, then you know what I feel I'm owed." he groused.

Lucifer jogged after him. "He isn't going to explain shit, Allocer - he'll pump all of us here full of lead and curse us five or six times for good measure! Do you really want him to gloat and grandstand, because he'll do it! He'll do it, and then shoot you in the back!"

Allocer kept walking towards the White House, his maw pulled into a snarl. "I have my honor, Lucifer. If my liege-lord wants to spit on my boots, I want him to do it to my face. If my service matters, he'll thank me and I'll extend his thanks to my administration. If not..."

One of his expensive Italian loafers kicked at a chunk of torn concrete as easily as if it had been a crumpled can. "If not, then you can consider me open for referrals - if your Nephilim friend can get us out of here in one piece.
- What if he just says what you want to hear?!" shot back Amazo. "That's what I'd do, if I were the Goat!"

That got Allocer to stop. He looked back over his shoulder. "You've just got yourself another Veiling job, mister Quigley," he said. "We take out that SWAT team first, to use their likenesses," he said, turning back around and pointing in the direction of the now-dispersing cadre of riot-gear demons. "We take them out, and we bury these mortals. They deserve that much respect."

[TennyoCeres84]

"I'm honored," Matriel responded as he received the coin. He then flipped the coin and watched as it spun in the air, hitting the ground with a faint clink. The Throne picked it up and said, "Tails, looks like we're going the subtle route."

***

Ciaran sighed and commented on Jack's situation, "Dryads pushed into a corner sometimes have to make difficult decisions. Sophia's not to that point yet, but I worry."

Aislinn frowned and glanced at the closed door, assuming Sophia was still resting. "It's not surprising. The incursions completely outpaced what happened under Rendell. Though, in Sophia's case, she's venturing past what Titania's Court might want for a previously genteel dryad, based on the conjecture."

Her brother grunted and said, "It might be venturing toward trying to take out as many non allied demons as possible."

***

Meris blinked briefly and looked away in thought, recalling what she had heard from the old stories. "Not so much detail as that, I knew that they did it for survival. The main part was that everybody worked together to support even the least strong among their numbers. It would make sense that they'd have pelts that would be able to be used by a variety of people," she stated with a smile.

Warwick and Meris's commentary intrigued the Fauness, and she asked, "I doubt you just have some random pelts lying around to have us shift into Grimalkin forms. Is it some type of special geas that allows others to change their forms and gain those senses for a certain period?"

***

Abdiel appeared to be taking this new information in for future evidence with her half-lidded eyes, like a lawyer building a case. "Eva's taint from Uriel could be viewed as original sin promoted by Christianity, but it's really that sense of self-loathing or hatred for anything different, anything that's not homogeneous or docile. It twisted itself over the centuries and caused the strife felt by Humanity," Abdiel observed with flat, grim lips.

Anger also fell upon her features by way of knitted brows and a light snarl, and she explained, "When my siblings and I were helping to create life on Earth and in the universe, we learned that imperfections were necessary to balance forces. We embody creation and destruction; it's all a balance. Uriel never learned that, and he thought he knew better than the Almighty for how mortals should be..."

Her features then shifted to sadness, as she noted, "That taint's influenced the view on necromancy or anything that went against God's apparent "will" and depicted it as evil, hence why some mages were favored and others maligned. Not just magic, but even just natural behaviors came under Uriel's influence."

She lightly shook her head and quietly seethed, "God damn that bastard..." The angel then understood that she was interrupting Lilith's replay of events and sent her a sympathetic look to continue.

***

During the debacle between Quigley, Lucifer, and Allocer, Nami had been taking note of the range of emotions that had tainted the once beautiful city. Rage, sadness, despair, trauma... Some of it was of the mortals who had been rebelling, but a sizable portion came from below the streets, from cameras, and the many electrical connections in their vicinity. Thousands of voices rung in her head, pleading for a solution and a means to stop the Goat's hold.

She cleared her throat and said, "We could take them out, but there's already someone in line for that. Quigley will still need to veil us from that SWAT team's sight, but what if I redirected the emotions that are permeating this area's electrical grid and have them create guilt and doubt in their minds. Have them lay down their arms and come bury the bodies. Killing's not always necessary to create change and sway things in a different direction."

Her idea had more in common with Pandemonium's goals, and one might think she had taken some inspiration from the Sammaelites' weapons intended to sow remorse and reflection. She knew that Allocer probably wouldn't agree with the notion or even understand, but she looked over at Lucifer and the others. "What do you think? It seems more productive, at least. We're not going to influence the Goat, but if his underlings start doubting and questioning..."