Chapter VI - Asunder

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom seemed to agree with Lucian's proposed structure. "The four of us can mobilize troops out in front, Meris and Aspasia can work their magic. They pull out, we withdraw after doing as much damage as we can. I'm sure Meris has her own distractions in the works, we'll be able to work with hers once they manifest."

* * *

Nevermind how Matriel's waters weren't strictly tied to Valhalla's supernatural observations, many among the Shieldmaidens and reborn warriors and berserkers took to joyfully chanting Odin's name, safely wading into Matriel's shallows at the edges of the created floodplain, and cutting down any who didn't ask for assistance. The Throne's change in perspective would leave him free to perceive how a dozen or so demons had effectively been broken by his and Zeke's charge, having sustained enough injuries to finally see the fruitlessness of the Goat's struggle. True to their nature, the Valkyries and Einherjaren didn't turn away those whose change of heart came at the cost of bitter pain. They were led back towards the human ranks while still kept at a distance from them, a mixture of mortals and immortals quickly jury-rigging elevated platforms to rest these broken and weary bodies out of Celestial waters.

As Archie and the others could see, Walpurgis and its environs had also suffered environmentally. Matriel's waters could be seen turning cracked earth into the darker tones of workable soil, with dried blades of grass turning green and a sparse speckling of shoots spreading towards the core of the city's sigil-shaped highway network. Glancing off towards Nacogdoches, the android could only hope Whitney's ranch wouldn't suffered too harshly at the hands of their invaders.

For long minutes, the city's deserted suburbs stretched out, evacuated long ago in favor of the Krieger Hotel and the city's core. As they turned on Carson and merged on the city's central plaza, they were met with a crowd of people, not the least of which being Whitney and the Krieger's core staff, along with the President and his cabinet. Tense silence immediately turned to cheers, Jubal shouldering past the crowd to go open one of the van's rear panels.

"My stars," he said, laughing, "remind me never to leave you fellas with coins again; you'll go off and end the second-largest siege on the continent on your damn lonesome!"

Nergal turned back to face the rear from his seat. "This wasn't really in the cards, to be honest - it more or less snowballed out of our trying to scout and sabotage Belial's operation. I imagine Mrs. Devlin received a Gate request from a pair of minor demons?"

Jubal nodded. "Yep - Mister, er, Squeaky and his wife, right? They're thinking they could put us in touch with some more of their colleagues. This could be the start of the manufacturing deal you'd been looking for, Nergal."

His smile wavered slightly. "Belial wasn't exactly ruined, though, huh?
- Eustace shared a look between Archie and Crystal. "He opted to offer to ruin the Goat's arsenal for us, instead. A stream of structural failures is easier to hide than a sudden and outright disruption.
- It's a lot less fun, too," groused Gallows. "I went in this thinking you'd shake things up a little; I didn't expect Belial to be so malleable from the get-go."

In any case, Jubal didn't look worried, at least not in the immediate. "Welp, he's out in the wild, now, and Mrs. Devlin already drilled me on his schemes. I feel confident enough keepin' a weather-eye out for him, while leaving the brunt of the matter to the local authorities. He ain't the Goat, but I'm sure you've all heard enough about his more mercantile aspirations."

Archie nodded. "Oh, he was thoroughly convincing, sir - but not quite enough to lower my guard. He made it quite clear that he had a vested interest in my city.
- Speakin' o' saving the city, I figure President Jones might wanna give a few medals to your Throne buddy and Pink Gonzo friend."

Zeke and Matriel weren't visible from the Krieger's front porch, but the Throne's created petrichor hung in the air like promises of a long-delayed spring.

* * *

Hilliard's tendrils couldn't hide the slightest of smiles. "I hope so. Thank you for such kind words, Meris of the Orcades."

Their little segue hadn't lasted too long in the Real, the selkie coming back to the sound of Herbert's conjured armor as he quite seriously goose-stepped back to stand next to her.

"Does he pass muster?" he asked, sounding convincingly unimpressed. "I haven't found much of anything, myself: a provincial outpost for provincial casualties of war..."

Of course, his mental projection from earlier had effectively contradicted this. Wormsworth hadn't been able to easily mark or brand those who'd quickly come to the fore once a scrape erupted, but they did have an ace in the hole, in that regard. Said ace manifested first as distant shouts, followed by more clearly yelled orders motivating the keep's staff into action. The rear doors opened onto the hellscape between the keep and the Goat's main stronghold, and a peculiar assemblage walked in.

Riona was effectively being carted in a penitentiary palanquin, if that could so much as exist: four chestbare Knights of the same type as Paimon carried the platform's poles, the dais they carried supporting an iron cage fashioned out of thick bands of soldered and wrought iron. The resulting holes were tiny, but still big enough for one pale and rheumy eye, partially obscured by a loose and dirty bang of raven hair, to glint at the selkie. In a heartbeat, Meris would realize that Riona likely hadn't noticed her own indigence, or had her mind so set on the paths and meanders of the future that her state in the present held little importance.

The palanquin was set down and the cage opened, exposing a woman who would've appeared pitiful to anyone not versed in the sometimes cryptic gifts of the True Fae. This wasn't a court maiden in ragged clothes or even a monster in designer attire; power roiled off of her like waves in the ocean, making the Knights recoil further away from her than they would have for a more common prisoner.

The seeress' feet were bloodied, caked with dirt and mud and otherwise bare, the tonails chipped or partially torn off years before her capture. The black dress she wore had likely been Alwyn Frost's previous attempt at making another local Winter alumnus feel good about herself, but its hefty price tag meant little by now. The sheath dress had been torn and re-stitched, covered in a few layers of wool and linen shawls that had all seen better days. Her fingernails were torn, chipped and wicked, looking almost clawlike at the ends of curling fingers that twitched and spasmed of their own accord. Her facial symmetry was as flawless as could have been expected of the Sidhe and nobody could've doubted of her beauty in normal circumstances, but her centuries spent by the gaping pit in front of Buck Mansion's front lawn had left her stained by the evil and spite of Samoset's curse. To look at her was to know that no towel would ever wash away the caked grime on her cheeks, no brush would ever untangle her wild and matted hair.

Oh, but she wasn't pitiful - that much was obvious. She had no shackles to speak of, no restraints to observe. Had she simply given herself to the Goat? If she knew the future, maybe she'd simply seen enough branching paths to convince her that her capture was preordained. Why protest, then, why so much as require means of contention or restraint, if you already knew you'd be free later on?

One of the chestbare demons took a few steps forward and offered her his arm, Riona slipping her own in the offered loop without looking. She walked peculiarly, as though she were letting the Knight guide her in the darkness of her physical blindness, while still perceiving everything on some different, perhaps somewhat transcendent level.

The false Marquis couldn't hold back a snort. "I suspect most would balk at the prospect of harming her; she could simply spin tales of some grandiose career awaiting anyone who would so much as show kindness."

Riona's blind eyes swerved to meet Herbert's, and she spoke in a raspy, almost graven voice. "A bànfaith never lies," she said. "Truth is my burden. I told them they would win."

A mental whisper was added, brushing against the conspirators' minds. "For a time," said Riona's telepathic whisper.

"They shall win," she continued, "and their names will be written in stone and etched in paper, for all time."

Another whisper. "As are the names of all monsters."

Her dead eyes slid across their numbers, the ruin of the seeress' hair having the benefit of hiding her reaction. Something to Aspasia made her reach out and gently squeeze her forearm, while Meris earned fingers intertwining with hers, her hand squeezed just short of the point of pain. To Cacus went a wide-eyed smirk that looked mildly unsettling, while she paused the longest for Herbert. Something to his features made her frown slightly, as though she couldn't quite parse what she was looking at. Her head was tilted, her features softened, and the hand that had gripped Meris hesitated halfway across the space between them, positioned as though to suggest she'd wanted to touch his chest.

The moment passed, her features returned to a sort of alien and fixated stare and she thrust out her chin. "Have all keep doors opened," she demanded. "Glory is at hand. Light your anchor stone, open Gates across this land - your time is now."

There'd be no whisper, this time, but the impression that she'd omitted something would remain. Not that the soldiers cared, a few motivated hoots and shield bashes had already sounded.

Being an Archmage, Meris would at least know a few tricks in the art of Divination. Prophecy was and always had been a can of literal, figurative and likely quantum-based worms, and the old adage about not revealing perceived outcomes usually was true. Nobody knew if Reality came with some sort of probability filter that pushed divulged outcomes back to the rear, but even hucksters turning tricks by impersonating dead relatives with a crystal ball knew not to openly reveal future events. If gazing at a quantum particle moved it, then revealing the future in intricate detail usually shifted it, transformed it in some way that reacted to its having been prematurely observed. It explained why Riona, Circe, Merlin and other mythical or quasi-mythical practitioners rarely spoke openly - as well as why conmen who claimed to be able to tell you your dead aunt's secret inheritance clauses were usually full of it.

Riona had given the demons exactly what they'd desired, and had likely struck a serious blow to their tactical efficiency in doing so. As to how much of Meris' own successes as well as those of her friends depended on Riona keeping mum, however, that was something a Void Weaver with a background in Theoretical Physics and String Theory development could've maybe expounded on after several months of sleepless nights...

* * *

"Circlets?" asked Wallace, to which Nybbas rolled his eyes.

"Maybe that Postwar optimism we just left behind addled you some, Wally my boy, but we've obviously missed a tad more than what's strictly obvious. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen Pride work its own skunkworks projects, and if these are what I think they are, it means Wrath's without a figurehead for the time being. The short of it is there's going to be History Channel documentaries on the Pit's war economy, once this ends."

He brushed off some late-fifties dust from his shoulders. "Let's find a decent vantage point. If I get a feel for their numbers, I could maybe hatch up something for the Goat's new headgear craze, or at least spot their trajectories and eventually toss 'em somewhere nice and primordial..."

Lucifer shrugged. "Sure, just, y'know, not anywhere in Earth's past. I don't wanna know what happens when primitive bacteria mutate under the influence of a solid chunk of the deposed Prince of Wrath...
- Then on the short term, what we need is the cases these puppies came in. We get those, or whatever jumbo single case the Goat had, we can probably find some way to jig some kinda recall spell together."

He disappeared with a puff of smoke and reappeared a few steps further, looking back to the group with an impatient shrug. "Come on, let's go! The sooner we get this done, the sooner I'll be able to make sure I'll still have fun places to visit in the past!"

Lucifer seemed intrigued, but first assessed their surroundings. "I'd say... Blip us over to that high-rise, over in what's left of South Little Italy. The top platform still looks solid enough to support our combined weights and we'll get a decent view of Centennial Park from there, about three klicks away from the Goat's own commanding platform. We won't be bothered.

That said, though, why can't you cheat your way to the future? I've done that a buncha times, myself!"

Nybbas clicked his tongue. "Two words: Celestial approval. God's got enough computing headroom to parse the Multiverse all She wants, but I'm just another rogue process, compared to Her. I'm not a malevolent rogue process, but I don't obey displacement laws. The catch is I can only go to those places She's written in already, so the future's a no-go for me. You, though? The morons in the Pit assume you stole your way to demigod status, the smart ones know you shook hands with Her over something bigger. She's let you tap into her root processes since the Fall and things look like they're working out - but She probably knows it's a risk. I'd bet my hat that the Architect told Her not to rely on you too much, for the same reasons She doesn't rely on any single Throne in any significant capacity. They're useful together, powerful alone - but fire's just fire unless it's hardening something or helping to convert some other element."

* * *

Satisfied with his gear, Enlil left the dressing and gearing-up area and entered a smaller room, of which the walls were lined with nondescript doors. If any indicator was visible, it consisted in the clocks that adorned the wall between each door, labelled for major cities in each time zone. Hope didn't have an immediate access point here, but the Council kept its own private "switching Gate" in an otherwise inaccessible area of New York. From there, switching to Providence or Hope would only involve another twisted door knob.

"Everything did," he said, in repsonse to Abdiel. "No painting degrades in the same way as another, no furniture item has the same missing flecks of wood or misplaced nails - art is as organic as we are, it has its life, its ups and downs. Every potential outcome has to be accounted for. If I didn't know how to handle stained glass Leonardo Da Vinci himself had touched, I had to find someone who could. If I had to work on a fresco without the added benefit of my own workshop, then I had to find ways to isolate my subject. Call it Positive Productive Paranoia, if you want. Now I work with sightlines, attendance numbers, strength assessments for high-profile petitioners of the Council's services..."

He tested his rifle's sight.

"And the occasional gun, when our rules fail to come across. Someone with a narrow mind might think I've left the arts behind, but I think that every day that passes where I don't have to use this is a work of art in and of itself."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn signed and nodded. "Hopefully, they'll be able to pull off a whammy of a surprise, and we can put a significant dent in Pride's numbers. "

***

Crystal glanced at Jubal, Nergal, and Eustace and gestured to hopeful signs of growth that had replaced the cracked ground and lifeless plants. "Nergal's likely getting his new colleague on account of Matriel's humanity. That flood we witnessed could have been reserved for Squeaky's colleagues and Belial's infrastructure, but it instead turned this battlefield in our favor."

She went to look around for Zeb and Andrea, feeling that they had earned a bit of a break. "I realize we've gotten ourselves a breather, but I'm leery of crowing too much before we return to Hope. It's not like we can just flood Hope and get the city back. The Goat seems more deeply invested in bringing it to its knees on account of the slights he felt from us in the past. I'm sure he has his tricks that we don't know about. How do we strike there?" she inquired.

***

With Riona's demand to open the keep doors, Meris realized they might have to alter their plans somewhat. She finished checking the Squids' health and nodded to the fake Marquis. "The tall one should be able to walk fine on his own, while his counterparts might not have as much endurance. We'll have to make due with their speed as we proceed with the others to take our victory, my liege, "Morguse said.

GIven that he was their "superior", he would have to be the one to give them their orders. If they ventured forward, they could probably put a decent amount of distance between them and the keep's numbers, enough to slip away and attack from behind as planned. Even with Riona's gestures and vague prophecies that seemingly indicated Pride's temporary triumph, they had to proceed forward and see about freeing the others, if possible. It all depended how these opposing forces would leave the fortress and leave them any opportunities to turn the tide.

Given that things had been relatively quiet in Aspasia's mental landscape, Gressil had spent the time looking busy and authoritative and approached the musclebound demon. "What are your orders, sir?" she asked.

***

Nami followed after Nybbas and frowned. "That's the technical aspect of it, but there's also the ethical part of it, too. Should angels and demons always have the ability to go where they like in the future?"

"I know you have," the Throne queried, looking at Lucifer, "and I'm sure Gabriel used Angel Time to see humanity's future greatness and all. However, how much meddling from Heaven and Hell are necessary? This whole cycle of sin, punishment, and redemption's kinda getting stale. It can't keep going like this, as that's part of how we wound up here. If the Goat could see what's it's like in a mortal's shoes, or any demon for that matter, things might be a lot different," she mused.

"I mean, look at Melmoth. He experienced that, and he's not the same person who Fell ages ago, thankfully. Nor is any demon who became attached to the mortal concept of life, even if it was only temporary in their service to the Goat."

***

Abdiel smiled with some approval. "The arts over martial force. That's a rare take on approaching life. I wish some of my own brethren and many of those in Hell would have learned that understanding during their respective stretches of immortality. Perhaps things would have been different, if they had," she replied, waiting for him to guide them to the New York gate.

[Karl the Mad]

The only issue Marius could see, then, was the distance between themselves and the keep. Even he, moving at his best speeds, would take a few minutes to reach it. Doubtless the others had some magical means of easing that worry.

"We should hurry, the Goat is distracted and Azazel is off the board for now," he muttered under his breath, body moving on autopilot as it remembered old skills. "If our only goal is to create a distraction, and provided we can move fast enough, we can be there, do our thing and come back before they notice a few missing warriors among hundreds."

As if to emphasize his point, a fresh wave of crippling magics and illusory good guys poured forth from Marius and his other selves. What was the temporary loss of one Marius Vlastos, when there were yet several keeping the bad guys busy? Even so, he gathered the shadows about himself and cloaked his form before approaching the gate, assuming the others would be behind him.

[IamLEAM1983]

Magic tended to afford its users a bevy of ways to keep up with speedsters or teleporters. Some were more involved or less practical than others, and some were quite simple. Tom went for one of those, and simply waited for Marius to reach his point of arrival. That done, he primed a location-based portal spell he'd kept in the back of his mind, and simply sent himself and his allies within a few feet from Vlastos' view of the fortress.

Switching to a Veil that covered all the parties involved, the warthog opted to keep his voice low, as the forward keep's defenders mobilized. They could either slink in unseen or wait for the column's rear to be presented to them, at which point they'd be able to attack - thereby preventing them from leaving Hell for Hope. Glancing ahead, however, made it clear that Herbert and his allies had plans of their own: they'd seemingly selected prisoners, some of whom caught his eye. Being close enough to Aislinn, he settled with a simple jerking of his chin as a means to beckon her to look ahead. There was a pod of Squids and a demon that vaguely resembled a dragon - and the woman who was being aided in her joining them was nobody other than Riona herself!

Lucian similarly didn't bother with telepathy. His glancing back at the Infernal detachment that was walking past them was obvious; all that mattered was their giving the others time enough to escape with as many able fighters, survivors and refugees as possible - and ideally, with Riona being somewhere in tow.

"Do we push in," he quietly asked, "or do we keep the front occupied? I would rather we alleviated Centennial Park's efforts by any means necessary," he said, "starting with preventing this new detachment from reaching the front lines. We will have time enough to scout this outpost afterwards, especially if it assists Meris and her allies in their escape."

In the meantime, Herbert equally noticed the slight eddies in the air, resembling those of humidity rising off of the ground, that denoted a confident, if hurried application of a Veiling job. Putting two and two together, he affected not having noticed anything in particular out in front. "I say we walk back out from whence we came," he said, "with our spoils well in view for our enemies to see."

Penfield seem to have some sense of what Herbert was planning, a bit of steel entering his glance as he nodded. The other demons didn't notice, however, as he averted his glance just as quickly. "It will be as you say, master," he said, loud enough for a few soldiers to hear. "I renounce all claim to the Dead Gods and do swear fealty to the Seal of Gusion."

Herbert's emotional bloom of self-satisfaction wasn't faked in any way, and he rode onto it as efficiently as he knew how. "How charming," he said, affecting a conversational tone as he resecured his unused sword's belt attachment. "If only all Terrestrial wretches were so deferential..."

He jerked his chin at Neasa. "Gressil - take your pick from the litter and guard them well; we march for the front. Morguse, try and entice your new friends to cover us as we travel; we will rejoin the Goat's perch once our egress is complete. I have the traitorous barrister and the lesser Squids."

Glancing back towards the keeper, he spared the armor-plated senior Knight a desultory sniff. "Close and bar the doors behind us - you will have done your part for Pride. No further assistance will be necessary."

The group would quickly have a split-second subliminal flash, relayed to them by Penfield's assistants: their group and a few freed slaves, pinning the doors closed from the outside in while Tom, Aislinn, Lucian and Magnus tore the keep apart from within its walls. The same was then relayed to Marius and the others, enabling both groups to coordinate.

* * *

Jubal approached Crystal and her daughter. "Welp, we know Vienna's got the dragons in a tizzy and they're plannin' a deployment in as straight a beeline to Hope as they can, and we've even received their projected beach-heads. I'd show ya if we had a map around, but they've got a crescent-shaped punch-in point covering the West off of Centennial Park, thinkin' it might force Pride to work on two fronts, 'stead o' one."

President Jones walked past his detail and shook both Crystal and Archie's hands. "Great work, you two," he said, smiling tightly, "there's no telling how much this country owes you. We're already working on adapting our initial strategy for Walpurgis to Hope's own situation. If Centennial Park is seized, we'll need the local Infernalists' planned arcane bomb. We'll have to make them pay for every inch of soil if we otherwise fail."

The dragon's tight smile hadn't faltered. "That's a big if, for now. I'd much rather work off of the assumption that we're going to kick them to the curb, first - and with as low of an ecological footprint as possible. We've been able to keep what's left of the MIT's Arcane Theory division operational, and we think we have an in. We just need Celestial intercession to deploy it across the whole of our forces effectively."

The fresh-faced vampire general they'd seen earlier handed Dafyd a single bullet: a high-velocity rifle round, with a delicately machined pattern covering its jacket. It might've looked strictly pretty, but Zebediah quickly figured out its use, after mumbling a few excuses and fishing it out of the President's hand. Jones looked mildly displeased, but chose to let the lich work it out.

"I'd say... you're looking to banish demons as opposed to killing them," the skeleton then said. "This looks designed to cut off anyone shot with it from standard translocation bandwidths. Most Named demons could simply re-establish new summoning rituals and circumvent this, but for the average grunt simply walking through to here under the Goat's auspices? That'd be as effective as butting your head against a locked door."

The general nodded. "Thereby banishing the enemy's infinite numbers to the only infinite space where they belong. Any survivors could follow our means of legal traversal once law and order are restored, but it would at least limit any future portal-storms to a collection of small apertures: big enough to look through, too small to cross. The more we limit their traversing these apertures, the more we can control them - to the point where most could be nullified."

Jubal caught a certain subtext. "Ah, but you figure we won't go back to the way things were, before.
- At this point," hazarded the President, "I'd think God wants us to look through to Heaven and Hell. Crossing through to them while still alive might be more of a bureaucratic process, once we can control it, but looking into them could be more dissuasive or encouraging than any standard round of catechism. We'll have to make do with portal flare-ups for the foreseeable future, and most faiths, worldwide, are going to have to adjust themselves to the Hereafter's own terms."

* * *

Before anyone had a chance to reply, Nybbas relocated the group to the rooftop Lucifer had pointed out. There, the diminutive and vaguely caprine demon hovered off the floor and on his chest, arms crossed together out in front of him. Tail lightly swishing, he observed the battlefield as intently as he could.

"Good people will always need a reward," he reminded Nami a few seconds in, not breaking his glance from the distant, blasted greens and uprooted trees of Centennial Park's ruin. The scene was honestly insane for anyone to look at, with lurid portals pockmarking the park's expanse, Celestial influence coaxing the greens into insolently strong life just inches away from patches of dead and drying soil and trees that were still drenched in the Pit's bloodthirst. "By the same token, there's always gonna be some assholes in need of being put down, kiddo. It's not the cycle that needs changing, it's how we approach it."

He clicked his tongue. "Take me, take anyone who's worked with Meris or Solomon. Take any Classical-Era demon that's ever sat down with a philosopher or an alchemist, and I'll tell ya these types did earn their stripes. It might've gone against the idea of self-determination, sometimes, but our involving ourselves with you lot was usually out of genuine care and affection. Before I fell and before Solomon saved my sorry hide, you can bet your bottom dollar I spent a century or two as a Wyldfae, introducing Grecian shepherds in the finer points o' the manly virtues or showin' farmgirls to a good time they wouldn't earn outta' the local stablehands..."

He smiled ruefully while keeping his eyes on the park. "I love you lot, you know that? I know you just technically Ascended and all, but you're still Matriel's kid so mortality's just a few hours a way as far as you're concerned, Urakawa," he noted. "I love the way mortals feel, the way they engage with the world - and I especially love 'em when they're carefree. That, dear girl, includes knowing that assholes go where they're supposed to go. I know I'm subject to the same laws as anyone else while I'm here and so does Lucifer - all that matters is that conceited asshats like the Goat and Uriel come to realize it, too."

Allocer grunted in amusement. "If you're subject to the same laws, why do you keep risking a stint in the Bastille in the middle of the French Revolution, just to go back and sleep around with a few boarders' daughters?"

Meris' protocol officer grunted. "You wouldn't ask that if you'd slept with a Parisian native, especially one living just a few months short of the Revolution. Not that you would, Mister Straight Arrow - I have an easier time imagining you courting a provincial suzerain's daughter during the Hundred Years' War than doing anything that takes, you know, actual balls. It's a wonder you so much as Fell!"

Allocer grinned and scoffed back. "Now, who's the one spouting nonsense, huh?" he said, his jovial mood dissipating as he stepped forward to squint ahead. "Hm - the front lines are close, but it looks like the Legion, the Celestials and the others are holding their ground for now..."

He hesitated. "Wait - since when does Aislinn McConmara have sextuplet twin sisters?"

* * *

Enlil did just that, even if New York was relatively underwhelming. It wasn't much more than a hub of further doors covered in linoleum and capped off with an office-grade tile ceiling, something to the cable and wire work that ran along the walls suggesting that Vienna's Fae connections might have paid a contractor to "forget" a floor during some high-rise's construction or renovation. They'd briefly stepped into a space that existed on no known map or blueprint and had no windows to look out of - thereby making it difficult for the Big Apple's sparser invading force to find it. From there, two more spaces were jumped to; with one door leading them to a similar room in Providence, and another to a partially-collapsed storage facility. Once outside, they'd realize they'd appeared across the Hillard, the blacktop of the deserted and smashed-up Point Judith Road stretching out towards the Dirk Greene Bridge as well as the river. At first, their ingress looked fairly isolated, only for other pods of familiar faces they'd seen in Vienna to emerge out of various fixtures from just outside of town.

"If everything works according to plan," noted Enlil, "we'll have beach-heads across town and we'll be able to encircle the enemy. We'd be best to advance steadily, but not too quickly, either. We don't want Pride to have time enough to see us coming. Besides, the city's outskirts are going to be easier to scout out and defend."

[TennyoCeres84]

With the few already removed from the original fifty, Aspasia-as-Gressil carefully eyed the remaining prisoners and discerned their respective conditions. Given the quick flash of planning, Tom, Marius, Aislinn, and Lucian could take out the remaining demons and rescue those who might be able to fight with them, if freed from their bonds. As such, she knew that getting some of the weaker individuals out of way and to safety wouldn't be a bad idea, along with a couple stronger individuals.

She picked a robust Summer Fae, possibly a Knight, and an anthro mastiff for the heartier choices. A female cockatoo anthro who could still walk, but was a little worse for wear, joined their numbers. A scruffy human teenager, who reminded Aspasia of Miranda, and an older woman who seemed to be the teen's guardian, regardless of being related by blood were added to the selection. From her judgement of the other captives, they would likely be able to aid the waiting rescuers in their overthrow of the fortress.

She nodded to Gusion. "I think these wretches will be of good use, or at the very least, good sport in the future. We can venture forth to Pride's victory, milord," she noted, guiding the captives along by their bonds.

Much like the Pride demon who had helped Riona down from the palanquin, the fauness offered one of her arms for the banshee to grab onto as she was escorted out.

Meris-as-Morguse nodded affirmatively at her counterpart's choices. "I agree that we are ready to leave, Marquis. Lead us forth to our collective victory," she added.

Meanwhile, Aislinn received the provided course of action from the smaller Squids and hoped things went smoothly with defeating the keep's guards. She waited for Herbert and the others to pass through the gate, while they would slip in to ambush the enemy.

***

Crystal nodded approvingly to the President's statement. "Doing so would have the effect of equalizing their environments to our plain and have the concept that we should be approached as their peers sink into their minds, hopefully."

Andrea frowned with some frustration. "How do we use that to take the wind out of the Goat's sails so that he loses his authority with his underlings?" she asked. "If he doesn't have the support of them, he would lose the right to proclaim the right to consider himself as the head of Pride, right?"

Her mother's eyebrows rose slightly as she was impressed by the younger werewolf's deduction. "That's true. PR and leading ability is as important as battle prowess in this conflict, if not more so. If you can make the others doubt the Goat's capabilities, we might gain an edge."

***

"What?" Nami muttered at Allocer's strange question.

The pilot squinted at the front lines and noted the numerous Aislinns as well. She could also see several Toms, Mariuses, and Lucians either fighting alongside the Legion and the Celestial guard against Pride's vast numbers or rotating back to rest.

"This development must have something to do with Lucian Rothschild and the Architect. The abilities he gained as an Archmage must've allowed him to tap into alternate timelines and let other versions of Aislinn, Tom, Marius, and himself onto the main timeline to bolster our numbers. If they're here, then the originals must not be far off, even if I can't see them in the immediate."

She peered closer, straining a bit to see what was near the front lines. "There's portals opened up behind the Goat's forces and what looks like a keep in the Infernal wastes." Her eyes drifted away from that point to notice an illusion that resembled heated air wafting off the ground. "That's someone's Veilwork right there. I don't know whose handiwork that is, but it seems like they're going to try to take the fortress," she noted quietly.

***

Abdiel noted the appearance of their Viennese allies and surveyed the outlying terrain they had emerged onto and frowned thoughtfully. "So, how should our group proceed? We have access to the river, so I could create some heat against its surface to give us a foggy cover and allow us to advance around the outskirts."

[Karl the Mad]

Three old dudes and a wannabe archmage against an entire Hellish keep? Sign me up, Marius thought gleefully, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. In reply to the others he sent an image of himself, appearing from nowhere and tearing through the fortress. Literally, in fact, as he envisioned himself ripping the walls apart with his magic and his bare hands; fuck gates, right?

Why do things by half measures? was the basis of his point. They were here anyway, why not fuck things up as much as they could before it got too hot and they had to duck away? Marius and Lucian could attack the keep itself, while Tom and Aislinn went after the fresh troops leaving for the front lines, and satisfy everyone's needs all at once! Hopefully, anyway.

Just say when, he finished confidently.

[IamLEAM1983]

The hardest part, Herbert found, was in not glancing at the spot where their friends waited for their own moment to strike. With things proceeding as planned, it took him quite a bit of focus to avoid grinning from ear to ear and to keep his body language in check with the remaining Knights and keepers in the fortress. Having left on the heels of the last deployment, it was easy for their group to goose-step along for half a mile. Then, at the favor of the creeping dunes and rising winds, Herbert and the Squids gradually slowed down in order to avoid suspicion, letting their distance to the last detachment increase. All the while, Tom and Lucian kept up from the closest dunes, waiting for Meris and her friends to break away.

Soon enough, Wormsworth found a forking path in the reddish sand and, quietly, led the group away from the detachment that was still inbound for the portal. A few more minutes of carefully silent walking afford them the cover of a naturally-occurring bowl made up of four intersecting dunes, which was where the lawyer finally set a knee down and dispelled his crafted Veil with a long exhale. His features briefly fought between self-satisfaction, relief and amusement, but he quickly recomposed himself at the sight of the plain exhaustion the refugees showed.

"Rest, for now," he murmured to one of the anthros, "and try not to let the screams behind us disturb you. Our allies have the keep."

The cockatoo sat down on the dune and craned her neck along the wind. "What screams? I don't-"

She didn't get further, with a single earth-shattering demonic bellow sounding, before being swallowed by the roar of Hellfire, the crackle of electricity and the grinding of moving stones. The detachment was heard trying to pivot to face Tom and Aislinn, but it'd be obvious that something had rendered their approach difficult.

From Tom and Aislinn's perspective, stepping into view had the advantage of turning the flank-offering column into a shooting gallery. Being in Hell, conjuring up fire and Brimstone was child's play for the incubus, who had no trouble using each finger as an individual focus and pelting the group with ten sputtering plumes of flame, molten rock and ash. The Pit's air was already so ionized that Aislinn wouldn't have much trouble calling up lightning - it was just a matter of directing force toward the usually-spared metallic elements in the Pitspawn's armor designs. Lucian allowed for the stones and sand to swallow several Knights whole, when they didn't simply pin the others in place and forced them to face the warthog and selkie head-on.

No matter how resilient Infernal pig iron could be, it didn't stand a chance against the metaphorical steel of two Archmages accompanied by the Architect's living herald.

As for Marius, he'd find that Lucian's lasting Veil first afforded him the close cousin of his old curse. The bailey was rid of what had likely passed for an even more pompous prick than usual - Wormsworth's "Marquis Gusion" would've probably been disparaged in the mess hall and other gathering spaces, in the days to come - and that left the defenders a bit more oblivious than usual. That gave the vampire long, comfortable seconds to assess his surroundings and to determine his angle of approach. The unselected prisoners were still being led back to their cells, confusion and resentment marking the features of those who hadn't caught onto all of this being a ruse guaranteeing their later freedom. Pride's martial structure was otherwise unremarkable, safe perhaps for the fact that with Wormsworth gone, the keeper was busy restoring his own Ego's prominence with barked orders, hand resting on his sword's pommel.

Vlastos could obviously stick to being swift and wraithlike, as per usual, decimating the keep walls and the watchtowers faster than the Fiends could've hoped to react - but he could also tug on that obvious thread that the local populace's inflated sense of self-worth offered. A good old-fashioned duel call or requested standoff would lower their defenses and might allow him to start with a high-value target, instead of ending with one.

After all, the footmen were arrogant enough to call themselves knights - and it took either months of personal sacrifice or a short exposure to the Architect's faded glory for pig iron to turn to chrome and vanity to turn to workable self-respect. Nobody here was exactly of the feudal type, and they'd be arrogant enough to look at him and assume him to be a reasonably approachable target.

Finding the Keeper's Name, however, to issue such a challenge, would take a bit of the old head-scrambling...

* * *

Strangely, Jones didn't look too worried. If anything, he shared a smirk. "Intel shows that Hope has a few figureheads in that particular respect," he said. "It won't happen overnight, but I'm confident that you'll find the exact positive example for Pride to follow. The reports of anomalous Pitspawn detachments fighting with some of mister Whitney's peers are already telling. There's a way to open their eyes, and it might be as simple as being true to ourselves."

The President had finished that distant vibrations could be heard and felt increasing, almost like the T-Rex's ponderous approach in Jurassic Park, and rose enough for the shock absorbers in Nergal's van to creak. A few onlookers gasped, perhaps expecting the worst - only to be met by the sight of a skyscraper-sized sophisticate cousin to Disney's Bing-Bong carefully negotiating his way down the street, eyes kept on the floor to avoid crushing cars. Zeke looked up once he reached the last block away from the hotel.

"I thought I'd regroup with the others, now that the soldiers and supernaturals have moved on to mopping up stragglers," he said, then scoffing lightly, moving forward as he shrank down and eventually climbed up the kerb at a reasonably mundane six feet three inches. "Speaking of mopping up, Matriel should rain down or swoop around here shortly."

Nergal closed his van's door as he left it. "Did any airborne Fiends peck you, mister Lyman?"

Zeke shrugged and pouted, raising his hands towards his own throat. As he did, his smoking jacket and pajamas turned oddly furry in texture, only for the sudden bristles of pinkish hair to retreat just as quickly as they'd appeared, exposing a more considerate pinstriped three-piece. The fez, in the meantime, had morphed to a fedora.

"A few did," diffidently noted the Hog, "but I repaid their kindness. I wasn't about to let my gifts be misused by Envy's mindless hordes, after all. The last thing North America needs is a pod of supercharged demonic seagulls turning the back dumpster of every fast food joint from here to Yellowknife into a Roman orgy - especially if it would've led to Envy developing more pointed appetites."

Dafyd's general arched a golden eyebrow. "And you're the devil we know because...?
- Because I'm a Glutton with acquired tastes, Madam General. Nearly losing it all after fancying myself a double agent and being saved by the last persons I expected to come to my aid puts things into perspective. 
- And why should we let you return to Hope, considering?"

Lyman pouted lightly. "Because I'm the only one you'll find with a quite literal appetite for justice. I'll dine on Hell's beach-heads for as long as you'll need me to."

* * *

Allocer's reaction was instantaneous. "We should help," he said, shifting his gaze down to the partially-collpased terraces below and beginning his descent down to street-level without having consulted the others - which obviously peeved Lucifer.

"Right, let's just go on and push through a good sixteen columns of zealous Infernal simps on our lonesome, why don't we?! Let's get trampled in the mud, it'll be a fucking hoot!"

Amazo and Haraldson followed behind. "I thought you'd spent the last several millennia being an intergalactic fencer of sorts," said the Draugr. "You'd figure you'd love stuff like this!
- I fenced goods for information," corrected Lucifer. "Blame John Milton for painting me as a fucking sybarite prince swooning by his lonesome in some dank cave, I'm not a fighter - or at least, not on that magnitude," he explained, pausing to gesture at the horde. "Facing Gabriel or Uriel in single combat is one thing, keeping a few million demonic asshats off my case is another. You don't work on hacking Creation itself by figuring out how to be some hot shit with a a sword or a gun."

A few more hops sent the group to the ground, Nybbas floating down with his hands tied behind his head, as blithely casual as you please. "So how'd you beat Uriel the last time he tried to damn Lilith on his own terms?"

Lucifer grunted. "He's always been all Form; I just feel my way through fights. I just manoeuvered him to where there was a chink in his armor I could exploit. On the scale of an entire army, though, that doesn't work quite as well. I'd have a prayer if they all single-filed for me, but there's no way I can command this much authority - even knowing who I am."

Allocer nodded. "I've seen enough to know you're good at painting a target on yourself, however. Misdirection's always been your forte. How do we use that?"

Silence fell for a while as the Lightbringer made his way towards Centennial Park. As they got closer and spotted one of the Legion's banners, however, he raised a hand and pointed.

"Let's find one of these guys, they might be able to help me flex it up enough so you get to find chinks in their armor."

* * *

"Please do," was Enlil's only reply, who'd raised his rifle to sight for potential sniper points. The enclave might have lost its administrator and City Hall might've been in Heaven's territory as of recently, but some possessed and demonic captains in the force obviously still felt the need to keep the Goat's local holdings secure. They approached the bridge, Melmoth soon raising a hand in front of Abdiel and the vampire. The same shadowy Fiends that had made life difficult for Neasa and Herbert a day ago were imperceptible to mortal eyes, but a fellow demon's own eyesight could track them effortlessly. Mel remained silent for a few moments longer, perhaps taking some time to gauge these gatekeepers' tendencies, and then took a few steps forward.

"Hey, fellas," he then started, "how's it hangin'?"

He might as well have shouted in challenge, judging by the way shadows leapt and oily tendrils snaked forward, coalescing into a large mass that blocked off the bridge entirely. You didn't need much to understand this was more of a symbolic gesture; Abdiel could've easily air-lifted them all across the river.

"The Broker," hissed a chorus of sibilant voices. "The long-suffering traitor, the maimed ewe in wolf"s fur. The weaknesses of Greed, tossed aside. A torn-off tumor on Mammon's hide..."

The whispers and hisses grew in intensity, then followed by several dozen unblinking eyes opening in the roiling, almost protoplasmic darkness. "You cannot pass." they said, in apparently rare unison.

Othstein clicked his tongue. "Yeah, I get it - I've really been behind on my Evil cred, lately," he said, nodding as if this were perfectly understandable. "Dealing with angels, protectin' mortals and lesser Fiends from other principalities, consorting with Solomon and Meris' shared retinue... I'd be pissed-off too, if I didn't have a sense of Self. I've seen you guys Downstairs before, I think. You're some of Envy's ground-based troops. Herd Mentality made manifest."

That, strangely, resulted in silence. The myriad eyes simply kept observing them, blinking every now and then. Seeing this, Melmoth kept fishing for a reaction.

"You're also the same types who told Herbie Wormsworth he'd have a part to play in Pride's future, aren't you? Makes ya wonder if the Squids' whole White Brotherhood schtick wasn't preceded by some other snoops hiding in with us Pitspawn..."

There was a wordless whisper, following by more conjoined voices. "You are Greed's loophole. We are Envy's. We want what shall be yours - and peace shall be yours. We consume, we are craven and desperate - as our station demands. We stand as the needs of the uncared-for, the unloved, the abused and battered. We are the hatred that grows in those who do not know peace. If we are of the Herd, we are of the Deserving Herd."

Enlil blinked and put two and two together. "You're protecting us. You're trying to shield us from battle. 
- Then why not shoot down Abyzou and the other cronies when you had the chance? Was monologuing at Herbert that important?"

A long pause of consideration. "Peace comes with requirements. Some requirements involve bloodshed. The sinful must sin, for crimes to be laid at the High Table. The seeds of reform must be planted."

Melmoth nodded. "True enough, except nobody here can help you unless you let us pass. I can't cut a deal with an ally, but I can promise you I'll cut a deal with someone from the other camp - re-up my Evil Cred by one or two pegs, even if it means the right persons suffer from it. Even with all of us, the resistance won't get far unless the Goat's operations are disrupted close to the root."

Another pause. "Yes. Wrath circlets impede all, however. You will never reach his seat of command; Valefor's will cannot be allowed to close upon her forehead."

Mel didn't need a doctorate to figure out they were speaking of Abdiel. The look he gave her was uncertain, a mixture of trust in her capabilities and of worry in the face of the prospect of Wrath coveting her powers. Then, a shy smile birthed on his pug-like mein, going from tentative to darkly confident in a few seconds.

"So I cut another deal, first. I think it's time Pride learned about draft deferrments - and that Othstein and Associates did a little more than putz around with the arcane stock exchange... I don't need to convince whichever vassal he's got riding shotgun, not when I can convince his billion or so armor-clad simps."

[TennyoCeres84]

Since they were taking a rest, Aspasia checked on the refugees to check their well-being and to offer them water if they needed it from a canteen on her person. Meris eyed Wormsworth and asked, "The detachment that went ahead of us will eventually notice that we're not behind them. After resting, how do we get these people through the portal? The activity there will probably be heightened, with the conflict already occurring and the taking of the fortress reaching their ears."

Feeling less wary now that their friends had escaped, the selkie felt her confidence rise as they slipped toward the keep. The provided advantage was a sheer stroke of luck, she thought, due to Herbert's diverting away from the departing platoon.

Aislinn used the highly ionized air to create powerful arcs of lightning and directed them at the provided targets within the shooting gallery. She danced in a series of spins as she sent the bolts at confused Pride soldiers and seared their armor with immense pressure. The demons were met with intense heat and painful blessing from the young Archmage's strikes.

***

Indeed, Matriel descended in his elemental form, only to shift to one of flesh and bone upon reaching the ground. "He's correct in that assertion. He defeated Beelzebub in the Infernal Plane and joined us in our attack on the forces here. I think that should speak for something, Madam General," he opined.

"I'm certain such treachery would rankle the Goat's tainted posterior to no end," he added with a ghost of a smirk.

***

Nami followed after Lucifer and the others and frowned thoughtfully as she wondered how they might turn the situation to their favor, all the while keeping her guard up.

***

At first, the Throne pouted with frustration at the risk her presence presented. "I'm not Hesediel, with his ability to be the most unflappable of all the Thrones. However, if I could refocus my intent toward something unlike Wrath, I might avoid those circlets. Though, if we were able to spook their numbers, they could lose advantages they have and let us reach the Goat."

However, Abdiel's brows then knit together in curiosity as she saw the change in Melmoth's expression. She inquired, "Why do I have a feeling this deal involves me somehow? Are you planning to draft me into deceiving Pride in some way?"

[Karl the Mad]

Time to go to work. Wrapping the remains of Lucian's Veil about himself like a shadowy cloak, Marius easily scaled the ramparts of the keep and surveyed the interior. Goons bustling here and there, prisoners being led back inside... oh ho! One goon in particular, fancier than the rest, throwing his weight around and trying to reassert himself in Herbert's absence. He knew he could simply walk up and throw the gauntlet down, but it would be more effective by far if he knew the fellow's Name. And, guarded though a demon's Name was, that goon wasn't one of the higher-ranked ones so it wouldn't be that much of a secret.

Why, he thought it quite likely one of those scurrying attendants would have exactly the knowledge he needed...

Course decided, Marius leaped down to the ground and ducked behind a stack of boxes, waiting for his target to approach. One came, a ratlike demon with spectacles, clutching a clipboard and making furious notes; Marius reached out from the shadows, dragged him back, whispered vile words in the Black Speech into his ear as he reached into his mind. In seconds the lowly demon was a figurative vegetable, and Marius had what he needed.

Quickly he finished the demon off, tearing his throat out and leaving him to die, and scaled back to the top and down the other side. More whispered words found weaknesses in the walls, widened them, and with a grunt he hauled back and punched a large hole clear through! "GRISHNAKHAL! Answer my demands and face me in single combat, or run away in shame and cowardice for the rest of eternity!" he shouted, striding through the rubble as he brushed all veils away and stood openly in challenge to the Keeper's authority.

[IamLEAM1983]

Not all demons responded to open challenges equally. Ask Tom or any other somewhat entreprising Infernalist with a handle on a few low and mid-tier entities, and you might've learned of the Pit's surprisingly wide palette of characters. Lust demons, such as Tom's own incubi and succubi comrades, tended to ignore challenges with an almost feline level of detachment, responding only if said challenge involved dispensing unheard-of levels of carnal pleasure. Gluttony had generally no real need for posturing, while Envy and Greed practively thrived in them. In little surprise to anyone, challenging Sloth usually earned you yawns or a prolonged chorus of snores. Only Nergal's own province honestly took to challenges with the kind of sadism and immediacy you would've expected of a Pitspawn. After all, calling out someone else served as an expression of displeasure - if not of an incipient form of Wrath...

Pride, however? A challenge didn't register as the simple need to out-match or out-wit an opponent; it struck them in a way the Fae likely considered familiar. If Oaths pulled at the will of those under them, challenges verbalized so openly, so brazenly, were a rare gift in the Goat's province. With everyone having an inflated Ego to nurse, it explained why pussyfooting and passive-aggressive contempt were joined with their furthermost opposites, or why Herbert's false Marquis had gone from airs of regal boredom to letting Aspasia gut a footman for a mere social faux pas.

Marius' words sounded like a dinner bell all of the bailey's attendance heard, those on the gates' other side hearing the keep's clamor die down unnaturally quickly. All eyes turned on the vampire, with every aide-de-camp, footman in transit or auxiliary worker stopping their work. All those who could stepped forward, looking like they expected something of particular interest to take place. Relish hung palpably in the air as Grishnakhal took his time to first assess the assembling crowd, hand casually kept on his sword's pommel, and turned a half-circuit of the created circular throng into his slowly turning towards Marius.

"How convenient," he said, not a single trace of irony touching his words, "a shifty lordling and his retinue leave my keep that a Son of the Dragon serendipitously calls for me..."

He slowly stepped forward, eyes assessing Vlastos. "An old and venerable one, too - one who should've left gilded marks in History's pages, whose name should have been spoken in envy, awaited on by a dozen Name-holding Fiends across the realm, all hoping for a summons, for the slightest chance at touching the hem of your glory - all in vain. Only the Vices and Lucifer himself could have held enough power to pierce your endless Veil - and you've already met the Goat. Now the Veil drops, and Marius Vlastos is here for all of us to witness. Only now, after over two thousand years of silence, is your name spoken in our respective worlds' histories."

He smiled, almost softly, with perhaps a hint of cruelty. "One of the elders, here before us. A few thousand years, in a place such as this one..."

Grish lifted a hand, reddish crackles of lightning dancing between his fingers and palm. "Pride demands we fight as equals - and I will not stoop down to your parlor tricks. My old bones against yours, vampire. I aim to curse you for the duration of this bout, and no further. On my word, my men will not stop you, should you live. The moment you shall part their barrier, your gifts shall be restored. You will lose your speed, your rending words as well as Lilith and Lucifer's respective gifts; and be placed at my capable hands. You were strong and hearty still even as undeath took you - a few minutes of merely mortal cunning won't kill you."

That smile, again. "I won't roast you or exert myself," he explained, slightly raising his voice for the others to hear. "I am of Paimon and Allocer's rank - I have my honor. You undoubtedly have yours."

A slight pause. "Do you accept these terms?"

* * *

Herbert exchanged a glance between Aspasia, the portal and the keep. If Marius had already torn the place apart, it would've been an easy fix: have Aislinn relay his intentions telepathically, with the vampire eventually using the keep's anchor stone to turn the single large portal into a wider spread of smaller portals, enough for a swarm of people to duck through. As things stood, however, McConmara and Magnus kept the detachment's rear busy, while those at the front bickered together as to whether or not they should assume their new position as the rear and defend their comrades. They could either wait for this protracted and turtling group to fragment and disperse, or they could find something heavier to pelt them with...

Indecision ate at him for a while, until he caught a bit of Tom's constant haranguing of the soldiers, constantly flexing his own Ego as a source of additional power in what had to be the most boilerplate depiction of your usual Warlock modus operandi. A long second passed as something birthed in a corner of his mind, and his deceitful smirk from earlier returned.

Turning back to Meris, he grabbed her by the shoulders, an almost manic look glinting in his eyes. "I'll need a refresher on the specifics of humility some other time, but right now?  Right now, Meris, I need you and Cacus to sing my glory, as boisterously as you please! Sing me a song as if I were a Prince, Milady Cantor!"

Cacus quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's wise, lad? I'm more of a by-the-bleachers cheerer, whistle and foot stamps and all - you know this, already.
- Just follow along," replied the lawyer with a hint of irritation, "I don't think anyone here particularly minds if you can't quite carry a tune, at present!"

Out by the gate, the Void Weavers who'd taken to using their gifts to pre-emptively brace the doors chanced a few looks over their shoulders. "We certainly don't!" opined one of them.

* * *

Bob sniffed. "There's that, plus me - and Ahriman through me. As much as you're wantin' to go all Department of Homeland Security on us, ma'am, you've got two of the highest-ranking Socratic demons in the buisness vouching for him."

He sucked one of his cheeks, making a bit of an indecisive squeaking noise, and fingered Doomsayer's holster at the same time. "Not that I'd tell him but, if all else fails..."

Zeke eyed Bob as though the innuendo hadn't so much as offended him. "I can understand the need for cautiousness, but Angel Time means I could take anyone here right back to the exact moment that saw the last remnant of my Bilateralist illusions crumble. Gluttony is rarely made to confront loneliness and vulnerability, but I know exactly where mine began."

The pink demon's expression slightly soured. "After a while, hunger becomes irrelevant. More poignant perils take precedence. I couldn't betray you, not when all that I hold dear still hangs in the balance.
- Cheap anxiolytics and dessert cards in five-star restaurants?" snarked Nergal.

Lyman shrugged. "In moderation. Before the Goat's offered leeway let me lose myself, honestly, I used to be a bit of an art aficionado. I loved Hope's gallery scene, even if it so rarely deserved its mention in the local tourist circuit. Did you know Anastasius Romanov's open gallery used to house a genuine Mark Rothko triptych, for instance? I only hope the security detail had enough of an advance warning to crate the more valuable pieces..."

* * *

Judging by Allocer's expression, he wondered the same thing. Approaching Centennial Park wasn't too difficult from the Celestial half, but their trek took them to Crenshaw Avenue, right across from the park - where the flowing, uneven midpoint between both forces tapered off.  For now, Hell had control over this side of the park, even if the group's efforts in and near the keep, past the portal, were beginning to bear fruit. They might've looked strained, but the mass of scales, horns and bloodshot eyes still turned to Lucifer and Allocer like distant magnets responding to an innate force, tension rising.

The Lightbringer had kept his power under check until now, only using his higher-level access to Creation for Nami's benefit. He'd been content to let others take the lead, but now had no choice but to take center stage. Take it he did, by stepping forward and tapping his trident on the ground precisely once - and once only. The instrument and weapon responded with an odd, rippling wave of bluish-green energy, joints between some of its plates glowing with a cold incandescence - as though the aliens that had fashioned it had had a thing for LED lights. Pushing power in his voice, he spoke plainly.

"I'm back," he said.

As had been the case in the nightclub, tension rose further for just an instant, then followed by an explosion of mad glee that wouldn't have been out of place in a Beatles or Rolling Stones concert, circa the 1960s. They rushed Nami's group, hands thrust out to touch the one to whom they owed their existence, Lucifer looking a little less jazzed about it than he'd previously been at the nightclub. He couldn't possibly hope to get a word in edge-wise, instead settling with raising his hands slowly, demanding patience. Once the clamor died down, he cleared his throat.

"I've got one question for you: look back across the park and find the Goat's perch. Do you see me with him?"

The more credulous ones actually turned back and scoped out the Goat's co-opted rooftop. Indeed, Lucifer wasn't there to be found. "You don't," he confirmed, "because I'm here with you. What does that tell you?"

A few answers popped up, some smart and others rather impressive in how off-kilter they were. The smart ones had the gist of it, but refused to consider the obvious truth behind Lucifer's return. The dumb ones thought it was some part of a massive ploy to bring the mortals down from within.

"I wouldn't have stopped my search if it hadn't been important," he explained, "and it is. A thousand thousand summons each day, all of them frivolous, for thousands of years - and only one brought me back here. It didn't come from one of Pride's Judicators. It didn't come from Cacus or Bune. It didn't come from anyone out of all the Vices in Creation. Do you know who brought me forth?"

They hung to his lips, denial obvious in many eyes, horror in others. "A mortal did. A young Warlock; a selkie. She found help, laced her call with structures provided by the Architect's servants, to help carry it across space. I came here for the same reason the Goat sent you here - to save Creation. I'm sorry, but we won't save this realm in assimilating it. If we claim Earth for Pride, if this planet becomes the staging ground for a spreading annexation of this Universe, we'll corrupt what makes us what we are and in the end, we won't be distinguishable from the Goat's arcane money-lenders! Don't kid yourselves; he doesn't have enough faith in your capabilities to trust you on the battlefield, and throws Eldritch horrors at beings you mistakenly despise!"

A few faces turned away, left the throng to rejoin the battle, while others remained transfixed. "Even as I speak, some of your brothers and sisters are being shown the Architect's glories! I can't do what Lucian Rothchild was blessed with, and I can't show you the potential of what lies ahead. What I can do is remind you why we Fell, and what we are made to aspire to! I didn't barter with God for a piece of Her own matter for the sake of having you wallow in your Vices, I bartered with Her to have you master your failings. If you're of Pride, then you should be counseling the prideful and opening their hearts. If you're of Wrath, you should learn out of your centuries of anger how to rise above it, and how to impart clarity to those in need! I didn't form the Vices to destroy, I instigated them to help the mortals learn, and to ultimately protect them from themselves. Some of us remember what it was like to be at God's side, and some of us know how far those of us with power can fall! They might not look it, but these people you've besieged have power of their own - power to rival us!"

He pointed with his trident. "None of you paid attention, when I first left. None of you listened. None of you dared to correct those who'd crowned themselves Princes, and those who tried were silenced. It's up to you chucklefucks - who's gonna break that mold, and who's gonna wake up sore in the morning? I don't have a name for those of you who'd fall in line, I don't have time to anoint you with titles and dignities."

He paused. "No lights, no pyrotechnics, no flash. If you're with me, you'll pick up your sword and gut the rear guard ahead, no questions asked. We'll figure out the Names and titles and such once the dust settles - if it ever does. It'll confuse your allies too - they'll need a while to recognize you."

One of the Fiends stepped forward, an almost Uruk-Hai-like mound of muscle with tiny and beady eyes, still clad in the footmen's less indentifiable blackened plate mail. "How do we stop the mortals from sending us back, then?"

Lucifer shrugged. "Make it obvious. Surge in from the sides once you're done with the rear, fold in so you're just ahead of the Legion - keep your backs turned to them. The allies are liable to panic and take pot shots at you for a while - it's the price we all pay for not allying earlier. Once they realize you aren't fighting back and are holding the line, it'll make sense to them."

The Fiend nodded. "Where will you be?"

That one left Lucifer sighing. "Where I should've probably been, if it weren't for Akoman's bullshit. By the Goat's side, trying to rein him in - or to fuck up his mortal coil du jour, whatever works best."

* * *

Melmoth chuckled. "Kinda, yeah. You get all nice and scary, and I spin something so the rubes figure I've got a juicier catch lined up for them than just this city. Something that ideally gets them out of this plane of existence willingly, with just enough truth to it for it to stick..."

He clicked his tongue. "Somethin' like Mammon's hoard being guarded more lightly than usual, so that a bunch of greedy idiots with a yen for extra clout realize that power doesn't mean crap if you don't have a Name to go with it..."