Chapter VI - Asunder

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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Bob grunted. "He's been buttered up once, he'll recognize Lowell. Most Damned only need one familiar face to set them off; anything that reminds him of Hope could make old strategies useless. I've always preferred to deal with the dead as they are now. Quint might hate the idea of being stuck supervising ignorant demonic apatrides while they work on shitters, but he's like any other Infernalist. He'll recognize leverage when it's offered.
- You're suggesting we should barter with him?" asked Archie.

Nergal didn't seem surprised. "I know enough to know he always desired power and recognition. As lowly as he may now be, he does have access to a sliver of what he sought. His ego might be more malleable than you left it, moments before dispatching him," he told Crystal.

Squeaky was understandably confused by all this. "Did you do something to him in the past?
- More like he did something to her town," replied Bob, once again looking at Crystal. "You'll see, if he recognizes her."

Not looking particularly relieved, the supervisor stood up  and glanced outside. "Then, let's go. The workers are due for a lunch break, we can't stay here forever."

They slipped out, Squeaky taking the group away from the hissing and clattering assembly in the Frameworks plant and down to a sterile tunnel, lined with pipes and gated-off electric panels A number of alcoves and cubbyholes opened at regular intervals, where everything from storage cabinets to individual offices for certain janitors waited. For long minutes, there'd be nothing except the hiss of the pipes and the constant humming and buzzing of the halogen lights, overhead.

Then, as they reached a magnetically-locked gate that cut off the rest of the corridor, they'd hear something odd coming from a locked office, to the side. Squeaky glanced at the door, tensed up, and relaxed only at the sight of the window's closed blinds. The nameplate on the door only read Section Manager, while the music that weakly reached them contained the familiar tones of a hand-held drum, either a bodhran or its Native American equivalent. Meris and Aislinn weren't around, however, so recognition mostly fell on the Fiends in the group and their Celestial ally.

"That's Faroese," whispered Ereshkigal. "Why would the reconstituted soul of a warlock bother with Icelandic folk tales?"

Eustace crept in a bit closer, perhaps expecting something along the lines of Eivor Palsdottir's version of Trollabundin. The lyrics and cadence seemed to fit, but the singer was male and possessed of a kind of burr that didn't exactly go with modern Icelandic. His perplexed look made Bob grunt. 

"It's probably an import from Pandemonium. Seeing as plenty of old souls there get access to modern hardware, there isn't anything surprising about an old skald getting his hands on a small recording studio and getting vinyls pressed. We've got all the resources we would ever need, including a few refineries and factories."

Squeaky, in the meantime, was wrestling against the keycard reader and its requested code. Having switched back to his local demonic dialect, he pestered against the keypad's installer. He nearly jumped out of his skin, however, once a second voice layered itself onto the singer's. It would definitely be familiar to a few in the group, the voice of someone who'd screamed too much, seethed too much and gnashed their teeth too much for their own good, here clumsily attempting to absent-mindedly hum along.

Trøllabundin eri eg eri eg
Galdramaður festi meg festi meg
Trøllabundin djúpt í míni sál í míni sál
Í hjartanum logar brennandi bál brennandi bál...

The door opened, and they'd have a few seconds to take him in. It used to be that others commented on Tom Magnus in saying that he looked like Thomas Quint, but seeing the reborn laughingstock of her city might strike Crystal as the sign that things had come full circle. Hope's local jaundiced warthog wasn't a cause for mockery anymore. If anything, Quint was now the one who looked like Magnus, if Aislinn's beau hadn't been as careful with his own grooming. Tom had done what he'd could to keep the body's weight under control, but he'd never been able to completely subsume its years of neglect. Rolling with the punches, the incubus had added basic dignity to excess weight, using self-control and haberdashery to turn the marks of a slovenly lifestyle into those of apparent professionalism.

Quint's scars were a new addition, along with a good thirty extra pounds. He looked like an anthro version of Frankenstein's monster, scar tissue forming a webwork across his face, arms and probable chest, with his eyes not quite at a level with each other and his projected maw looking like it had been set at a bit of a slanted angle. He wasn't quite as yellowed-out as before, and you could've mistakenly assumed he was a bit saner than before. His white shirt was a bit too snug, however, his belt and brown slacks cut at his midsection, and while someone had tried to comb what little remained of his hair atop his head, it didn't exactly look clean. Sweat stains waited at his armpits and an unusual muskiness wafted from him. 

Crystal's werewolf half might have a bit of a problem parsing his scent, as he didn't quite smell threatening or worthy of scorn - or at least, not in the same way he'd used to. To Bob, however, he smelled like an elevated bottom-feeder; a Damned soul elevated past its feral status and graced with returning intelligence, but very little else.

Quint had first made as if to turn away from them, keys jangling at his waist, and then stopped mid-hum, sniffing once or twice.

"Squeaky, is that you?" he asked, one of his involuntary snorts following in his question's wake. "Mechanics already received your shipment, I won't be authorized to-"

He stopped as he stared at the group, his loosened-up black tie following his paunch's curve. He blinked at the group, crimson sclera parsing them with confusion. Then came a noisy sniff, setting a frown of suspicion on his features. "Leading provincials on a guided tour, are we?"

The supervisor looked terrified. "Y-Yes, sir. I didn't catch their Vices of origin, but they'd made an order with Belial and since we're behind schedule..."

Bob, Nergal and Erin tried to step forward of Crystal, Archie and Eustace, to cover their decidedly non-supernatural scents. The gesture made Quint grin, something that made Nergal's wife imperceptibly tense up. 

"This one's old Wrath," he said, lightly poking Nergal in his chest. "Not the pushy type, unlike Valefor... Exactly the type to want to come take a gander down here. Mature anger, eh? Thousands of years old, cold and professional... The boss likes 'em more lively, less reasonable.
- I can warm up," replied Nergal, his tone falsely conversational. "When there's a need for it. Now isn't such a time."

Quint nodded, also going for a falsely casual attitude. "Alright, sir, alright... Let's just take a gander at the other ones, hm?" he said, lightly pushing Nergal aside. Pandemonium's weaponsmith tried to give as little as an inch away, but it was still enough for the warthog's nostrils to flare. 

"You're different," he said, looming close to Crystal. "Different - and familiar... Those smells - righteousness and a soppy mutt's fur - I know them..."

Archie opted to use the relative newness of his body and the new scents it carried to cover for his lover. He placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to look as glacial as possible. "I'm sure you do, sir," he said. "We've all stories of our own, various means of expressing our loathing of Belial's enemies and our need for armaments. Look at me, then. Tell me from which port I hail."

Quint snorted. "Steel and chrome and silicon wrapped up in morning wear from a bygone era... A newer strain of Pride, I'd say. Less fleshly, then. Finally suited for battle.
- Remind me again, who is financing the brunt of your recent orders?
- Your fatuous and self-absorbed liege-lord, of course," spat Quint. "The Black Goat.
am here on his express orders, dog, and you will not deter us."

Quint's eyes narrowed, a growl quietly bubbling in his throat. Archie held his gaze. Finally, Quint relented. "Fine. Someone else is going to lead you to Corporate, anyway. We'd be singing a different tune if my powers and memories weren't being held ransom by my gracious employer..."

Archie clicked his cane on the ground. "A shame, I'm sure. Unfortunately for you, sir, no-one here cares. Now - may we?"

* * *

Tom grunted. "Nobody knows exactly what would happen if a Nexus was set off. My own research suggests that obliterating even a single one of the local ley lines would diminish mine and Aislinn's capabilities. I've also seen enough to know that smaller, artificial Nexuses tend to explode when dispelled. Normal procedure involves siphoning the excess via so the blast doesn't register as such, but what's under our feet isn't just a handy recharge station for hybrid doodads; it's one of the bigger points of focus for the Eastern seaboard's arcane energies."

He sighed and gestured at Dickens. "Most of the Freaks would enter a dormant state. Your bodies might survive a few decades, but undead don't fare well in environments completely voided of mana. Biologically active ones would have an easier time of it, but those with mutagenic elements like the Ordo Dracul would lose the ability to control their nocturnal transformation. We're looking at organ failure, tumors - possibly death. On the long term, the corporeal demons would suffer from it just as well as everyone else. The immediate detonation might make us think we're looking at a large arcane windfall and it might even trigger mutations in a few latent mundanes, but via has a short half-life. We'd be looking at mere weeks of an added boost, followed by a sudden drop into nil activity."

Claudia nodded. "No more local Gates, no more local magic, no more local superpowers. So much of our tech is hybrid, nowadays - we'd fall back fifty or sixty years, in terms of technological progress. No more local extrasolar space travel. The only Fae we'd have access to would be those who would've been in our plane at the time of collapse, and they'd eventually turn mundane if they didn't quickly move towards another Nexus. The invading force could make it difficult. Depending on how old they'd be, it could be catastrophic.
- And if Yggdrasil is real," asked Dickens, "What happens if it falls?"

Tom sighed. "Nobody's sure. My working theory is that Earth goes the way of Mars. The magnetosphere collapses, plants die, the ozone layer dissipates - we all get cooked by unfiltered radiation. Everything metallic oxidizes within minutes, thanks to the absence of oxygen. All that rust falls apart, the solar winds replace our lack of atmospheric pressure, and the average Terrestrial temperature starts to oscillate somewhere between five and thirty-two Fahrenheit. The Earth effectively dies, and keeps dying for hundreds of millions of years longer. Past that, the Hereafter's Celestial mandate is obviously refocused. God turns Their gaze onto some other sapient civilization that hasn't felt the Pit's pressure yet, and tries to learn from our failures."

Grave silence fell. "What are our options?" asked Claudia.

For a few moments, Tom observed the muck Sophia stood in as if it contained the answers he sought. Then, shyly, he smiled. "Vlastos," he said, "you son of a gun..."

Claudia blinked. "I'm sorry, what? How is Marius Vlastos almost destroying the world and then dropping off the face of the Earth a good thing?
- He left us an arcane battery," replied Tom, then looking at Sophia. "If you could extend the Tree's roots past Crenshaw and Pike, you could reach the concrete slab for the HPD's Arcane Containment facilities. The charging plates for the via bomb Vlastos wanted to set off could be re-purposed. There's probably still a trickle charge in them, but you could also dump reserves back into them, for future use. It would weaken the Tree's via output, but it would also make sure that nobody could use it against us."

He licked his lips. "Eirean's going to want a budding of you, and you could dump your memories in with the power reserves. You could assemble an insurance policy we could switch to, to buy ourselves a few weeks. If the Nexus is set off, then we could turn an immediate collapse into a slow downwards curve - long enough for our allies to form up and counterattack."

* * *

The Malk butler grimaced lightly in annoyance. "I'd much rather we discussed with you wearing your true forms. While seeing you as Grimalkin is flattering, I haven't maintained my kind's purported superiority in years."

Lavinia nodded. Her form then blurred, growing distinct again once she stood as a reasonably tall woman of indeterminate age, with elfin ears and a fashionable haircut. Strangely, with she being the source of Gubbin's roots in Darkest Winter, she'd appeared while donning reasonably modern clothes that could've worked on any bustling sixtysomething with a reasonably active lifestyle. She decidedly didn't share her husband and son's attachment to all things Victorian. The only remnant of her feline roots was her eyes, slits staring out at the world, set in fine features.

Delicate silver bracelets jangled as she brushed a bang away. She and Gubbin then began to walk among the group, bending down to touch the back of each surrogate Malk. The same seamless transition from earlier played out in reverse, and they all stood in their own bodies as if they'd never left them. Gubbin's hand notably lingered on Three's shoulder, as the human blinked for a few seconds.

"I'm okay," he then said, picking an ottoman from the living room to sit down, "it's just that feeling all that extra self-confidence peter out is kinda weird.
- It's alright," reassured Gubbin. "Besides, I'd grown attached to your inquisitiveness, mister Drake. Seeing it tempered by my kind's wits was disconcerting."

He paused and glanced at the ciphers of Meris' court, at Nodin, McLusky and Woodford. "You've brought in strays, I see.
- If you can call them that," scoffed Aidan. "You've already met Naberius, this is Amduscias. The pasty one is Vassago. The others hopefully made it out of Meggiddo with Abdiel and Melmoth. The brook horse is Nodin Thorn, the rock troll is a repentant associate of Sharpe's, Dwight McLusky. The Steampunk troll is Commander Regis Woodford, a longtime resident of Morgana's Wilds."

Gubbin widened his eyes slightly. "And you negotiated his release?
- It would be more accurate to say they fought for it," replied Regis. "They also saved my mind from Morgana's deleterious influence. I would aim to join your forces, if you would have me."

The Malk merely nodded, not being in a position to approve or reject the troll's offer. "I imagine you will be able to speak to Lord Holden shortly, Commander. Being what you now are, I imagine you will be both exhausted and famished."

The troll's ears shifted. "Adrenaline kept me from noticing but - yes. My newfound allies have indeed run me ragged, so early into my new life," he said, smiling. "I'm glad, however. Better this than endless death in some verdant hellscape."

Gubbin nodded. "We can discuss whilst I arrange for some means of repaste. Shall I have goods brought in from the plaza, mister Wallace?"

Bucky nodded in the negative. "Nah, I'm good. I fixed myself a mega-hoagie for lunch, shared some of it with Al."

Naberius blinked. "Al?
- Alphonse Biggs," supplied the Clank. "He was reborn as a gargoyle. A golem, actually. We gave Envy's thralls a good sock, then he took off to try and find something that'd fit him. Weasel gave him his old flat cap back, but he still felt kinda naked."

As he returned to the penthouse's kitchen, Gubbin flicked an ear towards Meris and Aspasia. "As for your not-so-innocent question, Madame, I doubt I need remind you of my origins, considering what you've just been through. I hear many things, even while many assume I've merely gone out for groceries, not the least of which would be young Anjali."

Three glanced about. "How's she doing?
- Boredom is an issue," replied the Malk. "Sirs Gammell and Miles invited her to the Toybox and the Wizard's Tower, respectively. I believe Mister Miles is attempting to reinforce team cohesion using Settlers of Catan and Ticket to Ride. This notwithstanding, I've noticed rising tensions in mister Magnus' security detail. Mister Mathers is convinced something is amiss and has shared his concerns with Paimon. Paimon, in turn, has not-so-subtly reminded the regulars of Club Ishtar of our prime directives concerning survivability. The mortals and mundanes seemed impressed enough, but I caught whiffs of confusion amongst many of them. None in their midst had obvious ulterior motives."

Unbidden, Lavinia moved forward and began selecting out plates and utensils as easily as if she'd been a lifelong resident. "Single service?" she asked her son, to which Gubbin nodded. "Asian pork chops with Brussels sprouts and green beans," he said, as one pan already sizzled and another saucepan lightly frothed with a dark and sugary sauce - possibly a mix of soy sauce and honey.

Three took a seat. "How about Amenadiel?"

The Malk imperceptibly smirked. "I failed to mention any observations concerning our benefactors earlier, as my senses had not grown attuned to Celestial idiosyncracies. The hoi polloi believe that those from the Hereafter are to be split between the Damned and the angels, but the fact is the Blissful themselves have ciphers of their own. They blend in expertly, enough to give a Malk several weeks' worth of a pause."

He balanced garnished plates one one arm and moved towards the table. "The more time I am given, the more I can afford to be sure of my findings. I will open by saying that confronting the angel would be a fool's errand. Volker already attempted it in the previous days. Amenadiel would smile, scoff and shake his head, then finding some convenient mortal towards whom he might extend some token kindness."

His arms freed, he removed his apron and took a seat at the table, expectantly looking at the others. Woodford and McLusky didn't need further prodding, as they all but attacked their plates as soon as they were seated.

"Consider our friend, Herbert Wormsworth," he said. "A self-centered egotist growing fond of the gentle glow of altruism, someone whose source of power is shifting to accomodate our needs. As a native of Pride, his sacrifices should be taking a toll on him. He might have lost a few pounds, but now smells like someone who definitely is on the rebound. He is adapting. He will survive, just as will all of us who also adapt. Now, consider just how prideful Amenadiel truly is..."

Three followed along. "Only he isn't keen on adapting.
- He isn't, no," confirmed Gubbin. "Only someone with resentment towards our little regime would expend so much energy in finding an exact window of fifteen minutes per day, in which to conveniently disappear...
- He disappears," noted Woodford. "Where could he possibly go?"

Gubbin looked back to Lavinia and then slid his gaze on Regis, not saying a word. He speared some beans on his fork and chewed silently on them, his silence effectively daring anyone else to connect the dots.

* * *

Melmoth rubbed his face and groaned, a light plume of black smoke leaving his nostrils. It bloomed enough to envelop him from the neck down, and dissipated to reveal that his pajamas had been replaced with a clean suit-and-tie combo, a more crisp replica of what he'd worn during the attack.

"I dunno," he said, smacking his lips. "I could take the both of us back to Victum's heyday, maybe trace the exact moment where he bumped into Lilith; but his curse was pretty hardcore, if you go by the legends. She knew that creating a vampire dragon might be the worst idea imaginable, but she also knew she had to take him off of the chessboard, for the good of Rome and of other local dragons who hadn't noticed his ploys yet, at the time - Cordatus included."

Conjuring a cigar into view between two fingers, he lit it with a flame from his thumb and exhaled away from Abdiel, out of politeness. "Ever seen The Wizard of Oz? Y'know the final climax, where the Wicked Witch of the West starts melting? That's Victum. He was a vampire dragon long enough to anchor his bloodline and maybe sire a handful of progeny, but past that, every bite he took outta someone else hurt him, opened new sores underneath his scales. Story goes he withered and liquified within a decade, with his last few direct progeny feeling compelled to lap up that nutrient-rich undead slurry."

That notion made the Broker shiver. "Anyway, I guess that's not the best story to bring up just before breakfast," he said, quietly stifling a vaguely uneased burp. "The long and short of it is he became the Blood of the Dragon. If you're looking for someone to wax Megalomaniacal now that the balance of power's shifted, pick one of his non-compliant progeny out of one of Holden Senior's files, pin them all to a wall and then blindly toss sparks in their direction."

Someone knocked at the door. If anything remained of Melmoth's earlier unease, the smell of coffee, fresh muffins, toasts, butter and Danishes on a plate washed it away. He took the plate from the glorified bellhop and blithely ignored Austria's ignorance of American tipping customs, instead dropping a forty-Euro bill in the young man's hand.

"Er... Danke schön," replied the young man, who didn't seem to know if he should be flattered or insulted. 

"De nada," replied Melmoth, who ignored the young man's confusion, flashed a chummy grin and closed the door.

* * *

 Lucifer kept the ball rolling. "Isn't there a risk that some of the renegades might attempt to heal those Wrath corrupted? After all, we're still in the capital and we have several fronts to keep supplied in men and weaponry. As foul-proof as your plans might be, the logistics alone are considerable."

The Goat shrugged. "Let's say Grimley is cured or, to put it more aptly, returned to his previous form of madness. Hurray for the rebels, then - they've earned themselves a gibbering carnival hype man. Let's assume that Arthur Holden is lucky enough to be cured, hm? Then what? Oh, Hope is once again graced with its screwball thespian, but his blood will have been corrupted more than long enough to give rise to a line of abject monsters. Even if Lucian Rothchild plays with Physics the way kittens might with a yarn ball, it doesn't solve the problem. It merely postpones it, and asks of Sophia that she tolerate the close proximity of fifty, sixty or more feral undead, running blindly around impossibly interconnected tunnels, on the assurance that no cave wall will ever collapse or that isolating a chunk of their trenches to a pocket dimension couldn't have other consequences, further down the line. All of this ignores the fact that these ruined striplings were citizens and taxpayers, sons and daughters and mothers and fathers, all with families of their own!"

He smirked. "A criminal is as a criminal does, gentlemen; and Lucian Rothchild has earned himself a stint in jail, to be certain. No peacetime legislator would ever fully pardon the monstrousness, the mind-bending, Eldritch nature of what he did, supposedly to save further innocents."

Allocer kept pushing his rising rage in the apparent mold of obedience. "You're saying that it will all fix itself, then. That none of their deaths will matter, that our efforts are predestined to succeed."

The Goat scoffed lightly. "Of course they are! We are of Pride, aren't we?"

The conjured leather of Allocer's illusory gloves creaked. "We are," he said. "We've taken enough of your time, Milord. We should return to our patrol.
- You should," replied the Goat, on a tone that could've either been a conversational admission, or an admonition. "Reminders of fealty are appreciated, however."

He closed the circlets' housing case and nodded at the group. Allocer made sure to keep a businesslike and suitably tactical stride for several long minutes, but shook his head as soon as they were out of sight. His real and fake horns being thrown out of sync, his own Veil collapsed. Fists clenched, he headed back towards the Reflecting Pool.

"You're taking us to Pandemonium, first," he tersely told Nami. "We'll need armaments. Then, we're headed back to my office."

Lucifer smirked as he abandoned his own Veil. "What's on your mind, Al?"

Allocer was about to answer, when a second patrol of smaller demons chanced upon them. Not leaving anyone time for surprise, Hope's clearly repenting usurper wrenched a waste basket free of its bolts in the sidewalk's concrete and tossed it at the demonic soldiers with a loud grunt and a few spatters of escaping Hellfire. Two demons visibly died upon impact, their bodies reduced to twitching messes while the remaining third tried to scramble away with a screech and a hiss. Allocer was on him in an instant, raising the metal basket above his head and bringing it down on the demon repeatedly. A few of these hits were clearly superfluous, more of a result of Allocer needing to vent his frustration onto someone that deserved it.

Before long, Allocer's jacket and shirt were stained with demonic blood and ichor, and he was left noisily panting.

"An aggressive restructuring of my cabinet," he then hoarsely replied. "Preferrably with plane-selective firearms and explosives."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Crystal opted to feign ignorance of Quint's knowing her previously. If righteousness could be used as a source for wrath, she did her best to assume the role of a rage-filled predator biding its time until it could release its fury. The main thing seemed to be not referring to anything at all, in case his demonic-caused amnesia could be triggered by mentions of the past.

Matriel boldly proceeded forward, presenting himself as an arrogant angel. His assumed pride and entitlement manifested as a more lurid set to his eyes than would be considered appropriate for someone belonging to one of the Higher Choirs. The fact that he had visited Hell before allowed him to manipulate the Infernal dust's influence and create the image of a person slowly drowning, witj faintly sunken, ghoulish eyes. Perhaps he could have been one of spin offs of the Throne himself, at least to the former warlock's eyes.

"This isn't the time to be doubtful of our intentions. We're here because of the long term plans, and those deadlines must be kept up even with the nebulous nature of time and probabilities. Do not keep us waiting," he demanded, giving the scarred warthog an expectant look.

***

"Milady already had me set aside a couple acorns in case the Nexus is attacked to near destruction," Sophia admitted with a grim countenance, sighing as she soaked up more of the earthy bath. "Vlastos' battery will serve as a decent backup to give you time to regroup your efforts and for me to salvage who I am."

Ciaran sighed and set his eyes on the dryad. "How long have you felt this was a possibility?" he asked.

"Honestly? Probably shortly after the initial incursions, if not sooner. The Goat's trying to push the Earth being uninhabitable, which is perfect for the Amaxi and the Others," she observed, seeming resigned.

She scoffed lightly in a bitter note. "I wouldn't be surprised if some Heavenly turncoats exist as well, thinking it's better to discard humanity and start anew somehow. I've heard Matriel mention Uriel and his ilk, after all."

"I probably have a better sense of God, or as we dryads call Her, the Mother, than those blind sorts ever would," she chuckled sadly, eyeing the warthog. "You'd be wise to watch your back, Tom, in case any of those seemingly docile pigeons are among your numbers."

Aislinn looked over at her beau with pursed lips and a concerned gaze. carrying with it uncertainty. What if they did have traitors in the complex?

***

"Likely places where errant tori shouldn't really be," mewed quietly a voice from the ceiling vent. The metal panel flipped open and a form dropped down. It was a black Malk the size of a small snow leopard. A pair of twin tails flicked slowly, and red-lined, frosty lilac eyes stared at the group thoughtfully before shifting forms.

A momentarily tense Aspasia relaxed and addressed her, "Ah, Hanako-san. How long were you there? I figured you might be in your quarters with Matriel," she noted.

"That's what I want anybody outside the apartment to think," the dame responded. "I had started my own snooping, given the situation, but I smelled all of you and thought I should drop in. By the way, Miranda is keeping Anjali company, so hopefully the boredom won't last long. I think the girl just wants to see her father, personally."

While Lavinia was dressed in modern attire, Hanako wore more traditional garb. Her kimono was a icy purple with thin black stripes. Her hakama was of a navy blue shade, her feet covered by black tabi boots. Over this, there was the leather, do-maru style body armor customary to samurai families, sans helmet and gauntlets.

"However, it might be a while before she does, since he's with Matriel, to flush Belial out," she added. "Ariel came to fill in for him, and she's currently listening for anything off that we Malks might miss from our apartment."

"Ah, the "Ears of God", then," Meris responded, which earned her a puzzled look from the satyress.

"The Throne of Air. I haven't had the chance to be around her much, but the air currents bring her knowledge that otherwise might be ignored. Matriel told me she tends to wear special ear protection that allows her to filter some of what she hears, in order to not be overwhelmed," Meris explained.

"In the meantime, do you want some dinner?" Meris offered Hanako, gesturing to the meal.

"Yes, thank you," she responded, venturing over to get a plate to serve herself.

***

The Throne of Fire returned to the red and orange body suit and chestplate with an enveloping plume of fire from her hand. It appeared as though it hadn't even been in a high-paced escape from Megiddo and comfortably fit her as normal.

Abdiel scoffed lightly. "Only you could switch from talking about long-dead progenitors and then switch to handsomely tipping a waiter without a care in the world," she mused, chuckling.

She sat on the edge of their bed and munched on a danish. "Though, that's probably wise. This meal's some leeway before we have to get serious about finding solutions," she noted with a sigh.

***

"In a moment. We don't want to leave any evidence behind," Nami responded, gesturing to the bodies. She looked around again and said, "Could you guys give me a high-pitched hum in this note to clear this mess out of here?" she asked seemingly nobody, whistling in a certain tone.

Lucifer would probably recognize that it was a sound similar to the one she had used to disposed of the demonic mob. The hum sang in the air over the course of a minute, and it decomposed and disintegrated the three corpses to dust, even removing the blood stains from the waste basket and the front of Allocer's suit. The wind currents naturally scattered and sent the debris into the air as though it hadn't even happened.

"If we're headed to Pandemonium, we don't need to alarm anybody more than we already are," she quickly commented, looking from Allocer to Quigley and then to Lucifer.

The Nephilim then focused her mind as her eyes went half-lidded. Washington's ruined landscape vanished before them, and the inky blackness replaced it. The familiar, neon streaks of lights and pinpoints raced by them once more. Pandemonium's blurry outline came into view and sharpened with the reddish hues common to the area.

"I've never actually been here before, so I only had a vague idea of where to drop us off at," Nami stated, surveying where they had arrived. The group had found themselves in an alleyway, lined by brick walls. In the not too far distance, the Palace could be seen.

She moved forward and looked around at what Pandemonium was like. She recalled archival photos in her history book during Detroit's financial decline in the 1980s and was reminded of that. Brimstone floated in the air, which she noticed had left an ingrained covering over every inanimate surface. Flickering neon lights hung in the windows of run down businesses. She casually looked at the demons who passed, sensing the overall dreariness of the city. She felt a few, bright pings of hope in the distance, but they were definitely in the minority. Even without the somber nature of the area, she could tell it was under considerable stress from the influx of dead people.

"Getting what we need isn't going to be really quick. Whoever processes people down here is probably booked like crazy," she commented, looking for any signs that might indicate where they needed to go.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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The scarred warthog assessed the group one last time, fingers twitching in ways Archie now knew enough to consider as familiar. He might not have access to his abilities as a warlock, but the cultivated autonomic reflexes were still there. What were these finger motions for, originally? A barrier spell, a hex or fireballs, perhaps? Quint tensed slightly, perhaps having expected the misremembered rush of via as it met his call, and grunted in obvious dejection when nothing came.

"I already said you could let them through, Mister Squeaky," he said. "Is the keypad giving you trouble again?"

The supervisor tried to look as powerless and harmless as possible, even as he stepped away from the gate. Annoyed, Quint pushed past the group and unclipped his lanyard from his keyring.

"Something tells me I have as much to gain as you do in letting you through," he said, snorting. "I'm leaving Squeaky my keycard - you all have one hour before I call security and report it stolen," he said, chuckling meanly. "As our friend said, time here is mutable. I hope, for your sakes, that you'll be quick."

Eustace eyed him glacially. "You're too kind, sir," he said, his sarcasm being rather impossible to miss. In response, Quint merely chortled, then transitioning to a low, more sedate version of the cackles that had been his, while alive, and walked off in the opposite direction.

As expected, Quint's card worked like a charm, the magnetic gate beeping as Squeaky swiped the plastic rectangle against it, relief practically radiating from every pore. "Let's go," he said, "wherever you're from, I hope my wife and I will be there before the hour ends. We just need to keep going until we reach a freight elevator; then we can reach Corporate from it."

A few moments later, he then looked back to the group. "What do you suppose he meant, exactly?
- It's rather obvious," noted Archie. "Quint is using us to have one of his professional belongings planted in your corporate offices. He needs a reason to access this wing of the complex, and a lost keycard would certainly fit the bill. I gather he hopes to use our trail to possibly sleuth around on his own, perhaps reclaim these memories of his," he said, sighing.

Nergal didn't look worried. "Belial will have planned for this; I know him enough to be sure of it. I wouldn't be surprised if our final revelations and Matriel's flooding of the complex were intentionally faciliated by him.
- If he's using a stand-in and has him put his cards down, then he's making his intentions for Earth's self-defense market clear," agreed Ereshkigal. "He's blithe enough to come forward as Belliard, knowing full well that we'll have a hard time proving his involvement as an independent contractor in Hell. If we're walking into anything, it might feel like a trap," she noted, "but I'm sure he sees it as a bargaining opportunity."

Nergal looked vaguely uneased. "If we remove those of us who already are allied with the mortal plane from the equation for the sake of logic, then he really is the one remaining lesser evil... I suppose we'll have to see how the rest of this game plays out."

Archie nodded. "And Quint?"

Nergal scoffed at that. "I'm almost certain that Belial keeps nothing as sensitive as an addled warlock's memories made manifest in his office, let alone his private forge. He more than likely planted this in Quint's mind with some careful wording. A craven idiot with reason enough to snoop around is a craven idiot you can reliably track, after all."

* * *

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Tom didn't look particularly concerned. If anything, the look he sent Aislinn suggested that he'd prepared for this eventuality - that is, if you could infer that from the way he settled with soberly taking in Sophia's confirmation while occasionally inspecting his right hand's fingernails.

"This isn't anyone's first chess game, here," he told the group. "I placed people in positions where I felt I could keep an eye on them, and I only needed one interview with Amenadiel to see how politely and sedately eager he was," he said. "Genuine intentions crack; the veneer splits open over time. Volker wanted demons to shoot at more than he wanted to play peacekeeper, Paimon was more concerned with restoring his fellow Pride Knights' order than acting out of altruism, and it took weeks for Wormsworth to act in ways that wouldn't necessarily favor Number One. I also placed known allies in positions where I knew their natural inclinations might push things forward for us. Archie's only just starting to veer from his flaky mindset of the weeks that followed after his stint in Japan, but someone in his penthouse is even more of a natural snoop."

He smiled a bit more openly. "I knew Gubbin couldn't resist. A penthouse with easily-accessible air vents, just the right size for a crawling Malk..."

Still, he added a raised finger. "We'll gloat when this blows over, though - not before. Until then, we have to keep pressuring him into making the same moves. I haven't informed Gubbin yet, but I'll be able to iterate on this once I know what our angelic friend's habits are. I'd bet a hundred that he goes back up to Heaven to report to Uriel, but I can't assemble something concrete if I can't prove it."

Claudia smiled, the gesture looking both pleased and a little sardonic. "I thought Amazo was the local Gandalf expy," she said. "You know, subtle and quick to anger and whatnot?
- Amazo's Peter Jackson's version of Legolas," countered Tom with a chuckle, "all I've got going for me is subtlety. Decent Infernalists don't do explosive anger; I'm more of the mind of making sure Amenadiel thinks he has the upper hand. If he moves to kick us while we're down - and we will be, magic battery or not - and if Gabriel is made aware of it with a sufficient set of proofs, then he'll lose. He'll have uncovered his king, and we'll move in for a checkmate."

* * *

Gubbin stood up and intercepted her, less out of servility than out of personal pride. Hanako wouldn't have much choice than to sit and be served, even while the instincts she shared with him might tell her he was a tad distracted by the vent panel she'd scrabbled out of...

"Is something the matter, mister Gubbin?" asked Naberius. Gubbin, in the meantime, kept eyeing the vent panel as if it held deeper secrets, somehow packing the same kinetic precision in serving Hanako even if his eyes weren't on her plate. A smile you could've misconstrued as cruel flashed across his features, and his shoulders imperceptibly bobbed. He might as well have erupted in horse laughter, by Western Malk standards.

"Nothing to be concerned of, Master Naberius," he then replied. "I've merely scried the depths of our Infernal benefactor - or it would seem so, at least. Had mister Magnus been born of the Grimalkin, he would have been a tracker for the ages."

Hanako, at least, might catch on. Weren't those centrally-connected vents just terribly convenient for Malks to inch through, unseen and with a near, complete access to all levels of the tower? If anything, Bucky certainly seemed to have an inkling. "Didn't know Magnus Tower was gonna be a stand-in for Nakatomi Plaza," he joked.

As expected, Regis merely blinked in the face of the mirthful undercurrent he could sense. "Am I missing a page?" he asked no-one in particular. Three smirked as he shoved half of a small potato in his mouth and forced himself to chew and swallow quickly.

"We had plans to set up a movie theatre, down in the parking garage, but one of Melmoth's contacts connected this place with a nineteen-eighties' shopping mall. Just - imagine London's Crystal Palace, with less gaslight and more open space - and movies are the current form of what the cinematograph allows us to produce. Moving pictures with sound; like a stage play without the stage and less restrictions."

He took a sip of water. "All that, so I can tell you we need to have you watch Die Hard, come next Christmas."

Aidan might as well have spoken Mandarin, but Regis at least looked like he could take it in stride. "Well, alright," he said, looking just as confused as before, if at least accepting of it. Dwight McLusky, however, had no problems following.

"Damn right, son," he said. "It ain't Christmas 'till Hans Gruber falls to his death, preferrably in hi-def. It's a McLusky family tradition.
- Merry Christmas. I now have a machine gun," added Drake, aping Alan Rickman's affected German delivery. "Ho. Ho. Ho."

Nodin angrily speared a green bean, muttering in Norwegian under his breath, which made Bucky chuckle. "Aw, cheer up, pal - you've all been through Hell and back, cheerful nonsense is how we stay sane 'round these parts. Well, either that or tired pop culture references.
- Grand," replied Thorn. "It's a wonder the Black Goat hasn't crushed you all already.
- We'll crush him right back," replied Three, "with memes and Mom and Dad jokes delivered by the local immortals."

As for Isaacs, he looked like Morgana's Wilds might have been more hospitable, all things considered, and looked to be considering his potatoes as though they'd personally offended him.

* * *

Abdiel's comment about his attitude had left the Broker grinning. He hadn't had much cause to feel particularly proud, as of late, so someone prodding his character felt like a welcome change of pace.


"Oh, we're keeping things short," Melmoth replied. "I like my coffee black with enough sugar to put my old mortal coils in diabetic shock, and my breakfasts on the short side, too. Can't be a stock broker if you're lovingly mothering flapjacks or a home-made fruit salad for ten minutes straight," he said, pouring himself a cup of the black liquid and tearing open four sugar packets in one motion. Then, fingers waggling, he selected a danish and bit into it as though it were the Black Goat and he could be vanquished by bite force and mechanical action alone.

Grunting somewhere mid-chewing, he raised a finger and swallowed. "First things first, though," he said, then stepping closer to land a peck on her cheek. "Sleep well?" he asked, then catching himself. He rolled his eyes and his free wrist, then picked up his danish again. "I mean, besides the whole Portentous and Prophetic Dream schtick."

* * *

Allocer stepped out of the alley, rather consciously expending a bit of energy to knit his clothes back into some semblance of order. The passers-by on the sidewalk responded by giving them a wide berth and keeping their eyes off of them. Visibly determined, he set off towards the Palace's lights.

Pandemonium did indeed look more packed than before. A few hundred metres behind them, a vaguely saurian-looking bus driver partially covered in boils was addressing a gaggle of what had to be new arrivals. Lucifer's gaze lingered in his direction, a mixture of disappointment and understanding marking the Lightbringer's features. Charon's job certainly hadn't become any easier, and his bus could take only so many refugees on a single trip. 

"Damn," quietly observed Lucifer, "they really did build it. A handful actually paid fucking attention - and they actually built it. Wow. Maybe my plans didn't all go to shit after all.
- Pandemonium was never designed for that kind of sudden influx," noted Allocer. "More than half of recent arrivals are probably going to be shunted towards the closest open Gate. Life, death - none of it matters, now. Why stay here and be an administrative burden if you can go back and try your luck a second time, die two or three more times before finally getting in?"

Amazo frowned. "Where'd you figure that out?
- I was your enemy," reminded Allocer. "I had access to tactical reports concerning Heaven and the City of Dis, and we were counting on this influx's paralyzing effects. Pandemonium's one weakness is that it values mortal life enough to run on a form of bureaucracy, as opposed to Pride's dispassionate monarchy. In trying to do well for millions of arriving and departing souls in the sake of a planar crisis, it stands to reason the entire system would be bogged down no matter how many rungs are eventually skipped."

The snake kept glancing about. "And how would you do things?
- I would've done the same," admitted Allocer. "It would've chafed against my superiors' orders, but so many of us Damned are fundamentally unskilled. We can't simply expect to take over, after quelling mortal rebellion, without prior training. Anarchy would have done us a disservice in the end, even if it obviously seemed tempting to more than a few Pride thralls and junior Knights I worked with."

Allocer looked about. "Striving for the familiar forced Pandemonium to forego the convenience of infinity. Lucifer never had Heaven's backing, and Hell only ever became theoretically infinite once the Princes seized power. A single fallen angel's vision can't have possibly fostered infinity, so they worked with what they had and contented themselves with a megalopolis hundreds of millions of souls strong. A megalopolis that now barely functions, even if Vienna is attempting to train mortal attachés to work in satellite offices."

Finding City Hall, Allocer began to leave the curbside for the large, Grego-Roman building's stairs. "Get ready to waggle your Names about," he warned the Nephilim and Prince of Darkness, "it's the only way we'll get any leeway, around here!"
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Matriel nodded at Nergal's assessment of Belial's likely knowledge of their plans. "You're right in that he's probably playing us like a fiddle. Though, if we manage to make some distance and get where we need to, I could probably place a small spell on it to return it to Quint. He'd have no leeway then, if he has it back," he noted.

"You can do that?" Crystal asked.

"Consider it like a means of finding loopholes. By how I'm designed, I function to some degree like a lawyer," he explained.

"That or you've been married to a Wyldfae too long," Crystal mused.

Matriel smiled faintly, vaguely amused despite the seriousness of the situation.

***

Sophia smiled earnestly, happy to see some mirth return to her home. Her feet finished absorbing the nutrient-filled bath. With Ciaran's help, she carefully got out of the tub and stepped onto the towels Claudia had offered. She glanced back at the stained tub and winced, then pushing herself to shrug it off.

"Now, that you're done with soaking up those nutrients, you need to have a solid meal. What would you like?" her boyfriend inquired.

"A sandwich will do," the dryad answered.

***

Sending Gubbin an understanding and amused glance, Hanako then offered a smirk to Nodin. "Humor is one of our group's assets. Whether you like it or not, Nodin-san, the youngsters have a habit of rubbing off on people. Then again, mirth or kindness usually does."

Aspasia glanced at her maker and offered a raised brow. "Indeed. You didn't program me to be down and out over bad humor, even once I broke past it. Try to lighten up a bit, Issacs. Stress isn't good for anyone, and humor is a normal response to dire situations." He'd obviously pick up that the former commander was attempting to smooth things over and help him relax somewhat.

Meris ate her pork and nodded approvingly. "Take humor while you can get it. Such levity can be a breath of fresh air."

***

A faint blush stained Abdiel's cheeks as Melmoth pecked her on the cheek. "I slept quite well, regardless of dreams. It was nice having someone to curl up against," she replied with a smile. She added cream and a few packets of sugar to the cup and thoughtfully stirred it.

"How did you sleep?" she inquired, then attacking a blueberry muffin. Despite not necessarily needing food, it appeared the Throne had something of a sweet tooth.

***

"Even so, the staff will still be wary of your presence, Allocer!" Nami exclaimed as she followed after him. "It might not go as breezily as you think. Names are one thing, but history is another."

She glanced over at the Prince of Darkness. "Did poking around in Angel Time give you any insight into how Pandemonium might view your return?" she asked.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"He wasn't exactly subtle," commented Nergal, his tone being markedly casual. "Not that I miss the days of soldiers paying tribute, but my wife and I's clients had more business acumen, even for Mesopotamia."

Bob rolled his eyes. "Well, whoop-de-doo, Mister Big Guns, aren't we glad you had a change of heart!"

The skeletal demon didn't look insulted in the least. "I know how I sounded, mister O'Malley. I knew how to procure men what their sword-arms desired, and I did it so well that the cradle of Civilization also became the cradle of War. If I could have evolved from mere destruction to calculated deterrence in a fortnight, I probably would have. Mistakes were made, however - mistakes that cost Humanity millions of early lives - and from which my wife and I have learned. Not a moment goes by that I don't realize I owe my near-extinction to my misdeeds, and my continued existence to Otto Geier's desperation. He wanted revenge, I'd gone well past desiring another cult. A single follower would've sufficed, which Erin and I obtained."

Bob was slightly mollified. "Did he get his revenge?
- We both led him across the Great War's theaters and never retraced the Frenchmen who burned down his farm. They likely died before we could reach them. He developed a distaste for bloodshed, which Erin and I couldn't ignore. In the end, we didn't have it in us to offer him further credit at the expense of what remained of his soul. We offered him concrete help, instead, and followed him overseas.
- And you founded Walpurgis," noted Archie.

"We helped," offered Erin in nuance. "Our circle of influence was small, in the beginning. We had a single room in the local saloon, and our summoning circle confined us to it. Otto worked for months to relocate us and to have the Krieger's foundations built. Close to a century later, with Texas now a part of the Union, he was able to coerce city planners into following a precise outline, as we went from a few blocks of houses to a network of streets. Walpurgis itself became our circle, and we offered directly of ourselves without asking Otto to further push himself."

Bob nodded. "So you're serious. No soul contracts, no Infernalist bullshit.
- Not in over two hundred years," confirmed Nergal. "If we take something, it's because it was freely given in order to power a more demanding spell or imbuing process - and we have hard limits on offerings. Miss Devlin would likely go Quint's way if I let her."

Erin nodded as they approached the elevator. "We keep reminding her that sanity matters more to us than raw capability. Besides, with Jubal's team integrating with our own, we're responsible for quite a few lives, down in the Gentlemen's complex. Being careful's paid more dividends and allowed us to atone for the past more effectively than any free distribution of power would have."

The freight elevator was as unremarkable as the rest of the facility, safe perhaps for the toad-faced Fiend that pushed out a cart and angled himself to travel back down the corridor, briefly stopping to address the supervisor.

"Careful, Squeak - the boss revised his schematics lately; he's been rejecting more shipments than usual.
- Sweet Lucifer, Carl, how low does he want the corruptive factor to be?!" rhetorically replied their guide. "Does he want us to tickle his enemies to death?
- Don't know, don't really care. It's extra-planar crap, maybe these mortals are really sensitive; I'm guessing people abroad have a thing against Brimstone content."

He shrugged at the group. "Anyway, sorry for keeping y'all - I'll just scooch over here, and let you pass..."

They all could step inside and ride their way to Corporate. With Carl gone, Archie changed a pensive grunt. "It's food for thought, at the very least: Belial is proving to be rather canny, in thinking that purchasers wouldn't be too interested in seeing their enemies suffer the full brunt of Hellfire or Brimstone. He knows physical deterrence still matters more to our gun markets than any supernatural effects."

* * *

Tom looked relieved, but lightly straightened up when Lucian's reality-bending failed to contained a muffled snarl, somewhere past the bathroom's walls. "I'd fix that sandwich quickly, Ciaran," he noted, "and not too close to any kitchen walls, if at all possible, if I were you..."

Still, it served to remind him that they weren't quite done, yet. "Now that you're stable," he told Sophia, "we have Alana to dig out. I'd had half a mind to ask you to raise your apartment up by a few inches so we could crawl out your living room window, but I think I've got a better idea. You've only just recovered, asking you to exert yourself on Aislinn and I's behalf wouldn't feel right."

He dug in his jacket and pulled out a notepad and pencil, then handing these to Sophia. "Could you trace out the rough outline of the trenches, underneath and around the gazebo? If Ais and I skip through Hell to open another portal back here, we might able to arrive somewhere within a space you could guesstimate at."

Albert pouted. "Why not simply teleport inside the gazebo from some point in Hell and just use miss McConmara's telekinesis from there? The Park's already half-ruined, Public Works is still going to have to rebuild the gazebo. You could tear off a few planks and drop down, probably right in front of Alana. That would leave you with no risk of clipping through soil and rocks and more or less dying because of bisected organs."

Tom realized he'd been too careful in his initial elaboration, and lightly scoffed. "You're right, Albert. I'm still not used to the idea of us having to rebuild, well, everything."

* * *

Rupert's glance felt like a clumsy attempt at empathy, like a cooled-off flare of annoyance. "I don't - I mean - What I should say is 'Thank you for your display of empathy', but..."

He dithered, rubbing an ear almost as if he missed it being pointy. "You should know by now that I'm terrible at these things!" he then spat, immediately averting his eyes as he did. "We're alive, we have information and our Malk allies have found more - that should be enough, shouldn't it?!"

Three affected a wince as he patted his pockets. "Damn, I left my last You Tried medal back at the apartment! Sorry, Rupert.
- I'm just not one for effusive displays, Drake.
- Right, or so says the guy who probably keeps a terabyte's worth of slash fics involving a younger stand-in for himself and Greg Rendell," replied the soldier, teasing smirk included. Curiously, Isaacs didn't exactly blow up or snap. He instead fidgeted with his meat and vegetables for a few moments.

"Thank you," he then said, sounding like these two words had taken a lot out of him. "Say what you will, but I am fond of Gregory. I know he chafes against everyone here, but you haven't designed his genome. You haven't watched him in his maturation tank. I could've died in the Wilds and never seen him again and you, admittedly, led us all back to safety. You, Meris and Aspasia."

He looked back at the fauness. "Thank you, Aspasia. I'm... I'm proud of you, and I'm sure Gregory would be too, if he were here - in his own way."

Three glanced about. "He's around, I'm sure. He spent too much energy trying to graft himself to our plans, he'll eventually want to show up to make adjustments."

Oddly enough, Rupert glanced back at Aidan and Aspasia. "Do either of you think he'll notice, someday? Notice how much I've sacrificed for him?"

Three didn't have it in him to fully negate the scientist's hopes. Isaacs was aging, his implants wouldn't keep him in optimal shape forever, and his chances of having his affection reciprocated were diminishing with every passing day, if they'd ever been there.

"I hope so, Rupert," he replied sedately. "I understand how you feel; I wish Anton saw me for what I am, not just an experiment in further need of observation.  There was someone I loved, a long time ago and I, well..."

He smiled, the gesture quick, fleeting, and immensely pained. "I wish she were still around. I know what it's like, to want to mean something to someone and not having them around to so much as react to attempts at forming a connection. Meris does, too. I just don't know if it's something Gregory is capable of. You'd have better chances with Caliban. You didn't code his nanites, but you still created his genome."

* * *

"Like a chain-smoking baby," replied the Broker. "It sucks that I owe it to the Apocalypse, honestly, but my phone didn't ring once. Nobody's waiting for me on the trading floor, back in Hope, 'cause the trading floor is toast, the arcane economy is in lockdown and it'll be months before I so much as have a mundane job again even if things picked up tout de suite. Because of all this, I slept like I haven't slept in decades."

He chuckled. "I'd be ruined, if it weren't for you. Ruined, but probably happy. As it stands, I've got a nest-egg and I'm okay enough to put a foot in front of the other. I've got a future, and so do our friends. It's all because of you."

He took a sip and quietly swallowed. "You're beautiful," he then said, after several seconds of contemplative silence, the three words filled with quiet earnestness.

* * *

Lucifer looked uneasy. "Well, it's a bit of a crapshoot, honestly. Either I grandstand on City Hall's steps and end up body-surfing all the way up to Ahriman's throne room, or nobody gives a rat's ass until something big, dumb, honorable and stupid convinces 'em, at which point I'd be hosed."

Looking annoyed, Amazo snatched a passerby by the elbow. "Howdy - I'm running a quick survey for the Department of Infernal Credulity, we'll pay Regrets from our front pockets for a few answers - feel like maybe winning a slight preferential bump in these trying times?"

The man looked like an Elisabethan nobleman that had partially rotted away in the Tower of London. As with all Damned, he'd been granted the ability to understand all the idioms and era-defining dialects the City of Dis contained. "Um, sure?" he replied, Received Prounciation clashing against modern slang.

"If I told you this guy right there is Lucifer Lightbringer, would you buy it?"

The doomed nobleman snorted. "Buddy, if you knew how many grifters and conmen with vaguely movie-worthy chins and pairs of horns we get each week, all clamoring that they're Lucifer, you wouldn't have wasted my time with this!"

Lucifer leapt at the chance. "No, serious! I'm the real deal! I made Hell with God's backing - look!"

He gestured at the shadowed ends of the city's harbor, a bit like Magneto trying to mentally encapsulate a large metallic object, and imperiously flexed his fingers, the tendons in his neck straining further with each passing second.

"You're wasting your time," sighed Allocer, "all effective powers were vetoed over to Ahriman once you left, and they only extend as far as the harbor. Ahriman doesn't reach outwards - he digs the city further inwards, and every expansion comes at a great personal cost, hence why the place is cramped. He won't carve another borough out of the cliffs unless there's no other choice."

Teeth clenched, Lucifer nodded in the negative. "I got this, I got this!" he seethed, perhaps seeking to convince himself. His seething words turned into a groan of effort and then a grunt of release. "No, fuck, I don't got this," he said, breathing heavily. Snorting, the dead Elisabethan walked off, his top half looking only mildly less putrefied than his bottom.

Allocer grunted at that. "We'll make more progress if we let ourselves be locked up, at this rate! Let's head inside first, then see what we can see."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Matriel also grunted and frowned thoughtfully. "That's the thing. Belial's always been crafty in his actions. All of the Vices have one objective in common; they want to survive what's coming. On one hand, it may be in order to seem like the lesser of two evils, once everything calms. Once this conflict is over, there will be anti-demonic sentiments, and Hellfire will be extremely frowned upon with regard to its practical uses. Belial may be also planning for the Goat's supposed victory and might want a less corrosive state to the goods he sells. That might be uses as a way to take advantage of the surviving mortals. He's likely testing the waters to see which will be the better client, depending on how things go," Matriel commented.

"Has he always been this way?" Crystal inquired with a certain tiredness to her voice.

The angel nodded. "He learned his smithing skills from Hesediel and even ways to interact with mortals in a cordial fashion and grew duplicitous over time and with experience."

***

"I doubt anyone really understands the immense undertaking that will be needed to rebuild eventually. It's merely a gazebo, which is fairly simple to restore in comparison. Alana matters more; she's the key to Arthur's loss of his senses," Sophia opined.

In the meantime, Ciaran scurried about the kitchen collecting the needed ingredients and utensil, brought the ingredients to a table further in the living area, and slapped together a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich, along with a glass of water. He gave the plate to the dryad and frowned. "This was the quickest sandwich I could think of."

"It's fine, Ciaran. I appreciate the thought," she responded, then quickly chomping on it.

Aislinn nodded in agreement to the plan. "That's the easiest way to rescue her. Now, once we do, how do we get through to Arthur? Even with her being safe, he still might not be in a reasonable mood."

The tree spirit sighed after swallowing a bite. "You'll be relying on Alana, as I said. She's the key to his sanity and your means of reaching him. She may be weak after not drinking, but she'll be the one who has to get through to him."

***

"Thank you." Aspasia sighed as she ran a hand through some loose tendrils of her braid. "I hope so as well, but ironically enough, Rendell isn't always the best at reading others' emotions unless it's for his own benefit and reciprocating. However, you're right in that you made him and watched over him; that should count for something," she responded.

"As much as he tried to stress the title of Father in the past, I later felt he was more like a well-meaning older brother, with a severely differing ideology. I'm sure he has his own machinations in the works, but that doesn't exclude you from wanting some form of positive reaction or affection from him," she added, pensively look down at her lap.

The fauness offered him a quick, but sympathetic smile. "If nothing else, I might bap him over the head with a metaphorical two by four so he'll take a hint and notice you."

***

Abdiel blushed faintly again and smiled softly. "Thank you," she responded, contemplatively rubbing the side of her coffee cup with a thumb.

"I can let my guard down around you. You treat me as more than just the FIre Throne. We're friends with each other and can talk about dire matters, casual topics, and everything in between. As evidenced in Israel, we have one another's backs."

"I'm glad I found someone as exuberant and understanding as you," she said quietly. "I've found that many of the people around me are very ideologically based, and you're just you. I love your earnestness and your passion. You're handsome." She finished her pastrie and pecked him on his right cheek.

***

"Meris actually came here a while back when she was gathering allies," Nami replied. "She, Aidan, and Charles came here and started a scuffle to attract attention. After some initial confusion, they were able to talk to Bob and reveal why they were there. We could probably do the same, albeit it with a different "plot". Instead of an archmage and two mortals, we have two demons, an archmage, and a young Throne, so maybe some adversarial approach."

She ventured inside and saw the busyness of the office. "So, how do we play this?"
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Nergal lightly grunted in assent. "Most Sammaelites still doubt me, when I mention that Belial is more dangerous than any Prince. The Black Goat has no concerns for stability, no care for the insolvable nature of any Vice taken to its logical extreme. Gluttony only seeks to consume and will only ever stop once there is nothing left to consume, and Lust isn't far behind. Wrath can only afford sanity when faced with a greater foe; it otherwise collapses. Belial has no province in Hell, and in being an apatride - in rejecting Vices as a concept - he dominated the warlocks of old Hyperborea, gave rise to the Orcs and forced Goblins into being. Belial's succeeded in shaping History and the world, while the others squabbled over who happened to be the most wicked."

Archie watched the elevator's number go up. "How does someone with old ties to Wrath process this?"

Nergal eyed his wife. "We've paid our penance. We were almost doomed to Extinction. If Geier hadn't whispered our names, if he hadn't remembered a few Old High German rites - we wouldn't be here, today. We would be dead, as dead as all the innocents in this conflict."

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened onto what looked like a rather standard lobby, with a sunroof and potted plants. The Pit's crimson light bled in like a permanent sunset, the ambient lights kept low, as if the daytime shift for office workers had ended. Stepping out into the lobby, Nergal glanced at Squeaky and extended a hand. Having received the keycard, the weaponsmith made as if to hand it to Matriel, for him to return to Quint. He stood a little less than an arm's length apart, however, and barely had time to react that the subtle click of a cocked hammer sounded. There was another clicking noise, a sharp impact knocking the keycard out of Nergal's hand - and leaving it marked with a bullet hole, near one corner.

From a corner in the rear walked Gallows, his usual pistols holstered and his right hand squeezing the grip of a production sample, a pistol that wouldn't have looked out of place in Fabrique Nationale's arsenal: not quite a Five-Seven, not quite a Desert Eagle, but with elements from both profile lines. A smoking silencer and compensator waited against the weapon's muzzle, its length glowing with soundproofing sigils.

"Howdy, folks," he said. "Thought I'd seal the deal by throwing in a monkey wrench..."

Nergal and his wife looked about ready to throttle him, while Eustace carefully raised his hands. "If you're looking to ingratiate yourself to Belial for the sake of our cover, sir, then this is a timely entrance. Our mark will be too busy gloating to notice Matriel's flooding of the complex."

Gallows glanced sideways for a heartbeat, a cocky grin in place as he kept the group in sight. "Sure, let's go with that," he said. "The thing is, you know the complex is inhabited, now. Flood the forges, Brimstone gas and pitch seeps through all the work spaces. The locals depend on the plants for heat, too. Scrap the geothermals, and you're dooming them to hypothermia, as deep as the livin' quarters go."

Nergal seethed, keeping his voice low. "We can't evacuate everyone!
- But you can put a raid together in a single evening," replied Gallows, "seal th' fates of dozens of people for the sake of one guy, one mystery to solve."

Archie kept his arms raised. "So, your deception is actually genuine," he said. "I have a hard time believing you would side with Belial, however.
- Not Belial," corrected Gallows, "his people. There's a difference. Trump the Princes all you damn want, there's still people caught in the crossfire."

Bob snorted. "You're expecting me to buy that sanctimonious crap? You've killed more Pride fucks than I can count, Gal.
- That's exactly it," he said, "Pride fucks. Wrath fucks, Gluttony simps or Envy slaves. Never the little guys, those nobody notices. Never those who don't take to a Vice 'cause they're too small to matter. Folks like your token hostage, here," he said, nodding at Squeaky.

He gestured with his pistol. "Let's get in position, you'll have all the time in the world to figure out if you'd like to work through this or throw me to the wolves. The main man's waiting in his office."

* * *

"If she needs to drink," immediately offered Tom, "I nominate myself. I can offer her power, and my control over this body doesn't require me to remain biologically alive. I can survive her draining me dry," he told Aislinn. "I know you could too, but you haven't been an Archmage for long. There's other deaths to experience before we dip a toe into the weird waters of failed Archmage turnings."

He turned back towards the living room and focused on the stretch of wall he'd freed up by moving the living room's entertainment center. A few slithering words later, most of its expanse was replaced by a glowing orange-yellow arch. Beyond it, the now decidedly musty hiding place Tom's friends had previously used waited. Taking a page out of Portal, Tom took one step through and effectively straddled the threshold, keeping one arm in the mortal plane and the other one in the Pit. His right arm used one of the cave's bare walls to open a second portal - one that did come with a bit of a nauseating effect. This second aperture had been conjured inside of the gazebo's dome and looked straight down to the wooden platform. Fighting back vertigo, Tom then looked back inside Sophia's apartment and called Aislinn forward.

"I think I set things up where you could yank some planks straight towards you," he told her, "or, well, effectively straight upwards, depending on your perspective. Past that, we can either drop down into Alana's bunker ourselves, or help her out from in here. If we drop down, we need to go through the second portal feet-first, or else we'll probably break something in the fall."

Then opting to take a chance, Tom stepped through the first portal and then off to the side, bracing himself against the stone wall so the gravity shift involved in leaning forwards - and downwards  - towards the gazebo's floor wouldn't make him trip and fall.

"Alana!" he called out. "Alana, it's Tom! Can you hear me?!"

A bit foolishly, perhaps, he hoped that the gazebo's structure and the garden stones that waited underneath wouldn't completely block off sound, at least not as far as keen vampire ears were concerned.

* * *

Clumsily, Isaacs nodded back. "And I'm sorry if I - doubted of ourselves. The way you people work? I'm more used to the idea of being left to my devices in my lab. Maybe I..."

He sighed. "Maybe I could do with some oversight. Science might demand innovation, but the worst you've ever forced upon me so far involved food trays and blankets. That and, er, Ethics."

He chuckled awkwardly. "That said, Magnus Tower does have one rather appealing makeshift prison: turning a housewares store into a detention facility was a nice touch. I hear Janice Cunningham's son spent a week sleeping on Egyptian linens after stealing protein bars and reselling them to the enclave's procurement officers. There aren't that many prisoners in America who can say they've had this comfortable a stint."

Three shrugged. "Herb was his defendant. You know who was left to speak for the rest of us, Rupert - and you know as well as I do that he doesn't go easy."

Isaacs sighed nervously. "Ephesian, yes... The boy was terrified, but only time will tell if terror and mild isolation suffice in creating a sense of penance.
- Our ideal is still out there," noted Three, "in shackles. What's in here is the Next Best, the circumstances being what they are. Tom knew he'd have to set ground rules for Magnus Tower, he never expected that we'd need laws."

Isaacs scoffed quietly. "Mister Magnus and his Levantine naïveté, as if his Libertarian's wet dream could be realized on American soil..."

Smirking, Aidan canted his head in admission. "Hope isn't exactly Iram, there is that; and we're not disciplined enough as a society to let everyone do whatever they like at all times. Rendell wanted to give you a scientific blank check, and we'd like to give you much the same - in good faith and with a healthy amount of common sense attached. You've seen our requirements and you know what we'll never tolerate."

He paused, long enough to give Isaacs a levelled stare. "You're a scientist, Rupert; not Joseph Mengele. That old freedom you're lamenting bought Aspasia and Spearhead's people years of suffering. Tom's initial project works in the same way, only he had sense enough to refocus and realize that there's more to Iram's ideal than total freedom. Everyone being free to do what they please sounds great in theory, until you think about it. It's exactly what the Goat wants, what the Princes want: to do whatever they damn well please - and it's killing us."

Aidan took a bite. "All I know is I didn't become a soldier to stomp on the weak. I didn't pick up a rifle to enforce anything. Once I really knew what I was doing in Afghanistan, I hefted my rifle to protect the locals from the worst parts of our own nature, from idiots who thought that being an ocean away from home gave them total freedom."

He added a chuckle. "It's probably why I never made it to Carrie's grade, why she never joined Section Command."

* * *

Without thinking, Melmoth used Abdiel's peck to gently pull her closer. His slightly coarse cheek rubbed against the softer curves and angles of her jaw, and he exhaled as he hugged her. He chuckled after a few seconds, the sound a bit frayed around the edges, emotion making his voice crack. "Actually, you're wrong," he said, "I do have an ideology of my own: I just trust my gut."

Shyly, one of his hands crept up, pudgy fingers lightly touching her hair, itching to conform to the contours of the back of her head. "My gut says Follow her, you big idiot. Heaven or Hell, Hope or Vienna - you're my country, Abbie."

* * *

Allocer looked about, scanning City Hall and passing over Allocer's monument as if he'd seen it a hundred times before. Lucifer hadn't, however, and he mouthed the old Sammaelite's name in astonished silence, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. His big eyes gleamed with restrained emotion, and he soon turned away with a raised index finger, gesturing for patience. He found a nearby column and did his best to lean against it, to try and recover some sort of composure. Allocer watched him go, a gleam of compassion briefly dwelling in his eyes until the matter at hand reasserted itself.

Pandemonium's main hall had gone through some restructuring efforts, in an attempt to compensate for the increased influx. There were more central wickets, more waiting areas, and makeshift dividers had been set in place in the lobby, to create artificial extensions of the spaces used by Sheldon and his peers to assess the Damned. Allocer opted to unhook the pin that adorned his jacket's lapel and stepped forward, stopping in front of a short and scrawny demon in a short-sleeved work shirt and a rumpled brown tie.

"Knight Commander Allocer, formerly of the 67th Radiant Brigade of Pride, Suzerain of Rhode Island under the Black Goat's auspices. I've come to turn myself in. Nami Urakawa, Throne of Technology, and her retinue, have successfully captured me."

The office worker eyed the pin, then gave Allocer a googly-eyed stare. "You don't look too captured to me," he pointed out. Taking the hint, Allocer joined his wrists together even as Amazo gestured at them, squeezing them together in bands of partially-visible kinetic force.

"I do, now," replied Allocer. "Having been defeated, I request the right to divulge my enclave's time-sensitive intelligence to Ahriman.
- What's to say you won't just vomit Hellfire in his face?"

Sighing, Allocer looked back to Nami. "If I show you exactly how, will you be able to reduce my internal fount of power? Not extinguish it, as this would kill me - reduce it. It'll weaken me, and you'll have to leave me strong enough to speak on my own."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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The key component to their planned raid had been listening to Gallows over on the side. The Sammaelite had brought up an entirely valid point, being that there were innocent lives in the crossfires. Having had a gun pointed at the group, Matriel kept his hands raised, but he appeared deep in thought.

"You all may hate my reasoning for this, but I'm not flooding the factory, certainly not without ensuring that its occupants can escape in full. I don't want the workers' blood on my hands, for one. Secondly, if we're ever getting out of this self-destructive circle we've had going on for thousands of years, we need to start now,, even if it's a small change," he said quietly and resolutely.

He eyed Nergal and Ereskigal and sighed. "You mentioned you paid your penance, but that fact doesn't mean you won't start a tally of dead again. Also, those potential spirits could end up being more numbers to Wrath's forces, wanting vengeance. That isn't worth trying to figure out how Jonathan Belliard is tied to Belial."

"So we're just supposed to remain in the dark about him?" Crystal retorted.

"No, we can still try to find out what he's up to, but in a much more low-key manner. You've dealt with Fae and their Oaths. Belial's obviously wanting to set up shop in Hope, but he can't do that if the Earth is nothing but a husk. Use your capabilities to find a work around," he urged, looking from the demonic couple to Bob to Archibald and Crystal.

***

Aislinn moved through the first portal and weighed her options on how to access Alana's bunker as she cautiously looked through the second portal in the gazebo's roof.

In the meantime, Tom's shout was loud enough for the vampiress to hear him. "Tom?! I can hear you! Is that really you?!" came the muffled, disbelieving response.

"Yeah, we're here to rescue you, Alana!" she called. "Can you venture out?! Or should we come to you?"

Recognizing AIslinn's voice, Alana replied back, "Pry up the floorboards and come here!"

The selkie telekinetically pulled a few boards up and brought them through the portal to move them out of the way. She then pulled a few garden rocks out of the way. She could see a small access panel woven out of shadows open. with the blood drinker looking up at them.

She wasn't severe as Sophia was, but the former actress looked frailer than usual. Bits of her red hair had fallen out from the lack of blood. She seemed hesitant to pop up out of the small hideaway, likely for fear some demon would attempt to take her out.

***

Hanako offered the human a sympathetic gaze and commented, "We may need such forces to prevent demons and angels alike from taking advantage of mortals, but I think Magnus-san was searching for a place that couples like him and Aislinn or Matriel and I could live relatively peacefully."

"And Nereus and myself," agreed Meris. "It wouldn't be a utopia, but this ideal of Magnus's is at least something more balanced than what we have currently."

***


Abdiel didn't break the embrace and sighed contently as his cheek rubbed against her jaw. She then gently leaned into the touch of his fingers and let him reach further on her scalp. "This country is glad to have you by her side, Mel," she whispered, smiling tenderly. "I hope that you can be my country, too, and that we guide each other well, through whatever comes our way."

***

Nami nodded confidently. "I should be able to. I can handle things carefully, as I have done with my job and my abilities," she said, her statement being like a promise that she wouldn't hurt him or attempt to take advantage of intentionally weakening himself.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Nergal sighed, teeth clenched over an obvious sense of disappointment. Gallows scoffed at that. "Nergal, weaponsmith for Pandemonium, also known as Lionel Galbraith, who can't wait to get back to killin' folks... I thought you'd know better."

Gallows eyed the others. "I wanna protect Squeaky's, you need intel. If you play along and let Belial think I captured you, you'll get as much as he'll be willing to divulge in public. Now, he's not the Goat and he doesn't gloat, but he knows what you came here for. You've already pieced together part of his agenda, and he knows you'll be sniffing around his brand-new holdings the moment he turns legit on Earth."

He paused, then thumbed his pistol's safety back on, raising it away slowly. "Seems to me like everyone here has more to gain out of being direct," he said, eyeing Crystal. "With all due respect, ma'am, I've seen more of your pack animal than the police commissioner. What you've got here is a chance to parse things through rationally - do your actual job."

Erin took a step forward. "I'll agree that this isn't ideal, but nobody back on Earth wants someone like Belial around. Either we gain enough leverage to shut him out, or we suffer through whatever it is he has planned for us."

Gallows holstered his gun. "I get it, you've got billions of innocents on the brain, too. The thing is, Belial wants customers, not slaves. Force his hand and he'll enthrall people, guaranteed. Play it smart, and he'll behave just like your Belliard character probably did, back in the Old Country. Why enthrall if you can provide a service or enter a working relationship? Play it cool, and you'll have every right to hit him with the book. You'll pull a sting like this legally, and he'll probably end up in Chimera Row or some other Stateside detention facility. If he flares up, possesses people, enthralls them; he'll lose every scrap of legitimacy he needs, and he knows it.
- What guarantee do we have that he won't attempt to reclaim the body which is currently in one of my friends' possession?" asked Archie.

Gallows snickered. "Practically speaking? None, partner. Belial's about to pitch his hand, and he'll hopefully do so in good faith. Once he does, you'll have every right to lay down some terms and conditions.
- In other words, barter with him," noted Eustace. "Research suggests this is ill-advised.
- Your research never accounted for demons spending corporeal lives topside," noted the Sammaelite. "I told you, he isn't the Goat. He won't be the most law-abiding citizen imaginable, sure, but the onus is on you to keep things to a manageable level. I wouldn't have joined your posse if I didn't think I stood a chance at saving the locals."

He paused. "So, the cards are on the table... Do you folks want an uptick in mundane crime with a few splashes of Hellfire on occasion, or an all-out war against someone who doesn't have the Goat's self-esteem hangups? Are Quint's ambitions worth sacrificing to keep a pawn off of the playing field? We all know that if you give Belial reasons enough, he'll come for Quint's shell - and he'll take it. Skip that, and he'll keep things nice and cordial for everyone - and the locals won't have to pay for some Mesopotamian warlord's desire to play hero."

Nergal didn't miss the barb, his crimson eyelights gleaming. "The goal is to knock Pride's weapons provider off of the field, you cretin!" he seethed.

Gallows shrugged. "Make him a better offer, then. Say you won't interfere with due process if need be, but if he enters the mortal plane peaceably, you'll all make sure he has access to the same rights and privileges as anyone else. Besides, it'll be years before he's dug in well enough to bother messing with cops or superteams."

* * *

Tom extended a hand. "You've got, uh, about three feet of gazebo to jump across!" he said. "There's going to be a planar and gravity shift, so don't worry if things get queasy! You can't stay in here now that the floorboards are pried; I don't know if a few of Arthur's thralls were spared by Lucian's tricks!"

He rubbernecked about, which might look odd from Alana's perspective: Tom was essentially upside down, with a fedora that stubbornly refused to obey Earth's gravity and fall towards her. 

"Ais and I will do our best to cover you, but you can't wait too long! Your best bet would be to cover the second portal behind me in the same jump! Do that, and you'll be in Sophia's living room! In-between is my old pad in the Pit!"

Tom hadn't taken into account the depth of Alana's hiding place, unfortunately. A topped-off member of the undead might have scoffed and crossed both thresholds in a single leap without breaking a sweat, but this wasn't exactly her situation. In fact, the time she'd briefly spent exchanging words would've been enough for the warthog's scent to hit her nostrils and from there, to weasel its way to the famished and desperate corner of her brain. Alana had the reputation of being almost entirely sane, a bit like Calhoun did, but hard times sometimes made it difficult to keep distinctions of friend and foe in mind. When both bled equally and teased your senses to the same degree, it sometimes seemed more advantageous to feed on the one neck whose attached head was at least likely to forgive her for it...

Worse still, there'd be some small, feral and desperate corner of her mind that would have had more than enough time to whisper treacherous things to her. Maybe Arthur wasn't too far gone after all. Maybe he was right... Besides, didn't the warthog's scent carry the distinct undertones of arcane proficiency? This was potent blood to be sure, and there was no telling what she'd be able to accomplish if she so much as sank her teeth into his exposed arm, maybe dragged him down with her to the hole she stood in. Alana would feel the ghost of her mouth watering, echoes of her cheeks and tongue recalling the sensation of thickening saliva as thirst started to rattle its cage in the back of her mind.

Tom tried to reach farther, which only thrust scent particulates closer to the vampiress. Cordite and factory grease, undertones of rust, the ghost of the morning's cologne application, of last night's Happy Hour martini and black Russian cigarettes; the rich undertones of unspilled blood, of an academic's simple, if luxurious routine - and just a hint of the incubus' burden. Lust, usually kept under wraps, typically a quiet gift offered to Aislinn alone - but still there, still aware of her own charms. The Freaks might have ruined her, but Arthur would've been the first to call her a woman the likes of which few people ever met.

The Blood stirred in her. Would she answer its call, or would she muster enough strength to find sustenance later on?

* * *

Three nodded. "That part's doable. What isn't is what Elysium gave a whack at, what Rupert thought he'd help to usher in. Tom and Ais, both yourself and Urakawa-san, Nereus and Meris - you all have some plan to integrate whatever it is we'll find ourselves living in, after all this.
- Amenadiel more than certainly knows of this," noted Gubbin, and secretly disagrees. "So does mister Rendell. Amenadiel's objections are purely ideological, at least going by those discussions I eavesdropped. Rendell remains more approachable - his only grievance is that he never came up with Magnus Tower on his own and was never placed in a position of defacto leadership."

Naberius scoffed. "I would have loved to see his projected plans."

Three munched on another bite. "I think he wanted us to go rogue. Back before we lost contact with Hauser and Delgado, I had time enough to have him snoop around a few of Elysium's new shell companies. One of them was the least-productive oil rig operator in the Indian Ocean, Triton Offshore. An obvious front hidden behind a small army of corporate lawyers. Three of their rigs in the Seychelles are completely inactive, and the bills of lading for inbound shipments made no sense for a skeleton crew operating submarine drones for rare metal digs."

He'd apparently touched one of the rock troll's nerves - or rather, one of his points of interest. "What was so off about it, son?" he asked, eyes narrowing with the faint sound of scraping stone, one hand fiddling with his string tie's black opal clasp.

Three looked back at Dwight and grinned. "I'm just a jarhead, I only know what I do about militarized rigs because a few Navy SEAL contacts told me about their routine. Normally, you put up three or four platforms close together and connect them with short walkways, barely more than two extra support struts long. Rendell had planned for platform bridges half a mile long and for Jeeps to shuttle in-between the three of them. Six Jeeps in total, all of them hydrogen-fusion convert jobs. Why waste fuel when you can make your limited fleet of ground V's run on saltwater?"

McLusky had to chortle at that. "Damn, someone's one Hell of a big spender, huh?
- Definitely, and that doesn't cover logistics," concluded Aidan. "Equipment for a barracks and a mess hall, shipping containers packed with gymnastics gear and casual electronics - Preston only recovered half of an itemized list, but ol' Greg had gotten us vintage arcade cabinets for our hypothetical break room. My guess is he thought Aspasia and Coach might've been nostalgic for Asteroids or Pitfall."

Dwight shook his head. "And where's all this stuff now? 
- Beats me. Bought and stored, I guess, waiting for a flick of the wrist from our local megalomaniac to suddenly pop up in Holden Hall, once it's reconstructed."

Meris' steward nodded. "So, a pied-à-terre in open international waters... I have to admit that the idea has its merits, especially considering our aquatic friends. The front lines might be currently set for Hope, but you've all seen everything from Hong Kong to Japan, England, Denmark, Sweden and Austria. You could, say, keep Holden Hall as your metaphorical front door, and relocate all that pertains to do-gooding and world-saving two oceans away. Portals could serve for the brunt of your travels between here and there, but you could also keep a more discrete shuttle pad out in Indian waters. All you'd need to do would be to retrace Rendell's ill-gotten goods, claim ownership under Meris' stewardship, and reforge his plans in your own image. The planes having gone all twisty would do wonders for any satellite phone bills or connectivity needs, as well. Turn the old drill bits into turbines, and you could find yourself sitting on a virtually inexhaustible source of electricity, and a difficult one for anyone to knock down."

The rock troll pouted and exchanged a look between Meris and Aidan. "If you want, I could have a few tests run out of the ol' home office, figure out your environmental impact for the Seychelles, along with how much voltage three rigs could theoretically supply. I haven't seen the platforms, but the rotor assembly's usually somethin' you can isolate well enough if it's not used for drilling ops. They're usually rock-solid, so you could build pretty much whatever you'd like on 'em."

Amduscias clicked his tongue. "No pressure, Your Highness," he told Meris, "but ol' Blackface did cost me Hendrix's guitar. I think I speak for the rest o' the Court if I say shackin' with good friends won't work for too long - as good as they might be," he said, nodding at the group. "A queen needs her throne room, after all."

Aidan blinked. "I thought we were talking about a new B.O.O. for our group, not Meris' arcane Tower of Solitude."

Gubbin's mild glare somehow managed to look polite. "Three rigs, three facilities, mister Drake. We're all adults here, I do believe we'll find floor space enough to share."

* * *

Melmoth melted against her for a few seconds, one arm lightly increasing the tightness of his grip around her waist, the other's fingers slowly digging towards her scalp. It felt as though his physical need for affection was particularly deep, but not so deep as to be overpowered by lust. He parted from her a few moments later, his gaze lingering into her eyes and in the spaces beyond. Last night's hesitant behavior looked to have been worked on, but he still settled on a smile and a hand clasp.

"The moment this is through and we're both free, Abbie - I'm coming home to my country. I promise, I'll show you so much love that you'll either grow horns or I'll grow feathers, whichever happens first. I just don't want to jinx this for either of us, make swooping declarations and then end up as Brimstone dust in front of the Goat."

He kissed her on the cheek again. "I love you, and I wanna be by your side when this space-time continuum rips itself apart from old age. I wanna be by your side when we'll take that last, graceful bow, before becoming some other deity's conception of tools and deciding factors." 

One last peck. "The last thought I'll ever have as Melmoth the Infernal Broker will be for you, Abdiel. I don't need Angel Time to know this."

* * *

Allocer offered her a smile. He might have tried for a confident tone, but a bit of fear still crept in. "I don't doubt it," he said. "I made it a point to study my enemies, but still underestimated empathy as a worthwhile tactic. My former soldiers and my own former commanders might balk at my saying this, but I'd consider it an honorable defeat."

The desk operator didn't exactly seem to care. "That's great," he absently said, then speaking to someone on the phone about a need for a detention and escort team. "They'll be with you shortly," he said, focusing on Nami, "and then you'll be able to proceed."

He pointed off to the side, in the exact angle covered by a security camera. "Wait here."

A few moments later, demons that looked like green-skinned relatives of Bob's more or less stomped into the building, the both of them wearing various combinations of stonewashed denim fabric and black leather. One of them carried a black-and-red foldable prisoner lift that was quickly deployed and set in its wheelchair configuration. Allocer was quite docile in letting himself be strapped in, the Sammaelites going so far as to place a mouthguard in front of the deposed mayor's maw. There was just enough of a hole in it for speech and breathing to remain possibilities, but for any biting attempts to be negated.

Not that Allocer had much in common with Hannibal Lecter, anyway.

Lightly squirming, the former Knight cleared his throat. "What you'll want to do is use your father's gifts to look at my Ego - my source - as it literally manifests in me. If you weren't a Nephilim, I'd tell you to open your third eye. Even the most egocentric of mortals is an example of perfect arcane balance, and Pride Knights exploit their inherent lack of balance for sustenance."

His arms being pinned, he had trouble pointing at his sternum. Still, Nami would eventually figure out that this was where he was directing her attention. "If you're familiar with the mundane New Age fads or with Reiki, then my Heart chakra is malformed, misaligned from birth. Since the channels are crooked, energy accumulates there and that gives us, well..."

Allocer opened his mouth behind his guard, a bit of a glow outlining his inner left cheek in tones of bright orange. "That. None of us are adapted for a harmonious line of energy nodes. You might as well say Pride demons with straight nodes are born with weak Throat chakras. Their Ego doesn't swell enough for them to survive or for confident self-expression to manifest. Pressure doesn't sufficiently build up, naturally, so what appears healthy in a mortal is detrimental to my kind."

He licked his lips. "Now, take your time, visualize my body's points of concentration, and find my heart-center. Feel the point where it deviates from the sacral line, closer to my abdomen, and where it bends back to meet my throat. Imagine that you're a more foolish Celestial than you really are, and that you've taken to try and heal me of my own nature. Since your Sphere happens to be technology, imagine that you're mistakenly trying to right bends in my circuit traces, to improve electron flow."

He sighed, his own nervousness apparent. "It'll hurt, and I'll briefly try to scream. I might even thrash against the chair. Don't panic, and keep going. You'll know when to stop when I stop struggling."

One of the green-skins glanced from their group to the rest of the lobby. "You're gonna freak people out, for sure.
- Then get their attention and apologize," replied Allocer, his tone curt. "Tell them whatever they need to hear to dismiss us."
 
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Crystal sighed as she relaxed some of the tension in her shoulders. "You're right that we need to bargain with him and not force him into a corner where he'll just follow the old formula. Laws need to apply to him, in the case he does try something that's against humanity's best interests," she mused, then looking over at Matriel. "I haven't been in Magnus Tower, but how have the tensions been with the angels, demons, and mortals cohabitating there?"

The Throne shrugged. "They've gone mostly smoothly. I know there's tensions with some of my more ideological brethren. We had one young human attempt to resell stolen goods, but he was placed on a fair trial before Rhadamantus, with Mr. Wormsworth and Mr. Ephesian serving for plantiffs and defendants," he explained.

The werewolf nodded her head contemplatively. "Then there's some order there. The Supreme Court and the various Circuit courts have mostly been filled by Pride's fools, so there's going to be a need for a leading example, one that Belial would be subject to."

Matriel replied, "Chances are that the tenets Magnus has put in place might serve for the whole city, if not past it until some means of order return."

***

The warthog's scent and its alluring traits filled Alana's nostrils and mouth, feeling them tug strongly at her baser urges. She smiled up at him gratefully and displayed a deceiving level of clarity in her gaze. She began to reach for him and tried hopping for him, eagerly reaching for his outstretched arm.

"Thank you, kind Tom! I'll surely fill myself up and then see about taking this city back from the Goat's clutches!" she quickly delivered, both grabbing onto Tom and sinking her teeth into his thick forearm. Her gaze had a decidedly hungrier look to it, pupils blown wide with desperation.

Thankfully, Aislinn was there to telekinetically pull him back away from the portal in the gazebo roof. The porcine warlock was briefly locked in a tug-of-war between the two women before his lover had enough.

The archmage seethed and hissed, "Fuck this shit!" She then abruptly yanked the vampiress through the second portal, past the incubus' old pad, and past the first one. During this escapade, Alana screeched indignantly as she landed in a thud against a wall. In the meantime, Tom had been pulled to safety before the precarious portals could bifurcate him as they closed.

The Freak wasn't down for long as she leapt at the selkie in rage. She yelped as the redhead snapped at her own arms, but these actions only made the archmage more determined to quell the raging undead. She whispered a few arcane words and flung blessed Hellfire at Alana, which had the effect of pinning her to an unoccupied wall within Sophia's apartment. With all the chaos, Ciaran rushed Sophia away from them.

Alana snarled and squirmed against the restraints, with Aislinn doing her best to harness her frustration productively. "This is fucking ridiculous..." Aislinn muttered as she looked over at the undead.

She bit into her left palm and let a few crimson droplets fall into a marble-sized ball of the same Hellfire. "Let this sate you for a while and bring clarity," she said, as she used her telekinesis to force open her mouth.

Alana shuddered as she ingested the shining, blood-filled morsel , but the magical snack seemed to have its intended effect. "I-I'm sorry," she said tiredly.

***

Meris finished her plate of food and sighed. "I mean, I realize that Nereus and I will need our own space, but a throne room?... I don't know..." she responded to Amduscias. "I know the Court wants to resume some form of normalcy until the Palace is rebuilt, but I need to think about it."

She continued, "The three platforms themselves are probably quite large to begin with, but I might be able to create more space than one would expect from the outer perimeter of the platforms, We could have enough space for everyone who would need to come with us."

"Your recent abilities?" Hanako inquired.

The Heiress nodded. "Mmhmm. I remember Nereus creating spaces within his own palace when I still resided in Dalarath. I think my capabilities should be on par with that now, even if they need some practice. I might talk with George about the possibilities as well."

***

Abdiel smiled gently and lightly rested her forehead against his. "I understand and love you as well. To make grandiose gestures of affection would be ill-fated, like crowing victory before we reach the final act," she responded. "Hopefully, we'll endure and have our times together before the final curtain call."

She cupped his cheek. "The Creator is still young in regards to gods, so she'll still have use for us for a long time to come. I look forward to the journey I'll share with you, Mel."

***

Nami sent him a level gaze, apprehensive at the thought of hurting him. However, she inhaled deeply and channeled her own focus, much as she did when she needed to keep her own mind from panicking. Her eyes went half-lidded, and her hair wafted faintly, her appearance matching Abdiel's when going into troubleshooting mode, much as she had with the Jabberwocky.

She placed a hand against his abdomen and envisioned his spirit's connections, seeking them out to see how they wove together and where they were crooked. The Nephilim started from his belly and tenderly prodded to see how the energy flowed and linked together.
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