Chapter V - Brimstone

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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Having landed on Coach and Amazo's created arcane pads,Aspasia easily pushed herself up from the ground and dusted herself off, removing the twigs and leaves from her hair. Likely due to her own durable body and the magic cushioning, she fared well enough with a few minor cuts or scratches. "I'm fine!" she called to him.

She settled with a nod to the lich and whipped out her cellphone, seeing if it would hopefully reach out to the cell towers and then to Meris' phone.

Meanwhile, Sophia and Ciaran heard Quigley call through the passageways and hurried to meet the snake and his elderly charge. As they did, the dryad looked at the civilians she passed with a calming expression. "People, you may see something unusual, but it's okay and stay calm, please! For now, continue getting settled and have some food! Arthur, I need your trauma team at the ready!"

The male selkie offered his coat and lightly wrapped it around Lucian's upper half to obscure his face until they could get him to an area to treat his wounds and connect with the Nexus.

***

Meris bore a smirk, one marked with nervous trepidation. "Oh, it's going to be a challenge, but consider it as a thrill, Mr. Kramp! You're of Winter, after all!" she crowed, gathering her focus and the necessary via to help them coast through the makeshift entrance. She envisioned a coating of arcane magic surrounding them and acting as both cushioning and a lubricant to ease them through.

***

"I know you wouldn't allow his more destructive and abusive aspects through, Bucky; I know you care too much to let that happen," Neasa addressed, sighing and gently cupping his cheek to reassure him. "We'll be just have to be careful to not incite those traits of his, and I'll be with you along the way! If nothing else, consider them as intrusive thoughts and view them as clouds passing by. All those remnants are just memories, not Iwata's actual consciousness. You're in charge of your body."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Aspasia's attempt wouldn't go through, the standard message informing her that Meris' number was temporarily out of service. Odds were, said the chipper automated voice, that her party had crossed a planar barrier into Faerie...

Far above them and all around the perimeter of the negative via barrier, distorted faces began to be visible in the dark fog. Some looked tormented, others leered or sneered at Coach and Aspasia - and a few pushed through its offered barrier and into the mortal plane with pained screams. Soon, one of the faces pulled its accompanying body through, its entire frame looking like it slipped in and out of corporeal existence repeatedly. Consequently, it only partially obeyed Physics, falling down at far too slow a speed to look natural. Its features were grotesque and genderless, like burnt wood given the texture of flesh, ribs and hips jutting outwards. It had rail-thin arms and legs, its single carried object being what looked like an obsidian bow.

"In two hours," it said, its voice both nasal and almost reptilian in its sheer malevolence, "we will take this place. Your web of magic will be choked at its point of origin. "Our commander thought it wise to offer you a boon, in your last hours of freedom. Please, take this," it said, its tone almost mocking.

From a patch of shadows on his chest came a primitive mirror of polished stone, which he handed to Aspasia. "Use it," he said, "and look upon your failure."

Oddly enough, Aspasia would barely have time enough to see her own reflection in the mirror that the displayed image shifted to Ephesian and Associates' new and barren lobby, the front desk covered in what looked like late delivery notices. Nobody sane would've started delivering office supplies or furniture so close to Christmas - much less Christmas marred by increasingly harrowing demonic events. It looked like Herbert and Leonard had the one desk to work with, a single phone, the boxes' worth of folders for the IsoTech case and two folding chairs.

Wormsworth was pacing, hands behind his back. "The original plan was for you to successfully argue for Lambert's innocence, thereby triggering final integration and allowing our friends at Shield and at the Diocese to somehow exorcise you. Now, however, you've emerged as a mortal carrying a Judicator of Hell's authority, your conscience has gotten the better of you, and you've essentially thrown client-attorney privilege out the window, effectively setting yourself up for disbarment. We both know where this is heading, so asking for a continuance would be an abuse of the judge and chambers' staff as well. Your only option would be to frame Lambert's innocence legitimately. It doesn't require much to spin Lambert's downfall into a tale of victimhood, but few are those to shed tears for corporate copycats. We both know he feels guilty, but has also failed to act upon the risks posed by his company's products. We'll have to assume that your meeting Gabriel and a smattering of angels will suffice in having someone believe your summation. If someone with a good heart believes you and believes him, we'll be able to affect the final tethering process somehow. You've turned into a hard man to possess, but the question remains if you've managed to outgrow that shame of yours, Leonard."

The goat massaged his temples. "I understand all that, Herbert; I just can't finish my summation without finding the angle I need to make it clear that I wholly and completely believe that my client wants to atone for his mistakes while being declared innocent! I would've reconciled that easily months ago, but now, all I've got in mind is my own shortcomings! I can't call for an ex parte two hours before the hearing on the grounds that I can't convince myself that my client needs to be exonerated!"

Wormsworth clicked his tongue. "At this point, Lambert's implication or lack thereof is a formality. You and I both know the next few months are going to see early post-surgery Augmented die by the thousands. I might not have my future self's developed empathy for the moment, but I do have lucidity - and the fact is, nobody wins. I'm not sure there's a means to put the Black Goat back in the proverbial bottle, but there are ways to ensure that what comes afterwards is constructive. Heaven and Pandemonium know about your status, they know you're looking to atone - but the fact is some saints and important personages in Heaven were built on the backs of horrific possession incidents."

The anthro scoffed. "Are you saying I should see myself as a martyr? Saint Leonard Ephesian, patron of desperate attorneys facing the last and deadliest of wrong choices?!"

Herbert thumbed through a file and set it back down. "No. You need to see yourself as a survivor. You're settling a new precedent, one that will finally emerge once the trial concludes. As to whether or not that counts as the Black Goat's victory or the first step towards his defeat; I can't say. I think they're one and the same. Remember Rhadamantus, after all. As soon as the Black Goat consummates that final abuse of your nature, Judge Mantus' night court will have material enough to serve its first defendant."

Leonard sighed. "What about Shield? You served them a notice when you first stopped at Archibald's mansion."

The demon scoffed. "You and I both know it's groundless, Leonard. An evildoer can't blame heroes or champions for thwarting its schemes - they're never the instigators. This isn't about politics or personal infringement, there aren't attenuating factors - this is Good versus Evil."

Wormsworth then rested his wrists at his hips, like a parent confronting its child. "We've got less than two hours, your shirt is rumpled, your fur stinks of Brimstone and the city's about to implode. I value my corporeal existence here, thank you very much, so you'll straighten yourself out and defend that mewling Tech Sector buffoon like the maverick you are! I'm going to brew one last pot of coffee and if you aren't done and presentable by the time we've emptied it, then Lucifer preserve me, I'm possessing you myself!"

Aspasia would see Leonard redirecting his attention on what looked like a iMac Pro GT10, a single piece of swanky secretary-grade hardware. "Is this really a pep talk you believe in, Herbert, or are you hoping we'll somehow be able to avert the kind of PR nightmare I'm sure Cacus & Bune loathed?"

The demon rolled his eyes. "Please. If it weren't for my need to start giving you mortals some consideration, I'd have already engulfed this place in enough conjured designer furniture and gold filigree to make Magnus' required rent payments quintuple, and I'd already have Pride's defecting Legal clerks at work to try and  save your hide. We'd both sit in my office's lounge and sip on brandy or port while miracles would be brewing. Unfortunately, this wouldn't do your already-blackened soul much good."

* * *

Doctor Dickens and Arthur hopped through patches of shadow to keep up with Ciaran, Amazo and Sophia, the traveling salesman's Barbary organ warbling as the push-cart's wheels bumped along. Ciaran would soon find a convenient stone slab situated right underneath Sophia's house, a cluster of fungi providing enough light to go about the fairly small chamber. Out came the vampire physician's scissors, even as the Void Weaver's coat was shucked off. The shirt and vest he wore were irretrievably mangled, but Lucian's chest and broken arm were carefully exposed. As it happened, the rest of the Flesh Mask gave way, human skin sloughing off and the remainder of the old man's facial tendrils coming into view. He moaned as it happened.

"Okay," muttered the physician, "looks we've got multiple ulnar and radial fractures, with potential chipping along the top of the right temporal ridge... I'm also not hearing a heartbeat, so much as a flutter. There's a defibrillator in my cart, but we're not dealing with a human or an anthro heart. I don't know where his sinus node is, what its expected frequency is... All I know is this is v-fib."
 
Something made Phineas hesitate, and then opt to shuck off Lucian's shirt, as well. Now fully exposed to the humid air and with a broken arm, Rothchild looked barely conscious and utterly miserable.

"Madame Sophia, I'll need you to use the Nexus to stabilize him. I don't know if it's possible, but I also need to know if you can use the Nexus to read his lifesigns - especially neuro-electrical activity. Brain waves aren't the same as sinus waves, but the sinus node is basically a mini-brain that keeps the heart autonomous. We find one frequency, then we can extrapolate the other."

Amazo, in the meantime, had shucked off his tie and tails and moved to provide CPR, in the hopes that a little elbow grease would stave off agonal heartbeats. "Sophia's not a nurse," he said, his breath halting as he worked, I don't think she can infer action potentials based on however it is the Nexus interprets brain waves. Plus, his are probably jumbled, by now!"

He looked back to dryad. "I've got a better idea: I'll hook up to the Nexus with a hand or an arm, and you use that to read my heartbeat. You'll have to try and send that to him as a charged impulse of arcane potential. If that fails, I've got another idea."

That said, he gave Ciaran a look. "Have Arthur take you to Christopher Naber's. He's Meris' own Alfred Pennyworth. If worst comes to worst, I need him to vouch for me."

He sighed and gave his opera cane and Lucian a long glance. "If what I've heard about him is true, he deserves power a heck of a lot more than I do..."

* * *

The group swooped down, the nadir of the arc punctuated by a sudden and blinding flash, and their emergence into Evergloam marked with the dizzying sensation of their rising above the city's Medieval rooftops. They came parallel with a few walls as they climbed, Krampus' screams beginning as terrified shrieks and ending as raucous whoops. With the last rooftop cleared, their targeted stockade came into view, right in-between the outer perimeter's last two watchtowers. Their approach didn't stay quiet for long, errant bullets soon whizzing past them and arcane bolts slamming against some sort of telekinetic shield raised into place by the alien. Considering, their slamming through the stockade's rightmost side didn't result in injuries for anyone within the bubble - and left a bleary-eyed Atticus McKinley and his cronies to blink the dust away.

"Keep the billies out, boys!" shouted the Summer politician, "we've got company!"

Someone in the back shouted in assent, a group of Fae busy with keeping the rear stairwell closed off with spears and swords. The resulting bleats and angry shouts from the Gruffs below were in all manner of Romance dialects, from Percy's quasi-modern Elisabethan delivery to the sort of early English that would've been unrecognizable for anyone without a solid background in Scandinavian history. As for McKinley, a gloved hand of his was closed on a pistol's butt; one that deliberately looked cruder than the usual composite materials and factory machining would've allowed. Raw iron twisted in the shape of a working revolver; a weapon specifically designed to target Fae.

"Y'can't stop it, folks!" he defiantly shouted. "The Baleful Lady's time might not be now; the demons might've stolen our thunder, but we'll see Faerie's true monarchs on the throne by the end!"

Loren released the group, Krampus immediately hopping down and freeing his whips with a slightly tumescent snarl. "M'afraid y'ain't gonna be able to deliver Phineas Sharpe the good news, Atticus... Titania's called to collect yer head."

Fear bloomed in McKinley's eyes, making him look slightly away. "Now!" he shouted, to some unseen party in the back. Meris would instantly feel the release of negatively-charged via, somewhere a floor below. Moments later, one of the Gruffs shouted something in Old English that probably referred to enemies having moved to strike their rear. Meris and Bagley would've caught the word wight; something that wouldn't have meant much only a few centuries ago, but that now tended to refer to supernatural creatures.

* * *

"Except when I'm not," replied the Clank with a light scoff. "I don't - I don't wanna make a habit out of this, Ness; I'm not usually a guy who whines or moans, and Iwata can't get to me as long as I'm conscious or normally asleep. I just need to make sure you know what you're signing up for, is all. Someone knocks me down or pushes me too far; it's the other guy that'll come out swinging - and he doesn't care that I care about you."

He raised his head to look at her. "And I'm sayin' that knowin' that you're a supe and that you're capable. I won't take the Chivalry is Sexist Crap card lyin' down."

Bucky then seemed to realize the irony of his statement, considering their current posture, and opted to go for a head toss and eye roll.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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Aspasia looked upon the mirror with a mixture of frustration and exasperation directed at Ephesian's demeanor and showed the scene to Coach as it played out. She puffed out a breath and sent the lich a look that indicated if she could run to Magnus Tower and give the lawyer a pep talk of her own, she would.

Experimentally, she lightly tapped the reflective surface of the mirror to see if it allowed for anything other than just observing the subjects. Despite the grim situation, a slightly humorous thought played in her mind of being able to message Leonard through the mirror to some instant messaging or teleconferencing program on the computer, since it would make talking to him far easier.

***

"Ye're nothin' more than a roadblock, Mr. McKinley," Meris retorted, then looking back to where the commotion was happening with the gruffs and rebellious Fae. The Heiress then looked over at the Christmas Devil and nodded. "Avoid the iron, and have fun, Mr. Kramp!" she ordered to him with an eerie smile.

She then focused on channeling positive-focused via to counter whatever foe the Dixie Fae had called forth and looked to Bagley and Loren to devise what to do next.

***

Ciaran nodded to the snake and hurried back to where the male vampire had stayed. "Arthur, I need you to take me Christopher Naber's place! It sounds like Francis is going to need his assistance shortly," he explained.

Sophia offered the mage her hand to monitor his pulse while he would link with the Nexus. Additionally, even with his experience, she considered it wise to watch out for the levels of via he would be in contact with.

***

Neasa scoffed at his head and eye roll and sighed. "I can't worry about whether that side of you might come out. If it does, I'll have to make the best of it," she noted. "If that means possibly incapacitating you, that's what I'll have to do. However, I hope I won't have to."

She then recalled back to the encounter with the Krampus. "On the other hand, Kramp did seem to think your mind's more resilient than you think, even if he's a major pain in the ass. He seemed confident in your ability to counter any demonic influence on your psyche."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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The arcane object hadn't exactly come with a guidebook, so the fauness would need a bit of prodding before realizing that certain areas of the mirror reacted to her touch. A little deduction work would assemble some sort of priming sequence together, stone arabesques slowly rising out of the mirror's frame as its polished surface further cleared up. Glyphs shone in bright red over the image, Loren's implanted censor briefly flashing words over them. Content unknown, they said. Please exercise caution.

Eventually, a few of the Infernal characters seemed to line up in the shape of a series of reticules, like interaction markers in a point-and-click game. The computer was tagged, and so was the side archway Herbert had disappeared through to start brewing another pot. Leonard was marked as well, along with the demon and anthro's inexpensive inkjet printer. It looked a bit on the battered side, possibly being a hand-me-down from the cabinet's previous and pre-possession iteration.

Coach kept an eye on the demon that had offered the object and sidled closer. "I don't know that adding another pep talk would be a good idea," he noted. "I'd rather make sure he has a few good leads; something constructive to work with.
- But you do not know the case," hissed the demon in obvious mockery. Coach gave it a glare.

"We both know shame, Asp and I. We know guilt, too. Shame and guilt are Pride's more noxious cornerstones; Ephesian and his client both exemplify that."

He looked back to Aspasia. "Let's work like Wormy for a sec, and go back to the basics. I'm Frank Lambert. I'm the Caucasian owner of a struggling Hong Kong cybernetics company that feels like the plucky and naive prodigy in an Advanced Metamagic class, or like Miles Teller's character in Whiplash. I'm good, but not great. I've got ethics, standards my Engineering team set in place under my guidance - but they're holding us back. This is a space where competitors do anything to get ahead, and even strokes of genius like Hardy & Jameson's contributions come at great cost. Victoria Bay's seedy corners get involved because there's money to be made. At first, I raise my hackles and say to my Board of Directors that I'd never stoop so low as to work off of Triad workforces, especially not the Red Devils' own men."

The lich's nonexistent tongue licked its absent gums. "I hold onto that promise for a few years, but our shares are tanking. We're hemorrhaging profits and losing workers. To make things worse, there's always a guy who knows a guy, someone who could get us in with the easy path. Someone with an easy fix. We start cutting costs, loosening safety standards - and a factory accident finally kills me. Almost. My own products save my hide, but they're not enough. That special someone comes by, offers to rebuild not just myself, but my company as well. I bite the proverbial apple. Profits soar, standards sink. I lose the board to a general sense of outrage, become a one-man managing operation. The fact is I answer to the Triads now, and the Red Poles I deal with answer to Mammon's cronies. I become the Black Goat's first pick, his way in. I'm possibly made aware of it. How do you think I feel? I hate myself, but not interfering means more cash windfalls come my way. More capital, more resources for R&D, more of a competitive edge..."

He nodded. "Ephesian, Lambert? They're both cornered. If I'm Lambert, how do I atone? Do I fully assume responsibility, or do I pin the blame on my engineers and revision teams who only did what I asked them to? I'm a CEO - my job is to answer to shareholders, and back a few years before Leonard and the class-action, the shareholders are thrilled. I can't just pull a Scrooge, learn the true meaning of Christmas and divest my entire capital in the company. Even if I retire to the mountains and turn into a goddamn Tibetan sherpa, someone's going to want to see me pay.

I'm no lawyer, but I'd go for a plea bargain. I'd go for what the prosecution really wants - the instigators. They're the Red Devils - and the Black Goat. In the fact of what's unfolding, the judge's going to be awfully off-base if he dismisses that as being frivolous. Every single Aug or cyborg that got caught up in this is an unwitting victim in a long scheme designed to trap our guy, here," he said, pointing at the anthro.

Seemingly inspired, Coach poked the reticle against the screen. The word processor's cursor blinked. The lich cleared his throat, the cursor moving as the computer rendered the sound as Ahem, and then broke the line. Ephesian was seen frowning and repeatedly mashing the Backspace key.

"Masks off," said Coach. "Show Hope who Tom and his friends are. Call Herbert to the bar without a Veil. They all can testify to Mammon, the Black Goat and the Red Devils' ploy. Only a demon could testify to the kind of burden Ephesian is enduring, what Lambert's gone through."

The anthro looked equal parts afraid and transfixed, as if this had put him on the cusp of understanding how to close his summation. The lich looked back to Aspasia. "Anything you'd like to add, hon?"

* * *

Bagley closed in on the shooters like a better-dressed killer android, Krampus gleefully absorbing some of the gunfire and attention from Atticus' men. Loren settled with stopping several projectiles in their tracks and holding them there.

"YOU SAID WE'D JUST HAVE DRAKE AND ONE OF THE SELKIES!" shouted one of the Fae, one of Loren's stopped bullets reversing its course to kneecap him. He collapsed with a  wail and a scream. In the back and a ways below, one of the Gruffs noted that the wights - whatever they were - had trouble coordinating. One voice rose, more recognizable than the others. 

"I BESEECH THEE, MILADY - KEEP PUSHING! YOUR TRAVAILS ARE BEARING FRUIT!"

Krampus laughed over one of the henchmen's pained yelps, as his whips swung about. "Heya, Thesaurus Breath! What'cha lookin' at, down here, eh? I've got ugly Morgana fucks to fillet!"

The din from one floor below delayed Percy's response. "Miscreants long dead; they now can barely pierce the veil! But, hark!"

The Christmas Devil chortled as he kept working. "He actually said hark, heehee! Hark what, Fur-for-brains?"

The Viscount was audibly hesitating. "I glimpse at someone in the mass, the throng of the tormented dead... Could it be?"

He paused, then rose his voice as high as he could. "THE LADY BUCK! HOLD YOUR GROUND, MEN! HOLD FAST, FRIENDS!"

Then, rising as a low moan and coming to a tortured kenning, a wail more pain-fraught than a Banshee's scream rang out.

* * *

Arthur held out his hand. "Through here," he told Ciaran, pointing at what looked like a barely-lit patch of stone. "Hold on and don't let go 'til I tell you to, I won't lose you half-ways!"

Of course, the implication was that Shadow-Walking without care could lead to grisly results, and it happened to be one of the Freaks' main avenues of defense. Ciaran's body would react mostly as expected, panic and opposition surging in his chest as he saw his ally in his new task step through Sophia, Amazo and Dickens' intertwining shadows. His phased fingers would feel oily and cold, perhaps somewhat disconnected - and that cold soon swallowed him, along with pervasive darkness the likes of which even his background as a selkie wouldn't have prepared him for. The McConmaras had the advantage of having access to a pair of big, light-sensitive eyes tailor-made for piercing median depths and spotting prey, but the young man wasn't exactly snug in his pelt's confines, at present. His current eyes were a tad more than human, granted, but they wouldn't be able to trace the sense of movement that characterized their blind travels. It felt like he could still breathe, and yet happened to be whisked along through some sort of network of sludge-filled pipes. His ears weren't quite rendered deaf, with some sort of oddly muffled rushing of some unseen canal being audible. Something in the lazy burbling and gurgling seemed to almost compel him to stop and listen, but Art's grip gave him no other choice than to keep moving.

More to the point, how was he moving, anyway? Was he swimming or walking? He'd almost swear his feet were beating against something, his pants' legs pulled at by their carrying current. Soon, a pinprick of white invaded that blackness, and grew to reveal the mid-afternoon and overcast sky seen from outside of Naber Antiques. They'd appeared inside the main space of the store, through the shadowed crack between two exposed secretaries from the Roaring Twenties. Holden carefully slipped through, one hand still holding Ciaran's, but caused one of the desks' feet to lightly squeak against the waxed floor. In response, a FAMAS' silenced muzzle lightly clicked against Arthur's temple.

Naberius' tone was measured, if slightly tense. "Gentlemen - you'll have to forgive the rude welcome, but you aren't the first blokes to burst out of my good credenzas. Some wore locally respected faces, but the Goat's advance scouts clearly skipped the class about proper body control...
- Chris," carefully responded Arthur. "Always with the effusive greetings, I see. If you don't mind, I've got half of a selkie still buried in the Gloom. I'll just free him, if you don't mind. We need you to save one of Meris' friends."

Naber looked dubious, but stepped aside sufficiently for Arthur to guide Ciaran out. "So if I call Vassago, he'll corroborate your claims, then.
- Lucian Rothchild's in a bad way," stated the vampire. "He might die, come to think of it. I have enough of Horatio to deal with and Sophia and Amazo are keeping him stabilized. I'm not sure what I have to ask you, but Quigley said you'd know."

The SMG was entirely lowered, at that. Naber sighed. "I had a feeling I'd have to test that pompous viper again... If he truly wants us to do what I think he wants to do, he'd turn into another precedent-setter."

* * *

Amazo had watched the pair leave and then closed his eyes, temporarily banishing the current crisis from his mind. Far from his usual attempts at showboating, he opted to take this as seriously as possible. He drew in on the Nexus and carefully guided the city's lifeblood through his own heart. Then, with a right hand placed on Lucian's chest, he guided the gently pulsating stream of power along his arm and, hopefully, into the Void Weaver's chest. He felt the power pool onto and dribble off of the Void Weaver in an invisible stream, as though something were preventing anyone from filling Rothchild's offered vessel. Carefully, he opened his eyes on an exhale, keeping a corner of his mind on the power he'd harnessed.

"I'll need help," he told Sophia. "He's as airtight as one of the Blue or Red Chimeras, but - something feels different...
- He's clearly inhuman," added Dickens, which left Amazo to part with the slow and focused version of a glare. 

 "I mean, beyond the obvious," he said. "This is the first Void Weaver I've scried, so bear with me - but it feels like he was born via-sensitive, but that someone obstructed his channels. There's a kind of obstruction along his left side - he can't absorb via or project it. It doesn't feel natural, like it's some kind of... etheric tumor. Chimeras just don't have true-blue Charkas, and this man has some; I can feel them. This man's been essentially clogged up at the arcane level."

Doherty nodded as he came closer. "Right. The left side of the body absorbs via, the right side projects it. This is why a lot of practitioners turn ambidextrous over the years.
- Injuries notwithstanding," observed Dickens, "he does fit the bill. He looks like he hasn't favored a particular side of his body. He has a practitioner's discipline, but some sort of arcane disability... How fascinating!"

Amazo managed a slight sneer despite his obligations. "Yeah - it's super cool and all. It's not like there's someone's life on the line here, or anything... Okay, so I'll just settle with stabilizing him, Sophia's the one who'll have to go all invasive. So if the induction points won't respond, I'll just make him fake being a lich for a while, and have him inhale raw mojo..."

A few seconds later, Lucian's pained rictus relaxed, confusion left his features and his eyes turned to a loose focus, which finally allowed Dickens to try and set the broken arm bones on the right side. Alora looked up from the point on Rothchild's ribcage she'd been staring at, and smiled slowly. "His heart has stabilized, for now. I no longer hear it quivering."

Doctor Dickens leaned in slightly. "Mister Rothchild," he asked. "Can you hear me?"

Lucian turned his eyes towards the source of the voice, a few tentacles lazily twisting, his jaw loosely flexing underneath. By now, the bruise above his right eye kept it permanently shut. That made the former shyster sigh nervously.

"He's had a stroke before you stabilized him; the signs are all there. The sagging facial features on one side, the inability to respond... He probably feels numb, too."

Astra looked like she couldn't process this. "It's - It's Lucian Rothchild we're talking about! He can't just survive Hell's incoming onslaught as the Void Weaver version of a vegetable!"

* * *

Realizing it wouldn't do his friend and romantic interest any good if they stayed there in the cold, Bucky etched motions suggesting he wanted to sit up. "Demons I can probably take," he said. "They're glorified goons who think havin' some kind of Capital-E Evil characterization gives 'em the right to mess around other people's heads like low-rent bullies. Iwata scares me more, seein' as he's half of a person. Or a third or a fifth, I dunno. He's all our craftiness, all our survival instincts an' the worst of our impulses, with very little o' the good stuff left behind."

He smirked. "Besides, I beat demons before, too. Arch and I got called to India in 1956, one of Gluttony's little runts was goin' round infectin' people, more than possessin' 'em. Kept changin' hosts an' leavin' somethin' behind... Supernatural hunger. I saw bone-thin kids devour through thirteen servings, goin' from ravenous to desperate the moment they stopped. We tracked the demon down, findin' out it was using these people's life force or somethin' to force itself into a corporeal existence. Said he was called Kumbarkarna or something - some kinda named Hindu demon, a Rakshasa."

He helped Neasa to her feet. "I laid my phylactery down as a wager, told him he could consume my soul on the spot if he beat me at an eatin' contest. The guy laughed, sayin' he'd out-drank Ravana and Rama, back when they were still angels loungin' around before the Fall. I mean, he looked intimidatin' enough, what with the ten heads an' twelve arms... Thing is, he wasn't fully corporeal," he explained, smirking. "Couldn't hold anythin' down. If he ate somethin', it hovered in his chest for a few seconds an' just plopped to the floor, untouched apart from the bite or chewing marks. He wouldn't have been usin' surrogates, otherwise."

He shrugged. "It was an easy win. I remember stretchin' an' askin' for a Nidraasana, just to rub it in. Guy got so pissed he couldn't hold onto his stolen energy. His quasi-physical form went poof, the folks were released from their curse."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Aspasia quietened after mulling over the details she knew and heard of and suggested to the lich, "Wear the shame and guilt as badges of courage, knowing that the events that transpired were wrong but having the strength to persevere and ensure matters are made right. Not being weighted down, but burning brilliantly with the need to end the wrongdoings and improve the lives of those who were effected. That is how you convey the intent of both individuals. How does that sound?" she asked her husband, holding off from tapping the mirror's surface until she heard his feedback.

***

Meris had embraced her old capoeira roots and danced around the cell in discombobulating feints and well-placed strikes. When suitable, she would launch powerful balls of wind to prevent their bullets from reaching her and following Loren's maneuver of merely incapacitating them.

However, when Percival's called to his men and the tortured spirit's wails were heard, she seethed, "You grog-brained idiots just had to rouse Evangeline Buck, didn't you?!" The Archmage then lobbed a sound punch in the form of a gust of wind directed at Atticus's face, likely leading to a broken nose.

***

"I'd imagine that either the Others or someone amongst the Void Weaver hierarchy stifled his potential when he was young," Sophia observed, gently grasping the Squid's hand. "Since he can't respond, I'll have to go with something a more instinctive level."

While the dryad wasn't distinctly telepathic, she gingerly brushed against his mind and allowed emotions of concern and care to filter to him. She mused that in his state, something gentler was needed with regard to communication.

***

"Sorry for the sudden drop-in, but Coach and Aspasia brought Astra and Lucian to Sophia's tunnels to help him. Pride's scouts have already erected some sort of negative-aligned via field that knocked Coach's horse out of the sky while they were trying to get there," Ciaran explained.

"Time's not exactly on our side, Naberius, so if nothing else, please contact Vassago for your Queen. Lucian's an old friend of hers, and I don't want to see the potential loss of my grandmother's friend affect her ability on the battlefield and her own well-being. From what I understand, he was close to Nereus as well."

"I don't know what this additional precedent is, but if it helps keep Lucian alive and functioning, bring it on already! Precedent setters are popping up left and right, so what's one more?" he implored.

***

Neasa chuckled and hugged him, then shrugging. "I'm glad to know that. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and you're able to deal with demons. We'll just have to handle the problems as they come."

She then became thoughtful about his erratic mental roommate and then asked, "Is there anything that soothes you mentally? How did you come back to the forefront during other times when his consciousness was in control? There has to be a common factor."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

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"I'd say that works," agreed the lich. "Wormsworth's going to be glad, considering: he'll probably have time enough to clean up the old man before the hearing."

Silas was silent for a moment. "I just hope he knows he's already set himself up to have a second chance. It doesn't look like he's due to be swallowed by or dragged into Hell, once the verdict lands - I understand he gained a lot of power, during the gang's trip Downstairs."

He then paused, eyed the demon that stood in front of them, and shook his head. "I'm starting to miss the old days, Asp - back when the worst we had to manage was Kirilov before his heel-face, or Doctor Cerebro. I just hope we'll end up with a moratorium on supernatural nonsense."

* * *

The kind of blow needed to wound a Summer Fae in full control of their Mantle wasn't anything to sneeze at. Meris' shockwave would've snapped the necks of lesser men, instead ripping an inarticulate shout from McKinley, as he was pushed to the ground. With Bagley's basis as a pugilist and Krampus' whips, the remaining associates of the renegade Lousiana Summer Lord were swiftly beat back. It wasn't long before even they realized what they'd unleashed as a means to even the pressure. The Gruffs could move, however, and swiftly climbed the stairs up to the floor Meris and the others occupied.

The last three Gruffs to enter the stockade's blown-out second floor were Percival and two footmen. The two others looked a bit leaner and shorter than the Viscount, having attempted to compensate with full suits of plate armor. It wasn't enough to prevent the nearly-opaque and milky-white apparition of a woman in her mid-thirties, raven hair undulating as if it were underwater and lips pulled back in a rictus of rage, from climbing up the stairs. Etheric energy and the emotional potential used by ghosts both seemed to radiate off of her as if she were an exposed nuclear core, a single, mundane and contemtuous swat of an arm sending one of the footmen flying through what remained of the room, to plunge downwards. Being what he was, however, the footsoldier probably only had to worry about serious bruises or sprains. Gruffs could handle falls just as the Blue Chimeras could, and they were more than twice the size of Aspasia's typical compatriots. Evergloam's three-story buildings were no serious hazard for them. What echoed seconds afterwards felt less like a grunt of impact and more like one of frustration. Judging by the screams, however, he'd frightened more than a few Commoners.

Percival pulled Vigilance out of its scabbard and directed his Mantle through it, the Fae-worked steel gleaming like a modern reflector. The remaining footman didn't need to be told what to do, and immediately slid away from Percival, going to stand opposite from him. He obviously wished to cut off any physically standard means of escape the spirit could've used. McKinley's co-conspirators looked like they'd frozen in their tracks.

"Well, gentlemen?!" snipped the Viscount, "this is your doing! Help us banish the Lady Buck and we may yet show clemency!"

Two of the men nervously sidled the Gruff and brought their weapons to bear. In the meantime, Percy started using the same tactics Meris would've used, chiefly in attempting to remind the spirit of its status. If Evangeline was strong enough to almost seem corporeal, it meant someone had been feeding the spirit's rage and delusion."

"Milady Buck," he began, sword still ready for a forward thrust, "'tis I, the Viscount Evergloam! We have spoken before! You must heed my words, Evangeline, for thou art dead!"

The woman's spirit spoke in an infuriated tone. "Words! Always more words! You killed my son - you all killed him! You did nothing while my husband neglected his own child! You're all complicit!"

Like a cornered animal, the spirit scanned the room in quick and almost serpentine gestures, before settling on Bagley. She threw herself at him, her features distorted into a funereal grimace of pure rage, only to whip away with a wail, nursing her now fully-transparent right hand. "What is - Why can't I use this machine?!"

Bagley swept an arm at Evvie's legs, her semi-corporeal nature causing her to partially obey Physics. The momentum he'd imparted to her caused her to flip head over heels, a fairly sedate front kick leaving her to float away and deeper into the room, screaming and clawing at objects and debris as she went along. "This machine is occupied," sedately replied Bagley, "and locked with technologies you haven't anticipated, Madame Evvie. I regret to inform you that we cannot allow you to leave Faerie, at present. We must dissipate the boon of negative potential you have been foolishly offered."

Inhuman levels of rage and sorrow made the spirit shake and gnash its teeth. "Die, die, die - you have to die! Find the Tree and burn it down! Find the Tree and Burn it down!"

Kramp looked a bit dubious. "I'd heard she was a sharper knife, sharp enough to fake bein' Zeb Buck for a couple years while possessin' him. I'm kinda disappointed."

Percival carefully lowered his blade and stepped forward. "She has fed from a different fount than the Buck estate's miasma - mayhaps it is tainting her."

One of McKinley's former allies spoke up. "We had some kinda ritual, back in South Carolina. Open up the Shadowlands around here remotely, leave somethin' physical in there. A record tape. We had to start it an' place it before sound came through - it was a really difficult process to pull off, one of Sharpe's top guys led the whole thing. We even had to wear ear plugs, for some reason!"

Evvie threw himself at Bagley again, but he now had enough of an advance warning to start ducking and weaving around her, fists raised, knuckles impacting ectoplasmic flesh as though the ghost were a thick wad of paper maché.

* * *

Expressing her query using something other than words wouldn't have been easy, but Sophia eventually managed something that made Lucian groan and gesture with his good arm, giving the group an insistent look as he cupped one of his ears. His jaw worked, but no sound came through. It took a few tries before Doherty's slightly sharper sense of hearing picked it up. 

"He's saying Cover your ears," he said, giving the group an uncertain look. On seeing Amazo immediately push the side of his head against his shoulder and his other hand on the other side of his head, he opted to follow along, plugging his ear ducts with two carefully-inserted clawed fingertips.

That done, another intensely pained moan followed as Rothchild gripped Sophia's forearm and pulled himself up as best he could. He was too weak for his tentacles to so much as quest for her arm, so they hung limply and lightly bobbed as he whispered something to her.

In response, the dryad's world went white. The single tone associated to ringing eardrums would fill her ears, only to die out as textures and sensations returned to her in buggy jolts and skips. Her gallery was gone, replaced with what had to be some sort of stone-hewn chamber, the furniture chipped out of the house's seemingly unified block of stone with too much precision to be the work of mortal artisans. Hands that weren't hers - too masculine, pale, veiny and thin - moving in front of her. Unformed eddies of via danced between her new fingers that weren't seemingly hers to control. This was the first few sparks of magic several practitioners played with, in their infancy or childhood. This body, though, was that of a mature man, albeit just recently born. On a level she wouldn't fully understand, she'd realize Lucian had maybe been five or six months old at that time. Something in the skin's sheen gave it away.

Lucian's memories allowed her to understand the Black Speech's verbal component, as it sounded from outside the room. Two men were arguing - possibly Lucian's parents.

"Sarnath, you're being too permissive with him! I know you're asked to research the surface world's weapons and culture on Her behalf, but this is too dangerous! If word gets out that you found a way to give birth to Prelates sensitive to the World's Breath, the entire quarter could be culled by the Arbiters! You first told me he'd only pierce Veils - now he's writing hands-free, without his tentacles and without the Black Speech!
- Are you sure he isn't just applying kinetic action potentials to telekinetic syntax structures? I've seen the Augur move his stylus with nary a whisper, too. Maybe that's all it is!"

The first one's shadow rested its hands on its hips. "Sarnath, I've seen sigils dancing around his fingers. He makes their magic move like ours! I've asked you time and time again to make sure to keep your workshop and study locked up; you know he's got nimble fingers and tendrils! He probably gets in by moss-light, devours your notes and makes sure it doesn't look like he's touched anything, and then finds some way to be excused from the Word House! It's the sixth time in this light-cycle, now, that Arbiter Y'ngolnac brings him home with stick and staff marks! We can't keep deflecting for him forever!"

The other voice sighed. "So what do you propose we do? This is our son, Namrath, and we've already had this discussion! We can't make progress against the surface world or even end hostilities if all we do is answer violence with violence! You know I'm as devout as our neighbors; I just can't bring myself to rear Lulroth like everyone else does, not after reading so much about the surface cultures' successes! If the only way out is to beat him whenever he slings a spell, I'd rather kill him in his sleep! At least, that'd be quick. I'm not about to give my son's suffering to Amaxi!"

Sophia's inhabited body left its bed and padded along past the door and through to the end of the corridor. A few polished surfaces caught young Lucian's reflection, tiny balls of blue werelight dancing between his tendrils. Concern lined his features - along with growing fear. He tiptoed into the den and waited to be noticed, taking the time to curl his tentacles around the little spheres. Sophia would sense the arcane warmth radiating through tendrils that weren't hers, bringing her an oddly simple brand of comfort.

Namrath was visible in the den, a reedy specimen with purplish skin, everything in his posture suggesting terrifying levels of past physical abuse. Kindness looked like a newly-developed addition to his features, something that made his dark eyes look limpid in a body that was otherwise designed to suggest ruthlessness. "Your compassion does you credit, Sarnath, but it's a weakness, in a place like this. Either we bring Lulroth in line or we bear this grief for however long the Many-Armed is going to choose to tolerate our existence. When that ends, beloved, it won't be pretty - neither for us or the boy. I won't be so cruel as to have him suffer so. A little pain now will save him from death, even if it means he won't understand our motives for centuries to come. Kill him in his sleep, and you rob him of any chance of understanding, later on. There might be a chance for him to embrace this gift, later on - in a safer place. I can make the seals soft enough for surface-world magic to break through with some effort, and I've seen enough of your work to know that if someone vouches for him once the seals will be broken, he'll-"

Namrath stopped and turned around, arranging his features in what probably amounted to a paternal smile in Dalarath - a stern look.

"Lulroth, come here. Out of the shadows, now."

Gingerly, the man-sized boy stepped forward. "Are you planning to kill me, Makers?" asked a soft, yet mature voice.

Namrath sighed, slowly, then looked at Sarnath, who could've been the elder Rothchild's clone with a few centuries shaved off. "Grab him."

Sarnath wrung his hands together, tears brimming in his eyes. "I... I can't."

The dark-skinned Weaver hung his head, slowly exhaled, and extended both his right hand and tendrils forward. White noise returned, pain surged along her left side, and Sarnath was heard trying to swallow his sobs as errant noises from a curse uttered in the Black Speech reached her. Even if she wouldn't hear enough to suffer just as Lucian had, Sophia would realize Lucian had awakened to confusion, fear, pain and anguish. The rest came in discordant flashes, Lucian having never managed to recall the exact nature of what had happened, that night. If anything, one aspect was painfully clear.

Robbed of his nascent magic, Lucian had used the full fury of the Black Speech on Namrath. Sarnath had never fully recovered from the emotional trauma. That had the benefit of allowing him to pass for a standard Prelate in Dalarath, as he'd now grown distant and callous with Lucian. The elderly Squid's voice rang in her ear.

"I'd spent centuries thinking my father had spawned me out of love and compassion for a diminished Word House colleague, spent ages misremembering one of my own fathers as a gentle idiot who served plates and cleaned after us. I suspect Sarnath intended to tell me of my deeds when innocence would have left me - but he never could. One of his colleagues killed him for his position, three years later. Ages of research followed as I attempted to chip away at this block of stone in my memories. I'd only been six months old, Namrath had no trouble excising all memories of his having cursed me - all traces of himself. Young Void Weaver minds are remarkably flexible and resilient, his had already grown brittle. By the time I was twenty-five, he was our moss gardener. The family gardener who only ever grunted, and who shadowed me like a bodyguard; who warped small stones into toys for me, long after I'd have abandoned such fancies."

Lucian's voice sighed, the sound ragged and filled with sorrow. "My father cursed me to save my life. I repaid the favor by all but killing him. I swore to never actively wield the Black Speech again, afterwards."

The real world returned in another burst of white, the Squid now holding onto Sophia for dear life, features sagging as Amazo struggled to push back what had to be another impending stroke for Lucian. "Goddamnit," swore the lizard, "he's too agitated!"

Lucian croaked a few times, his jaw painstakingly etching slurred words. "Magic... had been... mine." he said, eyes boring into Sophia's. "Free me... Free me, please!"

* * *

Naber gave Ciaran an askance glance as he set the SMG down on his counter and fished out his smartphone. "Some precedents warrant caution, mister McConmara," he said, as he thumbed his way through to his contacts and seemingly found Meris' personal historian and historiographer. He then lightly stepped away, keeping an eye on the goings-on, outside. His shop was a ways away from Downtown, so the throngs usually involved specialty shoppers looking for those rare finds at the very last minute. He couldn't keep a smirk from his features, considering.

"Vassago - it's me. Tell Agares I want another probe into our would-be victory. I want to know if Void Weavers join the ranks of the via-sensitive. Yes, I'll wait."

He then gave Arthur and the selkie a brief look of apology - Agares' take on prophecy meant parsing through a forest's worth of potential headlines - and rested a hand on his hip, one foot tapping. Soon enough, however, his floppy Setter's ears perked up. "Yes? Are there consequences?"

The response had Naber sigh deeply. "Alright. If the probabilities are as solid, I suppose we'll make do. Have you begun guiding locals to Megiddo?"

That, at least, loosened his features enough for him to slightly smile. "Praise be to Solomon," he breathed in thanks. "I was afraid Nybbas would petition Shimon Avram under the guise of an American - I'm glad he hasn't."

As much as America could lean on Dafyd Jones, its first dragon president, Israel had Shimon Avram, a Centrist anthro African Ibex. As a practitioner-turned-Prime Minister, Avram tended to draw on both political observations and the teachings of the Kabbalah and the Sefer Yetzirah to influence certain policies. That had led to a country with inwardly Progressive policies, but a more practical approach to Israel's partial isolationism. Something always seemed to justify the country's sometimes hermetic responses to certain technological or social trends. Augmented, for instance, were a rare breed between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and the ban on Infernal magic that had lasted through the Crusades onto the modern days was still very much in effect. Comparatively, Israel was one of the best spots for a mage to study Seraphic magic, or the art of physically shaping the Higher Plane's matter in the mortal plane. It did give the impression that Israel's rulers and academics were tightwads, and Avram wasn't ever much of a jovialist to begin with - but it did fit with the country's reputation as a bastion of hard-fought common law and stoic resistance in the face of a million tiny depravities. Solomon, consequently, was a bit of a local cultural icon.

Naberius thanked his colleague and closed his smartphone. "We will have Void Weaver mages," he soberly told the pair. "Practitioners of all ilk, from Warlocks to Archmages. New allies and enemies. Regrettably, this also comes with redoubled efforts from the Loyalists."

He gestured towards the space between the two credenzas. "On the good side of things, I'm to induct their first Archmage. Agares and Vassago are unanimous on this."

That made him sigh once more, if more quietly, and not so much to express dismay. This one felt like gathered resolve. "A whole new form of magic, one which even Meris herself hasn't touched," he told the pair. "In better auspices, I would quite probably be as giddy as a schoolboy."

A pause. 

"Shall we?"

* * *

Bucky started on the way back, Neasa's hand in his. "I think Iwata convinced himself he'd stay alone. As to whether he means independent or lonely, I don't know. All's I know is when someone I know touches me, I feel rooted. Stable, I guess. I''d wake up to Archie holdin' onto my forearm, waitin' for me to come back, or Bagley usin' one of the articulated arms in the mansion, back when he was our Genius Loci, to do the same. Then, unless the situation doesn't allow for it, all of Iwata's stress or pent-up aggression leaves me - an' I'm left feelin' kinda drained. Big episodes usually end with me napping for somewhere 'tween twenty minutes to an hour. Once I wake up that second time, he's more of a gnat in the back o' my head than anythin' like intrusive thoughts."

He smiled as he looked at Neasa's hand. "I can kinda hear him, just now - but it's less than a whisper. It's basically wind. Hot air, fittingly enough - or a fart of some kind. The silent, but deadly type."

Shamus looked back to the mansion's rear entrance. "Not that I gotta lotta rage lyin' around to fuel him for now, for obvious reasons. Kinda too happy for that, honestly."

The Clank looked back to the selkie. "And grateful. Super, super grateful."
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Aspasia tapped the mirror and repeated the words into it, hoping that would encourage the goat even more.

She sighed and glanced at the lich. "That'd be nice, but my instincts tell me that's not happening anytime soon. I feel like it's just the beginning of more events," she admitted.

***

Briefly watching as Evvie tried to assault Bagley, Meris looked back to the Fae, Mr. Kramp, and Sir Percival and said quietly, "I have my suspicions that Evvie Buck isn't a typical spirit, given Hope's past encounters with Void Weavers. I'm not even sure if she's actually a ghost, but some spectral simulation placed here to give the Others a foothold. And I know she wants the Tree and Sophia gone. The last time she reeked havoc in Hope, Zeb Buck was found while trying to strangle Sophia, and now she's crying, 'Burn the Tree'. That focus for the Nexus keeps Samoset's curse and most troubles away from Hope."

She then squarely looked at the Dixie Fae. "That language you mentioned? It's more than likely the Black Speech. It's the only language I know of that you can't listen to without risking your sanity. I have resilience to the Black Speech, so I might be able to help you replicate the ritual. It also might be worth doing something to pacify her back to a less corporeal form. As a cantor, I can handle that part."

***

Lucian's younger self being robbed of his link to via pained the dryad to her core, so much that her eyes seeped out green-tinted tears during the vision. Once it was over, Sophia still wept and lightly rested her head close to the Void Weaver's face. "I will, I promise, but you must calm down first so you don't strain your body anymore," she urged him.

"We're waiting on Ciaran and Arthur to return with Naberius to vouch for Francis in regard to your situation. But, please, settle down," she whispered to him, now sending him feelings of soothing comfort.

She then looked back to the snake and vampire. "He showed me memories of how he lost his connection to via while young," she explained.

***

The idea of Void Weaver mages baffled the young man somewhat, but he was relieved that Lucian would be saved. Ciaran quickly nodded to the canine and replied, "Absolutley! Let's get back."

***

Gripping his fingers a bit more tightly, Neasa smiled fondly up at him. "I'm glad as well. I'll do my best to help keep you rooted, Bucky," she promised.
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

In short order, Ephesian looked carried by something that felt like equal parts bafflement, gratitude and inspiration. Aspasia would see him copy and paste hers and Coach's suggestions into a separate document, and then resize windows so he could have both his initially fresh page and the insight he'd received on the screen at once. That done, he began weaving through both of their arguments, conserving the core of what had been mentioned without resorting to plagiarism. That ripped a tiny whistle from the lich.

"I can see why he prospered this long despite his guilt," he said, "he's good. Scary good, even. It sort of makes me want to toss in a case with Thomas Ephesian and Cody Tanner, at some point - see how the son measures up."

They'd then see Herbert return with two refillable Starbucks cups in hand, his features going from frosty displeasure to a warmer look of surprise as he saw the goat's fingers hammering away on the keyboard. "Inspired at last, are we?" he rhetorically asked. "Might I ask what finally tipped you off?
- The Hell if I know," scoffed the goat as he kept working, "pun intended. See those notes? They just popped up on my Word document."

Herbert set his own cup down on the desk and surveyed the mostly-empty lobby. "You would assume that our feathered friends would know better than to play games, at this juncture," he said, his tiny nose quivering. "Our enemies would gain quite a foothold in helping you, ironically enough. That said, you don't look particularly oppressed, at present…"

Leonard shrugged. "Like I said, beats me. I just don't know why I never dared to link the current events with my case even if the points of correlation were obvious. This feels easy, now!"

Herbert hovered behind Leonard and leaned in slightly to read as the goat wrote. "Professional concerns, I'd imagine. Not that it matters much now, you're bound to turn into the toast of Rhode Island's Bar Association - and we're likely to receive more than a handful of applications. Maybe the two or three non-possessed former clerks and Juniors at Ephesian and Associates will opt to return to their old roost…"

Leonard sighed, as he paused between paragraphs. "Then there's the question of my body and my family. Even with all these guarantees of corporeal existence despite my body not being my own, I still won't come back to Thomas as myself. I'll be this ashen-furred being I've been turned into, all because some Pitspawn liked my repressed moral compass and my fur conditioning routine and opted to steal my wardrobe!"

That was an amusingly flippant view of possession that ripped an amused and confused chortle from Herbert. "That is one way to put it, I suppose. That doesn't matter either - you'll be in a position to redesign yourself from the ground up. You'll be free to condemn the Black Goat to merely excellent levels of mortal sartorial care, while turning your new white fur and pressed suits into the talk of the judge's recess periods."

A few minutes passed, a look of mean relish soon birthing on Herbert's features. "Marvelous work, Leonard! Please the Goat and you'll ensnare him in Rhadamantus' waiting trap. Furthermore, there's a bit of the new you in there, too. A conscientious take on absolution, turning guilt into a prideful, if responsible and mature admission of responsibility… How novel! If I so much as find whatever imp or spirit pushed these notes to you, I'm offering it a martini!"

Two pages in, Leonard eyed his watch and soon struck the final period. He saved the document and set it to print, looking as though he was already working to memorize and optimize it. He took one last sip of coffee as the printer began to churn out the second page, and then sat up.

"We're short on time," he said. "Care to do your new boss a favor?"

Smirking, Herbert settled with snapping his fingers. Moisture seemed to condense across Leonard's features and soaked into his suit, the tormented anthro's features progressively lightening as some sort of arcane agent seemed to dye his fur to something close to his old silvery sheen. What was dying his fur seemed to be altering his suit's status and composition, going from rumpled dark tones to the pristine whites and beiges he'd previously loved. What magic couldn't solve, Wormsworth fixed by adding a deft pull here or a tug there. In short order, Leonard looked as close as he possibly could to the person he'd been a year ago, before his troubles had begun.

"There." said Herbert. "The hard-fought sacrifice, in all its glory. One stop at one or two houses to hopefully woo some of your old partners out of retirement, and then it's off to make the Prince regret having ever chosen to pick you for a vessel. Your possession practically left your old firm in a shambles; it'll be good to take some time to reassure a few old colleagues. Remember Simmons?"

The anthro nodded. "Frank Simmons, yeah. He was our Marital Affairs maverick. Did you track him down too? What about Ernie Landsman, our Legal Tech specialist? Did you keep track of him too? I couldn't make heads or tails of the Microsoft-Apple feud while it lasted, I needed guys like him to break down the intricacies of complex patents for me…"

Wormsworth gripped the lapels of his suit. "If I play my cards right, we'll have them begging for a chance to work with their old friend - especially one that will have been absolved. Add my own overeager juniors to the mix, and you'll have yourself quite the team."

The demon that had offered the mirror sneered. "You do realize our hopes have not yet diverged, do you not?
- All I know," replied Coach, "is that we're one step closer to finally locking your boss up. If Leonard's up to give him that one last victory lap now that he's been given enough power to virtually escape damnation, then I'm behind him every step of the way. It's a tough sacrifice, but his son and granddaughter are going to have to realize Leonard Ephesian's more than a fine set of clothes and a silver tongue. The body's composition doesn't matter - all that matters is he'll still be around to do good."

* * *

"I remember her funeral," countered Percy, "I witnessed her agony! How can this wight not be the Lady Buck?
- I barely ran into the local patriarchs," admitted Loren, "but I've read enough to know you would've needed something truly heinous to reduce Evangeline Buck to this kind of tortured spirit. Unfortunately, this is one aspect where my powers are useless. I can't exert telepathic influence over a noncorporeal presence, let alone something that's without a brain in the traditional sense."

He gathered his will and threw his arms forward, along with a handful of heavy debris - straight at Evvie. "Not to suggest that I'm powerless, of course."

The ghost howled as pieces of stone and wood sailed through her, further chipping at her corporeal status. That prompted her to try and switch targets, Loren's cape seemingly billowing around him out of its own accord, blocking a few physical hits as well as armor pads would have. He grunted as Evangeline pushed him back.

"At least, our Reavers have the decency of using telepathic disciplines; and not their fists, like ethereal barbarians!" he spat out as the ghost tried to claw its way past the cape. "I DON'T CARE!" was Evangeline's livid reply, which left Martin to roll his eyes. He was more than likely waiting for an opening to push her back.

In any case, Evvie's inability to handle more than one opponent at a time was a godsend for Percy, Meris and McKinley's turncoats. Harrassing her off of the Karthian proved to be difficult, but at least the Grayskin wouldn't be stuck under his cape forever. His head sometimes peeked from under it, a network of impressive veins slowly jutting out of the previously smooth dome of his head as time passed. He didn't have the facial features needed to clench his teeth or otherwise bare them convincingly, but his exertion was still fairly obvious.

* * *

Lucian was reduced to soft and quiet sobs, pain sometimes making him stiffen against Sophia. He probably sensed the encroaching death of his ventricular muscles or of the myocardia, the only thing keeping him from entering a stroke being Amazo's maintained link. Even then, the snake now looked like he was pushing past a considerable effort. He might've carried a heirloom of Solomon's, there were points where only true Archmages could hope to reverse death - and Francis Quigley had never been an Archmage in the classical sense of the term. Souped-up Wizard would've been a more accurate descriptor, but it wouldn't have scared Nazis or sold tickets.

"I thought his kind couldn't connect," he still managed to note. "I wonder what his Pops did to so much as enable that… I guess we'll only know once we somehow manage to save his life."

In the back, Horatio cackled gleefully. "A Squid Wizard - oh, this is rich! I know a certain ridiculous old biddy who's going to fume once She sees some of Her cronies go Warlock or Necromancer; not to mention the conniptions She'll have once honest-to-God Squid Cantors show up! Imagine all the different sorts of interesting new friends we'll make, too!" he said, wringing his hands together out of sheer relish.

"Pipe down," hissed Dickens, "he's unstable enough as it is! We'll all hoot and holler once we'll have sliced this Gordian knot - but not before!"

With a whisper, Arthur, Naber and Ciaran slipped out of the shadows and back into the gallery's gloom. "One side, please," calmly noted Naber, as he went to kneel across from Sophia. "You can cut the link, mister Quigley - we'll need you fully focused for this.
- What about him?" he asked, refusing to simply comply while a man's life depended on him.

"I'll monitor him," said Phineas. "I'll provide CPR if his heart fails. I'll also add in a few drops of blood: minimal-level Thralldom. Not enough to addle him further, but enough to keep his heart pumping for an hour or two, in case the ritual ends up being long.

Naber scoffed. "Oh, it won't be long, or subtle. When I tell you, Lady Sophia, shunt everything the Nexus can spare into him."

He then looked at Amazo. "Your wand, mister Quigley."

Amazo handed his opera cane without protest or hesitation. Naberius ran his fingers along the object's length and then broke it neatly, pulling what looked like a twisted sliver of copper from the wood and flaking lacquer. "The single remnant of Solomon's staff," reverently said the demon. "I hope you realize what this means, Francis. Your own power will be diminished, while Rothchild's centuries of study will finally find their use.
- Yeah," replied the snake, who looked a bit dubious.

"Don't think this sacrifice falls on blind eyes, mister Quigley. We of Solomon's retinue will have personal gratitude to extend towards you. You might not have been a worthy Heir, but you are a good man nevertheless. Mister Rothchild is someone we have observed inasmuch as we could scry the Void Weavers' machinations, and his worthiness has not escaped us. The wonder his research exposed him to, the reverence for magic his deprived status instilled in him… All because one of their numbers was curious enough to attempt something that was tantamount to anathema."

Astra handed Lucian's cane to Naber, who carefully unscrewed the bottom rubber foot and peered into the narrow aperture within. He carefully guided the sliver of copper in the hole, a hand sliding along the shaft as if to guide it further up out of some variant on magnetism. Once he felt the sliver was halfway up along the shaft, he screwed the rubber cap back on and hefted the cane in both hands, testing its balance as if it were a sword. When he turned back to Lucian, Phineas was parting from him and was lightly nursing his right arm. Lucidity seemed to be returning to the Weaver, even if his skin looked a tad feverish - probably in response to the blood he'd ingested.

He looked around, his confusion looking like it was rooted in returning lucidity. "Where - Where are we, Astra?
- We're in Sophia's tunnels, under her house. We're right on top of the Nexus.

"Oh," he said, looking slightly worried, as he raised his good hand and patted his face. He looked back to Sophia. "Apologies, Milady - I'd really hoped to make a better first impression with the locals; I think they'd like me better with my nose on," he said, chuckling. "I want to sit up, but my chest feels so heavy… What's happened?
- You had two strokes, almost three," supplied Amazo. "One on the way over, another one when I hooked you to the Nexus. Magic and vamp blood are the only things keeping you going for now."

Whatever good spirits Phineas' blood had imposed faded away as he patted at his chest. "I can't - I cannot feel my heartbeat!
- Your heart's muscles need time to recover," said Naberius. "This should help, I believe," he said, handing Lucian his cane. "Do you remember me from our earlier meeting?"

Lucian nodded. "I do, but why are you handing me my cane? I couldn't possibly stand up - I can barely feel my legs as it is!"

Naberius drew in a breath. "Lucian Rothchild, born Lulroth of Dalarath, know henceforth that the Steward of Solomon and of his Heiress finds you worthy. My seventy-two peers concur - the Staff of Solomon should be yours. Should you swear to defend my Lady Meris' tithes and servants, this weapon shall be bequeathed to you."

Shock elongated the Squid's features. "Meris and I believe in the same goals, the same ideals," he then said. "We have since Dalarath. To serve her is to serve freedom's cause."

The canine smiled and held out Lucian's cane. "Then take your staff, Archmage - and hold on. This will hurt - but it will be the last time you will suffer as such."

Tears of joy gleamed in Lucian's eyes. "What does it feel like?" he asked, in a whisper.

Amazo smiled. "It's joy and fury mixed together. "You're a walking arm of Creation, and you can create wonders. Meris can probably wax lyrical about it more than I can. In any case, it's one Hell of a ride."

Rothchild extended an arm and gripped Amazo's forearm. "Thank you, mister Quigley. I won't forget this sacrifice."

* * *

"Thanks, Ness," replied Shamus, who allowed a few seconds to pass as he bore his eyes into hers and lightly played in her hair. He then coughed and looked ahead. "Welp, looks like our buddies went ahead of us. If you want, we can cut through Frosthall and see if we can't lend a hand."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Aspasia shrugged and smiled faintly. "All I know is that effort matters and usually pays off in the end. Mr. Ephesian has been giving his effort for quite a while now, and he still hasn't given up," she noted.

***

Seeing that weakening the ghostly woman was paramount for the time being, Meris understood that she would need to perform a spell song that was more command than some gentle tune to heal wounds, such as it had been with Nereus. She gathered her focus and the required energy and began to funnel it through her voice. She essentially sang a lullaby of how tired and weary the specter would supposedly feel and how the welcome seclusion of the Shadowlands would be desirable to her mind. The spirit would experience a sort of weariness as the melody rang through the air, meant only for her. The directed vibrations would send a sense of heading back to where she had been summoned from wasn't such a bad idea.

***

With Lucian being vouched for and his archmagehood on the horizon, Sophia quickly sobered and ceased her tears, becoming more determined. She still gripped the elderly Void Weaver's hand and focused on the via within the Nexus, seeing what could be allotted to have the Squid ascend to his long-awaited connection to the World's Breath. Her eyes went half-lidded as the energies were gathered. "Just say when, Naberius," the dryad answered, the arcane power starting to hum in her ears.

***

"Sounds good to me. Time's ticking, and we need to get done with clearing the Dixie Fae out ASAP," Neasa agreed, not knowing that the actual target was now less of a concern than the Lady Buck.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter V - Brimstone

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

"And that's commendable," agreed the lich. "Makes you wonder about your plans if defeat arises, fellas..."

The demon glowered. "We cannot fail.
- Right, or it's back to being gravel under the Goat's boot, isn't it? We've got plans and contingencies, why don't you?"

Hesitation crept into the demon's features. "I just spent an hour or so with some of your more sensible peers," said the lich, "and they've got plans. There's more to losing than letting the winning team steamroll you, and more to winning than gloating over it. One way or another, son, you've got some learning to do."

Slowly, as the demon worked on a rebuttal, Aspasia would realize dim screams could be heard coming from the galleries. Light footfalls followed, and a blonde Punk with a few arcane tattoos under her leather vest was seen guiding the boulder that blocked the main entrance away with a basic locomotion cantrip. As she did so, the screams abruptly fell, followed by gasps.

"Um," she began, looking at the lich and Chimera, "they've, um, plugged the Chtulhu-guy up to the Nexus. If he's stopped screaming, he's probably de-"

She didn't have time to finish that the Centennial Tree's myriad of tiny via channels lit up, covering its trunk and disheveled branches in little channels of blue werelight. Coach's eyelights flared to the size of two small fireballs in response. "My stars," he breathed. "I haven't seen this since Amazo duplicated the Tree in '75!"

Even the Pitspawn that formed and controlled the barrier had stopped gyrating, its connective tissue slowly dissipating.

* * *

"Now, mister Rothchild - if you've studied magic and its workings, then you know what must arise for you to leave this place as an Archmage.
- I must die," he said, nodding. "I must die, and be reborn again, as Meris was."

The dog nodded. "Luckily for us, removing these arcane constraints of yours is liable to kill you, considering the state you're in. All you have to do for us is hold on to life as long as possible. We'll take care of the rest. Understood?

The Void Weaver nodded. Then followed agonizingly long minutes of Naber feeling for the exact placements of the arcane obstructions and instructing Amazo on how to target them. Once a blocked node was identified, Quigley directed Etheric lightning and force at the Squid's energetic body, and quite simply electrified his soul in the very literal sense of the term. Lucian bore through the pain of the first few jolts, but then found it easier to let himself scream, to focus that new, unimaginable pain somewhere. Soon, the discharges were strong enough to make even Sophia fear he'd crush her hand, every contact outlining his bones and a few internal organs, as though he were being lit up from within. More importantly, each jolt uncovered three tumor-like dark spots that seemed to flake away.

After twelve jolts, Rothchild was quite visibly in agony, but pushed himself to smile through the pain. "I can - I can almost feel it! One more, mister Quigley! One more... and it'll be... over!"

Amazo gritted his teeth together. "I can't stomach seeing an innocent in so much pain. I'm not sure I can finish."

Lucian laughed weakly, coughed and wheezed. "My dear Amazo... Meris could tell you that while she and I are both kind-hearted; we are no innocents. Do it. End my travails and give them... purpose."

The snake gritted his teeth, cleared his throat and blinked sweat away from his eyes, finally delivering the final jolt. Rothchild's body jolted and then relaxed into death, the final dark patches were removed from his soul - and Sophia would sense him, as she had most other living things in this city, for the first time. An unconnected being, begging for the right to join the joyful and noble torrent of arcane potential. Naberius closed the old man's eyes and looked back to Sophia, nodding. In a few seconds, their window of opportunity would close.

"Give him everything," he asked of the dryad.

* * *

"No, no!" protested Evangeline, her rage turning to sorrow as power left her. Her strikes turned into merely humanly feasible punches, then into weak slaps. Add Percival's harrassing, and she was quickly off of Loren's cape, backing away from Meris and the others. "They took my son," she wailed, "they came for my mind! My husband abandoned me! My husband abandoned me!"

On her knees, she looked up to Meris with her face streaked with tears. "Don't do this, please! Don't send me back!" she pleaded to the Archmage. "They deserve to die; they all deserve to die! Don't make me not remember!"

* * *

"Now, the question is," noted Bucky, "how are we gonna cross the entire city and reach Evergloam's stockade in time? I can't run that fast, I don't have integrated jet nozzles up my bumhole or wings I could deploy, and even driving would set us back."

He produced light scraping sounds as his steel fingers rubbed against his steel chin, his finger snap would've sounded the same way, if not for a bit of cosmetic and auditory arcane tune-ups dating back to the armature's creation. He eyed the observatory they'd almost walked past and then looked back at Neasa.

"Head on up there and unfasten those moorings, skipper," he told her. "I'm gonna go fetch me a Captain Copperguts. We're going on a rocket-powered airship ride!"
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