Chapter VI - Asunder

[IamLEAM1983]

"How kind of you," replied the darkened ungulate, in a tone that was neither quiet out of dejection, or particularly restrained by the sting of defeat. The demon and Fallen dragon traded a glance as they passed, the difference in poise looking rather shocking. It felt as though Rhadamantus' own burden of Pride had been strenghtened, as he stood with his back straight and with one hand behind his back. The other was curled in, an index finger hooking his vest. Hatred wasn't what was being communicated, so much as stern disapproval - something that forced the Goat to look away. He'd sounded small and pitiful in acknowledging Marius, and there was no real gratitude in his tone - but also no lasting energy to give rise to a developed sense of resentment. It had to be some sort of half-processed resignation, then, something that made him docile and unusually quiet as he and Marius navigated what was left of the tower's concrete stairwells leading to the garages and bunkers.

Back upstairs, the Judge inhaled deeply, his affected posture from moments ago loosening slightly. "Everything is in place," he said, looking back between Aspasia and Andrea. "Every clause has been met, every seal has been stamped... Now all I require is a measure of peace, and I will bring this world to order. A few hours more, and we should have it."

Paimon grunted. "Assuming none join in directly from the Goat's old seat. If we've allies there, they will still have to pay for their survival quite dearly."

Rhadamantus grunted in assent, his posture further loosening. He didn't look as tired as he used to, back in his apartment, but he also didn't look quite as drawn up or composed as he'd made himself out to be in front of the Goat. He gave a reassuring smile to Aspasia.

"I've no desire to wave my power about, miss Robertson," he said. "I'd much rather keep it in check until after the national and international courtroom proceedings will have taken place."

Three glanced back outside. "And then what? Hope becomes the center of attention again?
- Not Hope, so much as my Court," he said. "I will preside over any mundane and legal assemblies Justice requires, but in one evening to come, I will speak as a supernatural being, ready and willing to apportion Pride's old tithes and holdings to those who will have petitioned for them, or whom I shall deem worthy. The Goat has only surrendered his crown for the moment, his title is still wholly his as far as Hell's peerage is concerned. Once I revoke it, he will be left with nothing."

The old dragon parted with a sharp sigh. "Not before I ask for restitution, however. I've already spoken of this to Miranda, before we came back down. I am also owed justice, and if the Black Goat was foolish enough to entrust me with authority on the premise that I would never recall the slights I'd been subjected to, he shall learn the error of his ways."

Woodford came in closer, flanked by Anjali. "Blimey, this seems serious! Is this something else I might've missed?
- The Goat tricked me into serving his farcical attempt at a legal system," summarized Rhadamantus. "He shackled me with imposed amnesia and maintained ignorance, and turned the object of my damnation into a repeated form of torture. To put things simply, those I called friends and loved ones in my mortal days paid for my mistakes with their lives. Tom and Aislinn broke my bonds. With my imprisonment ended, all that was left, ironically, was the calling the Goat had forced upon me, that one mark of his influence I would still value. Due Process. Fairness and equity. Therein lies my Pride."

Tension left him again, and he looked back to Aspasia as his shoulders slumped slightly. "I'll, er, have a sandwich, if any are left, please," he asked, looking self-conscious. "I might've been freed, I still haven't exactly been freed from the Vice's chronic need to grandstand, it seems," he observed, chuckling.

* * *

The final set of double doors opening onto the bunkers presented Marius with incredulous stares and hate-filled glares, along with quietly jubilant faces that strained to contain their emotion. He wasn't their target, however - that dubious honor belonged to the man he kept walking in front of him. Shock seemingly kept the group from hissing or spitting at his charge, from attempting to throw things - but he'd have felt that same kind of tension, before. The difference was, of course, that he wasn't on the receiving end, this time around.

Right now, in this exact instant, the Black Goat of Mendes deeply wished he'd paid for his sins with one of the Burdens. It forced him to avert his eyes when the big Pride Knight who'd been down here earlier stepped forward and nodded curtly at Marius, taking the lead and forming the kind of escort the deposed Prince knew he had no chance of escaping from. Obviously, Tom had designed for the holding cells to be kept as far away from the generators and hydroponic systems as finances permitted. They passed armored cars, wall after wall of survival-related supplies, firearms and bladed weapons, and finally reached a short fork in the corridor. The outer door's lock looked like only a strength-enhanced superhuman or a demon similar to Allocer could've worked its crank-operated knob, a massive steel plate sliding along rails and revealing a short alcove leading to a round cell. The Goat was led in and allowed to sit on the one-piece concrete slab that would serve as both bench and bedding. The way the corridor was constructed, the Goat could hear what happened outside of his cell while remaining out of sight of mostly everyone.

"You'll be given sheets on a weekly basis, toiletries every two days," said the Knight. "Your stock is yours to administer. Your meal times are six-thirty, twelve-thirty and nineteen-hundred hours. As soon as stability allows, you will be fitted with bio-tracking nanite packages. Any attempts to lie or bluff your way to a physician will be detected. Medical attention will only be provided as needed. Six months following cessation of all hostilities, a recommendation will be placed in your name at the Vienna Council for your permanent detention at the Caliban Smith Detention Complex."

The Goat scoffed quietly. "Wonderful, place me with the empowered ruffians, why don't you? Let me have tea with Rendell's captured associates - this surely won't backfire."

The Knight looked nonplussed. "You are to be offered a copy of all relevant assessments, prior to your being detained. If you had maintained relations with your own Counterintelligence forces, you would know what the mortals think of you."

The Goat looked up to Marius. "What would you recommend, I wonder?"

The Knight grunted menacingly. "Irrelevant. Marius Vlastos' assessment for the Vienna Council in regards to your detention has not yet been written. Tom Magnus, Aidan Drake, Archibald Holden and all Fae aristocrats countrywide have already petitioned for your summary Stasis. One finds it difficult to talk, when one is unconscious and fed intraveinously."

He then stepped slightly aside and glanced at Vlastos. "Would your advisory follow in this direction, colleague?"

* * *

Thankfully, Aislinn would find that Azazel wasn't too far gone. Her magic wormed its way along the Fallen Faun's back and arms, slithered along his nervous system and poked at his brain, with the wretch soon opening his eyes. Gratitude first washed over him, then scrubbed aside by acute fear.

"N-No, get away! Get away from me, you'll be cursed!" he shouted as he tried to scramble away. "Your friends need you focused on the situation, not possessed by hatred for me!"

Hearing this, Tom looked over his shoulder. "Easy, Azazel - just stay there, Aislinn's going to stay as close as she can to you while staying out of your curse's range. I'll be right there, I just have to play engineer for the local electronic bourgeois for a second..."

Glancing up, he locked eyes with the Glutton. "Lyman - I'm going to need a few pinches from that miracle meat of yours. Judging by the smell; you're packing so much monosaturated fat under that pink fuzz any blood transfusion would turn the receiver into a Type 3 diabetic."

The pink demon looked down at Archie and quickly caught on, hurrying closer and pinching off measures of his own neck fat, the resulting balls looking like small Hostess treats. "Arcane grease, coming up," he said. "I hope Holden has some tolerance for certain scents..."

Tom's nose wrinkled, but he chose not to complain. "If you've got some control over it, just go for standard coconut oil, instead of whatever ungodly decadent culinary sexiness you're trying to pose as!"

Smearing the balls over the rusted area, Zeke couldn't restrain a smile as he got one of the android's arms to move again - albeit laboriously. "I think the term you're looking for is Eau de Krispy Kreme, but I'll try not to overdo it!"

He then handed a few small balls of his own matter to Crystal. "Here you go, Deputy Chief - it's not everyday that sploshing saves lives, so you might as well make an anecdote out of it! You can't hurt me even if it looks like you're going to pinch all of my double chin away - it'll just rebuild. Just don't eat these things, and rub them over any joint you can reach while trying to turn them. Go slowly, so you don't break anything. Oh, and don't lick your fingers, no matter how good it'll all smell soon. The last thing the new local supernatural attorney-at-law needs is the figurehead of the local police force not putting up administrative appearances, once I inevitably saunter into your office with a request!"

Tom stopped for a moment, ignoring the ruinous, jelly and chocolate-covered mess his hands and Archie's left calf and shin had become. Beating back the urge to suck on his fingers, he gripped the Clank's foot and rotated the joint, Lyman's supernatural oils breaking down sizable chunks of the accumulated rust and lubricating the rest. Lyman flinched slightly when Ereshkigal pinched a bit more of his own matter from the back and used it to generously smear the EPU - likely out of the same notion.

"I'd, uh, make sure none of it touches the actual PCB, though," noted the Glutton. "The crystal lattice should be fine, but printed circuit boards don't really do all that well with food-grade supernatural flesh plastered all over."

* * *

"You have my thanks," nodded the female Architect, smiling. "As for the goodness and secrecy involved," she said, her smile turning into a smirk, "it really is no surprise. I imagine you can figure out who is behind it."

Panels in the floor sank down and receded away, following an unseen mechanism. A hex-shaped hole was formed, and out of it rose a hex-shaped pedestal of sorts, on top of which rested a statue. It was a short piece, maybe twelve or thirteen inches tall, and it depicted a young woman in fifteenth-century garb, a painter's apron tied over her skirts and her bonnet held askew, allowing for a few delicately-sculpted strands of hair to escape it. In front of her was a wood-framed globe of the Earth, but she wasn't taking to it using a sextant or other measuring tools. Instead, the slender rods that protruded from between her fingers were brushes and delicate painting knives, something to the monochrome carving and polishing still suggesting that her face and clothes were smeared with her medium. Her attention was set halfway between rapt attention and enjoyment, a smirk playing on her lips. As with the Architect's own demesne, the sculpture seemed to shift slightly as Matriel's perspective changed, the girl's expression evoking satisfaction one moment, concern in the next or annoyance if he moved just so.

"As to why, I gather it has precious little to do with your being the Throne of Water," the Architect said. "I think it has more to do with your being a good person, first and foremost."

* * *

Wrenching the door open, Ciaran's party would find small pools of Hellfire out of which the torsos or lone arms of previous attackers reached, now limp and likely sinking back down into the plane of their origin. Others had apparently been on Earth long enough to be rooted in place and simply laid there, as corpses were liable to. Climbing out of the ruined Pedway would be a long and arduous process, long enough to acquaint them with the fallout of Hesediel's demise. There was something especially anxiety-inducing to the idea of walking through and out of a subterranean structure as its support struts groaned and buckled and as somewhere behind them, pipes could be heard bursting.

Climbing back out of one of the Pedway's access points, they'd find small pockets of the Damned battling one another, a few of them oddly stopping mid-clash as something seemed to be pushing some of Pride's holdovers into either surrendering their weapons or turning their backs on their remaining comrades. Most of the turncoats didn't have the Burning Legion's plate armor or crimson capes, but they behaved in a somewhat similar manner, staring down as those of them who didn't come to their senses with a steely gaze before attacking them.

Seeing Albert and the others, a pod of six Fiends rushed them with fangs bared and swords raised, only for a somewhat familiar voice to ring out from the nearby street corner.

"Hold - they're with us. Cover this access until they move on."

The words hadn't been shouted, but they'd been spoken with such command and ablomb that the group stopped, glanced off to the side and merely stepped aside. Out of the street corner came Mister Volker, or what had once been the possessed shell of Benjamin Mathers. He'd once been holding off against the onslaught in front of Magnus Tower, dressed in his tactical best, and now wore something that looked like a Black Metal album cover artist's idea of SWAT gear, an oddly new scar visible across his right eye. That hadn't been there before, and neither had been its covering eye patch and its single, glinting ruby inlaid in eye cup's exact centre. Volker kept his FAMAS raised upward, finger off the trigger, as he approached them.

"This is a new look for you, Volker," noted Arthur. "I'm not sure I like the whole Airsoft-grade Sauron vibes you've got going."

The wolf's one good eye rolled. "Holden," he said, settling with this as a greeting. "Didn't exactly pick 'em," he said. "Goat's plan backfired the moment one of the circlets touched my forehead. Spent about twenty minutes killing anything that moved within enemy turf, then something from the old man, I'd say, poked out of the haze a bit. Got to thinking again - realized what this means. I'm still an incubus by default, so part of the old urges ran contrary to Wrath's. Kinda let me space to think again."

Arthur nodded. "So you're the new Valefor, then. The new Prince of Wrath."

The wolf checked his weapon's mounted sight. "Sorta. Ain't official yet, Mantus is the one who's gonna seal it all up - but for now, yeah. I'm it. 
- How's it feel like?" asked Claudia, who looked a bit uncertain. Volker shrugged.

"Sorta like before. I was the angry one in Tom's group before, I'll still be the angry one after this. Didn't need a primer on Wrath; I know the genuine article's cold - cool, even. Y'can slap smiles on top if you have to; act all congenial and shit. The one difference is Valefor was a Grade-A sociopath, and I'm a Lust demon saddled with the brain chemistry of a deceased Grade-A sociopath. I'm a sociopath who likes people."

Claudia frowned. "I think a few berjillion editions of the DSM-IV would shit all over this, honestly.
- Wouldn't be here if I didn't have some connections," reminded the wolf. "Besides, I'm not a shrink. I'm a zombie mercenary being driven around by an Incubus who's head honcho for Wrath. Don't like my definition, Pointdexter? You can take a hike - respectfully."

It probably was due to his newfound mantle, but it took a while for Volker to notice the others looked distraught. Only Albert looked to have been improved by the recent events.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked. "You look like you just woke up after one of Gluttony's orgies...
- Sophia's dead," replied Arthur, his tone perhaps a little too blunt. Volker's eye turned glacial in the same instant, the set of his jaw shifted, and the rubberized handle of his submachine gun creaked. He sent the other Wrath soldiers a glance.

"You three," he told them, "canvas the neighbourhood. Any Pride sons-of-bitches aren't glowing and covered in chrome, I want 'em dead. Scan 'em if they don't engage, then feed me the details."

Another glance back at another group. "The two of you, head back to Point Delta, fetch some of that blasting gelatin the old guy had you brew up. I want base charges by the entrance's support pillars. Nobody gets to Sophia who doesn't have Magnus or Holden's approval and budget enough for an excavation team. Until this ends, this place here's her mausoleum."

Stepping a little aside, Albert raised an eyebrow. "I thought the Prince of Wrath would be less methodical...
- Aimless rage is for amateurs," grunted Volker. "So's blind ambition, and Valefor never learned that last bit. Real scary Wrath's the kind you don't see coming."

* * *

"Your world needs more speculation," nodded the Architect. "It isn't my province to conjure what could or should be. This is an honor that belongs to you. You and all your mortal and immortal friends. She and I are only there to ensure all of Life's conjectures can be carried out."

He nodded slightly. "Speaking of, I indeed should send you back. Don't be afraid if a few seconds pass by in a haze, I am merely allowing your mind to catch up with your allies'."

For instant, the old man looked about ready to gesture Nami on her way, when something seemingly caught His eye. The way He'd looked over her shoulder, some fork of Creation had caught His eye - and for once, it didn't look too dire or hard on the eyes. He refocused on Nami and smiled.

"Once things resolve, take a few days off with your shuttle. Learn to not let go of Nami Urakawa too much, and to hang up your Throne wings from time to time. Considering your new interests, I would suggest a trip to Paris. Try and meander about the Rue de Bourgogne, at night... There is a certain collector there who is looking for someone with an eye for technology... Immortal though he may be, there are some constructs no Guildmate can decipher on their own. It may prove to be a fun vacation of sorts."

* * *

Going from despair to concerned revolve and from there to confusion looked to have taken a bit of a toll out of the Knight. Upon materializing in the Architect's tower, his jaw hung agape and his tendrils lolled as his eyes slowly took in his surroundings. 

"This can't be in line with the Scriptures," he told nobody in particular. "Is this some other apocryphal plane?"

The Architect now appeared to Abdiel and Cuthbert as a particularly aged Squid, bent over his walking staff and tentacles turned rigid after what likely felt like lifetimes of minute page-turning gestures. Its eyes were rheumy, as if unseeing, but they found their expected point of focus like Ahriman's - and smiled as wrinkles formed at their corners.

"Apocryphal according to whom, Sir Knight of the Cross?" he asked, his smirk lessening as Cuthbert's first instinct was to take a half-step away. Still, the Knight soon noticed how the old man simply stood there, and soon relaxed.

"Since when have Thrones conspired with natives of Dalarath?" asked William, to which the old man shook his head in the negative.

"I am not of Dalarath, nor of Respite Point. I am the Architect, William Cuthbert. The Artisan gave you life and entrusted me to give you sentience."

It took a few seconds for William to reply, as striking as this piece of information seemed to be, to him. "Is it true?" he then quietly asked. "Are the Void Weavers creatures of God?"

The frail and aging Prelate chuckled softly. "Not just of God, my son. Of myself, as well, long before the Usurper took you all from me and offered you to the Others."

Having unconsciously brought his sword along - at least within the mental projection he now dwelled in - William allowed his knees to buckle under the sudden shock and placed his sword's tip down, balancing himself as he wavered.

"We never fell from Grace," the Knight quietly deduced. "We were stolen from it! The final piece of the Prelacy's lies, and I am finally free of it..."

The old Squid nodded. "Freed, but not without a sacred charge, Brother Cuthbert - Father Cuthbert, who officiated Mass in Italy behind his ethically-sourced Flesh Mask, who believed so much more than any man, woman or child to have ever lived right under the Order of Saint George's shadow ever would - and whose faith made the Heavens come down in a thunderous crash. William Cuthbert, guarded by Hesediel - and now one with him."

Strength left William's arms, and he carefully let the sword tilt to one side. "I - I can't accept this," he protested. "I'll fight as a man, a priest, a servant of God, a friend of those I've allied with back in the Terrestrial realms - but how could I possibly become a Throne without endangering others?!"

The Architect glanced at Abdiel and then back at the soldier. "You remember those teachings the darkness of Dalarath couldn't taint, William. The texts you burned - that you read, devoured before burning. You know of what I represent..."

Swallowing, the Squid nodded. "Integrity, intellectual honesty, wilful benevolence carefully considered before being dispensed. Stability and equanimity. The structures of the great dam turning the churning waters of the river Chaos into the nurturing stream of Potentiality..."

The Architect nodded. "But not faith. I have never asked to be blindly believed in and always knew some of my own sons would turn their back on me. All I expect is the study of and respect of the mysteries I have sent you forth to guard. If I were alone, I would not ask you to trust me - your doubts are more than reasonable. I am not alone in this, however."

The old Squid gestured for Nami's hammer. "Now, William - I ask that you have faith in us."

[TennyoCeres84]

The two Faunesses and the selkie watched Marius lead the Goat out of the area and further down below. The Archmage huffed out a sigh of relief, clearly happy to see the Goat out of the vicinity.

At the mention of chronic grandstanding, the former commander shrugged. "There's a time and place for it," she acknowledged. "But moderation in all things, hm?" She searched the fridges for another of the instant sandwiches and found a chicken salad one, offering it to the Fallen dragon.

***

"Calm down, Azazel! I'm going to keep my distance!" Aislinn exclaimed as she carefully backed away. She stood the suitable distance away from the Scapegoat and sighed. "We weren't sure how the blast might've affected you, so we wanted to see if you were alright. Though, things are starting to turn around. The Goat's been apprehended, and Pride's forces are either turning to our side or being dealt with as appropriate. By the way, you probably already heard, but you can call me Aislinn."

Meanwhile, Crystal did her best to rein in her lupine sense of smell and focus on using the demonic grease to coat the joints of Holden's shell. She took the offered globs of the peculiar tissue and smeared it in the the hip joints around the pelvic area. If the lord had been conscious, he'd probably be mortified by now, she mused. She moved the joints to get the grease to fully coat the surfaces.

Andrea also joined in to help and plucked some off one of his thick arms. Likewise, she did her best to ignore the overly sweet smell and use it on his joints. The younger werewolf concentrated on his wrists and elbows, while her mother moved up to lubricate the shoulders with the messy stuff.

As they worked, Crystal looked back at Aislinn and said, "Before the surge, he was talking to Aspasia on Archie's phone! See if you can contact her and get her to come down here! That should help put his nerves at ease somewhat!"

Aislinn nodded her thanks to the older woman and glanced over at him. "I'll see about getting her over here, so you can catch up with each other!"

She then sent to her, "Aspasia, I'm here with Azazel. We were thinking you could come here and talk with him."

"I'll be there ASAP! I'll bring Miranda and Titania's drum along with us!"

"See if you can get somebody to come along with you! Things are settling down, but having a bit more extra security with you wouldn't hurt!" She gave her the coordinates of their location.

"Will do! See you soon!"

Just as they finished their conversation, Neasa was heard coming down the spiral staircase. "Is everyone alright down here? We heard the Tower groaning, but then it stopped!"

"We're good! Vlastos just took the Goat down to the bunker cells! Meris and Vlastos patched the corrosion for right now!"

Aspasia gave the young woman a smile as she remembered the bit of their conversation involving grilled cheese sandwiches. She fetched some non-perishable bread, cheese, and butter tablets and filled the roane in on where she was headed and if she wanted to come as backup. Neasa agreed and watched as Aspasia put the ingredients into an insulated bag, along with a ceramic pan and some plastic utensils.

"We'll be back later! Stay safe and keep in touch if something comes up!" Aspasia said, heading out the front entrance with Neasa and Miranda.

It would take them a little longer than the satyress expected, but they were soon within eyesight of Tom and the others.

***

Matriel smiled fondly at the representation of the Artisan. "Art reflecting life," he responded. "It's a perfect depiction of Her."

He thought over what the Architect said and added, "I had my initial feelings of kindness and wonder toward life from the beginning, but it was my later feelings toward Hanako and Nami that caused me to be more attached to Her Creation. We've seen and experienced the wonders She has made and experimented with, but this one is somewhat different. I believe that's why it has lasted as long as it has. I know it won't be around forever, but I will do most best to ensure that it remains around for a long time to come."

He looked down at the small jeweler's hammer and nodded lightly. "I will make sure William learns what he needs to and learns to feel Creation as we do. However, I know he already has a deep understanding of how precious life on Earth and the rest of the galaxy is, but we will be at his side regardless."

***

While the task of blocking access to Sophia's resting place was an obvious one, Ciaran still felt relieved by the new Prince of Wrath's actions. "Thank you, Volker," he said. He didn't say much else, but despite his new role, the wolf would be able to pick up on the considerable amount of rage the selkie harbored toward the Goat, which was bundled with immense grief.

Marginally less distraught, Alana rested a hand on the young man's shoulder and glanced back at the collapsing Pedway. "We stopped one of the Goat's last plays to turn the War back in his favor. Had we not, we would have to deal with a Nexus guarded by a corrupted dryad, on top of the Metal Throne dying," she explained wearily. "We're hanging on by a thread."

"Fucking bastard," Ciaran spat, his shoulders tensing and then slumping.

***

A fleeting expression of puzzlement melted into happy curiosity. "I'll definitely have to pay that collector a visit, once things calm down. Also, I wouldn't think of letting Nami Urakawa go. Regardless of my new mantle, connecting with my background is key to keeping all of that angelic hubris at bay."

She smiled down at the blocky, medieval hammer she held in her right hand. "I look forward to seeing how Cuthbert-san will adapt to his new gifts. I'm sure I could learn some things from him, as he will from all of us."

***

Abdiel handed over a hammer that was the most primitive of them all. It was a chunk of slightly glittering raw ore. One could imagine the earliest humanoids using it to sculpt crude tools for hunting and skinning, patiently chipping away at flint. It held the trace metals that were otherwise corroding away on Earth.

The Throne of Fire grasped one of Cuthbert's hands and smiled, squeezing gently. "We Thrones have faith that you will be as considerate and steady as Hesediel, as brilliant and vital as he was. He won't be forgotten, and we will miss him dearly. However, you are the first page in the next chapter, William. We will be at your side and aid you in learning in the same ways we had to. My fires will shape the metals you create. Matriel's waters will course through it and cool it as it emerges from the Earth. Ariel's winds will glide and roar over mountains, plains, and forests and guide dust that will help birth new land. Nami's guidance of mortal ingenuity will push technology to soar to new levels never before seen or imagined. That is what awaits you, so please have faith in us and in God to make it so."

[Karl the Mad]

Marius knew he wasn't the one everyone was staring at, but it was still disconcerting to have so many eyes pointed near him. It was a relief to hand the Goat off to the burly Knight who stepped up, and out of curiosity he kept following along. There was a lot of gear down here, it seemed clear Tom had been prepared for the long haul if things had gone a slight bit worse up top.

At the cells he admired their solidity and wondered what it would take to breach them, and his architect's eye looked for weak points out of habit. He frowned slightly at the interior, as he would have preferred isolation for his prisoners regardless of what the penal psychologists had to say about such things.

The conditions of the Goat's detainment seemed firm yet fair to him, yet when both demons turned to ask what he thought he was a bit taken aback. "Me? I'm not sure Vienna's quite sorted out what to do with me just yet, but since you ask..."

He stroked his chin and regarded the Goat with a thoughtful coldness. "I'm certain you both know what my thoughts are already. Damnatio Memoriae. I know by now that it works differently on angels and demons than on the likes of me, for those are its true targets. None of the loopholes and manias I was plagued with, no slow dissolution over a span of millennia, but true damnation of memory, until the only ones who remember you are scholars tasked with remembering such things, and the reasons why everyone else is permitted to forget."

The old vampire glanced up at the burly Knight. "If I have time, should I submit a notarized recommendation later?" he asked, half in jest. "For what little my opinion would count for, of course..."

[IamLEAM1983]

The Knight looked as though what Marius had just said was slightly foolish. "You've fought with us - of course your opinion matters. You may have suffered from an excess of Pride in the past, Marius Vlastos, but some of it should still be yours to reclaim."

The Goat didn't add anything, but the glare he sent was eloquent enough. He probably had his reservations on Marius' ability to regain, maintain and not abuse of a certain sense of respect. Luckily, the Knight glared right back.

"I, for one, believe both avenues could be employed," the burly demon said, even as he took a step back to rap on the sliding door. Someone outside worked its mechanism, and it slowly began to open again. "Stasis so those of us who remember are left unburdened, a curse so the others can claim the gift of innocence. Besides, a curse of which the effects are not consciously felt is a particularly humane one, by default. I imagine no human rights arbitrators would object if we subjected this... thing to the worst indignities imaginable, but your side of the conflict has taught us a valuable lesson."

The door now being sufficiently open, the Knight stepped through. "There is more to Pride than puffed-up aristocratic pretenses. What you and your allies fought for is far stronger, more resilient. A sturdier version of Pride."

He then offered a large mitt, a tad larger than Allocer's or Paimon's, in a simple handshake. "I am Shax," he said. "I followed with the others after you toppled Grishnakhal's bailey. You may not have been the one to convince me, but you were the one to land the final blow that pushed my men and I to follow you across the Gate. This merits respect."

* * *

Rhadamantus took the offered sandwich, thanking Aspasia with a nod and a grunt, making the act of tearing its foil open and picking at the bread and chicken filling look almost fastidious, like the current events preoccupied him too much to allow him the satisfaction of a decently-sized bite. Before the Chimera left with her supplies, he had time enough to slide closer to Meris, Anjali and Regis.

"I've called Penfield Hilliard forth," he said. "It may be too early for his kind's re-emergence, but his gifts can yet save this tower, or at least support it until Hesediel is restored."

Anjali looked a bit confused. "I didn't see you dig out your cell phone, Randolph. When'd you call him, exactly?
- Just now," replied the Fallen dragon, who tapped his temple. "I am Judge, and I daresay we would all need his expert testimony. He should be up shortly."

The young woman blinked. "So you're like Aislinn or Meris. You're a telepath. That's new...
- Not a telepath, no. My charge has increased, all my prerequisites have been fulfilled, so from now until the hour of the Goat's condemnation, I stand at my personal apex. I'm likely to temporarily lose certain abilities afterward, until such time as another case is entrusted to my judgment. I can call those I deem worthy in helping me build my understanding of the Goat's case. There can be no case if the seat of my Court is destroyed - and we still are without a courthouse. For now, Magnus Tower is my Court - and it is endangered. All clauses have been met; I can call Penfield Hiliard to testify of his abilities - for the good of my office and for those that support it."

The girl grimaced lightly. "That sucks. I mean, losing your powers once things die down sucks."

The dragon chuckled lightly. "Ah, but it prevents abuses. It first prevented me from having power enough to rebel against the Black Goat, and now it should serve to ensure power never tempts me for its own sake. It will instill further respect for those mortal constituents I am to defend, especially if I know that if the need arises, I'll have enough potency to keep them safe."

Anjali then added a frown. "Mister Mantus, did you ever have time to get some sense of what I am, in terms of how the universe works? People aren't just supposed to walk out of Heaven fully corporeal, and they aren't supposed to grow physically older if things push them to turn more mature faster than usual."

Randolph traded a smile between the girl and Meris. "Ah, but the Soulborn are a new addition to the universe's codices. We know souls are more malleable than incarnate beings, as shades and ghosts can testify, but you are a corporeal being that has retained some of that primary malleability. I suspect God and the Architect wouldn't have allowed you to rejoin with Archibald if it hadn't been part of some greater design of theirs."

He clicked his tongue. "Fleet-footed minds, faster on the uptake than the brightest of natural mortals, fast enough to counter the Wanderers and other half-mortal thralls of entreprising dragons, with bodies ready and willing to adapt to change and trauma faster than anyone else's, with some of immortality's boons and all the present and grounded nature of true mortals..."

Anjali looked like she wasn't entirely buying it. "Mister Mantus, I remember being small enough to sneak inside your room in Holden Hall without Bagley or Gubbin noticing. You'd just stand next to the bed and snoozed the evenings away, and I'd picked your room because it was the quietest place in the manor. That was barely more than a year ago. The bigger portals to Hell hadn't opened that I still looked like I was fourteen or fifteen. Now the war's ending and with my father and his girlfriend being off saving the world, I had to ask a Seducer for help with my first period."

Rhadamantus blinked. "I'm sure Sariel was more than capable to-
- That's not the problem, Randolph!" replied Anjali. "My childhood was cut short in the eighteen-hundreds by a bunch of cult-worshipping Thugs, then I was brought back by the man who saved my life. I thought I'd be able to grow up, fi

nally find some sort of peace - and the bloody Black Goat took that from me! Now I look eighteen - almost twenty-one if you ask Alphonse - and all I've really picked up as an adult is how to shoot a gun. Going this fast - if there's no real purpose behind it - it's not right. I feel like everyone else has time to work these things out, but I've just been shunted from one big change to the next!"

The dragon exchanged a concerned look with Meris. What the girl was expressing had to have festered in the back of her mind for quite a while. He sighed, withdrew for an instant, and then looked back to her. It wasn't easy for a former Judicator to be open on matters that had nothing to do with Order or Justice, but he knew he had to be.

"Sometimes," he said, "things happen for seemingly no reason. It's only later that their purpose is made manifest. You can't simply be knocked forward, biologically, every time something threatens this city. I think - and hope - that you're being... crafted for a later purpose, and that things will prove to be more stable for you in future. What matters most, however, is what will never change, Anjali. In his own way, Archibald adores you, there isn't a single one of us here who wouldn't help you if you asked; and you are loved. You matter, Anjali Holden."

The girl glanced off to the doors, her concern hiding her mounting emotional tension, and she finally looked away and shook her head.

"I'm just tired, is all. I just want what I've barely had, and I want to stop feeling like everyone in my family is making a business of brushing with death on a weekly basis. Once the war ends, I just want..."

She didn't finish, looking up to Meris as though no words could fully capture her desires.

* * *

Azazel did much as he'd done for Aspasia, testing Aislinn's name on his lips and again looking like someone offering him their name seemed odd, if not a tad dangerous. The news the newcomer relayed made a variety of expressions play on his marred features, from fear to exultation to a small measure of glee. He glanced off to the side, towards the open gash in the wall, and couldn't quite repress a brief and childlike smile at the sight of his erstwhile comrades being beaten back or simply succumbing to the rout brought on by Pride's sudden absence of guidance.

"I took the blast for your friends," he then told Aislinn. "I think the speaking-box the metal man gave me was damaged; I can't hear Aspasia through it anymore."

He glanced off towards the slagged smartphone, with its half-molten casing and its fine rivulets of smoke escaping from a crack between the reinforced glass and outer frame. It was easy to tell the sudden influx of via had especially done a number on the battery cell, as the smartphone's back now dangerously bulged. Either the device would start leaking battery acid shortly, or some errant flame blast from one of the Pitspawn left outside could set it off like a small explosive charge. Not being particularly aware of the danger, Azazel still palmed it and winced slightly as a fine coating of acid began to irritate his fingers' skin.

"I'd hand you mine," added Tom, "but I think it's safe to say Aspasia's on her way."

With the others being fairly occupied with Archie's frame, Erin gathered her wits and took a long bend around Aislinn and Azazel, positioning herself so she'd see out towards Centennial Park. "Shouldn't be long," she said, her voice still frayed. "If she's using one of the cars and pushing past some of Allocer's old checkpoints, she should be here in ten, maybe twelve minutes..."

As expected, it wasn't too long indeed, with one of the tower's armored cars stopping on the nearby street corner. If Aspasia came packing, she'd maybe need to part with one or two warning shots towards more entreprising packs of Envy and Lust thralls, but Pride's particular zeal had long since vacated the enemy's disposition. After playing keep-away behind a few cars, she'd have enough latitude to duck inside and climb up to where Tom, Archie, Aislinn and Zeke all were.

* * *

"I'm glad to hear it," nodded the female Architect. "It isn't as though Creation is a particularly demanding commitment," she said, clear traces of playful sarcasm touching her features, her eyes lighting up with mirth. "What's a few billion billion years to lovers of their craft, hm? Time flies, when one does what one loves..."

From Matriel's perspective, the aged Void Weaver, Cuthbert, Nami and his Throne sisters all faded into view, the female Architect placing a hand on the aged Squid's shoulder in a posture that evoked both boundless love and total patience. His rheumy eyes searched for, and seemingly found hers; and a look of fathomless tenderness washed over his features.

The Knight Commander blinked, as from his perspective, the robe-wearing woman and Matriel had only just appeared. "I thought the Architect was a single entity," he said, which made both Eldritch seniors look back to him fondly.

"A couple is an entity," replied the old Prelate. "Look to her, and you find me. Look to me, and find her. We are one and the same, Knight Cuthbert - just as we also are the old man Nami Urakawa found waiting for her. The Artisan herself is all things to all people, as well. Young and old, kind and cruel, as Cartesian as we once proved to be, while just as contrastingly chaotic. To be a Throne is to approach a figment of this essentiality - to become it."

He looked to the various hammers the Thrones had been given. "Which one do I choose?
- All are the same..." shrugged the woman.

"All are different," nodded the old Weaver. "It makes all the difference, just as it makes no difference whatsoever."

The former Arbiter fell silent for a moment, looking down as he considered his options. He then looked back up. "I pick the hammer that wasn't offered," he said. "Not the tool, not the weapon, not the oldest memory of the Craft. If one of the Elements is to be carried by a formerly mortal being, taking up a charge of craftsman or soldier alone would be a rhetorical and political trap. I can't be viewed as a weapon by outside parties, and I cannot simply stand aside and watch over processes that articulate themselves over geological epochs - not when lives measured in centuries, if not mere decades, can benefit from my input. I've spent an entire mortal lifetime living here, and this will not change because I'll have accepted a new charge."

He glanced back to the other Thrones. "You won't ever find me in Heaven - and you can tell Uriel for all I care - as my place is on Earth, with those people whose eternal souls I've sworn to protect as a Knight of the Order of Saint George. I'll protect your balance over my Element and the balance we all share with every breath I'll ever draw - but I can't be like the Hesediel you knew. I can't remove myself from Life to better shape it. I remain convinced I'll do my best work, as ever, if I'm allowed to work on the ground; with mortal groups and institutions."

The Squid nodded to Matriel. "If you're to become my brother, you probably understand my position. I've been committed to God's cause since that fateful day I first dreamed of Mother Mary, but that commitment has always been expressed through others. Those I help. Those I save. Those I judge or bring to justice. Those to whom I bring peace, either through conflict or penitence. You're a father and have been for several years, now. How much of your charge is now expressed through your ties to Nami, I wonder? Could you go back as an anonymous force of nature, after what Hanako offered you?"

Standing up, having placed his sword at his feet, Cuthbert nodded to the other angels. "Those are my terms. You can accept them or find someone else to grace with this boon - although I think time is of the essence."

* * *

"Word is that thread got bigger," noted Volker, "Goat's been officially captured and deposed. Pride's leaderless - it's the only thing that explains their behavior when confronted. They've got no common Ego to groom, so it's every Fiend for itself. Makes some pods more dangerous - especially the smart ones - if they manage to organize, but they're still self-serving pompous assholes lording their plate mails and swords over us.."

He lightly shifted his grip on his rifle. "...and we're the ones with AP rounds. That's without mentioning the Modern Art monstrosity that's sunken in-between the two hills at Centennial Park; Abdiel and Melmoth scared the crap out of the last advance's contingent.
- Hesediel's demise hasn't affected you too much, it seems," noted Dickens, to which Volker grimaced.

"It's there," conceded the wolf, "but, uh, I'm like Valefor in that I would've focused on composite materials even before getting this makeover. Lotta new plastics, lotta metalwork that doesn't just oxidize, or not as fast. First cogent order I passed through the circlet's a call for my dependents, overseas. Recalled the entirety of Wrath to North America, assets included. I knew I'd find one or two warheads in there, maybe one or two uranium cores - chucked them at the problem before Hesediel's death woulda cut their half-life down to minutes..."

Arthur blinked. "So you would've nuked Washington?!
- Not D.C.," opposed Volker. "Everything that's left of Pride's holdings in the Pit. Chunks of Greed, too."

Reassured, Holden sighed. "You're Wrath, now. What are your plans after all this?
- Keep an eye on peace talks, keep Wrath pure, weed out anyone who gives into hatred... Valefor might've been satisfied with couch warriors flinging hate at a TV set or online; Lucifer's gonna wanna shoot for a purer form. As little biases as possible with the purest focus we can reach. No room for bigotry, there. I won't let myself be summoned to give fuel to self-righteous asshats - purest form of Wrath is what I've seen out in the old FEMA refugee camps, when the Army first gave out under the Goat's offense. Kids and seniors asking why without saying a goddamn word. Same thing anyone else's ever seen across all ages of war."

He sniffed, focusing on Ciaran. "Or that. Grief's good Wrath, sometimes. Can't make heads or tails of Soph's death yet, so you're casting it out on the single being who's instigated all of this. If I didn't have any sense of self-preservation, McConmara, I'd toss you a piece, chuck twenty grams of plastique your way and march off to Magnus Tower with you. Let you give ol' Ptah a piece of your mind, preferrably a full-metal-jacketed one.

Problem is, that'd kill you from the inside. Best I can do in the circumstances is make sure your voice carries, once you're called to testify."

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris sent the girl an empathetic look and nodded understandingly. “I can’t put the exact words that would describe how you probably feel, but I can relate to that feeling somewhat. Immeasurable burdens placed on young shoulders, having to grow up ridiculously quickly,” she said with a sigh, taking a seat.

"Your desire for what you've had to sacrifice in the name of war is regrettable, and I hope you're able to experience some semblance of it in the coming peace over the next few years," she admitted. "However, peace isn't a stagnant existence, and you have to find the moments when you can experience joy. I'm sure your father will continue to be the swashbuckling sort, but I hope the decrease in cataclysmic events will allow you two to catch up on the bonding you missed. Your colorful new vernacular might make his heart miss a few clicks, but I think you share the same adventurous spirit. He just hasn't noticed it yet."

"You also have Miranda if you want to talk to someone close to your age and be around. She's only a year or so removed from your physical age. Plus, her life was thrown out of its routine. No school, her home likely made unlivable, her friends are elsewhere. She probably craves returning to some form of normalcy and have someone close to her age around as well."

The Archmage placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder and smiled gently. "You think that learning to shoot a gun is the only thing you've learned as an adult, but learning to be open to others is another important part of life, Anjali. I know you're exhausted from everything, but that'll be something to work on over the coming months."

***

Aislinn equally winced when she smelled the vague odor of battery acid burning demon flesh. "Azazel, you should really let go of the phone," she hurriedly told him as she gestured at the device. "As you noted, its energy source was damaged, and the liquid in it can cause severe burns, so please stop touching it! Plus, any gunfire could cause a small explosion; I don't want you to be hurt!" she blurted, using her her telekinesis to slip it away under a discarded file box. "We'll see if there's a possibility to repair it, but we might have to get Archie a new one..."

Aspasia did have to part with a couple warning shots and some Paradise-worthy posturing as they did their best to slip away from Envy and Lust's Thralls. Neasa drove them up and parked the armored van into the hidden area. The two Faunesses and the selkie clambered toward where their friends were.

The young Warlock noticed their arrival. "Ah, did you have much trouble getting here?" she asked.

"Nah, not too bad! Some Envy and Lust assholes. If they come our way again, I'll pick them off with my rifle and some other surprises I packed!" she responded with some blitheness.

It was Aspasia's turn to wince once she saw the others working to keep the aristocrat's bodyfrom rusting. She did a double take as she realized who it was. "Wait-is that Holden? Where did he get a Alkaev shell?!" she lightly gaped before it quickly sunk in who the benefactor probably was. "Right, nevermind, that'd be Brenner's connections."

"Isn't that someone you know from Paradise, Mom?" Miranda asked, leaving her mother to nod. "Yeah, he is. It's just that tech's really expensive to find here on Earth; you'd need foresight to know he'd need a new body."

"Well, we do have the Vanguard Queen back at the Tower. Given her powers, I wouldn't be surprised if she put in the order herself," Aislinn admitted.

The former commander nodded her head to acknowledge this possibility. "Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if she did either. I'm glad you guys heeded my advice to call her in, since she's the one person Rendell's freaked out by..."

"By the way, Ais, you mentioned Azazel's here?" Neasa inquired.

"Yeah, he's over here," she asked, gesturing to the caprine demon near the window.

"Azazel, this is my older sister, Neasa. The two Fauns are Aspasia and her daughter, Miranda," the Warlock introduced with a smile. The three women kept a suitable distance from him in order to keep him from panicking.

The black-haired woman stayed back a bit, while the other two stepped forward but still remained a safe enough distance away. The older satyress stood about six foot and had long, white hair in a loose braid. Her eyes were of a honey gold color, and the exposed skin on her face and hands were healthy. Her dark gray horns curled behind her ears. Her fit form was clad in lightweight, blue armor, and she set down her pack. Fine wrinkles creased as she smiled at him.

The girl was slightly shorter, and she appeared to have more human-influenced features than her mother. Her brown hair was tied in a ponytail, and her golden-green eyes seemed shy, yet eager to meet him. She was clad in cut-off, blue jeans and a gray t-shirt. Her horns were similar to her parent's. Miranda waved at him.

"Hello, Azazel, we spoke a little while ago. Aislinn already introduced us, but I'm Aspasia, and this is my daughter, Miranda. It's nice to finally meet you." she said.

***

The angelic siblings and their niece smiled at each other and then looked to Cuthbert, looking as though they couldn't be more overjoyed at his terms

Ariel scoffed. "William, the time we care what Uriel thinks is the time we'll have all lost our minds. You can absolutely stay on Earth as much as you like. One of us will have to return at some point to soothe the Tribunal's collective ruffled feathers, but that'll be a while from now."

Matriel responded with another one of his fond smiles. "William, I could never forget the valuable influences Hanako and Nami have had on me. They have shaped me into being a better person and a better Throne. They have strengthened my ties to mortalkind's dependency on my Element. You will do similar through mortal groups and institutions. That's where you can be of the most help."

"In case you couldn't tell, this isn't exactly a difficult decision for us, Oji-san," Nami chimed in a beaming grin.

Abdiel chuckled and nodded to the others. "It's certainly one of the quickest choices we've made. All the better, too, for Metal to be reinstated and to prevent further damage to the Element."

They all sobered and each placed a hand on his shoulders. "We accept your terms, William Cuthbert," they uniformly uttered, the tones of their voices ringing as one.

***

Ciaran huffed out a groaning sigh. "Then I'll save my anger for when it's my turn to testify against that fucker," he groused, then looking slightly puzzled. "I know Akoman's been in the Goat's ear, but who else could possibly be more responsible for instigating all of this than the Goat?"

A rationalizing comment was said by Alana as she sighed, "Probably more than you know, Ciaran. This whole conflagration's been stewing for ages, so long that it makes Lilith's history look like yesterday's news. The Goat's a major player, but I imagine we'll find more connections once the investigations and trials begin."

[Karl the Mad]

"Marius Vlastos," the vamp replied, shaking Shax's hand in return. "Seems you knew that, though. I'm glad my showing off down there had an effect, at least."

He withdrew his hand and looked around. "You and the others got settled in fast. Was there any mistrust at first, on either side?" In his experience, only Shield had the unlimited forgiveness required to accept last week's mortal enemy as this week's bosom friend, as he himself could attest to. But not everyone was so forgiving, and if he were being honest, he hadn't quite forgiven himself for his failures just yet.

Something to work on when the war was a bit more settled, though. Even the Noise could agree to that. He was happy to forget about the Goat for a while, and focus on other things.

[IamLEAM1983]

Shax walked back the way they'd come, assuming Marius would follow. "I would not called us settled in quite yet," he grunted. "It would be an affront to domesticity."

He stopped for a moment, seemingly realizing he'd cracked a joke or at least expressed some wit. He briefly turned back, glancing the way they'd come. Considering what he was, his unspoken question might as well have been obvious. What else had the Goat locked away in his armies? Were the other Princes similarly keeping their droves under some sort of mental yoke?

Coughing, he set his eyes back on the way ahead. "What my men are to the refugees, the Legion of Burning Suns and the natives of this plane is conditional allies, at best. You, Shield - those who will have fought will come to tolerate us, even value our input - but all I am to the others is an aggressor who has laid down his weapons. I believe it sometimes feels as though all the world is contained in the British spy and the Archmage's respective wakes, but I imagine you are acquainted with a certain sense of otherness. There will be some of my kind who will join the hallowed few - and the others will be hunted down."

Shax sniffed, the sound carrying concern - like a nonverbally-raised point of contention. "All we can do is ensure that as many of my people enter this world's good graces as possible. Many more will not have such luck. With peace restored, old ways of thinking will be bandied about like salve to apply on a wound, and Valefor's old Wrath will have its day again. Not through swords or martial prowess, not through acts of possession or planar incursions, but through wanton hatred. Slayers will rise again, repenting soldiers born of the Pit will fall under their blades, and the world will fail to offer protection to all those asking for it - through no fault of its own and through no lack of trying."

He sighed. "Resentment will fester, as there is no way Earth's promise can be equally offered to all of us. There are simply too many of us for a world so densely populated already. Most of my comrades will earn some token of forgiveness and will then be sent back, with nary more than a handshake and a wave."

Shax rolled a wrist. "So they will spill unto Faerie, demand guest-right by the billions. Overwhelmed, the aristocracy will once again turn to mortal governments, setting a vicious cycle in motion. Give some of us extrasolar deeds, get us off Earth, and your mortal pioneers will object. We run the risk of clogging the very same institutions that only now will grant you legal recourse, Marius, and there is no cutting this Gordian knot without further bloodshed."

He nodded slowly, keeping his voice level as he plastered a weak smile on his face and waved hello to one of Penfield's choir members. "There is mistrust, yes," he summarized, hiding his words behind his curled lips and his attempt at looking congenial, "they've all simply forgotten about it for the time being. Today marks the start of a pleasant dream for many among us - but we all must wake up sometime."

* * *

The girl sighed. "More work, huh?"

The forest troll that stood next to her nodded sedately. "Such is the way of things, my dear. There is no day that sees our burdens be entirely lifted, safe perhaps that of our death. You must confront a non-ordinary rise to womanhood and adult responsibilities the likes of which few young adults doubtlessly know of, while this bedlam has prevented me from coming to terms with Morgana's twisting of my nature - and Meris' saving of it," he said, glancing back to the Archmage.

"I am a forest troll born without Morgana's predatory wiles," he stressed. "This makes me simultaneously stronger and weaker than many other trolls across Faerie's realms. I was born human, spent centuries dying in her Wilds and then came to be this because someone understood that I could be more than Garvey and his peers. It may have been done out of kindness, but this has robbed me of the crucial instincts my new brethren possess. All I have are the wiles I had as a soldier, as well as the handful of athletic reflexes my form now carries. And yet, I haven't simply barricaded myself in the apartments I was offered. My old battalion mates could have said that Regis Woodford is no coward, but the truth is I am here precisely because I remain terrified of what is to come."

Anjali nodded and looked back to Rhadamantus. "What about you, Randolph? What will you do, assuming we survive this?"

The dragon smiled. "I have a few things on my bucket list, you could say. I would lift the more restrictive ends of my own curse if Heaven allows - give myself energy enough to pay proper respects to my responsibilities. I also plan on buying a house in Old Hope, furnish it to my admittedly antiquated tastes - and become the town judge everyone foolishly considers to be a master of their own life or some endless font of wisdom," he said, chuckling. "I might use my curse-countering efforts to alter my physiology slightly, afford myself something of a backside to sit on - and then use it to sit down in a few upholstered chairs and couches, with a book in hand to sip on..."

He looked back to the cityscape that stretched into view out of the lobby's revolving doors. "If that cave of old is now beyond my reach, then maybe I could have some place of mine, to serve the same purpose. The brownstone wasn't too bad, but I really am made for a collective of similarly old souls, peppered with the occasional young family and their children. The old neighbourhood was a haven for career-oriented couples with extinguished souls, or older gentlemen with more of a checking account than a sense of empathy."

The dragon nodded to nobody in particular. "Yes - bungalows that predate Elysium are more my style, as they seem to fit most other dragons I've been able to study, as well. After the second rebirth Hope is likely to undergo at the hands of offworld architects and self-rising construction rigs, avoiding the tiered plazas and artfully overgrown towers to come seems like the smarter option to me."

The Void Weaver Cantor stepped out of the stairwell on his own, in the back, and gave the group a bit of an interrogative glance. Randolph waved him closer with a smile.
- I trust my request isn't too harsh?" asked the dragon. The Squid replied by shaking his head in the negative. "Not at all, mister Mantus. The earnestness of that contact was refreshing - this world is remarkably cagey with the privacy of its citizens' thoughts. Even my own amaneuensis feels like he walks on conch shells whenever our minds touch. I doubt your tone was entirely crafted for my benefit, however, or else your request would've been different."

Penfield settled with standing close to the bench Drake was sat on, while giving Meris and Anjali some space. Being taller than most other contemporary Weavers, he felt as though he were aware of his perceivably bigger personal space, and worked to ensure nobody would feel dwarfed while in his presence. He placed a hand on the bench and observed one of its corriding nails.

"Ah - yes," he said, as if observing the problem had given him some sense of the pitch, tone and melody he needed to reach for. He cleared his throat and then began singing, using subtle tricks to project his voice without straining. As before, he effectively seemed to use a close cousin of the Gentlemen's AI-compiled and linguist-researched "White Speech" prototype, using all the phonemes and lexigraphic contructs of the Black Speech in ways that sounded both novel and measurably more harmonious. Meris might recognize a few words, like recognizing the root of Selkie words in some seemingly-unrelated Sanskrit blurb written by a long-dead philosopher who'd only ever had a passing awareness of her species. She'd need months to deconstruct even that single song, something to the metrics of it suggesting that the classical Void Weaver understanding of a chant or hymn was here being utterly challenged.

Of course, the truth was that things had always worked the other way around. Nereus had brought her up to speak the diseased and perverted form of what now came out of that tall, gaunt and regal creature's mass of tendrils. Penfield's voice was a relaxed alto, perfect for Gregorian chants or chamber music, and as far as he was concerned, he was crooning and seducing oxygen atoms away from that single nail in the bench - and instigating a cascade effect that resulted in more groans and creaks around the group. Slowly, coats of rust were being buffed off by the invisible force of elemental care, with a second and more glistening coat of some sort of slightly sticky compound manifesting out of thin air and coating every metallic surface in the tower.

Without Hesediel, Penfield couldn't heal metal throughout the tower's frame, but he could at least treat its spreading disease and weld new metallic growths to girders and plates that had previously all but rusted away. He could seemingly try for a massive rust-proofing treatment, too: the smell that would reach Meris wasn't too dissimilar to what you would've smelled out of any hardware store rustproofing coat, the difference being that Hilliard's seemingly didn't require paint as a suspension agent in order to be effective.

Of course, no-one in this room would've been able to make even some partial sense of what the Squid had just done, safe for Meris and Drake. Blinking as his Lexicon supplied him with a heavily transliterated and interpretative rendition of the spell, he touched a nearby screw underneath his bench and then sniffed his fingers.

"I'm not sure what just happened," he said. "It's like you turned into Phil Collins for a second and Pop Serenaded everything in here into not spot-welding or falling apart, then had Barry White come in to croon about the virtues of a good slop of WD-40."

In response, Penfield blinked and humbly joined his hands together. "I've been awake and active for a few years now," he admitted, "but I still don't know who Phil Collins is. You'll have to forgive me if my studies didn't really afford me time to listen to the radio."

Drake settled with half a scoff and half a chuckle. "Nevermind. I guess you don't know what WD-40 is, either.
- I know it's some sort of vehicle-maintaining oil, but you'll have to forgive me if the Dalarath of my time was a bit lacking in your mechanics. We either walked or used portals, or we used our stone corracks to cross the bay and reach what you know as Respite Point. As for fixing cars, the engine's default state would be easy enough for any of my people to spot, even without training. With enough patience and skill, we can sing any mechanical and electronic fault out of your devices."

He also glanced off for a second. "Or it seems we used to be, judging by what occurred while I slept. Your modern-day Prelates sacrificed precision for unbelievable levels of power. If another populace needs saving once the surface world is appeased, I hope mine are on the proverbial table."


* * *

With the number of people around him increasing, Azazel was beginning to feel increasingly self-conscious. He'd let go of the phone on Aislinn's suggestion and had looked chagrined to see it disappear under a box, but his appearance didn't give him much leisure to recompose himself. He had nothing except the deliberately skimpy armor Pride had practically bolted over him, which afforded him protection for most center-mass shots but very little else. The manacles at his wrists were undone and his arms had obviously been free all along, but the wristbands were thick and heavy, ill-suited for arms that looked underdeveloped. The coating of acid on his palm slowly caused his right hand to erupt into blisters, but he didn't seem to be aware of them. Of course, judging by the scabs and dirt that covered him, he probably had far larger sources of pain to manage.

The Scapegoat remained silent as the tower's self-made envoy reconnected with recent events, even if it looked as though he would've tackle-hugged Aspasia if his curse hadn't been a deterrent. A nervous smile played on his features and he hugged himself instead, his tail nervously swishing back and forth behind him.

"It's nice to meet you, too," he then said, his tone hesitant. "I did what I could to preserve your friends, when the surge hit. I - I'm sorry I couldn't save the metal man."

* * *

The Void Weaver and militant priest stood up slowly, even as the hammers the Throne held were gently pulled from their hands. Some unseen force brought them together, the wooden mallet burning into suspended ashes and the others turned into superheated suggestions of their former selves. The metal globs fused together and coalesced into a glowing orb, a fine coating of ashes orbiting around it. The construct shrank down and, gingerly, William closed a hand around it once it was about the size of a large marble.

For the reunion's participants, things ended without much fanfare. Matriel, Abdiel, Ariel and Nami would feel themselves fading from the Architect's realm, even as Cuthbert seemingly disappeared, along with his sword. There was no explosion of light, no painfully-erupting wings, no sudden proclamation. The terms of succession for newly reincarnated Thrones made little fuss of it all, as the aim always had been to ensure that Creation would remain undisturbed.

Back in Hell, however, Nami would find herself next to Allocer and Lucifer, mere moments having passed since her departure. Out in the wastes ahead, Lucian was still holding William by the shoulders and both men were still casting worried glances at the surging Infernal mob that was headed for the displaced White House. Lucian saw something change in Cuthbert's eyes, doubt giving way to quiet resolve.

The Knight Commander simply vanished in front of him. Shocked, Lucian turned back to face the horde and looked about ready to cast and unleash some sort of spell, tendrils waving in the air and hands working sigils into being, when Greed's crust violently erupted. Out of it emerged a suit-clad arm carved out of stone that was about the size of a skyscraper, the hand recognizable as William's, that slammed down in front of the last desperate advance of Pride's zealots. Slowly, in a display others could've definitely billed as Lovecraftian, a massive and betendriled head emerged from some equally titanic crater that was hidden behind one of the slight inclines, miles ahead of them. William's head was about the size of a small mountain, his eyes consisting of two enormous geodes glowing sapphire-blue.

"No," he simply said, the word rumbling through the valley like a meteor's impact, bouncing off against the clouds. He further extricated himself from the ground, his head soon piercing the Pit's cloud cover and partially emerging in Pandemonium as a temporary island, with some of Bob's fellow boaters screaming as the laws of displacement were followed and William's emerging top half of his skull caused a series of large ripples. His facial tentacles were long and impossibly flowing stalactites that broke off and reformed as they were thrown against the trapped Hellspawn, some of them gradually glowing red-hot over the following seconds and depositing lava floes that further cut off the attackers.

His other arm soon emerged and came down, what should've been a tasteful pinky ring on his right hand here looking proportionately massive, bands of stone etched in Latin script topped off with a cross-shaped ruby that here had to be the size of a small house. He'd apparently manifested in a rock-hewn variation of his Business Casual and formal attire, the cross-shaped lapel pin at his right side catching Hell's light and reflecting it against Mammon's vault where it left a sizzling and hissing mark the size of a small building.

Someone in the assailants apparently tried to shout something at the titanic rock-shaped creature, only for it to look down. Stone loudly scraped against stone as a brow measuring miles was furrowed. "Jesus Christ said 'Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do'," he said, his voice again echoing like a full-force earthquake. "It seems you don't, either."

He then dug his hands back into the ground as if it were heavily-diluted mud and them brought them back up, trapping all of the battalion in his hands. He then lowered them, like a child playing with a flotation device in a pool, and held his pose for a few moments. Off in the distance, more pairs of the same hands emerged, crushing what remained of Pride's advance fortresses. Eventually, the giant turned its geode eyes towards the White House and leaned forward with a grunt that felt as lumbering and ponderous as you would've expected a megalithic golem to be able to produce...

However, it didn't reach them. Cuthbert's construct crumbled apart and was broken into finer and finer particles at breakneck speed, until the only thing left was a billowing cloud of dust. The Void Weaver walked out of it with no sword or hammer in hand, still suit-clad and with his tactical gear and firearm from earlier nowhere in sight. Something glinted in his eyes and he smirked, something in the way he searched the White House's windows with his gaze suggesting a sense of familiarity that hadn't been there, earlier.

"Nami!" he called out, this time in a fully human registry. "Check on your domain; I think things should be in the process of being restored, by now! I hope our friends'll be able to forgive me if equilibrium isn't restored universe-wide in the exact same instant, I feel like I'm stretching out sore muscles I've neglected for too long!"

* * *

Volker sniffed. "God's class-clown colleagues might have a part to play in this, but what little intel Valefor left me with suggests none of Them fit the required M.O. Amaxi's too much of a straight hateful bitch to have the required nerve to work this up, Dar-Larath's only happy if he gets some proxy to spread mass destruction, and Harrogath's Gluttony on steroids. Most He ever did was lose track of a chunk of his own world-rending joie-de-vivre and slap it onto Nereus by accident."

Holden looked surprised. "How do you know so much? Neither Valefor or the Volker from previously had any contacts with the Prelacy..."

The wolf shrugged. "They're hateful, I'm Wrath. You do the math. I'm the biggest back door into both Chambers and Nereus' minds you could ever want. It's not telepathy, and more like a sense that I've processed so much hate over the millennia I can figure out exactly what the both of 'em are working on, judging on where we're at."

Dickens nodded. "And where is Chambers at now, by your best estimate?"

Mathers scoffed at that. "Guy's fuming, that's for damn sure. Golden boy's long gone by now, and all he's got left is a gaggle of comparatively useless Hollywood starlets to mess with and a PR bandwagon to handle. If he's still locked up and waiting for the fallout to clear, I guarantee you're not getting any new movies out of anyone who's decided to shack in with him. They'll walk out of that bunker with brains mushier than oatmeal."

Claudia blinked. "I must've missed this whole Wannabe Chtulhu thing, and I wasn't shacked in at Magnus Tower before I fell in with you guys. Who's Nereus?
- Nereus Marinos," answered Dickens, "better known as Xenophon Thanos for now."

The girl's jaw hung. "Renewal's CEO?! You're saying the guy's on the lam? You're kidding, right? I used to use his sleep meditation podcasts to fall asleep before exams!
- Well, I'm sure he'd tell you to stop using them until he edits clean versions," noted Arthur. "Lana's tagged along with Shield for a bit less longer than I have, but I've heard enough to know that his people could've done what the Goat tried to do today without endangering lives. What's worse is it would've been even more damaging for everyone involved."

Glancing about, he sighed. "Let's make tracks while we still can, half of the streetlights look like they're about to fall on top of-"

He stopped, as the constant and low groaning and popping noises from earlier had stopped. A few more pops were heard, and the surrounding steel canyon groaned again, this time as a result of missing steel or copper flecks growing back into shape like some sort of metallic mildew. It felt as though what was happening couldn't stop things that had already been irretrievably broken from falling apart, while everything else that could be healed or otherwise salvaged was being acted on by some unseen force.

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris smiled wryly at the Void Weaver and commented, "Well, you'll probably have more time to learn about these things, at least to some degree. Your singing was magnificent, and your handle of the speech makes me realize how much I have yet to learn about it. So we both have something to learn from each other."

A knock on the front doors was heard, asking to be let in. The Archmage ventured to the entrance and removed the bar, allowing Ariel to come in. The Throne looked visibly exhausted yet relieved. She found a seat of her own and looked to the gathering. "It's done. Hesediel's mantle has been passed on and Metal will return to its former state in the next little while. His heir is young, so he must learn to properly learn his repertoire," she noted.

'Who was it passed to, Ariel?" the roane asked.

"William Cuthbert, the Knight from the Order of St. George," she informed.

This revelation made even the veteran blink a few times to absorb this news. "It's possible for a Void Weaver to become an angel?"

Ariel chuckled musically and shed a few tears of joy and grief and relief. "I wouldn't have thought it possible either initially, but it was the right choice."

"Seems so," quietly agreed Meris, still looking somewhat stunned by the events.

***

"Thank you for what you did, Azazel. It was enough. I think that as long as the rust doesn't does his EPU, the mechanism that's housing his soul, he's likely only unconscious," the Fauness explained.

"As should be the case," Matriel responded as he came out of his trace-like state. "Metal has been reinstated, so Archibald should be fine. as long as his EPU remained intact."

"We were able to isolate it!" Crystal replied with sobs of relief and happiness, looking down at the automaton. "When will he wake up?"

He sighed. "In due time. Nami is in charge of tech, so she'll be the one to bring everything that's salvageable back to working order," he explained.

Aislinn, Neasa, Andrea, and Crystal lets out a medley of weary chuckles and whoops, glad to hear the hopeful news.

The satyress looked back to the Scapegoat. "See? He should be back soon enough," she stated, noting how he seemed to yearning for just a sense of basic contact.

She headed over to the pack she had brought with them and dug out the drum case, then finding herself a place to sit near him but still out of range of the curse. She pulled the instrument out and showed it to him. "I've got an idea about how you might be able to hug me. This drum is on loan from the current Queen Titania. I was able to use it to quell some irate and restless spirits. I'm thinking I could play it to temporarily numb me to your curse, and you could hug me some. Just enough of a touch where I can still play, of course. Consider it my way of returning the embrace through a melody."

She glanced back at her daughter. "Miranda, could you get a cooking fire started for me? Azazel needs to eat a grilled cheese sandwich," she said with a smile to him. "Once she's done preparing a sandwich, she'll move away and you can get the sandwich while I'll play."

"Alright, Mom!" she replied, gathering bits of discarded wood and paper. Retrieving some flint from the pack, she struck it and the kindling glowed brightly. It was somewhat awkward, but the girl soon had the buttered bread layered with cheese in the middle, faint sizzling sounds originating from underneath the pan.

Aspasia began creating a rhythm by tapping one of her hooves on the ground and began cheerily rapping on the edge of the bodhran. Her hand moved to hitting the skin on the drum with the tipper. A song started flowing from the impromptu performance, one of friendship and brighter days. Her playing might've been a bit rough to professional musicians, but she was obviously a quick study. The music filled the air around her, creating an inviting environment for the Fallen Faun to approach her. The drummer appeared completely enraptured by the tune she was making, so perhaps her plan might just work.

***

"Keep at it! You'll get things back on track soon!" she encouragingly called back.

The Throne then clapped her hands together and announced, "Time to wake up!"

Nami then focused on feeling for the damage had been done, what was still within the realms of functioning. Street lights that had been switched off flickered to life. A range of beeps and hums were heard by those with sensitive hearing, such as anthros and vampires, as appliances turned on and electricity kicked back into service. Computers appeared like they had been placed on a long standby session, only to resume like normal.

The Nephilim's energetic awakening would stir within Holden's shell, causing the system to prep as though it had just been activated for the first time.

***

Alana's rheumy green eyes widened as she saw the metallic mold form over the less damaged areas. "Someone's been busy while we've been talking," she uttered.

"Looks like that thread's getting stronger in our favor," Ciaran added hopefully. "We should still head back just to regroup with the others. Part of me just wants to collapse in a bed for the next month."

He glanced over at Claudia. "Not to blow your mind a second time, but Nereus is Meris' husband; he's on the lam to get back to her after being separated from her for a few hundred years. You can ask Meris for details the next time you see her."

***

Abdiel returned to standing next to Melmoth, shaking slightly from the surreal nature of what had transpired. "We did it. William's now the new Throne of Metal," she murmured to him.

In the next moment, she fiercely embraced the Broker as though her life depended on it. The dire situation of Hesediel's death and the near catastrophe facing Creation had swept her up in how everything could have been lost. The War was nearing its end, and they had overcome it. Peace was approaching, and her emotions overwhelmed her as she cried over it all.

Dabbing the tears from her eyes, her lips met his as she leaned into his arms. There was desperation in the liplock and also a need for fulfillment in it. This was a contact of gratitude and joy at having survived.

[Karl the Mad]

We all must wake up some time. Marius nodded slowly at these words. "You're quite right," he agreed, though he sounded thoughtful. "We've won a great victory here, though the war may not be quite over just yet. But like you, I'm not sure I have a place in the world now."

In the back of his mind he heard the familiar words. Yes, yes, good job, you helped save the world, it snarled. Now go back to your work! You've neglected it long enough! He sighed and tried tuning it out, but he knew it would become harder to ignore and resist the Noise, now that it was back after its unexplained absence. Just another sign of their impending victory, he supposed.

He had to see his Vienna-appointed minder soon, or at least talk to her. Get an appointment somewhere... just as soon as he made sure his company was still intact on some level... start rebuilding, get the artifacts back if they had been lost...

He had gone silent, his eyes unfocused, slightly falling behind Shax. The sounds of metal being restored caught him up, and he glanced around. "Ah, that's good." Metal was back, everything would soon be back to its proper place. Even himself, he hoped.

[IamLEAM1983]

Among those in the basement levels was Raguel, who'd rejoined the civilians and planar immigrants once pressure had been taken off of Heaven's forces. He nodded at Marius and stood up, taking a moment to hand a water bottle to an elated Summer Commoner, a young Fae that likely hadn't gone beyond her mortal lifespan yet.

"Sure is," he said, smiling a bit more reservedly than was his custom. "Thing is, we'll still need people like you in the weeks to come, Marius. No rest for the wicked, right?"

Shax caught on. "You're referring to the rescue efforts, I believe.
- 'Course. If you wanna stack up some positive capital, now's the time. Karthians spoiled us rotten with their nano-rigs and the way they've trained construction companies to act like full-blown crisis cells, but we can't rebuild until everyone's safe. Only enemy we've got left now is the city's wrecked infrastructure - and that goes for every population center worldwide. We'll need engineers and tinkerers."

Hilliard's amanuensis, a decidedly more average-looking Squid than his teacher, approached the trio. "Speaking of, we should probably work to try and fix our way out of here. Penfield is still topside, but I think myself and the others could sing the elevator shaft and stairwells back together. You'd just need to step back towards the holding cells or Bucky's flat to avoid any vocal splashes."

Raguel frowned. "Why, you're the Good Squids; it's not like you could scramble anyone's brain, right?
- Myself and the others are still studying under Penfield. He's been only superficially scarred by the Usurper's pledge to the Others, but the rest of us were born in Dalarath only decades prior. We might want to express ourselves purely, but our language-processing centers are heavily influenced by our years spent using the Black Speech. There's nothing overt to hear when we're accompanying him during recitals in surface languages, but if we want to affect or influence anything, well..."

Raguel nodded. "You're saying you could slip up.
- Right. Not voluntarily, though - think of it as using the wrong tense structure when conjugating a verb as a non-native English speaker. Pure malaproprisms, for the most part - but still mistakes that could carry a cognitive payload. It's a constant work in progress; Hilliard's grasp on Dalarath's native linguistic roots makes Latin or Mandarin look like Esperanto!"

The angel gave Marius a glance. "Well? Besides them, you're the only one here who could actually learn a thing or two without risking his sanity in the process.
- You wouldn't necessarily need to be a talented singer," reassured the Prelate. "All that matters is that your altered mindscape perceives what we'll try to put forward and adds in its own impetus. All added vocal talent does is help us modulate the scale or tone of whatever it is we'd like to conjure into being. We'd be dealing with architectural elements and nothing organic, so you couldn't exactly hurt anyone."

The scribe chuckled nervously. "Yell some of the Principles of Violation or the Adjuncts of Decay at a piece of rebar and you'll be lucky if it shudders in place a little. Unless you're like Drake or Jenkins, in which case none of that means anything to you because you can't access it consciously..."

* * *

Hearing this, Drake couldn't quite stop a quiet "Holy shit!" from leaving him. Bucky, who'd since had enough time to recuperate, looked a little more verbose.

"I'm no theologian or somesuch," he said, "but the world's leading faiths are in for one heck of a case o' whiplash once they find out their already-arpocryphal figureheads for the elements happen to include a Squiddie...
- I believe the world you're looking for is apocryphal, old sport," noted Regis, to which the Clank nodded. "Yeah, sorry," he replied. "Been a while since I sold encyclopedias for a livin'. But yeah, I can't really see things going exactly swell with the other folks Upstairs..."

Paimon still looked like he was trying to pace himself to recover. "It matters not," he said. "A Throne simply is. Discontent in the ranks of Heaven would be a fittingly puerile display on their part.
- Why would it fit?" asked Three, on the tone of someone who'd spotted a remaining sliver of prejudice in the Duke's tone. Paimon grunted and tossed a shoulder, wincing as he did. 

"Not all of them would have the forethought to consider what has transpired. If you had asked me to speak of the Host a mere few months ago, I would have been unkind in my assessment. As it stands, I now know that some of them are trustworthy. Honorable, even. Not that they would speak for the whole of the Host, however."

Rhadamantus nodded. "Just as not all of us speak for Pride, after all, much less the Pit's wider scope."

A brief silence settled in, during which Anjali looked back towards the upper floor bannister on which Geier had leaned, and then back to the group. "I don't know how relevant this is, but I haven't seen Amenadiel in a while. Paimon's always around and the rest of the Incubus Quintet is always keeping busy, but you'd figure Tom's pick from Heaven would be the least fishy element in the bunch, right?"

Bucky couldn't quite repress a chortle. "And how it is you've figured that out, Miss Holden, hm? Reggie here ain't exactly keen on swipin' a few guns from Club Ishtar's locker, so I can't exactly figure how you'd have kept tabs on Tall, Dark and Winged..."

Three grinned. "Oooh, Anjali's busted! Come on, you're the local fast-maturing maverick, I think I can figure out what you were doing up in Tom and Aislinn's haunt..."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Bollocks... Well, I've been sneaking in to the bar's reserves and fixing myself some grenadine sodas on occasion, seeing as that was the only part of this place where you could sort of forget about the war for a spell. I knew Tom and Archie wouldn't let it go if I swiped booze from the club's reserve and I especially knew Dad would kill me, so I stuck with lots of basic mocktails and Club Soda stuff. If nobody was around and I didn't have homework or asssignments from Bagley or Gubbin, I'd just go there and put my own MP3s up on the deejay station - get a drink and read a book for an hour or two. I'd act like the place was packed, you know? Just for fun. It usually was empty - except when Amenadiel was around."

* * *

Azazel had thousands of years of mistrust and abuse to work through, and he'd had offers of kindness ripped away from him by his curse too often to be easily swayed. For the first few minutes, he settled with placing a knee to the ground and watching as Nergal helped Crystal to reinsert and secure the EPU in the armature's skull socket. You'd have thought that Alkaev-designed adhesive permeable seals wouldn't have been part of the toolset of Pandemonium's weaponsmith, but out of the demon's metallic bag of tricks did a pack come, its seal quickly broken and the new silicone lining set in place to protect the skull's precious cargo from outside sources of dust, as well as any further contact with water or demonically-produced organic foodstuffs... With no console to interface with or main button to push, Ereshkigal was forced to use the oldest trick in the book for PC builders, which was to find the motherboard's main circuit and jump it to life using two of her necklace's little ornamental swords. As the outer port was finally closed, the EPU's faded hum soon hit the low registries the onboard cooling fan usually hit during boot-up sequences. The armature's eyelid panels receded entirely, the BIOS startup procedure showing on both LED panels. As you could expect from such a complex piece of technology, it seemed a rather thorough and lengthy ordeal, showing just how infrequently modern armatures were designed to be fully shut down. That left time enough for the Scapegoat to work his lips and tongue expectantly, looks of vague guilt flashing across his eyes whenever he'd catch Miranda's. Zeke had also elected to come closer, which seemed to surprise the enslaved demon.

"You should stay away," Azazel hesitantly cautioned, the Hell-Hog gesturing dismissively as he sat down cross-legged. "Any true Glutton is an aesthete by necessity," he explained. "Sensory pleasure is my nepenthe and my doom all cozily bundled into one, and it makes us particularly susceptible to human empathy - which is both while I failed you and why you rescued me. Aspasia probably won't ever headline the first post-war issue of Modern Drummer, but primitivism has its perks, I'd say. Add certain flutes and you'd go Celtic, others and you'd go Greek, Pan flutes for a dash of Peruvian influence... It's simple and versatile."

He paused for a moment, noting how entrenched in the drumline the older Fauness had become. "Simple pleasures like this are exactly what my Sin thinks it can gobble up without an ounce of appreciation or refinement."

An amusingly debonair glance was sent to Miranda. "I understand you're probably not too enthused about being roped into post-apocalyptic cookery, dear Miranda, but do you think I could have one of those, as well? The last things I ate were angry little gnats intent on consuming all and draining you dry, and I for one think we're all owed a little comfort."

In the back, Matriel would dimly hear Archie's onboard fans ramp up slightly, followed by a tinny and oddly ominous beep. The motherboard had evidently finished POSTing, and a single red line marked the end of the white text scrawl that covered both LED panels.

Error Code 24: Kernel failure logged. Assistive AI is required to re-mount EPU to root directory. Squeeze either hand to continue.

Nergal lightly grunted. "As expected. Alkaev sacrificed arcane grounding capabilities for electric surge protection; the bridge chipset probably voided the custom interfacing protocols the first startup sequence wrote to connect Archie to the armature. We probably have Nami to thank for the bridge's retained functionality; these things normally fry if they're exposed to high voltages or moderate arcane currents - it's too small a chip for via mitigation channels to be traced in without sacrificing vital connections. Holden can't interface seeing as he's still unconscious, and we don't have access to either a proprietary or black market console to ease him into things. The onboard AI is still around because it was still partially taking care of Holden's motor skills, so the BIOS thinks it can be used to map out basic proprioceptive skills again and then patch Holden's consciousness to it."

Tom frowned. "Any potential drawbacks?
- Holden won't get a beauty sleep out of it," noted Nergal. "The first time around, he was transferred properly and the interfacing rig used standard procedures to more or less knock the soul to sleep to let it wake up in the new body. Now, he'll just-"

Galbraith snapped his fingers. Tom nodded. "Right. He'll be disoriented, then. Confused, probably. Last thing he probably remembers is trying to call out to Azazel. He'll wake up mid-sentence and then wonder how we all got here."

* * *

The young mage settled with a few blinks. "Betcha ten bucks Disney's on their ass once this ends, begging for adaptation rights..."

Arthur laughed at that, following as they moved forward. "Beauty and Chtulhu, huh? I'd love to see the musical numbers set in Dalarath..."

Volker advised for caution while they progressed, but the amount of routed or converted Hellspawn only increased as they came closer to Magnus Tower, to the point where what looked to have been the last group sent to put pressure against the tower parted at their advance and raised their weapons if they held any. Some of Envy's avian thralls simply perched on nearby streetlights, heads bowed, while Greed's simply took back to the skies, wordlessly squawking.

* * *

Those who knew Melmoth wouldn't have been surprised to see him push back against Abdiel's own kiss in an assertive pose, or maybe leveraging his size to shift things into a dip and an intense liplock - but he didn't. Something about what had transpired felt too precious for him to despoil with his own particular need for closeness, so he settled with framing her shoulders with his arms and complementing her own kisses. He wasn't much for tears, but his own eyes gleamed as he briefly parted from her, his gargoyle-worthy face earnestly showing his relief and renewed infatuation. 

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to dwell on his happiness, as dismayed shouts were heard from the edges of the battlefield. They'd been seen by angel and demon alike, and while a few feathered folk stared on in mute consternation, most settled with a quiet nod of approval. If anything, the naysayers were mostly on the side of the now-defeated Vice of Pride.

"Abominations!" they cried. "Breakers of the Covenant! Whores of Lust, both of you! Shame, Melmoth, Scion of Abbadon! Mammon repudiates you! May the Fires be ripped from you, Abdiel!"

All of them were toothless curses, obviously - but Melmoth didn't feel like letting them stand. Sending Abdiel a bit of an impish glance, he stood beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders, their size increasing as his hand made contact with her arm. They both grew to be about the size of the surrounding buildings, Melmoth keeping his arm in place while slightly angling himself away to have more amplitude. Using magic, he made his still-reforming wings look like two full-fledged Celestial appendages, the feathers tinted a light shade of gray, pinion feathers extended like a peacock posing for a potential mate.

The screams intensified, but the Broker wasn't quite done. Slipping back closer to Abdiel, he placed a knee between her legs, gripped her hands in a tango-esque posture and then swung her in front of him, dipping her down and following her with his torso, his bulbous schnoz tracing a short line across her chin and nose, kissing her fully and for several long seconds. As he did so, he carefully shifted his grip on the Throne's form so she wouldn't fall or crush a few cars, and so she'd still be supported while he freed his right arm. Then, still kissing her and with his eyes closed, he lifted his right hand and extended his middle finger, the length of it erupting into flame.

Down below, a mixture of laughter and dismayed screams sounded, the usually solemn Celestials now pushing the remainder of the Pitspawn back with jeers and insults. Notably, a few angels hadn't joined in and simply stared on, quietly expressing their disapproval.