Chapter VI - Asunder

[IamLEAM1983]

"We'll take what we can," noted Bres, Declan gingerly lifting his now-healed arm as he looked back to his leader. "We'll take what they offer," he said. "This isn't just another raid anymore, in case you hadn't noticed."

Tom half-lidded his eyes for a second as both his demonic burden and caffeine did their best to scour his brain cells of the previously-imposed geas. "I'm assuming you'll want to capitalize demonic forms, in the immediate. This meeting was originally planned to discuss this, before my guest so rudely hijacked it and abused of my hospitality. It's far too easy for the Pitspawn to infiltrate us, and those in Centennial Park's front lines have to live with the knowledge that every fallen ally becomes an enemy mere moments later. The angels' numbers are significant enough to lessen the blow, but the underground shelters dug out by Sophia are still under constant threat."

Bres nodded. "You'd like us to assume demonic forms to strike from behind enemy lines.
- Precisely," noted the Warlock. "We're not short on demonic DNA, and you won't have to ask for their permission. Doctor Rupert Isaacs keeps corpses in his makeshift laboratory, of either fully-corporeal demons or possessed mortals in the full grip of the possessing spirit's desire to alter the body. Once we'll have won or otherwise prevailed, we'll see about supplying you with mortal DNA. I'd like to offer each and every one of your people the chance to construct their own likeness, much as you did for yourself, Your Highness.
- What about consent?" noted the Fomorian leader.

Tom shrugged and glanced at Aislinn. "I saw you touch Protis and mister Rendell. "I don't know that clasping someone's forearm counts as an invasive contact. We're not exactly referring to blood samples or cheek swabs."

That said, he gave Declan another look. "Considering, now that I mind you copying a form I've personally cleansed and refined, but could you at least slightly alter it so it doesn't feel like I'm looking in a mirror?"

Nodding, Declan closed his eyes. His head tilted to the side slightly as the faint sound of tearing flesh was heard, but it didn't seem as though pain was involved. His skin darkened, epidermis either sloughing off or forming scales reminiscent of Rendell's own lizardlike hide, while his anthro incisors and canines were seemingly pushed out of his gums by newly formed teeth. When his eyes opened, they looked like close relatives of Protis', Tom's purplish-hazel irises turning to a bright, catlike yellow with slitted pupils.

"Isn't this a bit messy for no reason?" asked Gregory, which made Declan glower. "I'm sorry recombining my own DNA on the fly while maintaining homeostasis and staying bloody well alive isn't impressive enough for you, mister Rendell. I'll be sure to work on a nice and implausible transition for you. Would you prefer I went the Theriomorph variation, or should I crib from Animorphs?"

He then offered a slightly apologetic glance to Tom as he stood up. "We'll, erm - we'll go look at those demon corpses, now. Does this tower have a dry-cleaning service?
- Yes, we have industrial washers and dryers," he replied. "Why?"

Declan didn't respond verbally, instead gesturing to spreading patches of moisture that were staining the suit. There seemed to be a bit of everything in these stains, from blood to milky lymphatic fluid. Seeing them, the Warlock nodded. "You'll probably want to stop by Obsidian Plaza, then. Ask for Juno. Her stock might be a tad outdated, but having some clothes around is better than having nothing."

* * *

"That's mighty charitable of ya, Crystal," noted the pig, who finished squaring off Hamid. With the critical cases taken care of and those they couldn't heal having had their pain alleviated as much as possible, he settled near the entrance and gave the two werewolves a grim look. 

"Alright," he said, "let's go pick up a few weapons. I'm not cullin' the possessed if I don't feel we can-"

He didn't have time enough to finish that a distant pop was heard, like a relay station giving out. Instead of an ensuing blackout, however, a surge of energy rushed through the neighborhood, strong enough even for apparent mundanes like Belliard to sense it. Grim resolve turned to shock in his features.

"Buck Mansion," he immediately blurted out, rushing outside and casting his gaze westward. Off in the rough direction of the doomed family's demesne, a pillar of what could've passed for ionized air in the aftermath of a nuclear detonation could be seen. The weird, summerlike haze outside slashed through by what looked like a diaphanous pillar of blue light. A few seconds passed, with a faint buzzing sound soon occupying the highest, nearly-silent registries of Crystal's enhanced auditory frequencies.

She'd recognize it for what it was - the Daisy Two's clattering engine, ramped up higher than ever, quickly racing down one of the main downtown avenues - towards them.

"He's rammin' through," quietly deduced the mobster, once the sound would've reached his own, lower auditory levels. "We've seen those brambles take down armored trucks; how the bloody Hell does he figure he'll make it?!"

A few bends further, the corpses entangled in the brambles began to moan and wheeze.

* * *

No light-show followed, no pyrotechnics or anything else. The light caught the jade blade the way it should've, the weapon remained exactly as it had been moments later and yet...

Inside Miranda's mind and heart, a state of grace bloomed in the exact moment she lifted the sword. Something changed in her proprioceptive capabilities, an impression that went along the effect of her center of gravity shifting slightly, her posture growing slightly more balanced. Her limbs would feel lighter and more responsive, her vision having grown not so much sharper as it had grown more responsive. Gestures arose unbidden from her mind, like the choreography of a dance learned for the sake of some high school project - if said project had required thousands of years of refinement and sacrifice. Names floated up as well, as if the sword had helped her remember them after a period of amnesia. The slow, flowing and meditative movements of Taijiquan, the grounded and self-assured stance of Ba Gua, the power and flexibility of Taekkyon, rooted in the millennia that had preceded the emergence of Tae Kwon Do, the humility and craftiness of Bhuddhabadra, abbot of the Songshan temple and godfather to Shaolin Kung Fu...

The young girl would feel as though she were standing on the shoulders of men and women wiser than her by thousands of years, all of them patient, all of them kind and all of them having once watched and learned from the same old dragon she'd just received the sword from. Its name would make sense, as there was joy in the focused and calm mind required of the countless routines that now inhabited her limbs. She now had power enough to deal death to those several times her own size, but none of that diminished the fact that Joyful Death was a stylus to be wielded by an artist. Not a killer, not a warrior - but a poet of the body and mind.

As for her canvas? The old masters spoke clearly, from the deepest recesses of her body and soul. The wind was her canvas. It would carry her aloft and gently place her back on the ground, whip her towards her enemies like a speeding bullet or form gales to deflect thrown weapons and wide strikes. Still, what chiefly arose from this single instant of communion had to be a sense of acceptance. Shen Long hadn't cared that she had Chimera blood, neither had the panda. Her leg strikes might be different from those of Bhuddhabadra or Gichin Funakoshi, but she could still kick. It felt as though she'd been coached by all of them, each and every one of them altering key parts of millennia-old. styles to better fit her morphology.

In that instant, Aric would seem almost... pitiful to her. Not so much out of contempt, but rather out of empathy. Every sapient being had at least the opportunity to experience a shard of this sense of total freedom, and here was a man who'd chosen to wear splint mail and a shield, someone who'd needlessly packed on a good twelve additional pounds of weight in equipment, sacrificing movement in the name of spared physical pain. Miranda would know she'd also be visited by pain - invulnerability wasn't part of the sword's gifts, unfortunately - but she now had a dozen voices whispering in her heart, as many hands resting on her shoulders, supporting her.

Pain is an old friend, Miranda, they seemed to say. Greet it well; it'll leave you in its own time. 

In that instant, Aric's eyes widened, as if he could sense what had just occurred. Shen Long, however, came closer to the girl and spoke to her, seemingly from both her own depths and as corporeal as he currently was, right before her.

"Sometimes," he softly said, "a lack of mercy is a great kindness. This dragon's soul is suffering under the Smith's yoke, Miranda," he told her. "You'll have to be kind to him - and quick. Would that I had known to imbue the sword with Scandinavian arts, but it would be ages before I would leave Asia of my own accord."

Aric narrowed his eyes. "You would presume a child to be able to best me, Easterner?!"

Shen Long nodded in the negative, smiling as he did. "No, but I presume I can keep your friends occupied long enough for Miranda, Mr. Ephesian and Nami to leave with their own lives. As for what Miranda intends to do with you... I cannot say. She's only just blossomed under the sword's blessing; it'll be long years before she attains complete familiarity."

The panda and Kevin both looked conflicted. "Sifu, no!" blurted Kevin in Mandarin as he panicked. "We need you! The city needs you!"

As one last gift from the sword, the Mandarin syllables to leave Shen Long's mouth unpacked in Miranda's mind as English words. "I might have spent years giving you all power enough to make your own choices, there comes a time when karma can no longer be avoided. I was raised as an artist and intend to die as one, as was foreseen."

What left Aric's mouth in an angry Scandinavian bark was easy enough to understand: the girl was his to take, and the others were to prevent the shuttle from taking off.

Shen Long silenced a panicked blurt in Mandarin from Kevin and then looked back to Nami. "Get your engines running," he said, "and don't worry about Miranda. Just open your cargo ramp once she'll tell you to, even if you're several hundred thousand feet above. You'll hear and see her well enough - you have my word."

* * *

Melmoth's first instinct was to flinch, but as Meris justified her lack of usable information, he gained enough self-control to avert his eyes from the mind-rending core of Abdiel's nearly-unleashed power, focusing on those eyes he knew to be hers whilst in mortal form. "Hey, hey - cool it, Miss Cosmic Rays! We've got mortals here, and neither 'Spasia or Drake here look like they're thrilled about needing FPS 3000 sunscreen or a trip back to Chernobyl! If the Heiress of Solomon tells ya she doesn't know who it is, then she doesn't know who it is! She ain't no two-bit amateur, we're lookin' at good old-fashioned metaphysical detective work, here!"

Amduscias grunted in approval. "I'd start by knockin' on Gabriel's door, see about gettin' our fine friends here a special reprieve pass for Heaven whilst still all fleshly in the bits," he said, fingers waggling. "Put that on the docket for later, the Fae an' that soddin' drum matter more in the immediate."

That said, he looked back to Abdiel. "Believe me, love - I know a few blokes with a foot here and one Downstairs with as much of a yen for justifiable righteousness, an' your traitor's gone and violated a baker's dozen mortal laws in lettin' a mortal soul clamber back up here, modded up the wazoo courtesy of our Squid friends. I kinda doubt our friend is or was in any position to consent to anythin'."

Drake sniffed. "Yeah, the Loyalists aren't big on drafting contracts," he darkly quipped. "You said they were looking to bait us using one of my loved ones," he then asked Meris. "Who is it? If Heaven's defectors and the Squids want to make it personal, I need to know who I should keep an eye on. My parents and Sarah are in 36A, in the tower. They hardly leave the campus, but that makes them easy targets if they can get past Volker and Paimon. If you're talking about someone dead who might come back, there's nobody obvious on either Mom or Dad's side."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn nodded. "Let's get down there. Issacs isn't around to fuss and geek out about you, thankfully, so you'll have your pick," Aislinn said, temporarily making a face at the thought of the mad scientist imagining new ways to combine Fomorian DNA to fulfill his feverish science dreams.

***

"Love and determination, John," Crystal answered quietly, her expression shifting to one of desperate hope and deep yearning as she looked toward the distant sounds. While she knew the mobster and the others needed her and Andrea's help with the possessed, the former deputy chief felt the need to close the distance between them.

She then sent the anthro pig a regretful look and sighed. "I'm sorry, but this takes priority. He'll need our help. I'm not about to let him die in those brambles," she said before fluidly shifting to her lupine form. Andrea sent John an slightly awkward look before joining her mother in changing forms and hurrying off in the direction of the approaching vehicle.

***

Feeling torn at the dragon's impending sacrifice and pressed to follow Shen Long's order, Nami muttered a strained swear before darting off to the courtyard where she had left the shuttle. Knowing the other accompanying dragons would attempt to deter her, the Nephilim emitted an intensely pure aura that acted as a shield as she made her way there. Fortunately, her cybernetic implant allowed her to distantly communicate with the shuttle in order for it to start the engine automatically.

Meanwhile, Miranda faced Aric and brought up the sword into a Ready stance before springing toward him with a surprising fleetness in her hooves. Grace and serenity fell over her features, replacing her previous apprehension. A cool composure worthy of someone much older than her filtered into her movements as she attacked.

***

While she didn't necessarily regret her emotions, Melmoth's urging brought clarity to her divine wrath. The eyes disappeared from the bodysuit, which regained its normal red and orange color design. Her fiery gaze diminished to the merely smouldering anger of her dark brown eyes. Now, she resembled more of a brooding dragon as light gray plumes of smoke wafted from her nostrils and corners of her mouth.

She sighed and exclaimed, "I'm sorry for the sudden shift in my behavior! However, when I heard Meris's statement, a dozen red alarms went off in my head! It's not Angel Time, but I sensed a very bad feeling that rattled me at my core!"

The Heiress figured the Throne might be picking up on whatever ripples the traitorous angel had already set in motion. "It's alright, Abdiel! We're fine; I know you wouldn't shift to your full form if you knew mortals were around. That was more an in between form I've seen Matriel assume in a similar manner, typically when some ingrained protocol of yours is being challenged."

The Throne nodded. "That's correct."

Meris's gaze then slid over to the young human as he quipped. Her gaze lingered on him as it turned to one of pain at the thought of telling him the truth. "It's no one from your family, living or dead, Aidan... It's Carrie Silva. The Curator showed us a meeting with her there. I recognized her from an article about the incident in Najeeban. The angel in question used Angel Time to attain Azardad's Lexicon design from the DoD, while the Squids modified them into her neural network to where it's completely seamless. She has your abilities, and then some, without any form of detection. Chambers' plans are for her to infiltrate our group and likely try to decimate us when he feels the time is right."

[IamLEAM1983]

"Isaacs?" asked Bres. "Who is that?"

Rendell sighed as he followed along. "A colleague and benefactor of mine. Quite addled and thoroughly obsessed with Transhumanism, he is - but largely harmless as an individual. Still, the dance he led in the fringes of legal territory, back in the early days of my genome's codebase being Ruthven property, led to his being tried before the Hague as soon as Earth's governments agreed as to Elysium's abuse of Transgenics."

Declan side-eyed him as the elevator chimed, Tom also tagging along. "You don't sound like you agree with the term," he observed.

Tom opted to cut Rendell off. "You'll find ol' Gregory here is a bit of a moral absolutist, something close to the Nietzchean idea of the Unfettered. No laws, no social mores; just whatever happens to be convenient for him at any given moment. Indoctrinating innocent and newly-minted lifeforms struck him as fine and dandy, back in the seventies. It should sound familiar."

Bres' eyes darkened slightly. "Yes," he said. "Yes, it does. We've seen Elysium's exactions from a distance, but were never called upon to infiltrate it. I imagine our Void Weaver handlers thought that your own breed of chaos happened to be convenient enough."

Rendell shrugged at that. "Freedom only really applies to those with power, gentlemen. America likes to parrot the word at every turn, all the while asking of every man and woman that they obey its rules and abide by its ideology, that faith be twisted and reshaped in accordance to political mandates... Every country does the same, of course, but most are careful enough to make it less obvious. The Egyptians did it when faced with the Hittites, the Spartans with the Athenians - everyone does precisely that, once a social project takes form. Of course, I introduced my pupils to democracy as a principle, but made it clear it stood as an end-goal, something to be claimed after our efforts. Effectively, Mister Magnus and Miss McConmara are more free than the common folk in the plaza, below. They're free to fight, whereas most others have the limited opportunity of obligatory cowardice. So are you, their guests."

Bres watched as the cabin reached the ground floor. "I wasn't feeling particularly free when Dar-Larath sidestepped my conscious mind and forced me to backstab Bran. We'd only just reached Faerie, and here I was spreading poison."

Tom shrugged lightly. "And I was forced to channel Asmodeus' lust, to share a bed with men or women I didn't personally desire. There's a fair few I even loathed or at least found disgusting, but my hands were bound. Aislinn's lucky in that her sins are still mostly small, mortal foibles. We might be more empowered than the norm, that still puts a burden of responsibility on us.
- Entirely debatable," objected Rendell. "The only ones we are all accountable to is ourselves."

They made their way towards Isaacs' lab. "On that, Greggy," noted Tom, "we agree. The difference is I'll do whatever I have to, to ensure we win - provided I can live with both Aislinn and myself, afterward. I no longer have the debatable luxury of loneliness."

The T-Rex sniffed. "I'd consider it an ethical vantage point, myself - or at the very least, as solitude. It feels more constructive."

Tom scoffed as he opened the doors to the doctor's laboratory. "From where I'm standing, your ethical perch looks crushingly forlorn, Rendell. All there is to see from it is this - a bunch of mangled corpses."

Bres and Declan stepped forth, a few quiet Gaelic oaths escaping their mouths as they took in Isaacs' abandoned surgical carnage.

"I know it's grisly," noted the warthog, "but it helps us survive. Isaacs has a knack for finding chinks in their armor, weaknesses in their affected biological components. As you can see, the forces Belial crafted for Pride have an ace up their sleeve - they don't just reanimate dead tissue or walk out of Infernal rifts fully formed. At the risk of immediate weakness, they're made to evolve. They're made to adapt to evolutionary stress over the course of weeks, instead of millions of years."

Protis poked one of the spine-covered corpses. "How can they sustain such high metabolisms? Law of Energy Conservation states that-"

Tom nodded. "They feed on the dead, chow down on anything organic they can find, provided it's not allied or actively fighting alongside them. We've never seen one starve or live long enough to starve. If they did, they'd cannibalize themselves in minutes..."

The Akari allowed a hand to hover over a corpse. "Unnaturally warm, this one."

Rendell stepped forward. "The reaction is exothermic. A single corpse only produces a significant, if not uncomfortable pall of heat. Centennial Park's northern front is choked with the things, the heat they exude makes it difficult for Sophia or her allies to reliably press on. Holding ground is their only option."

Bres looked dubious. "We can't reproduce this, not unless you want us to throw ourselves at the enemy from behind. This isn't sustainable. We'll have to pass for low-order possessed, the Pride Knights on the Goat's side would immediately spot a doppelganger in their own ranks."

* * *

"No, C-Crystal, Andrea! Wait!"

Belliard's cries were useless, and he knew it. He began to turn back, determined to handle things on his own end, when a stab of resentment made him face the direction they'd run off to. "YOU'LL KILL YOURSELVES!" he fruitlessly added, which one of the volunteers noticed.

"You alright, boss?" asked an anthro canine sporting stained sportwear and a pilfered stethoscope.

The pig glowered slightly as he stomped back inside, the dog later swearing he'd seen something like a small, cruel smile on Belliard's features, despite the frustrated tone of his reply.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah - I'm fine. Let's get back to it, I'll go see what our guests have planned," he groused, heading back towards the rear of the store.

In the meantime, a few bounds up emergency fire escape ladders and a few impromptu catwalks would allow both werewolves to take in the coppery glint of the mechanical vehicle, along with the equally blazing-red and nocturnal purple haze that surrounded it. Zebediah Buck looked unsure in the front passenger seat, but shy focus and determination served as a new addition to his pheromone cocktail. It served like an almost subtle undertone to Eliphas Buck's fittingly animalistic focus, the vaguely humanoid theriomorph gathering his limbs beneath himself at the rear of the car. He visibly had to fight not to let his tongue loll out in the rush of incoming air and kept an eye on his brother - as well as the woman who stood beside him, a hand on the lich's shoulder.

Helena Nasir's eyes were half-lidded, deceptively tranquil, and she seemed to be channeling her own power through the usually-ineffectual lich. Crystal would barely have time to catch sight of Archie at the wheel as he lowered his driving goggles over his eyes and bunched himself in, like a bobsleigh rider trying to be as aerodynamic as possible.

"TALLY HO!" he shouted, at what had to be the very last moment. Nasir also spoke, but her words were lost in the sudden flamethrower-worthy roar that rose in the air, the vehicle's nose cone now wreathed in flame. The Daisy's frame blue-shifted, the car then seemingly vanishing, even as its acquired momentum hurled Eliphas over the brambles with a defiant growl. He landed in a rough tumble, claws digging into and scraping the asphalt to re-establish some sort of footing, his ears and nose twitched and swiveled as soon as he was upright, his heightened senses pinging the two werewolves. He didn't have time for throat-based human ventriloquism, instead offering the Lowells an urgent, snarling bark.

Even if the two women's developed human minds wouldn't have caught his meaning, their instincts would make it fairly clear. He'd effectively told them to run for their lives.

The bramble wall exploded along its western length, sending thorns, branches, body parts and mangled steel flying in every direction. As it did, the air rippled just in front of the blast, the torn fragments of Archie's car shooting out of it as though something had conserved their acquired momentum. The exclusion turned into a war zone, more or less, as all three werewolves would now be under the obligation to scramble for cover. Another ripple in the air appeared a few feet ahead of the three werewolves, Nasif, Zebediah and Archie stepping out of it, the Queen of the Vanguard doing her best to erect a shield against the projectiles she and her allies had just created. In the cacophony, the mangled, gurgled moans of the sentinel corpses could be heard, several having been rendered ineffective as an alarm system, thanks to the amount of hot steel and copper fragments that had been hurled at them.

"What now?!" asked Zebediah.

"Now, dabbler," intoned Nasif, "we fight. Prove worthy of my boon - I might let you keep it!"

Crashing noises and howls were soon heard, along from alarmed screams coming from the makeshift clinic and infirmary buildings. The howls of the possessed were easily recognizable among those of the merely injured or terrified; and Belliard sounded like he'd at least paid some measure of a cost. "HOLD THEM BACK!" he shouted, voice hoarse with pain, "GET THE WOMEN AN' TYKES OUT FIRST!"

Eliphas barked again, this time for Helena's benefit. She followed his gaze back to the slowly-reforming brambles and nodded, turning her attention to the reforming barrier. Focus and strain now touching her features, she seemed to be working to reverse gravity's hold on them, turning their grasp on the soil and piping beneath the concrete into an irresistible upwards force. Slowly, she broke the bigger vine segments into smaller ones, occasionally managing to pull one or two vines out by the root - at which point she then sent them on a ponderous floating path towards the spilling throng of innocents and newly-possessed. Hopefully, the survivors would catch her intent and get out of the way before she dropped her payload on the newly-incarnated Damned.

* * *

Chaos erupted across the temple. Half of it roared and raged with all of the Fallen dragons' fury, and the other half of it would've almost seemed graceful to observers.

Naturally, Ephesian, Kevin and Shou had followed Nami and ducked inside the shuttle. Her created field did repel the drakes long enough for her to warm her thrusters and start her ascent, but they were on her mere moments later, breathing fire down on the craft and on the nearby temple. The roof went ablaze, the construction's old wood frame stubbornly resisting against it even as its iron fittings groaned and popped out of expansion. Confusion and panic fought for the human and panda's features, but the goat was the first one to grasp the severity of the situation.

"BRING US IN THE UPPER ATMOSPHERE!" he shouted over the din of the cockpit's blaring alarms. "ALL SHUTTLES CAN COMPENSATE FOR ICING AND LOWERED OXYGEN - DRAGONS CAN'T!"

The panda glared at Ephesian, all the while still nervously sitting down and buckling himself in. "HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THIS?!"

Ephesian rolled his eyes. "I GOT A DRUNK TOBOLENSKY FLIGHT CONTROLLER PARDONED, SIX YEARS AGO! AUTOMATED CARGO PASSED THROUGH A DRAGONS-ONLY FLIGHT CORRIDOR WITH ITS PITCH CONTROLS JAMMED; KILLED A SCOTTISH DRAGON BY RAMMING INTO HIM AND PUSHING HIM INTO THE LOWER MESOSPHERE! WASN'T PRETTY!"

The two men gave him horrified glances. "IT DIDN'T SIT WELL WITH ME, EITHER!" the goat replied.

In the meantime, Aric brought his shield up to bear and struck it a few times, in a classic gesture of defiance. With about two thirds of his body covered from the front, Miranda would have to move and strike quickly, in order to reach his flanks and rear. Either that, or she'd have to trust her newborn instincts to help her at striking at the dragon's shins and wrists.

Like any honest Viking warrior, Aric's approach was measured and spartan. He thrust out at her as well, but his first strikes looked like the bolder cousins to mere testing swipes, a bit of ages-old swagger giving an arrogant tint to an attempt at cautiousness. It wouldn't take much for Joyful Death's wielder to figure out he intended to eventually shield-bash her, potentially throwing her off-guard long enough to effectively deal damage. In the immediate, however, his moveset was limited. Miranda wouldn't have any trouble deflecting his jabs, her newfound instincts pointing out how he'd gripped his sword in his off-hand. He was visibly dexterous enough to deal damage with it, but his shield obviously had to serve as an opener of some kind. If she could move his right hand a little further away from his body, she'd be able to either break a few fingers with a twisting slip of her blade between the shield handle and his hand, or at least could succeed in removing it. The shield, that is - not his hand.

In any case, there was fear behind that rage. He wasn't focused, perhaps believing he'd be able to make short work of her. He didn't have a neat cornrow-like row of fellow armed sailors to rely on, nobody to cover his sides. If Belial could've seen him, he'd perhaps have been scolded for being so prideful.

* * *

Melmoth's features sagged, empathy washing over them. Sam's mouth hung. Amduscias silently drew in a breath between clenched teeth, while Naberius blanched.

For a moment, Aidan looked very small and frail. An all-too-mortal and pale thing, eyes widening as the ground opened beneath his feet and his stomach sank. His eyes shook, shock making it clear the world had vacated his senses.

"What?!" he asked, in barely more than a whisper. The way he looked, it seemed as though he couldn't see or hear the rest of them anymore.

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn shrugged with some frustration. "That'll have to do. The only thing I can think of is maybe getting Meris to do some corporeal veil that you could genetically bond to, but that might be a tall order," she mused.

Neasa quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Just earlier she produced a hat for Archie, but that's a big difference from modifying organic materials," she asked with some concern.

The young Warlock shrugged again. "I"m shooting in the dark. All I know is she's got access to abilities that seem limited to maybe an Augur, the Chamberlain, or maybe some powers the Squids don't remember having."

***

The two werewolves quickly amended their initial purpose of meeting the Daisy II and hurried back toward the area from which they had just left. Both mother and daughter felt a pang of guilt and opted to "herd" the fleeing occupants of the infirmary with a series of urgent howls and brief barks. Belliard might be surprised to see the two women returning as they pushed the non-possessed along and picked up any stragglers they were able to carry on their backs.

***

"RIGHT! HANG ON, GUYS! WE"RE IN FOR A RIDE!" Nami yelled over the keening alarms. She pushed the joystick to indicate for the shuttle to proceed upwards and speedily flew them up from the temple's vicinity and up above the city itself. From there, she engaged the external fire extinguishers to put out the flames that had started licking at the exterior (no sense in speeding through an oxygen-rich sky before they reached the upper atmosphere, after all.) Given the sudden takeoff, the vessel groaned and rattled in protest.

Oddly enough, the Nephilim gave the Orion shuttle an assertive pep talk while they made their fast ascent. "YOU"RE MY CRAFT! YOU"RE GOING TO HOLD TOGETHER LIKE THE LAST TIME THEY TRIED SHOOTING US DOWN! WE"RE NOT LETTING THESE ASSHOLES STOP US, YOU HEAR ME?!! WE'RE GOING TO MAKE IT!" With everything going on, the three men might have thought their pilot had already lost her marbles, but the alarms eventually quietened despite their brisk escape toward the upper atmosphere. Regardless of their via sensitivity, the passengers would feel a determined and resolute sensation in the air, almost as though the shuttle was obeying its mistress.

Back at the temple, Miranda understood that removing the shield from Aric's grasp was tantamount to leaving the dragon vulnerable. The dao-wielder feinted to the side and delivered a quick double-kick with her strong legs and foot-sized hooves to the old warrior's face. She propelled herself backwards in a flip while slipping the sword in between the shield's handle and Aric's right hand with a twisting slip and pried it from his grasp.

***

Abdiel looked over at the young human with empathy etched into her features, cursing the involved parties. While she did want to get more information from the Heiress, now was not the time for that. Aspasia looked as though she wanted to comfort him, but she held off from crowding him. The former solider seemed so brittle that the angel and Faun seemed leery of setting him off.

However, Meris drew near to him and gently hugged him. "I know this is hard, Aidan, but there is a counterplan in place; you have to remember that she is the same woman that you loved. Your love for Carrie can deter the programming put in place by Chambers and persevere over it with time and effort, much like my and Nereus's did."

[IamLEAM1983]

"Well, that's neither here nor there," objected Tom, "Meris isn't here. For the moment, these are the best you've got, gentlemen."

Bres and his goons looked uneasy, but they soon worked up enough guts to venture closer, gingerly touching whatever exposed swatches of skin they could reach.

"This feels wrong," groused Hammerfist. Bres' returned glance was both sobering and empathetic - they truly had no other choice.

"So how do we play this?" asked the second bodyguard to his liege. "Are we possessed Fae or possessed humans?"

Bres sighed, took the carnage in and nodded for his own benefit, perhaps as he ordered his own thoughts. "Let's give the Pitspawn something to fawn over," he noted. "Not many Sidhe have fallen to the Pit's wiles, so far. There's a few, but they're usually made short work of back in Faerie or otherwise still stuck in the Seasons' greater realms. England and Europe, for the most part. The locals wouldn't have seen possessed Fae before."

Declan nodded. "So we spread the word?
- Yes," said the king. "Tell the others to forego the Gates we'd planned to use to seize Mertown. We're appearing behind enemy lines, north of Centennial Park.
- So we're immediately launching into combat."

Bres nodded one last time, before a shiver took him and made him close his eyes. Sounds like that of slithering bugs seemed to emerge from underneath his skin, even as it took on a grayish, dead appearance. His cheekbones became proeminent, his eyes sank in their sockets, and drying flakes of skin appeared along his temples and cheekbones. The vaguely greenish hue of putrefying blonde hair appeared in highlights within his mane of hair, even as his ears took on delicate points at their pinna. The blue of his eyes turned paler, now looking inhumanly cold, and his smile revealed dead gums that had almost turned as white as his teeth. His voice, however, hadn't changed.

"This isn't an assault - you know our strengths. We keep our distance from Pride's forces and strike from blind spots in each firegroup's line of sight. If it means harassing Centennial Park's defenders or provoking angels, do it. We don't move to a concerted assault until I'm sure. The rear guard has to belong to us before we move forward."

Tom raised a hand before Bres' bodyguards-turned-messengers could turn and leave. "A word of caution: the Tree is guarded by two of the Eastern seaboard's Freak populaces. There's our own Arthur Holden and his brood, as well as what's left of Horatio Grimley's. Pressure is bound to have affected them. They mean well, but I'm concerned that constant stress might turn Holden or Horatio antagonistic. Holden has his lover to keep him stable, but she's only one woman and they've had countless challenges to address. I'm... concerned for the safety of those hiding underneath the Tree. I'm afraid Arthur could've started conscripting them to bolster his failing ranks - or poaching from them."

Bres nodded. "A loose cannon. You're aware that the other powers in the Freaks are bound to have noticed, right?
- Yes, but the invasion's occurred everywhere. I don't see how any other Freak basin along the coastline could spare anyone for the sake of moderation."

The Fomorian ruler sighed. "We've noticed movement in Chicago's underbelly. If you know your vampires, you know the usual dynamic for Freaks is reversed, in Chicago. The burden of sanity is placed on Hubert Francis' consiglieres. Their common maker is petulant and unstable, so much so that a special inner division was put into place. Inductees are cursed, but their minds are left as-is, or as close to it as possible."

Tom put two and two together and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who's gunning for Arthur's seat in Hope?"

Bres sighed back. "Hannibal Calhoun. Or so we think, based on our current intelligence. We're not sure what to make of this at present. Calhoun's managerial skills are second-to-none, but he's always dealt with fellow survivors from the Prohibition Era and the Roaring Twenties. Arthur's band of aesthetes and Horatio's surviving performers would be at odds. On the one hand, he's as sane as Freaks can be. On the other, he hails from the years of the Windy City's blood feuds. We know he can be... expedient."

Tom nodded. "Is he coming?
- Not yet," replied Declan. "Calhoun doesn't like to play his cards too early. He's bound to have someone observing Arthur and Alana, however. Someone who reports back to him."

* * *

The pig did indeed look surprised, but there also were other shocking things to account for. Notably, Zebediah's skeletal hands were extended, fingers contorted in mnemonic poses associated to spells, his features combining traces of self-doubt with burgeoning focus. His left hand produced odd fireballs, almost like the blooming lancets of flame associated with thermite rounds ejected from a shotgun. Perhaps he still lacked assurance and couldn't quite manage classic fireballs, but he still did manage to knock the wind out of a few possessed's sails. His right hand was wreathed in greenish, Eldritch fire, the hovering torsos of two milky-eyed Wampanoag warriors rising from the plumes, also greenish and vaguely glasslike. They issued howls and battle cries in challenge, their arms pumping as they shot a continuous volley of arrows or turned the agrarian people's usually benign stone utility knives into projectiles.

"How are you doing this?!" asked one of the survivors.

"Would you believe me if I told you I haven't the foggiest?!" shot back the younger Buck. "This woman... did something to me," he said, briefly jerking his chin in Nasir's direction, "and now things make sense!"

"Well, whatever it is you're doing," shot another survivor, "don't stop now! Hell of a moment to pick to start being worth a damn, Buck!
- I appreciate your vote of confidence!" shot back the lich, a mixture of wounded pride and guilty, if giddy amusement making his nose, crown of hair and upper tuft of hair shimmer into view over his skull's features.

* * *

Nami's sensor suite would have spent the first few seconds of her dizzying ascent picking up on the drakes' attempts to land plumes of Hellfire on the rear of her craft. As expected, however, icing and the overall rarity of oxygen became an issue, which forced the large, winged creatures to bank down and away. Kevin, in the meantime, fought for the ability to speak - not to mention breathe easily - against the craft's crushing G-forces.

"Air brakes," he managed. "Pivot us face-down! Fuel limpets... set them on fire!"

Most shuttles were equipped for refueling maneuvers in high altitudes, something that typically involved a "fuel rat", as the small carriers were sometimes called. With so little friction, top speeds tended to become dangerous, which made the close transfer of fuel reserves difficult, if not dangerous. Arcane technology came in hand for cases like this, in essentially allowing most craft to shoot and receive ad-hoc payloads or "missiles" of a sort. Limpets were designed to home in on the recipient shuttle's fuel port where they'd temporarily anchor and pressurize their payload back into the fuel compartment, before the sustaining arcane components decayed. The whole process left no debris - but had sometimes been known to be put to use as a last-ditch defensive measure by haulers being harassed between Earth and Mars. Fire a pair of limpets without guidance, and you essentially were sacrificing some of your own fuel reserves for the sake of using dumb missiles. The dragons might've hailed from the Pit, Orion shuttles still used hydrazine as fission material to keep their thrusters powered.

A faceful of rocket fuel had to hurt, no matter if you were human, Celestial or Infernal.

Down below, Aric's shield was sent flying off to the right. The dragon's eyes narrowed for a split-second as he weighed his options, before he ultimately decided on a roll that allowed him to grasp his shield again. This time, however, he'd been caught off-guard and forced to react in the heat of the moment - leaving several seconds for Miranda to either deal with his sword-arm or knock the shield away again. His grip had been hurriedly re-established, so any further attempts at undoing it was bound to be much more damaging than the first.

The dragon rushed her, sword-arm raised, thinking nothing of the third option he was presenting to her. Joyful Death's stored knowledge sang in the recesses of Miranda's mind, his exposed armpit also proving to be easily exploited. There were arteries there to be severed, but this was a dragon-turned-demon, after all. Could Aric so much as actually bleed to death? She'd have to find out, as the sword only showed her Fae indentured to Watatsumi or one of the elusive Jiang Shi vampires being put down by past wielders' conferred grace and speed.

Above Miranda - and below Nami - clouds gathered and the wind rose again. Shen Long seemed to be engaged in an ornate Taijiquan display, gusts of wind following his gestures, turning palm strikes that stopped short of the two dragons that had remained closer into blasts of highly-compressed air. He didn't touch them, but his rehearsed blows seemed to create pockets of air that erupted against his own assailants, something akin to the crack of large firecrackers echoing in the air each time. He kept them dizzy and disoriented, predictably not being too keen on killing them. Ever the pacifist, he was likely to try and spare them for as long as they wouldn't directly endanger Miranda or himself.

* * *

Aidan's exhaled breath was ragged, rendered quiet by a seething amount of rage. "Isn't there anything this son of a bitch can't taint?!" he rhetorically asked. "You're asking me to just hold on while my girlfriend-turned-sleeper agent is being embedded?!"

Isaacs was still off to the side, haphazardly fiddling with a few pieces of Nickar's efforts that hadn't been extensively showcased. "I'm sure your friends are going to disagree, mister Drake, but you have ways of furthering this investigation on your own: you've explored them with this Delmar character, remember? You no longer need assistance to delve into the unexpecting psyches of our betentacled enemies."

Oddly enough, it was Doherty who caught the ball. "I won't pretend to understand a third of what's going on, but if the problems you're facing are rooted in these people's culture, you could do a lot worse than simply laying waste to sleeping minds from your desk chair - or however it is this thing of yours works."

That made Melmoth grin conspiratorially. "Alright, now we're talking! If ideas are infectious, I guess you could pull a brain-dance or somethin', find someone who's one rung lower than Chambers or whoever's enabling Silva, and maybe infect Dalarath with something constructive, the same way the first crazy fucker spread his own madness like a disease."

Drake seemed to be calmed by this notion, at least to some degree. "How do I reverse course with someone who's only ever grown to like spreading chaos and suffering?
- Subtly," noted Naberius. "Use your sleeping hours to seed the Darkhallow with the simplest of concepts. Try a simple phrase, something to be easily internalized. Something your allies could hopefully recognize."

A few seconds passed, Aidan then parting a bit more fully from Meris, nodding his thanks for her support as he did so. His smile wasn't the widest ever, but it was there, at least.

"I'm no Squid," he said, "so this'll take some drafting. I do have some ideas, though."

[TennyoCeres84]

"This is turning into fucking Game of Thrones, "Aislinn muttered as she listened to Tom and Bres discuss Hannibal Calhoun. "Is there any way for us to find the mole? Another long shot that could blow up in our faces, but looking into their identity might not hurt."

***

Both women gawped at the sight of Zebediah Buck actually being useful on an arcane level. Still, given the commotion, they still had the survivors to take care of. They did what they could to keep moving those left away from the chaos.

Seeing as the lich didn't seem entirely confident, Crystal yelled out to him. "Keep at it, Buck!"

***

Following Kevin's indications, the Nephilim positioned her craft face down and then found the button to trigger the fire limpets. As she did, she murmured a small prayer for increased accuracy. A second later and with the button pushed, the trailing dragons would get a whammy of burning rocket fuel in the face.

Below, the young Fauness knew there was a chance striking Aric's armpit might not work. However, regardless of the probability, she slashed at the vulnerable area and hoped it would be to her advantage.

To hopefully add to the damage, she managed to direct the arc of blade toward one of his shins, it being another location he might have left open to her.

***

Meris nodded encouragingly to his statement. "Good, work at it and we can help in whatever way we can."

Abdiel frowned pensively at Aidan. "That just leaves the traitor and narrowing down who it is.." She flicked her eyes back to the roane. "Is there anything else you can tell us about that meeting, Meris? Even the smallest details could help."

"Chambers mentioned something about a batch of recent Fallen being involved. The angel wanted to dispose of the cowards who thought assimilation is a good idea. They offered Carrie as a bartering piece in return for what's left of the Earth after it's turned into a burnt husk. They plan to make off with the remains to effectively start over, since they see the Creator as an incompetent deity. The Squids get their desired Oblivion for their beloved Amaxi."

The Throne's rage threatened to return, but she kept it to a more intense plume of smoke leaving her nostrils. She eyed the young man. "Her obvious cover will have her return from Heaven, with no seeming influence from Chambers. As for our culprit, they would have to be someone who deals with the those who died tragically or violently. Typically, those souls go to healers for help. However, whoever had access to Carrie Silva abused their responsibility."

Aspasia frowned thoughtfully. "Which angel is associated with that? Also, if it's not a notable figure, then it's likely one of the smaller players."

Abdiel nodded. "Raphael is the Archangel affiliated with that department. However, I sincerely hope he's not involved in this. It might be one of his aides. It's either that department or one of the angels tasked with the process of reincarnation. Given what you told me, it sounds like they have a similar mindset to Uriel, only they're more willing to go for the scorched Earth approach. Either the double agent is still in Heaven or, more frustratingly, right under our noses. That would be the more convenient and innocuous option for them to take. Hide in plain sight. If that's the case, we have to keep this investigation close to the vest as we search for who the traitor is."

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom shrugged. "I don't see why we need to bother," he said. "We have a name, a location, a potential agenda... If Calhoun is involved, he's expecting us to pussyfoot until he has time enough to reveal his hand. I could reach Calhoun through proper channels and deal the first blow," he said. "I'd ask him, point-blank. We're on the brink of the invasion's final days, if your work with the Squids and Nergal pays off," he told Aislinn. "We don't have time to waste, seeing as I'm sure he's hoping Arthur's dire straits are going to be made public in the future."

Bres nodded in assent. "Knocking pieces off of the chessboard earlier than anticipated might be a viable strategy. You might not change Calhoun's goals, but he'll realize he just can't swoop in and pick up what's left of the Holden coterie and of the Grimleys. Knowing the man, he might even appreciate blunt honesty."

The warthog looked back to Neasa. "I think Alana deserves to be involved. I'd throw in Arthur too, but I'm afraid he might overreact if Chicago's agenda becomes obvious. Of the two, she's the sanest."

* * *

The two Bucks did as best they could, and did manage to clear a path for a few survivors to dart away from the chaos. They were maybe a handful, but they sprinted past Elena Nasir's watchful presence, the currently-bewildered perimeter guard Allocer had put in place preferring to send them off. With a little luck, some of them could reach their previous homes. If not, they'd know someone who wouldn't mind shacking them for a while. Maybe a few more had been lucky enough to live in one of Renton or Sandhill's unaffected areas and would be able to resume at least some form of normal life.

John Belliard looked like he wouldn't be in these numbers, however. The possessed jealously pushed back the late-comers who hadn't been able to flee under the werewolves and the lich's provided cover fire, the anthro formerly known as Hamid Jarrah locking one of the pig's arms behind his back with a preternatural amount of strength. Crystal wouldn't see much of her friend until he was forcefully brought over, grimacing with pain, the sphinx's eyes turned milky-white and narrow with calculating hatred.

"Take one step closer," he growled, "fling another arrow, sling another spell - and I break his arm. He is mine."

Eliphas growled, which prompted Hamid to tighten his grasp. Belliard screamed and clenched his teeth. "Do it, you feckin' furball! Do me in! Most o' the others got out - that's what's matters!"

Eliphas' throat and the base of his muzzle worked, projecting an almost-human voice from the distorted lupine muzzle he sported. "Are you sure?"

Another pull, another scream - and a few sobs followed. "Yes, goddamnit!" replied the pig.

Hamid's eyes widened out of what almost seemed to be a playful bent on sheer disdain. "Go on," he said, "do it! Murder an innocent, why don't you? With the planes so closely interlinked now, all my people need is an errant murder, a string of serious guiltless lies, a spate of self-righteousness - and your mortal coils will all be ours."

Still, Zebediah raised a hand in front of his brother. "Wait, Eliphas. I must've brushed up on demonology somewhere in the past weeks; this one has a particular tinge to his aura that's strangely familiar..."

The possessed anthro smiled, its teeth like razors, the blackest relish palpable in his gaze. Something clicked in the lich's mind as previously-clouded data points were linked. It might've been the adrenaline, but he hadn't been slinging spells like this for long enough to sober up on his own. There was something to what Nasir had done to him...

Not that it mattered, for now. "Belial?" he tentatively asked, the Name laced with a smidgen of power. Hamid reacted as though a flare had gone off in his head, head straightening. Indignation and amusement crept in. "You, a drunken louse owing his potency to some Void magic trickery, would summon me?!"

Zeb caught the ball with a light shrug. "Well, now that you mention it... Yes, actually. Handy, seeing as summoning your kind involves something crucial..."

He raised a hand and flicked two bony fingers, Helena flinging a large disc of black, iridescent arcane matter into the air above them. It descended on top of Hamid's possessed body, its opposing force having him let go of Belliard. The reluctant mobster was gently shoved towards the circle's perimeter and allowed to pass through. Hamid tried to lunge after him, only to find that an inexorable force kept him in the center point of the circle.

"You're still right about the drunken louse part, though," snarkily commented the lich with his faint echo of a British accent. "I really could use a drink after all this...
- I haven't altered you significantly, Mister Buck," noted Helena as she came forward, her gait easy and unperturbed. "I bolstered your ties to Buck Manor's own ley line and opened your etheric passageways - what you might call your chakras. You're still a slave to the bottle, but now you possess the clarity of a properly-tested wizard. Inebriation should affect you differently, now. I pray you'll prove strong enough to defeat this last opponent on your own."

Zeb looked back to Helena. "What about Evangeline and Nicholas?
- They aren't foes of yours," she responded, smirking as she did so. "Merely obstacles. If you intend to lift the last figment of Samoset's curse, you'll have to face them as well."

The lich looked queasy. "I wish I were asleep again, with a half-spilled brandy tumbler in my lap," he admitted. "I'm sorry for saying this, but this is all too much, too quickly for me..."

The cursed werewolf rolled his eyes as he bent down, sniffed Belliard and then helped him to his feet. "So sorry for the inconvenience, brother mine," he quipped.

* * *

Both natural flames and plumes of Hellfire rained down over Hope and half of the tri-State area as the two pursuing drakes burned in the upper atmosphere. They didn't so much as scream, but the resulting explosion reached the ground as a bright flare in the sky, followed by the distant clap of the travelling shockwave. It was enough to distract Aric, and enough for Miranda to land a neat and deep gash along the dragon's right side, from armpit to shinbone. Blood welled forth in a dark spurt, the red tinge almost turning to black as it pooled, pressure driving his supernatural heart to pump out high-pressure jets along his side. The young Chimera hybrid would find her steps guided away from the spray and blood spatters, a guard stance whispered in her mind as the dragon groaned and fought against his own diminished stamina.

He stared at her for a moment, pure hatred in his eyes, then roared towards the sky, the sound full and brassy, as though he'd been back in his true form. In response, the two dragons that had stuck to merely harassing Shen Long seemingly sprang upwards and fled - but the elder Eastern dragon merely held his ground as he gazed skyward. Supernatural wind carried his poised tone to her ears, along with a bit of arctic chill from the upper atmosphere.

"End his suffering, Miranda. I'll do what I can to ensure you don't join him."

Throwing his shield aside and gritting against the pain, Aric gripped his axe in both hands and charged, screaming behind his clenched teeth. At the last second, he pushed as hard as he could against his injured leg and tried to go for a front kick to the girl's core. His leg was stopped by the all-too-sudden cross of Shen Long's arms, who then transferred the momentum into a forced backwards flip. Aric deployed his wings in mid-air and righted himself with another clenched scream of effort, forced as he was to re-evaluate his situation.

Shen Long stood right beside Miranda now, his guard stance as fluid and graceful as an oil painting.

He nodded to her, Joyful Death relaying his voice in the girl's mind. 

"Your mother would be proud, Miranda Robertson. That grace, that speed in a girl so conscious of her difference... None of that is the sword's passing through you. This is entirely yours. Embrace it. Thank the ancestors Rendell so foolishly cut you from - it is their gift to you."

"YOU CAN'T WIN!" shouted Aric. "THIS IS HOPELESS! YOUR WORLD SHOULD SURRENDER NOW, BEFORE WE BURN IT TO A CINDER!"

Shen Long's voice again - almost wistful now, as he stepped lightly away from her to pick a different angle and better complement her own future attacks.

"I wish I had found you sooner, little mountain goat... It would have been an honor to teach you."

Shen Long shifted his stance to something more open, the gestures almost mesmerizing in their beauty and simplicity. Arms slowly tracing a circle, he lowered his right one as he raised the left, arching his left foot back and stretching his right leg. Aric seemed to recognize this and used his wings to rush them both, using his leathery appendages as last-ditch shields. Counter-strikes were landed by Shen Long, each one seemingly causing the wind to rise around himself. The sword must've somehow shielded Miranda, as her own hair barely swayed as rising wind tore at the garden's grass and pushed the smaller stones away.

* * *

"So, how do we play this?" asked Melmoth. "We can't barge back in Magnus Tower and go Gestapo on the lower-rank angels! Plus, Wormy's been working with a few of 'em for a while now, they'll have had every chance in the world to land convenient alibis! If he hasn't found anything fishy about Gabriel's loaners or Magnus' staff, then who could?"

Doherty shrugged. "They've got Angel Time, right? That's a thing, huh? If it is, then just petition Gabriel! You could keep him from the front lines at the Park for hours on end, he'll always be able to re-insert himself in the nick of time."

[TennyoCeres84]

"I think that'll work," Neasa mused, looking to her younger sister.

Aislinn nodded. "If we're going for brutal honesty, Alana should absolutely be involved. If Arthur isn't available, the local Freaks look up to her as a secondary leader. It might be a major if, but they might even be able to come to some sort of compromise."

****

Crystal snorted. "Despite the melodrama, thank you for freeing us. In return, I can direct you to someone who has an intimate connection to the mysterious events that plagued your family and my people. She will be able to help."

Her sarcastic nature lessened as she searched the area for any sign of Archibald or the Daisy II. She looked back at the group. "Where is he? Where's Archie??"

***
Steering away from the fiery explosion, Nami maintained her control over the shuttle. Seeing that the aerial danger seemed to have dissipated somewhat, she partially descended and eyed the far off temple complex and searched for any sign of Shen Long or Miranda while keeping an eye on any encroaching dragons.

Miranda once again felt humbled by the praise. She felt the power of her ancestors flow through her, her litheness and speed her inherited gifts. Given Aric's rage, she only eyed him with pity and compassion, the desire to ease his suffering.

She only leapt forth a short distance, determined and sure of her task. As the Slavic dragon charged them, she darted away from the impromptu wing shield, jumped upward, and made a neat slash against his armor and into the softer tissues of his chest, where his heart dwelled.

***

"That seems like a wise plan. If they're using Angel Time for their own gains, so should we," Abdiel said. "Gabriel could search for when our culprit stole the Lexicon plans and discern their identity."

Aspasia frowned. "That should do. However, caution should still be advised. This angel might have some additional tricks up their sleeve, in case they were ever found out."

[IamLEAM1983]

"That's what I'm hoping," agreed Tom. "We brief Gabriel on what we've found, and we could also cadge a ride back to Centennial Park while we're at it. He can spare five minutes to give us cover while we stop by Alana's and Arthur's. Considering, I'd suggest you let me Skype Calhoun first. I can give him reason enough to tag along, and he's only a short Shadow-Walk away from here."

Declan frowned lightly. "The Freaks need working knowledge of a place, before they can transport themselves to it. How do you suppose he could travel from Chicago to Hope without having seen his point of arrival before?"

In response, Magnus pointed skyward with a smirk. "The penthouse is crawling with cameras - I needed an insurance policy in case Aislinn and I ran into something we couldn't tackle on our own. I'm no IT specialist, but I made sure the separate network they're on comes complete with a reasonably amateurish password. Past that, I made sure our allies and enemies alike would know I knew they knew..."

Bres blinked a few times, which made Tom chuckle darkly. "The tower's sysop worked for Wyvern, before all this. I knew you hijacked my living room's cameras, a few weeks ago, Your Highness. Fae Veils can hide the worst case of bedhead imaginable, but they can't hide IP addresses."

The Fomorian ruler looked a bit crestfallen. "You've known about our original plans for how long, exactly?
- Long enough to come to you with a summons," noted Magnus. "A summons which, I might add, you seemingly appreciated."

Bres scoffed, trying not to smirk as well. "Fucking Warlocks," he said again, this time more out of amusement than dejection. "Still, aren't you concerned about your private network's security?"

Tom shrugged. "We don't keep artifacts in full view, I made sure Aislinn's favorite spot to drop her pelt in when she feels reasonably secure would be blind, and our Wi-Fi mesh network is separate - and secure as can be. The cameras are there mostly out of practicality, and for savvy types like yourself or Rendell to eventually suss out that I know they're gloating while ogling our private lives. As for privacy, I place ten-minute hexes on any rooms Aislinn and I might want to keep off-limits for a while."

Declan pouted lightly. "Privacy is sort of a luxury, out in the Far Reaches. I don't see what you gain out of giving it up so freely, even if it doesn't happen often."

The warthog responded by slipping a hand around Aislinn's waist. "Our enemies know our spirits aren't deterred, Declan," he said. "While they're lying in wait and biding their time, I spend quiet time with the woman I love, have friends and colleagues over for dinner on occasion, and can rest easy in knowing we both know how things used to be. Every single ounce of simple peace and quiet I get to enjoy here is an insult I fling at those who'd think to bring us down.
- Does that include Phineas Sharpe and Swinburne?" asked Bres, his tone suggesting he intended to test Tom.

The anthro's self-assured stance momentarily froze, fear crept behind his briefly-still irises, and then ebbed away. "Failure is... an old friend of mine," he replied, his tone cautious. "You don't plan like my friends and I do if you haven't encountered defeat in the past. I'm not surprised you know about the Void Weaver and I'll assume you know what he did to me, but I'd rather consider it as a teachable moment. Something I've learned from."

Declan nodded. "What did you learn?
- That I can be kind, devoted and righteous behind my airs - but that I'll never stop being an incubus. Alcoholics only ever control their addiction, and all I can hope to do is keep my lust to private moments. I can choose to lust out of love and care - I can apply human nuances to my burden - but I'll never stop being carried atop waves of desire. I owe it to Aislinn and myself to chart those waves responsibly."

Silence stretched out for a moment, the warthog then rolling a wrist. "Long story short, I made sure someone in Calhoun's pockets smelled the honeypot and gave him access to our demesne. Crossing over should be a cinch - and then he'll realize Aislinn and I are holding all the cards. There's enough wards in place here that we could've fried you both to a crisp, if we'd wanted it. An undead triggerman with a tall order of ambition won't pose too much of a threat."

* * *

"Thank you, Deputy Chief," had started Zeb, only for her concern for Archie to cut him off. "Good question," he then said. "Where is the old boy?"

Crystal's phone buzzed a few seconds later. She'd just received a text from Archie.

Dearest,

I hope my short foray into desperate recklessness will have left you in a suitably romantic mood, as I do believe I shall require some assistance in recovering from this.

My head, torso and right arm have seemingly landed in the alley, next to old Winters' watering hole. My left arm and my legs were likely pulverized in the blast, or they've been as mangled as my poor Daisy. I've but one eye left, and something seems to have lodged itself in my voicebox. I can hear you, but cannot call out. I made like the youngsters and clutched my smartphone as we made impact. There is only just enough of a screen left for me to make these words out as I tap them, just enough glove left on my hand for the touchscreen to work...

Cast your beautiful nose for the scent of wounded aristocratic pride and burned Clank oil - I shan't be too hard to find. If I hadn't been thrown face-first against burning brambles - or my own hubris - then perhaps my bill of service wouldn't look so drastic.

A.

It was hard for Zeb not to look as Crystal would read it, but he refrained from commenting. The entire thing had been Archie's idea, and he'd been the one closest to the point of impact. He'd probably known he would've ended up paying at least some form of price for his attempt - and this was it.

* * *

A few seconds passed, and Nami's cockpit was soon filled with a familiar trilling sound. Someone was on her tail. The rear camera showed her the last two remaining drakes, banking hard above the clouds to home in on her. A few deliberately inaccurate Hellfire balls and globs of Wyrm phlegm were flung in her direction, more than likely to quickly gauge the distance between them and quickly guarantee a decent hit. She could climb up again, of course, but her passengers could only take so much in terms of pounding G-forces.

Grunting in frustration, Leonard shook his head and closed his eyes, his features darkening and his eyes glowing as he conferred with a wide massing of the spirits their current altitude allowed him to reach. As high as they were, reaching from Rhode Island to New York seemed feasible, and he gathered everyone and everything he could reach, from the continent's colonization to the despair-filled imprints of doomed aircraft on their last voyage.

"See them for what they are," he quietly seethed, ignoring Kevin and John's stares, "see their guilt and their pride! Come for them as you would come for the one who torments us all! Save us, and dispense justice!"

The air in front of Nami's craft seemed to grow a few shades darker, and glimmered as though she'd flown into a show of northern lights. Out of the Fel shimmer, however, ethereal Western dragons materialized with their wings fully deployed, accompanied by helicopters and planes that looked like they'd been plucked out of the skies of Vietnam and World War Two-era Europe. One of the ghostly dragons effectively "swallowed" her shuttle, sailing right past them as it beelined for the harassing - and corporeal - drakes.

Unfortunately, withstanding the full arcane surge of a full-sized dragon's ghost was too much to ask for the shuttle's systems, bleeps of alarm sounding again as systems began to fail. They weren't necessarily in for a crash, but this would probably be one of Nami's rockiest of descending approaches to date.

Down below, Miranda's blow landed as intended. The jian struck a ventricle, tore through his ribcage and also punctured a lung, strength finally leaving Aric as he stumbled. His wings unvoluntarily righted him one last time, he landed on his feet with a dumbfounded expression on his features, wheezing as he did, and placed a hand against his chest. Behind him, Shen Long had a fist set for a punch to the back of the head. 

It should've landed.

Using the last of his strength, Aric ducked under the punch, re-positioned himself and extended his right wing, the vestigial clawed limb that gave it support sporting a single claw - one that was long enough to stab Shen Long just below the heart.

Aric wheezed a few times, set his eyes on the ground, and faded away. He held the pose for a few seconds before slumping, even as surprise made the old sifu back away. Placing a hand against the growing patch of crimson that stained his clothes, he gave Miranda a vaguely forlorn look, then glanced back at the sky.

"No," he quietly said, seemingly to nobody in particular, "they must safely fly away from here, first - every Vice will have seen this for miles around! Only then... will I be free to leave."

* * *

"I know just the place," noted Melmoth, hands proudly grasping his lapels. "Wolfram and Associates - Pitside. The last angels who stopped by for an audit after Abbie here vouched for me were hugely disappointed. They thought I was just this eccentric freak who'd pepper his demesne with fountains from the Bliss or halogen lights powered by, y'know, actual halos. Unfortunately for self-important conspiracy theorists, I like to keep things practical. If anyone from a lower station decided to budge in to report to Chambers or the Goat or Uriel, I'd be well within my rights to turn them into something practical."

Three blinked. "Meaning what, exactly?"

The Broker rolled his eyes. "I still transact with the souls of the prideful and the vain, Drake," he reminded. "I might be a flabby teddy bear with too-small horns and wings, I still own the Dow Jones of Moneyed Douchebags. Thanks to Gabriel and Abdiel, I don't need to make anyone else suffer, but it's not a crime if I focus on the deserving. A new Fallen angel would net me a lot of pull with Mammon - maybe enough to bankrupt Goatsie's war effort."

His Fiendish smile turned a tad muted. "Failing that, I'd like to see how a self-important and deluded agent of the Creator would do as a copy machine. Or - ooh. Several copy machines! Maybe I could squeeze out a few single-cup coffee makers out of him or her, too..."

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn patted her beau on the shoulder and scoffed. "Even if we do hold all the cards, let's not rub it in Calhoun's face, okay? We don't need to counter our craftiness and honesty with seeming like smarmy pricks."

***

Regardless of how obvious the cost the Clank knew he'd have to pay, Crystal sighed with some exasperation at the text and raced toward the pub's alley with Andrea on her heels. "Come on!" she urged to the two Bucks and Nasir, despite not knowing her or if she'd have any inclination to join them.

***
Momentary relief at the demonic dragon's defeat turned to horror as she saw Aric stab Shen Long with his wing-claw and leave him with a mortal wound.

Regardless of how the Oriental dragon knew he was going to die, Miranda couldn't help but be distraught and tearful. "No, you can't die! I don't care if it's foresight or prophecy or whatever! We can get you medical help! You need to stay alive!"

In the sky, Nami swore as the spectral dragon had enveloped them and looked around frantically at the failing systems. "Shit, shit, shit! We have to make an emergency landing somewhere! All this activity is going to attract even more demons to show up, which is exactly what we don't need right now! We'll be fucking toast!" she exclaimed as she thought over her options.

There was the issue of MIranda and Shen Long still behind at the temple and their needing to find some refuge. The Nephilim thought back to their conversation over the chat and recalled Wyvern Tower wasn't far from their location. However, she didn't know how long the shuttle would hold out for them to reach it. Even then, the rough landing might prove lethal for Kevin and John.

Remembering how the craft had obeyed her earlier, Nami manifested her wings and concentrated her power and feelings into the vessel. Pure light radiated from her and then outlined the cabin and then the exterior of the shuttle. A pair of brilliant, feathered and ethereal wings appeared on the sides of the vessel and began steering them toward the intended destination.

Given the communications feature still functioned for the time being, Nami used it to send a text message to Miranda's phone, similar to how they communicated earlier as she dictated her message.

What's the status for you and Shen Long? Is Aric dead?

Alarmed by her phone's ringtone, the teenager quickly texted back, Aric is dead, but Shen Long was stabbed by him as he died. He says he won't die until you all are safe!

Ephesian's stunt is unfortunately frying my shuttle's systems, so I'm taking us to Wyvern Tower for an emergency landing! You need to use that sword and get the both of you to my shuttle! I'll leave the cargo bay door open, like we discussed! Hurry!

"I know you're intending to die, but at least hold on for a while longer! Please! You should be with your students!" she implored him as she pulled him close and supported him with all her strength, not caring if his blood stained her clothes.

Miranda held the dao aloft and began spinning it to create a wind that would propel them toward the space vehicle. The wind lifted the humanoid dragon and the satyress into the air and launched them toward the shuttle.

***

Abdiel couldn't help but display a faintly amused smirk at the notion of the culprit being turned into one or many copy machines. "That might do as well," she replied.

Meris interrupted their train of thought with a clearing of her throat. "This will take some time to carry out, but Naberius told me you needed to go to Faerie? Why exactly?"

Aspasia sighed and explained, "While you were resting, we came up with a tentative plan to deal with Azazel. We need to retrieve Titania's drum so we'll eventually be able to lure him in. You and I would be also adding vocals to lead him our way, with your voice being the support until I can get close enough to talk or manage to get through to him somehow. Hence why we're headed to the Faerie side of London."

Surprised by the plan, the Heiress swallowed with concern and then nodded. "That should theoretically work. We'll need to rehearse prior to this encounter and get the right pitch and words to have him heed the music."