Chapter VI - Asunder

[TennyoCeres84]

While she focused on keeping her breaths shallow, Crystal spotted the odd shape among the terrain and Hell hogs. She rapidly tapped Nergal on the shoulder and pointed toward the window shield. "There, to the far north! I saw a bit of movement on one of the hills! It has a velvety texture and shifted for some reason!" she declared.

***

Ciaran reluctantly grasped the sword, the reality of the situation sinking even further into his heart. His dark eyes shimmered with restrained tears, in an effort to keep it together. He quietly nodded and let Tom continue speaking to the dryad.

Sophia nodded slowly and squeezed his hand, looking to everyone in the room. She sniffled and quickly dabbed her eyes. "Thank you, Tom and everyone. I'm grateful for the times we shared and all that we've been through. Regardless of what happens, I'll continue to protect this city and its residents from whoever tries to usurp it. I'll come back stronger than before and be able to make more happy memories with you all."

***

Aspasia scoffed. "Just goes to show you how cutthroat a sport like golf can be," she said with amusement.

Knowing they needed to keep Herbert contented for the shield to remain in place, Meris offered, "Would you like to have something to eat? We ate before coming here, but I could make a meal with whatever you have in your refrigerator. I know my way around the kitchen and can prepare a variety of dishes."

***

Nami continued her surveillance of the roads and sidewalks, but she kept note of the progresss Amazo, Lucifer, and Allocer were making as they went through the rooms and the two floors by way of the interior cameras. She overheard Amazon's comment and called out to them, "There's no need to worry about keeping guns trained on assailants. If they act aggressively, they'll get a one-way audio ticket to Hell courtesy of me!"

***

The Throne once again offered her hand to Cyrus and smiled. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cyrus."

"If we include the potential withdrawal and the firewall, is there anything else we need to consider regarding affecting Pride's numbers?"

***

While Ariel watched Otto, the attendants, and the battle-priests prep the area and cleanse themselves, she started her own preparation to the defense. She flexed out her wings, off-white with gray tips. Her eyes went half-lidded and glowed as she ventured into the elevated mode in common with cantors and bards. In contrast to the arcane practitioners, she reached the proper mindset with ease. A gentle hum followed in the wake of her concentration.

[IamLEAM1983]

Following Nergal and Ereshkigal's commands, the Hell-Hog laboriously stood up and began progressing towards the odd shape Crystal had seen. It picked up speed steadily, falling into a loping gait that had them sprint past other living pens and disquieting a few of their mount's fellow gluttons. Indignant warbles and grunts faded as distance faded, until they came upon the last pen before the disappearing hill. Going past it, they found a crater wating.

The geological feature looked much like what you would've found  across South and Central America, about one acre's worth of a ringed caldera and blown-out dust and debris. It was fairly deep, at about eleven or twelve feet at its center, and was left barren apart for the addition of what almost looked like some kind of observation outpost erected on a metal frame that straddled the caldera. That fixture looked like a simple concrete cube with a few small windows piercing its walls close to the top. Only one window looked to be at eye level, having been set in order to give the cabin's occupants a wide view of the crater's slope. However, what was truly startling about the crater was what filled it.

Later, Archie would be reminded of some of his father's fellow peers, the more staunch proponents of Victorian opulence. The crater effectively served as a wading pool filled with clutter for a Hell-Hog that dwarfed their vehicle by a good fifteen feet, a monogrammed and quilted smoking jacket adorning it. Some sort of dark silk shirt waited underneath, with black pajama pants and equally-festooned slippers waiting below. The initials that branded these items left little to the imagination: this was Zeke Lyman's ruthless, insensitive, witless and bespoke tormentor - and it mocked him by wallowing in the flotsam of a life of luxury and contentment. He could only watch  as the Hog finished the comparatively easy descent down the slope and reached the crater's bottom, where a small fort's worth of Persian rugs and throw pillows waited, and laid down to rest with an almost bovine groan that evoked undeserved contentment. The pillows and assorted mattresses held back mounds of sundry objects, from gold coins and gems to what looked like the front half of a Lamborghini Aventador that poked out of a hillock-sized mound of rotting caviar. There were paintings and fineries, chairs, tables, various chrome-plated slabs of high-end audio hardware - even the jagged shards of acid-etched glass panes that wafted with the ghost of a nonexistent private pool's faint musk of chlorine.

The driver and his wife freed their mount and perilously drove back down its spine and tail, then orienting their group towards the cabin. Their windows having been closed again, Archie felt at liberty to speak.

"Are these truly the marks of a scion of Gluttony?" he asked. "I would have thought this to indicate Greed, or perhaps some form of Envy."

Nergal grunted. "You read too much into this, Milord. Gluttony's chief export is contentment in its most insidious form; the pursuit of sensory pleasure above all ambitions and virtues. Food plays no small part in this, yes, but so does Art in all its forms. Greed would have left these objects untouched; a little less shock would have allowed you to notice how everything in that creature's mound was covered in fingerprints. Gluttony hoards nothing away - it consumes, and it does so passionately. Just as baseless Lust would have no value if Asmodeus' spawn could all love, so does baseless Gluttony have no value if no passion, no love, is allowed to emerge."

He looked back to the cabin. "Lyman's torture is of seeing all the trappings of the life he briefly led amongst you be unjustly cherished by a creature that blithely wears his name. An effective, if dangerous form of coercion."

Archie's lips pursed. "Gluttony is like Sloth, then. They both are closest to Humanity.
- Yep," replied Bob. "Bring your buddy back and honestly, considerin' what Goatsie put him through? He'll bend over himself if that's what it takes to join us Good Guys. No Glutton that's lost it all's ever gone back to the Pit; y'can't pursue sensory input like his kind can if Ego gets in the way.
- What made him think he could work with Pride, then?"

Gallows shrugged. "Lyman was an up-and-comer in Beelzebub's circles. I reckon he wanted t'impress the big guy, get himself a real swanky pad sorta like this one - 'cept he woulda been the one in that crater. He's learned the value o' sacrifice, though, so he'll never make an honest fit down here, now."

Bob jerked his chin at the observation cabin. "Let's see about getting him out, first. Wideload's just passed out, though - we'd better stay quiet."

As if to punctuate the Sammaelite's words, the Hog produced a few snores that wouldn't have sounded out-of-place coming out of the Cretaceous Era's megafauna.

* * *

"We've no doubt you will," replied Lucian. "That said, we shall do everything in our power to ensure this does not come to pass."

He opened the front door, the Legion and its attending Angelic detachment's combined chants for glory flooding the comparatively modest apartment. The combined strength of the angels' protective mantle and of the Legion's redirected Pride suffused the above's walls, ceilings and floors and surged into and through the tree's roots. A strangely balanced mixture of Celestial focus and Infernal resolve would surge through the dryad, leaving her with at least one absolute certainty: these angels wouldn't simply depart Earth for Heaven once the war would end, and these demons would never pose a threat to anyone who wouldn't have deserved their wrath. Here, at least, there were no usurpers or schemers waiting in the rinks, no observers waiting for a crown to seize.

Stepping through, Lucian walked across a line the chrome-plated demons had cleared, doing everything he could to avoid gasping out of sheer awe. The angels floating above them had infused so much raw life into the ground that the grass he stepped on felt almost springy, its tint so deeply green it almost hurt to gaze at for too long. That wasn't the most surprising, however, as each blade of grass now looked like the stem of an impossible flower; tongues of Hellfire caressing the tip of each blade of grass, flickering and dancing as the demons smacked their shields with their swords and the angels clashed their spears and swords together in unison.

The enemy was disturbingly close; just twelve or so wide strides away. They were clad and armored in darkness, their eyes squinted against the light their turncoat brothers and their Celestial friends produced, all hissing and seething and pressed against one another - but not so much as to prevent Aislinn from recognizing a few vague shapes in the throng: the same category of hateful things Amaxi had unleashed upon Quigley Road early in her career. Surprisingly, it was one of them that broke from the mob and stepped forward; something thin and tall and insectile, its face a hard, bone-white mask behind which two yellow orbs glowed. It posture was strangely precious and calculated, as though it needed every ounce of focus it had to avoid using the smaller claws it kept curled against its chest; as if keeping to a humanoid appearance were a begrudgingly-obeyed order.

"Parley," it said, its voice strangely buzzing, carried on the wind the allied demons and angels had raised.

Tom stepped forward, staff softly hitting the grass. "From which Vice do you hail, demon?
- No Vice," replied the emissary, its tone betraying a hint of wounded pride. "A Principle. Order made me.
- Order can't make on its own," countered Tom. "Try again."

The mantis-like humanoid nodded in the negative. "There are other sources of Chaos, Warlock."

Lucian inhaled sharply. "And how does Amaxi fare, these days?
- She misses you, Slaver," replied the emissary. "Your kindness hides an unavowed capacity for cruelty, and you showed your lessers who was the superior being."

Rothchild's features imperceptibly hardened. "I have never harmed a single one of my blood.
- I speak not of your adoptees, Slaver," it replied. "Those you bested were blindly cruel - you saved your cruelty for their flesh."

Something shifted in Lucian's eyes, like mute defiance settling in. "Lucian, Dalarath's Incandescence of Wisdom," the creature said, "brought to dark, deep lows for love and justice."

The warthog clicked his tongue. "This is the part where you monologue and tell us Akoman and Amaxi are morally honest in assisting Pride's efforts - I've read the Cliff's Notes. Skip this and tell us what you want, so I have leave to turn you into so much burnt chitin."

The emissary somehow managed to both looked incensed and uncaring, its folded arms twitching. "If the young lover cuts out her heart - if you bring it to us - we will slow the ebb of life from this world to a crawl. Pride will have its seat, and your children's children will grow old and wise. Magic-wielders will need untold generations to notice. They will be oblivious to this realm's gasping breaths. It will be millions of years more before death finally takes you."

A mocking pause. "When it finally does, it shall be soft and kind. Humanity's swansong, a loving caress. Resist us, and your deaths will be ignoble. The refuse that pools in this city's bowels will have more dignity than you."

Tom remained straight-faced, his eyes sliding over to Aislinn.

* * *

Herbert smiled, the gesture almost looking humble. "Oh, the local Archmage's cooking skills come highly recommended in more than this single plane of existence," he noted. "Frankly, however, Miss Robertson has you beat in both regards," he said, a mirthful eye twinkle being directed at the selkie.

Three glanced back at the vacated office. "How's that possible?" he asked. Herbert leaned on the banister and glanced outside, the tower's shield slightly hardening along its front.

"I may not be Leonard, I've interceded in supernatural affairs for the occasional displaced soul, during my stint as a negotiator in Limbo," he explained. "Those who neither quite walk the Shadowlands or dwell in the Hereafter are typically more put-together than the first group and less tormented or blissfully content than the second. They're quite the cogent sort, by and large."

He eyed Aspasia. "Soldiers on both sides spoke highly of you, you know. Even enemies know enough to recognize a dedicated and competent den mother."

Drake leaned his back on the railing and crossed his arms. "Huh. Does that mean Coach's ribs have some sort of notoriety in Limbo?"

Herbert scoffed lightly. "I might not be fluent in Tormented Souls Seeking Justice-ese quite yet, but mostly-content ones usually have a lot to share and keep to reasonably cheerful haunts. For some, it's the glitter and song of the George fellow's toystore, and for others it takes the form of honey-and-hickory ribs slathered in half-simmered Coke with a Chimichurri extra."

Three couldn't repress a grin as he glanced back at the Fauness. "Not for Mister Wormsworth, Esquire, I'd bet."

The lawyer parted with an elastic smile. "I do have certain standards, but the closest Michelin-Starred chef already cooks for the resistance. I regretfully assume I shall have to make do with what you fine, upstanding sorts happen to ingest."

Aidan chuckled. "You're doing good, Herbie. Not bad, for someone who swore he'd never stop being a snob."

A snort followed. "It's you lot's fault and everyone knows it. An upstanding Pitspawn can't simply stay pretentiously self-assured in peace around mortals - the next thing you know, I'll start hugging you on sight," he said, adding a mocked shiver of disgust. "I even caught myself tipping my groceries' delivery boy, last Friday!"

* * *

Lucifer appeared miffed by the current situation, not having much of an appreciation for standstills. "You assholes are lucky this ain't Endgame yet!" he spat at the guards.

"Whatever, fella," replied one of the guards, "you wouldn't be the first upstart to waltz on up here with a stolen title! You've got a rough road ahead of ya if you think this shit's going to convince anyone you're Lucifer!"

In response, shadows seemed to pool around the Lightbringer, even a flame sparked to life in-between his horns. "I haven't crossed the goddamned Universe twice to get chewed out by some rent-a-cop asshole who's lucky to count in Pride's surplus ranks!
- Oooh, someone's getting uppity! Wanna throw down, you Mickey Mouse reject?"

Lucifer groused. "I learned the use of God's own tools from the Creator Herself and I've seen shit that makes your pansy-ass attempt at authorianism pass for cartoon shenanigans! I birthed the blood-drinkers and the undead with Lilith, so don't push me!"

Another guard snorted. "Buddy, that ain't how any of this works. We've got guns and already-dead flesh, you've got guns and civilians to watch out for. How do you see this working out for anyone here?"

He'd barely asked his question that sirens could be heard approaching. "Finally," sighed the first guard, "thanks for nothing, chucklefucks, but you're all gonna-"

Gunfire sounded from outside. Nami's newly-loaned eyes would catch sight of police cruisers sliding to a stop in front of City Hall, accompanied by a smattering of SWAT panel vans. As their doors opened, Lowell's unsanctioned replacement could be briefly heard lambasting and quite likely literally cursing every plainclothes officer and armored tech that dared step out, a dozen car radios hissing out the same functionally empty threats.

One of the first ones to step out was someone Amazo hadn't seen in a long while, but who'd always been working in the shadows, operating just outside of Shield's jurisdiction. Henry Kulich, as the Karthian half-born he was, looked to have been subjected to physical coercion rather than possession, his bluish-gray face turning a dark purple over a wide swath of bruises that almost engulfed his features. His knuckles looked raw, and he pulled out a battered megaphone as he leaned on his squad car's door.

"Show's over, fellas!" he called. "You let the Urakawa girl and her friends go, and we might let you run back to report to the Goat!
- Yeah?!" defiantly screamed back one of the guards. "We won this city, Blueskin! What've you got, huh? A dozen uniforms, a few plainclothes, ten or fifteen slug-throwers? You can't kill what's already dead!"

Nami would see Henry sigh and briefly close his eyes. "That's our tally, alright! You forgot a few things, though! I'm a Karthian, and you're riding human hardware! Either I make you suck blued steel and blow your own brains out, or Gabriel's new best friend tears through you without batting an eyelash! You're twelve low-rank badge-holders for a public security corp the Goat himself dissolved, plus a handful of motivated supernatural asshats waiting for an excuse to go Cirque du Soleil on the locals! We've got the Host behind us, plus an Archangel!"

Light shifted behind the massing of cop cars, further up the street. Out of briefly shimmering beams of sunlight walked some of the forces that occupied Old Hope - their gestures kept mundane even as a glint the demons seemingly recognized played in their eyes.

"Think about it, fellas!" called out the Karthian. "Is your precious Pride really worth pulling a Death by Cop redux? Let these people go!"

One of the possessed shot back. "Allocer betrayed us! He stays with us, he's ours to judge!
- Suit yourselves, he's ours to save if he's turned!"

He paused. "I'm guessing you've technically resigned by now, Commander, but you're at least deserving of respect for doing the right thing! Mind if I toss you a bone just this once?"

Allocer held back a grin. "You don't need to flatter me, mister Kulich, I don't deserve it! The sentiment's appreciated, though!
- Don't care, still gonna do it once!" shot back the hybrid. "So - how's things, Mister Mayor?"

Allocer's smile turned sharkish. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get to feel like the genuine article for a few minutes. Maybe he'd eventually prove to be worth the trust of some of the city's new population.

"I'd say they're tense, Detective!" he called out. "You made quick work of the interrogation team?
- Idiots thought I'd know where in the galaxy Telor happens to be!" shot back the hybrid. "I'm Earthborn, you'll get more success in trying to torture me for the number of licks it takes to get to the core of a Tootsie Roll! They're asleep - but you might have to retrain your ex-goons on how Good Cop, Bad Cop is supposed to go!"

The Duke chuckled bitterly. "I imagine I do!" he said, then refocusing on those who held them at gunpoint. "Now, you can either step aside or blow us to bits - either way, you lose!"

* * *

Cyrus shook Abdiel's hand and lightly shrugged. "They're Pride. If we display enough tactical efficiency, they should effectively be wounded even if we fail to dent their numbers. Pride always falters when it isn't bolstered.
- Then we should bolster those who do follow us," noted Pericles. "If you are a Throne," he asked of Abdiel, "could you address the Creator or embody His will on their behalf?"

Melmoth was about to interject, when something made him lower his hand. "Yeah - I'm pretty sure God's a She, but you're a Persian and, well, Ahura-Mazda and whatnot..."

Cyrus again displayed his teeth. "I've been politely corrected by the Host ever since my accession to Heaven, along with all of my kinsmen. God honestly is whatever and whomever brings us comfort, and gender fluidity was no stranger to my people. I could be a woman if I so chose, having been freed of my mortal coil; but I find comfort in familiar contours and outlines."

He scoffed in amused self-deprecation. "That, and I don't quite envision myself not oiling my beard anymore."

* * *

In the rear, one of Otto's assistants slowly and almost mournfully blew into a large horn, not unlike those you could've found used across Celtic Europe and Scandinavia's seafaring populations. Far out into Renton's ruined depths, more portals opened, masses of flesh converging towards the tower in rabid abandon. The sound gave them something to lock onto, but this sacrifice served its purposes. The cleansing process was closed and now, the darker, churning energies of spite and resentment were being pooled.

"By Tyr's might and Hela's bane, we Rune-Masters and servants of Odin call upon Sun and Fire. We call upon Loki's deceit and Fenris' rage, upon the prowess and wisdom of Thor, upon the unmatched strength of the titans Magni and Modi. We wear the blood and bones of our ancestors and do submit our anger and fury to the four winds!"

Otto paused. "Tell me, brothers! What shall we wish upon the hordes?!"

The drum-beating section leaders answered in Proto-Germanic. "Death, sickness, abandonment, despair, listlessness, blindness and idiocy!"

"Tell me, sisters! What shall we wish wish upon these unfortunate souls?!"

Screeches and wails followed, the likes of which Ariel would've heard out of the throats of everyone between the various Pythias of Ancient Greece, the bànfaiths of the Celtic world and the Norse lands' Shieldmaidens; anger intentionally molding via into ugly things - like creeping, viscous waves of pure misfortune.

"Indigence, Impotence and Thorns. Collapsed lungs, Imprisonment and Darkness. Theft and Pain, Stone and Neglect, Fire and Drought. The desolation of corpses abandoned, as cold-blooded fiends desecrate their new bones. Ice and Spite. Dead branches and vultures, Endless night and thirst, always beset by enemies! With cold entrails, may they never find satisfaction among their kinsmen!"

Again, Ariel might catch this as having been a lyrical inversion of each of Elder Futhark's runes. The intent here hadn't been the corruption of a still-referenced arcane codex, but rather its use as a counterpoint: they of the tower were deserving of Futhark's blessings, of Wealth and of the might of Aurochs-flesh, of the craftiness of rose Thorns, or of Divine Breath itself and their own hopefully-restituted right to Travel. Every blessing the skalds had every recorded was theirs, as every calamity the bards had ever kept silenced was now visited upon their foes. Conviction, resentment and enmity flooded out of the helipad's borders like a pouring cascade, a hailstorm of negative magic that created faint distortions in the air around the tower, as wayward spirits were drawn forth to the expressed torment. Eyes closed, Otto raised his hands like a conductor would at the apex of a crescendo, probing the air for the almost palpable contour of the surging and bowing expulsion of negative energies. By his count, the tower would soon be swaddled in the stuff and its proximity would become difficult to tolerate for their enemies. Herbert's projected pride could be felt growing even further as it conmingled with the coven's exuded spite, soon almost reaching the campus' entrance. The demons kept pushing, but most were either stuck futilely holding their ground or finding temporary means of ingress thanks to elevated positions.

Down below, Volker, Paimon and a few others were mopping the lucky ones up as efficiently as they could, fighting hard to avoid letting the Infernalists' exuded confidence turn them cocky.

[Karl the Mad]

Marius had taken the time to avail himself of Gabriel's offer of hardware, although he didn't think he needed much. But he knew enough of warfare to take more than he thought he needed anyway, because as strong as he was, it was a certainty that the other side had warriors just as strong. If not stronger. So he grabbed a bunch of .50-cal bullets for his revolver that were magicked to work more effectively against Hell's forces, and a reinforced vest enchanted to resist the same. As he was leaving he realized it wouldn't do to go to battle looking like this, and since his one remaining apartment was on the way to the Tree he went there, ducked in and changed into one of his trademark Italian three-piece suits, roomy enough to not make it obvious he wore armor beneath it while still fitting well. Then, remembering that he had Tom Magnus' number and that the warlock was probably going to be at the Tree, he sent the fellow a brief missive:

Magnus. Not sure if you heard but I'm back in town, and Gabriel's agreed to let me help out. I'm headed for Centennial Park right now, going to try and size up the rifts that have appeared. I think I'll be able to shut them down, or even reverse them. -Vlastos

His supernatural nature let him change clothes and send off the text in seconds, and he was back on the road in no time.

As he came upon the Park he drew a cloak of obfuscation around himself to avoid notice, although with the chaos all around it might not have been necessary. He felt the rush and exhilaration of battle approaching, and wondered why he had hid himself away for so long. There was nothing like a good fight to sharpen the senses and make one feel alive, was there not? Hell, it might even get him to remember things if the right neurons sparked in the fights ahead!

Still creeping along he approached one of the Rifts from behind, studying it for any sign of weakness he could exploit. He had spotted abominations in the crowd, Their servants. He wondered what They wanted in meddling with this little turf war, or if They even knew. It wasn't his concern, but it did make him wonder what exactly these Rifts were made of, or if they were even safe to approach too closely. Hellfire and Black Speech, the stuff of the Void? He knew the latter, but wasn't so familiar with the former. It was a good thing Magnus was nearby, then.

While doing so he reached out with his powers, spread a wide field of anti-magic around himself. Enemy spellcasters would find their own power weakened and drained, their enchanted weapons likewise dried out as the via was wicked away harmlessly into the sky. Normally he'd funnel it back into the leylines, but he wasn't sure corrupting them with Hellfire was a good idea. From where he stood he could see Tom, Aislinn and the others conversing with the mantis-thing, and while they would feel a tingle of some local effect, Marius' power skipped over them, focused on the enemy forces.

No, he could do better than to suck via into the air, couldn't he? He turned that Hellfire against its wielders, crafted a fog of sight and sound. Each damned soldier would soon notice, out of the corner of his or her or its vision, that their comrades had seemingly disappeared. Oh, the nearest one or two in their ranks were still there of course, but past that they were entirely alone. It wouldn't last forever of course, and the range was limited, but it would hopefully give the good guys a split second of advantage. He made sure he was still veiled, and studied the rift again.

[TennyoCeres84]

Given the necessity for quiet, the angel and the werewolf remained as still as possible, even though it wasn't likely some small movements would awaken the Hell hog. Crystal whispered to the Nergal and the others, "Isn't there some way we can let Zeke know we're here? Or are we just playing a waiting game?"

***

Aislinn refrained from rolling her eyes at the creature's horrible and ludicrous proposition, but she nonetheless scoffed. "Based on what I've heard of Amaxi doing, there's like some half-truth to keep us complacent and willing to agree to your demands. Millions of years to us might be an afternoon to Her, given how gods can displace time as they want."

"Also, the idea that you want us to tell my brother to sacrifice Sophia's heart just so Akoman and Amaxi can have a drop of Creation tells me what would happen if we agreed," she continued, looking down at the radiant and verdant blooms the combined traits of Hellfire and raw life from the angels. "They're still impotent and jealous of what God can accomplish. If we agreed to your foolish offer, we'd lose out on the amazing potential I see before us. Genuine collaboration from peoples from all planes, standing here to protect what matters most. Beauty and harmony in its contrasting elements. We can't give that gift away."

While she wasn't her grandmother, she had delivered her viewpoint with the quiet power that Meris had, which Lucian would likely remember from their days in Respite Point. They were bold, yet thoughtful in delivery.

***

Aspasia feigned a certain amount of haughtiness and rested a hand on her chest as though she was just beside herself with compliments. "Why, thank you. Flattery will get you everywhere," she joked.

The fauness then grinned and started to head toward his kitchen. "It's not going to be our famous ribs, as those take several hours to marinate. I can whip up some barbecue with what you have in your fridge," she said.

Opening the refrigerator door, she found an unused, but fresh chicken breast on one of the shelves. She dug out some aged Gouda, along with various spices from the cabinet. "You can help me make some fries," she addressed to Meris.

The archmage nodded with a smile and fetched out a potato and got to seasoning and preparing them to be fried.

***

Much like Lucifer, Nami was growing tired of the essential stalemate and mused over a way to turn the situation to their favor. She didn't give her companions much warning, only a Be prepared to move quickly!".

She reached out to the various speakers located within the area and requested that they send all their fury toward the guards. They emitted a high-pitched screech composed of hums and beeps, which bounced off the walls of the relatively limited space.

She shoved past them and rushed to join Kulich and the other officers, sword at the ready in case one of the demons tried to grab her.

***

Smiling, Abdiel nodded. "There's even debate among some of my brethren as to the Almighty's gender, but it's generally those who stick close to Her, only letting their opinions filter in place of the truth."

"As for bolstering myself, I'm technically a part of God. I can't exist without Her. I can use my voice to bolster my appearance, demeanor, and focus of my faith in my Creator. Though, what type of focus is also important to consider. Being a raging flame of God could have some negative repercussions, while being an intense, yet gentle hearth fire might be a better solution."

"What do you think would be the best option?" she asked of Pericles and Cyrus.

***

While the Throne sensed the contrarily beneficial incantations from Otto and the assembled men and women, she bolstered her own focus to protect those fighting down below. A sublime melody echoes out from her lips as she sang for them to given strength and vigor against the enemy. A tune of hope and perseverance rang down from the roof and along the tower to the Volker, Paimon, and the rest of the defense.

They might have normally wanted to flinch away from such holiness, but the Celestial demeanor of her music protected them. Any blows bounced off of them, their flesh holding strong against claws and teeth. Their courage remained at just the right level to deal blows, but they would sense on how to dodge attacks. They would feel an unparalleled sense of clarity in the rush of battle, showing even more so at how well collaboration could work.

[IamLEAM1983]

Seeing as both armies were awaiting the start of open hostilities, Marius' spell resulted in Tom craning his neck past the emissary - not without first glancing at his smartwatch's relaying of the vampire's text message - and noting how the first few rows of demons were now stirring, grasping at one another for support and muttering in discomfort and spreading anxiety. Vlastos might've been able to elicit more of a rout out of the enemy if they'd already been progressing forward, but this was still a great first step, all things considered. They'd be far less coordinated when the final call for a charge would come. In response, the vampire would only receive a brief KK, thumbed in and sent without the warthog taking his eyes off of the emissary. Asking such a being for time enough to finger in a decent response would've been folly, of that much Magnus had no doubt Marius was aware. Still, the warlock kept himself from rubbernecking around for a smartly-dressed nonagenarian poking through the enemy's rear guard. If he kept up appearances, he'd maximize Marius' own chances.

The Ordo Dracul patrician, however, would quickly realize that the Vienna Council's offered primers on magic for non-practitioning immortals did contain a few useful chestnuts. For starters, the portal he was observing opened out onto the same distant wind-blasted fortress no matter from which side of the slit he observed it. The Brimstone dust that brushed against his face conserved its momentum even after changing planes, creating an appreciable wind tunnel. He wouldn't have any problem standing up, but he obviously would have ruined his clothes in a few moments if he didn't step out to brush the stuff off.

For a mortal, that fortress would've been a good one or two days away on foot. Pick a car and drive it through without being detected; odds were you'd have made it to the gates within a few hours. For someone like Marius, however, a good bit of effort would put the gates in front of him in a few minutes. Even from his current distance, however, he'd be able to suss out a few details. This was clearly an outpost, where prisoners were first detained and later transferred elsewhere. From within the portal's field of view, he'd spot other apertures off in the distance, through which walked other bulky Pride demons with various humans and anthros kept in chains. Interestingly, a few other processions seemed to contained Void Weavers - as prisoners.

Structurally, it would've almost reminded him of Agamemnon's fort on Crete, which had been a ruin even in the time of his mortal days. Four towers and as many walls topped with battlements, with some sort of bailey or interior courtyard waiting beyond. He'd just about make out a squat building within the perimeter - possibly the inner keep. This suggested that most of the outpost was subterranean in nature, with its black Bimstone walls veined with gold mostly serving as a statement on Pride's naturally inflated sense of conviction.

A striking tableau, to be sure - but still one with faults. If the gold veins were load-bearing, it could be that enough concussive force would either damage the outer layer and render the rest easier to bull through with a battering ram of some sort - or that a large chunk of the wall proper would collapse. Marius would obviously know better than to attempt this on his own, as no amount of immortality would make the thought of being buried under tons of Brimstone and solid gold palatable. Maybe a younger vampire of his breed would've entertained notions of turning this into an outpost of sorts or of otherwise claiming it as a sign of the resistance's future victory, but Victum's greed and callousness were old bedfellows of Marius', by now, and could be easily ignored. Taking the theater to the Pit would've exposed the Earth's finite numbers to the Goat's endless legions. In the immediate, a more effective course of action would've involved scouting ahead to see what or who powered the various portals that circled the keep.

In the meantime, Aislinn's words touched Tom. Diplomacy be damned, he kept his eyes forward while reaching out for the roane's hand, briefly squeezing it in thanks. All of what he'd always hoped for was here for the taking, now all that the alchemy of life needed was a bit of peace. Pride and their enablers wouldn't give that away willingly. They'd have to fight for it. Obviously, the emissary noticed.

"Touching," it said, his tone one of mockery. "I imagine you have a counter-offer, then. Please, spare us any unnecessary bravado."

Tom drew in a breath and considered his words. "Retreat now, and I'll personally entreat the Vienna Council to abandon all pending charges. Those who worked with us will be granted amnesty, those who worked against us - exile. We'll index all materials related to the summoning of Pride's principalities and remove them from all postgraduate curriculums. We won't pursue you, we won't attack you; but we'll consign Pride to the same fate as Leviathan. Over the next few generations of practitioners, you'll become mere names and faces. Pop Culture signifiers with no rituals attached. Empty, meaningless vessels.
- And what good would this do?
- Our children's children would forget Pride as an arcane Vice. Never again would the Goat's allied cohorts walk on our soil. Never again would you draw power from one such as myself or Aislinn - and you'd watch as Pandemonium's heroes are issued Names and sigils, as Hell is reshaped without Pride as its darker centerpoint. You wouldn't suffer, however. If you stay in the Pit, you have no need for power, no need for worship."

The emissary bristled. "And no voice to speak of, no place at any table. A slow, ignominious death by degrees."

Tom nodded. "That's exactly how your demands feel to us. The Legion of the Burning Suns will be spoken of and spoken to for generations, Emissary. They'll join civilian workforces or become soldiers and peacekeepers. Politicians and community leaders. They'll father and mother cambion children; and Lucifer's hopes for Humanity's survival will be made manifest. We'll simply shift pieces on the gameboard, invent some new word for demons like myself while still calling you Fiends. If you want us to offer you concessions, you have to play fair."

The creature bristled again, then turning to its private guard. A few words in Pride's rolling idiom were exchanged, the creature then glancing back to them.

"Wait here," it said, as it turned to walk away - and seemingly disappeared.

Tension leaving him, Tom sighed and allowed himself to lean on his staff a bit more. "Hopefully, we can avoid bloodshed," he said, admittedly sounding like he wasn't entirely convinced it could happen.

By then, Marius would notice that something was holding the attackers back. The Goat would've allowed for parley as more of a mocking concession to martial tradition, but the delay suggested Tom and Aislinn had at least brought something substantial to the table...

* * *

"Let's scope out the holding cell," succinctly replied Bob, who once again pulled out his pistol and cautiously made his way to the catwalk that surrounded it. The cube didn't seem to contain much of anything, except for an extruded concrete slab that served as a cot, along with starkly modern and Terrestrial-looking toiletries. Lyman had done what he'd been able to at the favor of Gluttony's dim sunlight, and had found a chip of something more coarse and light, which he'd used as a chalk stick. The interior walls were covered with naive drawings of cars and streets, with a child's rendition of various consumer electronics - along with a passable doodler's reproductions of a few widely-known works of art. The man himself was hard at work on the floor, hunched over in an almost fetal position, slowly scraping out what looked like a few heart-signs. As with the other Damned souls they'd have crossed here, he didn't look like much. Only the vague contours of his facial bones eluded to the man he'd briefly been, his features pallid and frail and paired with the same bloated stomach they'd have seen before. It would've been a kindness to let weakness waste him away, but Hell only seemed to offer the visual and physical trappings of starvation. His big and dark eyes were swimming in obvious anguish, but he would forever go beyond the point where the most malnourished of all humans would've normally died.

Bob chanced a few prods at the closest window. Lyman's eyes shot to him, only to look away in fear and denial. It took a few tries, but Bob eventually waved Crystal closer, hoping he'd recognize her and not deem her to be some sort of mirage concocted by his tormentors.

"It's really us, Lyman," said the Teacher. "We're breaking you out."

Then followed long minutes of watching Ezemial pitifully attempt to stand up, his chicken-bones legs struggling with every step. He placed a hand against the glass and merely stood there, slack-jawed, looking like speaking would've been too much of an effort. Stepping away, Bob tried to survey the small building for air vents or other structural weaknesses.

"We could use breaching charges," supplied Nergal, to which his wife replied with a pointed glance. "I know where we are," she reminded him, "but do you really want him to go through with burst eardrums or an abrupt pressure change? He's been through enough already. We aren't getting him out in ways that might injure him."

"We could dig him out from underneath," suggested Bob, to which Archie nodded in the negative. "We would lose precious time and possibly expose ourselves to this Vice's temptations. Our digging Lyman out would soon be passed over for whatever bits of contentment we could find."

Gallows grunted. "I'm bettin' we could rip out a few o' those high vents, but it ain't like the fella here's in any position to climb out on his own. Windows are obviously warded, we won't break any of 'em unless we can dispel the wards first."

Archie sighed thoughtfully and absently cast his gaze on the slumbering giant. "What if we woke it up? If it sees us as trespassers and especially sees us inside Lyman's cell, it certainly seems dumb and brutish enough to at least attempt to force its way to us... If it does, we may be able to eke out an escape."

Sighing nervously, Bob glanced back to the pink-furred warden as it rolled on its side and stuck a thumb inside its mouth. "That works, the van's got rope enough for us to maybe rip out a vent - we just need someone who's stupid enough to get down there to wake up El Gordo..."

In response, Archie hefted his cane. "Or I could shoot at it from afar," he said. "A few potshots, and I imagine I'll quickly be scrambling to rejoin you lot."

Erin grimaced thoughtfully. "What if it stays stuck while trying to grasp at us?
- Then all this flab would form a weak seal," noted Nergal, and would buy us a few minutes of extended protection. The mortals here could feed on its flesh for a few days, although their mental state would suffer for it..."

* * *

Herbert's apartment mostly followed in the same direction as his office, looking as though someone had taught Donald Trump the complex arcana of tasteful interior design. Rococco accents in dark wood essences were prevalent, punctuated by the occasional bit of chromed steel or white-tinted glass, with a few wallpaper patterns that affected gold leaves or paisley-like red whorls that could've passed for autumnal suggestions or coyly-traced flames. His initially settling ego had first driven him to pick one of the penthouses, the resulting open spaces now starting to look less pretentious and more like an honest attempt to section off spaces below his mezzanine. Hesitating for a few moments, the demon finally settled with letting the two women busy themselves while he somberly took in his baywindows' darkening view.

"I could not have said this only mere months ago," he noted for Aidan's benefit, "but I'm now rather uneased with the prospect of us exchanging banter even as our front lines are being tested...  Can you see Volker and the others, down below?"

Three tried his best squint down the nearly two-dozen stories that separated them from the ground. The front plaza looked small from so high up, Volker and his team looking like small pips on someone's rather gritty concept gameboard. Most of the Fiends couldn't get past Herbert's shield, but those that had managed to squeak by during its redeployment were giving the team a run for their money.

"Barely," admitted the soldier, a few seconds later. "Do Pride's pencil-pushers come complete with eight-times magnification?
- I'm afraid my base cone of vision is only as good as any healthy human's, even a visually-impaired anthro would have better luck at following Volker's scrape with our neighbors. I'm honestly more skilled at tracking movement - all the better to fly away from threats, of course. Pride's pencil-pushers are not quite the martial sorts by default, although Neasa might be able to at least gin up that one time I did alright for myself while under fire."

Wanting a better look, Aidan placed a knee down and squinted, them remembering what he happened to be. A few quietly murmured words in the Black Speech bent the air in front of his eyes, bringing the entrance's now both ruined and fortified plaza into focus. Mathers had been as focused as usual, having opted to set sandbags along the public space's suggested walking corridors and forcing the invaders down as narrow a chokehold as possible, out in front. Another row of sandbags waited a ways inside the closed-off perimeter, securing the entrance's doors. The wolf worked his Bulpup rifle with machine-like precision, only his seemingly permanent snarl betraying how he happened to be channeling his particular form of lust. With fixed and constricted pupils, the possessed wolf anthro looked like the bloodshed he was creating was making him ride high on dopamine, even as his bloody handiwork efficiently opened up the road for his rear guard.

Paimon's style had changed, over the past few months. Previously, he'd been a lumbering charger, the type to throw himself into the fray and to focus on using his fists, discharged fire and horns. Now he still pressed on and even allowed the enemy to encircle him, but his strikes felt precise and premeditated. He wasn't fighting like the Duke he'd once been, seeing battle as a means to test his honor. Now, he had something to fight for, something to return to. His honor would be safe no matter the outcome, so responsibility could be considered. Behind him waited Bucky, who mostly stood his ground and allowed the raiding party to meet its end along the cutting edge of his odachi. The typical Shamus Wallace stance wasn't entirely classical of a samurai charged with the felling of cavalry, but the almost gridiron-worthy swings the Clank took opposed their own momentum against supernatural muscle. The resulting clotheslines bisected six Fiends during the time Drake kept count, boot stomps finishing what the blade hadn't. A few moments later, Volker's team could simply stand and stare as the enemy pressed itself against Herbert's shield, sending purple coruscations of energy rippling outwards with every punch and slash attempt.

"There's at least a few hundred, out there," noted Drake. "You're holding all of them back?
- I'm more concerned with keeping the runts out, to be honest," admitted Wormsworth. "All our team needs is one decent foe, one solid Mack of the Infernal sort. If they end him, the hanger-ons and Ego leeches should disperse for the nonce. I'm trying to modulate the shield so only one of the bigger fellows manages to break through..."

Three bit his lower lip. "That's a risky gamble.
- It is, but it remains one worthy of being pursued. I'm of Pride, Aidan - wound my trust in your plucky group and odds are I'll need to retreat to my creature comforts for a few days. The same goes for them - felling the small fry for hours on end is tactically more demanding than killing the local self-righteous bully with a title and a Brimstone weapon. As much as Mister Volker would be loathe to admit it, he and his colleagues down there cannot afford to hold their ground forever. You've made us feel hunger and exhaustion and doubt in sheltering us Infernal allies, and any of these three things might later plague them."

* * *

Sprinting past the group naturally was as agonizing for Amazo, Allocer and Lucifer as it was for the others, but Nami would find her focus to quickly be broken by a tackling Exo-Squad officer. He hadn't barreled into her to harm her, but had done so following standard SWAT protocol, to get her out of the entrance's sightlines as quickly as possible. The others followed only a heartbeat later, to be immediately followed by a pouring division of SWAT teams. More rifle pops sounded, the bestial screams of the possessed joined the orderly and coordinated shouts of the attackers - and a deathly silence soon followed. Silence enough for more sirens to be heard, and for Allocer to put a hand on Henry's shoulder with a sigh.

"Here they come," he said. "The Goat's loyalists, those I installed in the HPD... Even if everyone pivots, the only ones who stand a chance here are our Celestial allies."

One of the angels landed, having eschewed the military greens and police blues for nondescript civilian clothing, with only an ostentatious badge wallet hung from a chain denoting him as part of the detachment. Judging by being's diminutive size and Latinate features, Lucifer chanced a smirk and a toss of his chin.

"'Ey, Raguel - como estàs?
- Later, Lu - we've got a few dozen possessed pseudo-officials rolling in, starting with Willowdale's Captain of Police... Care to do the honors, Detective?" he asked the Karthian.

The bluish-purple alien grunted and lightly pulled on one of his chin's barbels. "I'd hate doing this, normally..."

For now, nothing else was said. They watched as a bulked-up squad cruiser parker ahead of a group of smaller vehicles, uniform-clad demons and possessed locals climbing out behind their boss. Previous to the invasion, Orson McGuinty had been Hope General's leading Psychiatry specialist, and the months preceding the city's fall had been beset with rumors of his performing unethical experiments on his patients, using previously-condemned wings of the complex. The city's head shrink had himself been shrunken down by one of his former Karthian colleagues - so to speak - making it clear that the Orc's Infernal passenger had spent the last several years subsuming the man's consciousness. Orcs not being quite like other sapient races, there had been no easy way to restore McGuinty's mind. He'd been locked in Stasis for a few weeks when the first portals opened, and gratefully accepted a new position of authority that would further allow him to exercise his developing yen for cruelty. Orson ensconced his natural bulk and muscular definition in gabardine and silk and smoothed out his neckline and jaw with a ring beard, but his blazing eyes would forever stand as proof of the real man he'd once been having been tragically lost. The demon he was not wanting to face that fact, McGuinty had begun appearing to the locals while consistently donning a pair of mirrorshades.

"I really should've seen this coming," he said, his tone clipped, as he marched towards Allocer. "You and your bleeding heart, your dedication towards the locals - I thought you'd gaslight them like we'd agreed. Now I see whom exactly has been inhaling fumes. We have six precincts and the hospital. You've got the warthog's tower to fall back to, and the chunk of tarmac you're standing on."

Kulich tsked. "We're past that, Orson - and you're headed back in the Box."

McGuinty faintly snarled. "We've tried being accomodating, Kulich. You just had to turn us down. We could've given you Anastasius' power.
- It's not mine to wield and I don't need it. I'm half-human already, the last thing I want is Romanov's Crimson Spirit.
- Through non-biological means, you dolt. You forget what we are!"

The Detective pretended to give this some consideration. "Yeah, it's real easy to lose sight of the kind of legacy you've destroyed. The name you're using was respected, just a little over a year ago. Now it's just a synonym for asshole.
- That kind of impertinence will-
- Oop - someone needs a nap! One sec-"

Henry glanced off to the side and took in the massing group of Infernal officers. He waved at them with a hand.

"You fellas kiss and make out."

It wasn't quite as fast as a spell would've been, as magic conveniently didn't involve tweaking neural pathways on the fly. McGuinty's large retinue simply looked dead-eyed for a few seconds, blinked in confusion, and then locked eyes with one another. Orson turned to face them, sputtering in rage even as holster belts were undone and work shirts untied, as pairings formed and the musk of tumescence rose in the air.

"That's it," said Henry, "get nice and close. Activate those oxytocin relays, release dopamine and endorphins in your bloodstream. Fall in love, why don'tcha."

Amazo could only blink. "That's gotta be the most casual Karthian Dominion I've ever seen.
- Terrans are easy," admitted the Detective. "Demons are even easier-"

Orson tackled and pinned him in a chokehold on the hood of one of Gabriel's police cruisers, only for a Celestial sword to slip under his neck.

"Back away, ese," quietly said Raguel, his voice carrying unspoken threats. "Back up. Orcish spirits dig in like ticks, we'll never get'chu out without fucking up the brain in the process. Either I send you back Downstairs bleeding like a stuck pig - or it's the Box. The DOD's gonna be glad to reopen its old contracts with Paradise, once we rid America of shit-stains like you."

* * *

Pericles shrugged lightly. "Any fire can be dangerous if you stand too close, even if it seems controlled. If you start one behind enemy lines but at a safe distance from our forces, you might sear our foes while bringing warmth to those who still need it. It really is just a matter of dosing the heat output."

Melmoth chuckled quietly. "It's not a bad idea, 'cept Abbie here's no Olympian bonfire. It's a bit of a weird thing, honestly - imagine smart fire for a sec. If she manifested as just the thing, you could wade through her flames without feelin' so much as a breeze. She doesn't need to spare anyone, not if anyone she wants to spare can just, well, not feel anything negative."

Cyrus refocused on Melmoth. "And what could you do, mister Othstein?
- I guess I could blind a few legions, or maybe flex Demonic for once and visit Greed on 'em, make 'em want their allies' own kit so they can, I dunno, maximize their survivability or some shit," he said, adding finger-quotes. If anyone's fish enough to pack six swords or a shoulder strap's worth of guns, they'll be slowed down. Easier to pop."

[Karl the Mad]

Marius used the same trick of Black Speech that Drake had to bend the air and bring far details closer, and another one to craft a cushion of air around his obscured form and keep the ashes off his clothes. He saw the keep, the movement of troops and prisoners, he noted the Void Weavers. Perhaps those would turn to the good guys if they were released? Either way, it didn't seem likely that he could disable the rifts from this side, and if he wasn't smart he'd wind up trapped over there unless he left one rift active. Maybe he could drag the source through first before disabling it?

Ugh, and he didn't fancy his chances of going in alone either.

One thing was certain, that fort wasn't a military outpost, but a penal one. Were these immediate forces from there? If so they were either prisoners or guards, and either would not be as effective as hardened soldiers. He couldn't tell though, and didn't care to waste time studying them to be sure.

He'd seen enough, time to report over. He flash-stepped around the edge, coming up behind Tom and Aislinn with less speed. "Don't blink," he rasped to them in a low voice, parting the veil so the good guys could see him, but not the enemy. He told Tom what he had seen in a few terse sentences. "...I didn't see any way of shutting them down from this side, so someone should scout ahead, see about stopping those portals," he summarized. "I doubt I can do it alone, I know magic but not that kind. The fort itself shouldn't be too much challenge either, if we push hard enough, but we'd be exposed. Your thoughts?"

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn watched the creature disappear and looked back at Tom with a grim frown. "TheEmissary might come back with another counteroffer, but I don't think Amaxi and Akoman are giving up on their goals. They want this world one way or another," she noted.

Given the tension, the selkie couldn't help but jump slightly when Vlastos had unveiled himself. Thankfully, he was on their side, it seemed. She looked back in the direction of the hidden fortress and sighed. "We've done portal magic before, but this sort of thing seems like it'd be in Meris's league perhaps Lucian. However, she's either at the Tower or elsewhere. If they're holding prisoners there, I wonder if Riona is there as well. For all we know, there could be a portal between there and Hell."

***

Crystal grimaced at Nergal's suggestion and looked back at Zeke's prison in dismay, her mind racing. "Is...is there any way we could get Zeke to eat the Hell hog? He'd gain some weight, but I imagine it'd give his ego a major boost after being stuck here for so long."

Matriel shrugged and suggested, "The wards on the windows could probably be overloaded with angelic energy and some freezing. As mentioned, Ezemial is too weak to get out of his cell. Since I have wings, I could fly up there and get him out."

***

The smells of grilled and fried foods drifted in from the kitchen, while the two women prepared the meal. Given the nature of the planned dish, it wouldn't be long before Herbert would be able to eat. They also kept an ear to the discussion between the human and the demon.

"Keeping the shield up is absolutely important task, as it still limits the number of assailants entering," Aspasia explained, peeking out of the kitchen as she toasted some bread in the oven's broiler.

A few minutes later, the food was plated and brought out by Aspasia, followed by Meris. The grilled chicken sandwich had been liberally seasoned with a slice of Gouda cheese, some lettuce for texture, and some finely chopped onions in the mix. There was an appetizing pile of fries next to it, equally seasoned in such a way that it wouldn't require ketchup to give it flavor. A cup of cold herbal tea was placed next to it. Given that this wasn't exactly a dining area, Meris manifested a table that would make the food reachable as Herbert watched the scene below.

Suddenly, the group would see a dark and light blur flit past the windows. Aspasia and Meris rushed to the windows and saw that it was Ariel. She could still be heard singing her invigorating melody, but she had obviously decided to join the fight. What Bucky, Volker, and Paimon and the others didn't take out, she deftly killed the remainder with gusts of wind that sliced through the foes like blades.

Herbert would find his shield was being strengthened by the angel's singing, even as she fought valiantly with them. It wouldn't mean he could rest easily, but the Throne was providing some energetic relief. Oddly enough, her Celestial presence didn't clash with the Pride-based power.

"I suppose Ariel must've decided to take a more active stance," Meris obviously stated.

***

Even with a sword at his throat, Nami figured that Orson wouldn't unhand the Karthian easily. She understood his general demeanor after having been around him just a few minutes. Stubbornly proud with a growing taste for cruelty, based on the requested intel the many fledgling minds in the records database about HPD employees. She happened across older footage of when he was a good man, respected and admired by his peers. She briefly felt saddened by the loss, but she knew that it was the best bet to get the orc to let go of the Karthian.

The young Throne knew full well that the respected psychiatrist wasn't in the body anymore, so it was an altogether situation with the Blood Countess and her hostage soul. Pride could be easily harmed if forced to face their shortcomings. She ventured forth and stood about a foot away from the patrol car and focused her attention on the base of the orc's neck.

He would feel the sudden rush of images, sounds, and sensations of captured footage entering into his brain stem and up into the brain. All of the accolades and praise, gone as he had foolishly tore away at the other consciousness. The harsh and cruel experiments he had performed now felt like his greatest shame in his career and his life, the continuing diminishment of his impressive and great past. None of that legacy was his to call his own, and no mirrorshades would provide a barrier against that stark and painful realizaion. He had nothing to really be proud of, barring his allegiance to the Goat. That link even seemed paltry in comparison to all of the good the original body's owner had done.

***

"You could also change your form in the way you did while we were in Israel," Abdiel suggested. "We made a good team then, so I think the same tactics could work in Hope, don't you think? Between that and what we've discussed, those tactics would likely put a sound dent in the Goat's forces."

[IamLEAM1983]

Tom marshaled his surprise, only showing a tightening of his jaw and his ears perking as Vlastos appeared. "I'd have loaned you Volker if he'd been around," he noted to the Alexandrian, "but he texted me a red-light not twenty minutes ago. There's a raiding party at the tower's gates, maybe something bigger."

The warthog kept his eyes on the enemy lines. "The Legion and Celestials can't break off from the front - not now. Pride's forces would notice anyone among us breaking off - and they'd notice you disappearing," he noted to Vlastos. "We can't risk moving until the charge's sounded."

He sighed nervously. "I hope the others are alright; we haven't heard from Abdiel and Melmoth in two days, now. Intel keeps coming back with Lucifer sightings down in the enclave, near City Hall; and it's driving the enemy forces up the wall. They think he came back for them, that he's here to secure victory. A lot of our own immigrants think the same thing. Archie and a few others used a foldspace cabinet to weasel their way to Walpurgis, Texas - and I can't get a bead on Holden or Lowell's LTE signals. My best guess is Nergal roped them into one of his schemes, supposedly to bolster our own defenses..."

Lucian stood at the other side of the roane and warthog. "Rest easy. I can no longer keep the enemy at bay, but Spacetime remains peculiarly cooperative, of late. As soon as you show me confirmation of our friends' whereabouts in this plane, I shall pull them in as gently as I can. I suspect the dragons and other Viennese immortals will have already concocted plans to open Fae Gates somewhere behind us, to bolster our lines."

The warlock didn't look especially relieved. "So, what do we do until then? We can't hold back an infinity of Hellspawn on our own."

Lucian smirked. "To be frank, mister Magnus - we can. For a short while, at least; likely long enough to buy time for our allies.
- And how do we do that?
- The same way you've lost track of Doherty; through the quantum halls of my patron."

Tom blinked at Rothchild. "Are you saying you could duplicate us?!
- Yes and, er, well... No." admitted the Squid with a slight nod. "Imagine several Tom Magnuses, several Aislinn McConmaras, several Marius Vlastoses - and all of them are the genuine article, simultaneously. No clones, no duplicates or displaced alternate selves, simply several of your own, present selves, to be rejoined into one should we survive."

Moments later, another reddish portal sparked into view in front of them, and out stepped the Emissary - with the Goat's blackened, osseous hand waiting on his shoulder. The body of Leonard Ephesian would likely need to be cloned or otherwise regrown from scratch, from the looks of it. What had been a mere suggestion of malevolence in the anthro's eyes back when Vlastos had first spoken to it had now poisoned the flesh irremediably, white fur having gone patchy across most of what could be seen, exposing wide swaths of dried, almost scabrous flesh, inflamed with either some untreated infection or simply coursing with the demon's own unchecked power. His eyes had gone rheumy and his already gangly muscle mass had seemingly evaporated, Ephesian's white suit of old now traded for a rich crimson and golden three-piece. Behind him followed what looked like a diseased Faun held in shackles that only marginally looked healthier than the Goat himself, one of its shackled hands seemingly begrudgingly holding onto a decidedly Terrestrial military case.

The demon smirked. "I've always loved these little battlefield concessions," he said. "There always is something to the enemy's face, when one steps in just on their having formulated a plan. A glimmer of hope."

Tom sent a quick look to the Alexandrian. They couldn't discuss their plans of attack openly anymore, but Aislinn was still a telepath. As long as the Goat couldn't precisely suss out what they would've agreed on, they could still maintain some element of surprise.

* * *

Nergal glanced back at the Hog. "Celestial efficiency or no, I'm not leaving this beast in Beelzebub's hands. That goes without mentioning how this specimen obviously was the object of special attention. Terminating it would be a wasted opportunity."

The weaponsmith then glanced back at Matriel. "If I supply you with a rifle, could you recover Ezemial after nullifying one of the windows' wards? Anti-material rounds might expose enough soft tissue for our friend to be dropped into suitable terrain. The rest of us could goad the creature into ignoring its open wound long enough for Lyman to get a decent grip."

Archie blinked. "What the bloody Hell are you suggesting, exactly? How would Lyman devouring this beast from within be beneficial to us? It's likely to scream in pain and to alert more Hogs or whatever it is Beelzebub's armed retinue might take shape as!"

In response, Nergal rapped on the window again. "Could you eat its brain?!" he asked, raising his voice for Zeke to hear. The weak demon's eyes lit up with a spark of hope - only for doubt to swallow it. Knowing his voice would've been strongly muffled, he gestured, instead.

You'd have to keep it from picking me out of the open wound. You'd have to do it for long enough to let me work my way up. It's going to call for others.

Nergal nodded and rapped on the window again. "I can arm everyone here - deterrence isn't the issue! Beelzebub is!"

Shakily, Lyman stepped away, likely to prevent any serious injury due to the glass shards Matriel might form in breaking one of the windows - then mouthing his response.

"I'll take care of him, if he shows up!"

* * *

"Ah," lightly noted the lawyer, as though someone adding an extra piece of furniture out of the blue weren't something to be surprised with. "Thank you!" He then proceeded to make the act of picking one half of the sandwich while thumbing and flicking away at his cell phone look it wouldn't ever result in his staining the screen.

"What are you getting updates for?" asked Aidan. "It isn't like your docket's filled up for the week, is it?"

Herbert slid an askance look towards him and then focused back on the plaza below. "A few rank-and-file clerks still owe me favors at Cacus & Bune; I was able to maintain access to the cabinet's news feed despite my resignation. As expected, a fair few familiar faces of mine have joined the country's judiciary circuit...
- Are they going to be a problem?"

Wormsworth chuckled at that. "Oh, heavens, no. We courtroom vultures are creatures of habit, after all. You've met me, and there are close to thirty other seat-keeping members in the cabinet's inner circle, each with their creature comforts. Once they realize the Goat would have eventually come for their cigar lounges and midday Dry Martini breaks for not being sufficiently deferential, they will riot."

He then tsked. "Well - they will riot inasmuch as I rioted when I knocked on your door; probably with a subpoena or a court order or two to weasel their way a mortal firm's front desk. For now, they'll huff and puff and present any retaliatory actions as discriminatory actions levied against the humble planar immigrants of the Pit, but-"

The demon then stopped, his big eyes narrowing. "Second-to-last row, near the base of the proverbial dogpile. The gangly one with a smouldering gaze..."

Snapping to attention, Aidan focused in on the area Herbert had mentioned. They'd later realize they were looking at a member of the same species as the Emissary Tom and Aislinn had spoken to; one that looked vaguely female. Its plated face made reading its emotions difficult, but its eyes narrowed as it extended an arm towards them, as if in a mocking salute. Vague reddish motes began to dance in front of them, small arcs of reddish energy began to flit every which way between the satyress and Archmage.

Three screamed without thinking, his training taking hold.

"IMPACT!"

Nothing hit Herbert's penthouse, per se. Instead, the four of them would feel as though someone had briefly sucked the air out of the room, even as their ears would briefly pop. In the same instant, the distant right-most half of the penthouse's main floor collapsed inside the sudden appearance of a vertical ring of red light, Brimstone immediately buffetting the scattered and shattered belongings that fell a short way down to the impossible sandy plain of what could've looked like any other remote corner of the Pit. The real and perceptible change in pressure created a vaccuum that threatened to fling them all, along with Herbert's possessions, either outside the portal and to their vertigo-inducing deaths, or straight into enemy territory. Herbert's couch had slid against the wall and miraculously held fast, something which undoubtedly saved Aidan's life and also allowed him to latch onto Herbert's wrist as he sailed past him.

With his lower visual perspective, Aidan had lost sight of the fauness and selkie for the moment. So, not knowing where either of them was, he opted with a blind sound-off, raising his voice against the suddenly howling winds.

"I'VE GOT HERBIE! YOU GUYS ALRIGHT?!"

* * *

McGuinty's rising jealousy and hatred made his focus falter, enough for Raguel to force him off of Henry. A heartbeat later, a dazed Inspector Kulich grimaced as he reached for his bruised throat with a hand and, with a snarl, threw a partially telekinetic punch at the Orc. Blue coruscations surrounded his fist and made his comparatively frail appendage pack the resistance and momentum of a bodybuilder's curled fingers. It wasn't enough to knock the Orc out, but more than enough to split his lip and chip off an appreciable chunk off of one of his tusks. Orson tried to address Nami, likely to ask her to spare him from what possibly struck him as Celestial sanctimoniousness, but Raguel's increased pressure dissuaded him.

The half-Karthian then stood up and gestured at the enraptured officers he still controlled. "Alright - pick yourselves up, can the sappy crap for now; you're with me. You'll help me liberate City Hall, and you'll stay under my command even after I leave. Over time, I'll dig so deep inside you folks you won't ever question our logic. You'll wonder why you so much as thought this invasion crap would have ever worked. You'll feel my logic sink so deep I'll be able to sever my ties to you within a week. You'll be free, and you'll be one of us."

One of the possessed officers, what looked like the advanced zombie of a male Caucasian in his mid-forties, stepped forward. Apart from his hoarse delivery and the way his eyes almost glowed red thanks to the blood pooling in his retinas, he acted in a disturbingly normal fashion.

"With all due respect, sir, not all of us have the opportunity to physically journey to a gateway to come here in the flesh. We can't afford to lose our sleeves, and most of us aren't SWAT or Exo," he explained, looking back at the group. Allocer and his associates had us in their crosshairs for what was effectively a killing field, and now we're it. How do you suggest we approach this?"

By way of a response, Kulich looked off to Raguel, who glanced back at Nami. "Hola, chica - gotta say, I'm really diggin' your new Throne vibes. I knew the Urakawa women were badasses, but this kicks it up a notch."

Smirking, he glanced off to the building. "We're supposed to avoid collaterals, but there ain't no laws about glass skylights during demonic invasions. I say we get back in there from up top, divert the goons' attention long enough for Mike McZombie here and his buddies to make a push. Three minutes and you're out of here."

Another angel swooped down, this one bearing Gabriel's features. "Three minutes is all you get, Private Esteban; Angel Time's disturbingly clear as to what happens to Nami and her friends in about fifteen minutes: they make it to Doherty's, lose themselves for a few seconds on our time frame, and then yank the city's duly-appointed mayor out of the Silver Age's tail end."

Raguel frowned. "Time travel?! Isn't that against the rules for mortals? Nami gets a pass, now, sure - but Quigley? Allocer?"

In response, Gabriel raised his rifle and checked its mounted sight. "Desperate times, Esteban - desperate times... Envy's making a last-ditch play to earn Pride's favor, with one of their infiltrators having portaled over to 1958 and lying in wait while Hammerhead and Mister X write the new old local headlines.
- Wait, back up - you're saying a demon is playin' the whole domino-mask-and-dutch-angles crap in the past to keep Doherty out of the present?!
- I am, yes," nodded Gabriel, "and the same local headlines are saying Hammerhead was helped by mysteriously and outlandishly-dressed allies, before disappearing from History. He wouldn't re-emerge until decades later, in our present."

Seeing Raguel's mildly confused looks, Gabriel sighed. "Mister X is one of Meris' friends, Nybbas. As for Doherty, his own existence always was the result of a Grandfather Paradox - as long as you agree that always, in this case, began when God and the Architect rewrote the rules for Spacetime for our benefit."

Raguel blinked again. "Still not gettin' it, Chief..."

Gabriel sighed. "Wallace Doherty is his own great-grandfather. Before you ask any questions, you can assume his newfound powers were diluted over three generations, enabling him to be born a mundane before his contact with the Centennial Tree's sap would confer abilities to him. He's effectively born a mundane, raised as one, mutated by Sophia's efforts and then sent back in time by Nybbas, as a means to escape Megiddo's destruction."

* * *

"I wouldn't really be too hot about pulling another Chernabog," confided Melmoth, "but honestly?"

His smile turned a bit warmer. "I'd go on a diet for those pretty eyes," he said, using a thumb to lightly brush Abdiel's chin. "Pulling a few smoke-based muscles is a cinch, in comparison."

That seemingly ripped an endeared chuckle out of Pericles.

[TennyoCeres84]

Aislinn warily eyed the crimson portal as the Emissary ventured through with the Goat and a diseased, yet armed Faun. She noticed that he was also shackled like a prisoner. She was reminded slightly of Aspasia and Miranda, but in form only. He was not much healthier looking than the Goat.

She sent the Emissary a look and asked rhetorically. "I assume your counteroffer is for the Goat to stop his preening on high in Washington and grace us with his tumorous glory?"

The selkie telepathically sent to Tom, Lucian, and Vlastos. "I don't like this. The Emissary came back with the Goat and a single armed Faun. The Goat loves to gloat at how powerful he is, but he gets others to do the killing for him. Is that why the other one is with him? Is this possibly the Scapegoat? We were told that he was a former Faun..."

The selkie directed at the Lord of Sabbaths, "Who's your new bodyguard? He's doesn't exactly look like he wants to be here, compared to your other minions."

***

The Throne nodded. "I can, yes. I know enough about rifles to use one efficiently Once I break one of the wards, things will escalate quickly, so I'll get started," he replied.

Matriel went over to one of the small prison's windows and and began to let divine light and freezing water seep into the window's structure. Eyes half-lidded, he mouthed Enochian in the effort to overload the ward.

***

Now that she was done with cooking, Aspasia instinctively put her rifle, bow, and quiver of arrows back on her person. They were still under threat, even with the seeming calm in Wormsworth's apartment and office. The bodhran and its beater were returned to its case, just in time as Drake yelled his warning and the red energy motes appeared before them.

With the decompression of the area, time seemed to become meaningless as the two women were ejected from the space. Meris frantically tried to make sense of falling and did a flip to turn herself around. Thankfully, the Fauness was on a similar projection toward the Infernal dunes. Even landing there would potentially kill them both.

"ASPASIA!" the Archmage screamed as she thrust a hand in her direction. The fauness had taken to falling as though she had jumped from an airplane and did her best to "swim" toward the roane, desperately gripping her hand. The commander had been clutching onto the drum for dear life, so it made the task more difficult, albeit not impossible.

With a groan of effort, Meris created something like an oversized baseball mitt for them to land onto, breaking the perilous fall. The fingers curled around them to protect against the howling winds. Aidan's blind sound-off was barely audible with the wild air currents, but she managed to steer the creation back toward the human and demon. The appendages uncurled as they were in sight of the two men.

"WHAT NOW?! THE TOWER'S BEEN COMPROMISED AND THE ENEMY IS PROBABLY GETTING THROUGH!!" she yelled over the roaring wind.

***

Gabriel's explanation of the events surrounding Doherty and Nybbas weren't lost on Nami's mind, and she frowned with concern. "That's great that we'll be meeting up with them soon, but are you aware of the Goat's attack plans?" she asked Gabriel.

"We managed to get intel while in disguise directly from the Goat. He's planning to unleash the Scapegoat and has three circlets of Wrath, created by Belial. He also intends to blow up the Nexus! I don't know the extent of a chain reaction like that, but this won't be good for mages or vampires or frankly anybody else!" she exclaimed.

***

Abdiel smiled fondly at Melmoth's slightly cheesy promise and affectionately squeezed his hand. "Do what you can, but I like you as you are," she admitted.

She then eyed Cyrus and Pericles. "I think we have a good idea of how we'll attack from our end of things. Do you think it's time to start prepping the Gates so that we can return to Hope and aid in the fight?" she asked.

[Karl the Mad]

Marius only smirked at the Goat. Joke's on them, they still can't see me. The magic this is based on isn't derived from the Burdens, which means no one knows I'm here unless I want them to know. Beyond their senses or not, though, he decided it was wise to keep quiet anyway, and speak through the mind with his allies.

Hmph. Allies. Not something he'd thought he'd have, not so long ago. These were different times, of course.

I can add to Mr Rothchild's effects with my own powers, of course. More of me means more powers in place; hundreds of illusory Celestials, enough draining magic to suck our enemy dry and helpless in moments, and all manner of fogs and mists of sight and memory. All the while I'm turning their Hellfire against them, unless you think it's safe to let it all siphon back into the leylines? That's easiest, but I wasn't sure it was safe earlier.

He had nothing to say out loud, since the Goat didn't know he was there. But he indulged himself in a brief but satisfying moment of pettiness by flipping Pride the bird, just for his own amusement. Granted it would have been more amusing if the Goat could see it, but whatever.