Chapter VI - Asunder

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IamLEAM1983
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Chapter VI - Asunder

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January 20th, 2026

Anders Street had once been one of Hope's financial thoroughfares, one of the core's less-assuming areas but that still managed to hold over sixty distinct office spaces and a sizable cluster of the city's banking outlets. It had been a stone's throw away from both Centennial Park and the city's stock exchange, as well as one bus stop away from Wolfram and Associates' terrestrial offices. People hardly lived there, but lives were quietly shaped in that concrete, glass and steel canyon. There had always been a certain sense of life in that corner; the business of financiers and moneymakers, the ordinary vanity of mid-range salarymen needing to find themselves new off-the-shelf Oxfords without necessarily heading for the Green Hills Plaza, Hope's prominent shopping mall. This had been a space someone of Melmoth or Herbert's stripe would've called home, some time ago. Now, it was nothing except an expanse of supernaturally rusting vehicles, powdered glass, gaping skeletal remains and the encroaching brambles of the Pit's poisonous flora. You'd hear chattering noises in that small jungle, sometimes punctuated with trilling screams and bursts of gunfire, or the singing clash of Celestial or Fae weaponry. The demons that nested there weren't sapient by any stretch of the imagination, having manifested as something close to eerily quick and agile iguanas, their flexible jaws lined with multiple rows of tiny and venom-laced teeth. It was one of many of Hope's Exclusion Zones, where no contingent of the Army dared to so much as set foot.

Washington had its own troubles, and President Jones' Air Force One had landed in Walpurgis a few weeks ago. If you could catch the airwaves or managed to connect to one of the few remaining satellites, you'd hear that while the enemy didn't manage to pierce past Nergal's defenses, the opposite was also true. Several had called for the wholesale bombing of all zones affected by the planar incursions, but what was left of the United Nations balked at that prospect. America, Russia and North Korea were virtually the only ones left with a few gung-ho generals brazen enough to try and stop an endless horde with ICBMs. Predictably, their attempts were routinely quashed. Whether it be through Congress, the Duma or the recognition of the Il regime's ineffectual armaments, anyone who claimed to have a bigger stick to waggle was rhetorically beat back without an ounce of mercy.

In an instant, the Vienna Accords had been rendered moot. The existence of demons and angels was obvious to everyone now; all that was left was to debate over the significance of such a fact. Nergal was Nergal, Melmoth was Melmoth, and none of the allied forces so much as bothered to wear Veils, now. Ever since the incursions had begun, those who used concealment spells were typically spies or enemies attempting to gain a tactical foothold. Looking mundane now mattered far less than simply not being seen. The restaurants in Tom's food court were frequented by winged humanoids of both a feathery and leathered persuasion, with neither having much energy to spare for the olden tradition of coaxing their mortal peers one way or another. Another instant had forced things to take a turn for the worse, as a contingent of Pitspawn lured Ciaran, the butlers and their few harbored refugees out of their walls' offered safety.

Archie remembered that instant in vivid detail: his car gone aloft, maintained by Meris' willpower - giving him a privileged seat for the sight of his home's summary destruction by a widening pit of Hellfire. Holden Hall was a jagged and riven mess now, the two wings split apart by a massive and magma-filled cleft. So many keepsakes, so many memories of his family and mundane past - all of it erased in one casual and determined flash. Tom had designed Shield's extension in his tower to feel like an extrapolation of the Hall, but the effect brought him only partial relief. The wainscoting in his office was spot-on, the two big ferns and their pots were right on the money as far as his tastes were concerned, the books that lined his bookcase flattered his sensibilities - but none of them were his mother's or father's. None of them carried old sensory ghosts he'd deeply memorized, none of them triggered memories of happier or more innocent times.

He'd gone back to the mansion's still-smoking ruins, only to save one hatbox and the one thing which truly mattered to him: his violin. Tom might have furnished an apartment for him, it didn't offer him the kind of solitude he would've needed in order to exorcise his growing melancholy with a few forlorn pieces. Spirits were solid within Tom's protected boundaries, but he never really did feel like producing some of the old airship shanty melodies he still remembered or his collection of Gypsy ballads. He had no passion, for now. All that mattered was the civilians' survival, all that deserved focus was the war effort - the only exceptions being Crystal and Anjali. The two of them brought smiles back to his features, and it was chiefly with those two that he allowed himself to feel the full breadth of his despair. Otherwise, he kept it for the battlefield. He threw his anxieties onto his enemy, skewered them with all the rage and resentment he could muster, and then could spend a few minutes kidding himself, assuming he was back to his old self. He wasn't. Ciaran, Gubbin and Bagley had all survived, along with the refugees - but none of them mattered as much, it seemed as what they'd lost. As he knew he wasn't the only one with questing roots still looking for decent soil: Aidan and his family had lost their respective apartment and home, and living next door to Prometheans, angels and demons hadn't exactly been part of the Drake family's plans.

Things had changed. Magnus Tower now stood as the city's social and administrative nexus, with even the Biggs cartel moving its don to one of the smaller penthouses, as had Nigel Griffin. With the Pitspawn clawing at every inch of ground, maximizing a single surface area mattered more. Nearly all that remained of the world from before the incursions now lived, slept and partially worked in Club Ishtar's purple and blue spire, protected by mile after mile of wards and what had to be the second largest circle of protection put into place by a single practitioner. The roads around the campus were virtually unused, with travel to and from the tower using shuttles. People now lived well above-ground, wherever Celestial influence had carved out islets of safety. Otherwise, the only safe recourse was to go underground, as the Pitspawn still had trouble opening portals beneath the Earth's crust. As creatures who'd always emerged out of Hell's bowels, reaching anything other than Earth's surface proved taxing. Only Ahriman and Meris' friends and followers had an easier time of it. Engineering efforts and arcane prowess had at least allowed Magnus Tower and the underside of Meris' fortress to be connected by a single long tunnel and a repurposed electric rail cart.

Under Rupert Isaacs' influence, morals seemed to be changing as well. There'd been no news of Rendell for weeks, but the scientist had immediately gone to work. He'd requested for prisoners and test subjects and had turned a forlorn, remote and poorly-lit corridor in the depths of the bunker underneath the tower into his private triage area. Beyond a set of motorized doors waited tables and industrial-grade sinks, all of them stained with demonic blood. No findings had been made, but his reputation had been enough for some of Pride's Knights to rethink their strategy at the sight of that bushy and wide-eyed man scrutinizing their lines like a discerning chef looking for slabs of prime beef. Anton, it seemed, had found something of a kindred spirit in the good doctor. Both felt that the ends justified the means, and were known to state that their ends wouldn't allow them to keep existing as this city's protectors for long.

They were turning stable and their fighting chances were improving on a daily basis, but the Goat hadn't bothered to wait for them. Yesterday, Aidan had woken up to the sight of President Jones decrying what he referred to as the New Year's Betrayal. The Black Goat, a self-styled President-elect carried to office by his own twisted peers without so much as a nod of thanks towards democracy, now stood in an office he'd brazenly stolen. Like Nereus for Meris, Dafyd Jones' offered updates weren't encouraging: key staff members had been possessed or won over, and the Nativist and Nationalist arms of the Republican party had torn one another apart. Now Democrats were in jail, while a new caste of self-styled Infernal apparatchiks moseyed and sashayed around Washington in expensively-procured and stolen bodies, all of which were now shamelessly altered after possession.

None of it was official for now. Cops still resisted, the Army still resisted, but resistance was waning away. All the Pitspawn had to do involved fixing problems. An oath, a promise, a piece of your soul; and your kids would be fed. You'd be flown to secure districts patrolled by Pitspawn or you'd land a job crucial to the early reconstruction efforts. What the Damned built or had built by someone else, the resistance tore down.

Slowly, insidious viewpoints were slithering their way onto the airwaves. If you followed the supergroups' rhetoric, you were a terrorist in the making. The Prince of Pride knew his deepfakes quite well, and had no problem with displaying people such as Aslinn McConmara, seemingly saying things in public about her allied demons that she never would've so much as thought.

* * *

Nine AM and the world was coming undone.

Aidan brushed his teeth while casting an absent look in his smart mirror's direction, watching as forecast details and newsreels slipped past his face's reflection and its glob of foamy toothpaste. Mid-January and the weather called for shorts and sandals in the northern East Coast. Mild Brimstone showers, said the forecast, with a Celestial Protection Index of 78,2%. It looked like Melmoth would want to throw another barbecue party on the rooftop; he'd already posted a poll on the common boards, asking of the tower's residents of note if they'd like Polish sausages or the usual wieners. Rolling his eyes, he whisked the poll aside with a flick of two fingers. Sarah padded into the bathroom as he spat his mouthful into the sink.

"Hey, bro," she absently said. "What's today's menu like?
- We're pushing past the Slab," he replied, "stress-testing the new bridge Alkaev's NGOs partly financed. Herbert managed to finagle a non-aggression pact for the week, so both engineering teams should be able to connect. If that works, we won't need shuttles to go back to the mainland.
- Does Team Jackass know you're pushing past them anyway?"

Three sighed. "I'm sure the Goat knows, Sar. The thing is, we need this. The official byline is we want to connect to the UISA's infrastructure, but the new bridge's underside has a dark chamber the Freaks can use to ferry people and equipment around. We need some kind of fast-travel option, or else the resistance can't stay organized. It's getting harder by the week to burrow plans in the Dark Web, and Paradise says it's already working on our behalf. On what, though, nobody knows."

Sarah grimaced. "The United Infernal States of America. The way some people say it, it's like a lot of the old establishment just realized they could stop pretending, you know? Being a craven asshole nets you points with the Dictator-in-Chief...
- The UN hasn't ratified anything, they're stuck applying as much red tape to the transition process as possible. Everyone knows Jones is still President in most people's hearts; we're just down to how things were in France during the occupation. There's Washington for the Pit's elite, and Walpurgis for the plucky survivors and the democratically-elected dragons.
- Or like the Holy Roman Empire, back when Rome and Constantinople yanked on the same blanket."

Three laughed bitterly. "I'd never have believed Texas would end up being the Republic's last bastion, of all places. I guess when demons take over, even Neocon bastions wake the fuck up.
- Houston and Walpurgis are both pretty freaking Liberal," noted Sarah as she brushed her hair. The Bliss marks the spot where our hold on things ends and where the demons' begins."

Aidan had momentarily gone silent, remembering the sight of Times Square's massive billboards blasting Mammon's sigils in swirling red patterns on a mottled black background. Even the Statue of Liberty had been beheaded by an army of Infernal engineers. The Bliss was how they'd taken to calling Gabriel's conjured river of Celestial Light, which had been spilling into the Atlantic for weeks. The exact opposite to Hell's effects on Earth's fauna could be observed in Hope's delta, as a result: the waters there were cleaner than they'd ever been in the past three centuries, to the point where species that usually avoided the Atlantic's coasts and stayed further away now huddled closely together. If you could push past the demons' front line and managed to follow the Bliss' stream, you'd end up in the string of islets campers sometimes used in kayaking trips. It made for a surreal landscape, with Hellfire giving the horizon a lurid orange tint, all the while baleen and beluga whales popped up in the glowing waters, seemingly comforted to the point where survivors and refugees could interact with them freely. The Celestial Light was bringing so much life to the Hillard's delta that coral reefs had begun to form.

"You havin' breakfast with us today, or are you still planning things out with the others?
- I'm stopping by the corner store in the atrium," replied the soldier, "and grabbing a muffin and some coffee. The Horowitz situation needs a wrap-up ASAP; we're almost out of concrete and the rabbi's not interested in letting one of the Thones guide him through the procedure. We're getting by with scraps of arcane power Herbert collects from spies or dealers that Leonard and Rhadamantus end up prosecuting, but the Pitspawn are attacking our one good link to the Centennial Tree again. We also need to make a push for Renton to try and secure that link. There's that, and Sophia wants us to take Doherty off her hands. He means well, but all he does is cause plans to unravel and hang while he tries to come up with replacements.
- Any news from Rendell?"

Three shucked his tee-shirt on. "The Row's cameras are all fried, everyone inside is either dead or gone. The last image we have is of Rendell glowing red, butt-naked, surrounded by a crater of broken glass and crawling for the reinforced window in his closed-off courtyard.
- Why glass?"

Three's father, Gavin, popped by the condo's central corridor, electric razor in hand. "Break down concrete and you get sand, kiddo," he explained. "Heat up sand and it melts. You get rough glass."

In the meantime, Three texted Aislinn and Tom.

Will be at office in five, stopping by Ben's for essentials. Anyone want anything?

A few seconds later, Tom texted back.

Black coffee, two sugars. One pack of Sobranie Black Russians. Thnx for texting, almost slept in.

That made Aidan grimace. "Why does it bother me that Tom looks like he's the only one who even remotely likes the way things are now?"

* * *

Keep your enemies close, and your friends closer.

Tom knew his maxim was backwards, but he didn't care, to be honest. As horrible as things were outside of Magnus Tower's campus, he now had the microcosm he'd spent thousands of years dreaming of. His little Iram of sorts, with everyone collaborating, everyone sharing, everyone pushing past the same growing pains and misfortunes, clutching at the same successes. There hadn't a single morning he hadn't spent since the incursions had begun without some nugget of secret glee lodged in his chest. What they all achieved together thrilled him, and every single day came with another reason for him to be proud of someone, to hug someone else, or to simply go to bed in the knowledge that his exhaustion had been earned and deserved. It made everything significant, and the weight of his and Aislinn's love was now warm and comforting, like a ratty old fleece blanket he'd always forget he had draped around his shoulders, as comfortable as it was. His old lust sometimes peeked through, but a slow half-hour under the covers sated it for the rest of the week. Full to bursting with satisfaction and tenderness, he coasted past Archie's gnawing frustrations and found solutions quickly enough, but he could sense how his happiness wasn't shared by everyone. All he could do was choose to keep a straight face for a few hours. For some reason, however, he just couldn't work on Gabriel or Archie's sometimes dour countenance. The Black Goat be damned, he had hope. The only thing that brought him out of that hopeful streak was Swinburne's memory, and the notion that the man was still out in the wild. One touch, one kiss, and he'd felt aeons of work be neatly pushed aside.

What if his hopes could be dashed just as easily?

Banishing these wispy and dark thoughts, Tom yawned, snorted and sat up and out of bed. "Up and at 'em, honey," he said, glancing back at Aislinn, "we've got a lot on our docket, today!"
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Upon hearing her phone chime, Aislinn groaned as she woke up and blearily typed in a response to Aidan, Coffee with cream and four sugars; an apple fritter will do.

Much like her family and coworkers, she had found hope fleeting and quietly wished that she could have just stayed in bed. However, there was work to be done. In some ways, it felt like her days where she seemed like a workaholic, devoting her time and passion to gaining new clients and coming up with new designs. That was part of how she kept going; if she could find one or more tasks for a reason to keep waking up and persevering, there was a purpose to her life. Of course, seeing Tom giddy over the success of his tower and the new collaborative efforts also brought her moments of joy. They had worked so hard on the property together that it had become part of her dream, too. The intimate sessions they had were periods she looked forward to as well. It was these different aspects of her life that kept her going until they could find some means of defeating the Goat for good, even if it seemed like an extremely long-term goal as of now.

"I'm up, I'm up," she responded to Tom with a half-asleep smile. The young Archmage stood up and stretched until she was nearly balanced on the tips of her toes. Sighing, she settled with getting dressed. "What's the priority list look like for today? Getting Horowitz's golem up and finally running seems like a major one, along with helping Sophia."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"I'd have to agree," noted Tom, as he headed for the shower for a quick clean-down. "I'm not about to put a procurement team together for concrete mix, of all things. We have enough with our runs for non-perishables out-of-State, and the materials for the meat-makers are easy enough to produce on our own - but building materials have been on the Pit's list since Day One. Everything's rationed out for those States they fully control and they incentivize capitulation by funding reconstruction efforts with Demonic renovation teams. Herbert wanted a stucco finish for one of his living room's walls, and I practically had to yell that idea out of his mind..."

Sophia's matter wasn't any easier. "Hunkering down was easy enough for the refugees and vampires at first, but now it's been over a month. Arthur's plans to lure the Pitspawn in ended up being too costly to put on the back-burner; they couldn't afford to keep a dozen capable hands lying in wait like a bunch of Venus fly-traps. The practitioners are still bundled together, in case the occasional detachment from Pride justifies that approach again. The new acting mayor is one of Paimon's ex-colleagues, and Doherty's stuck working out of one of the old abandoned subway stations, underneath the Pedway. Last I heard, the demons' last push at Sophia's had been hard on him, and he hasn't fully recovered. Doctor Dickens thinks there's some kind of infection at play, but his symptoms are stable and aren't responding to antibiotics."

To compound the issue, they'd lost a few dozen heads since the invasion had begun. When faced with the Goat's promises of guaranteed safety and stability, a few had caved in. Worse still, Duke Allocer of the Burning Wastes behaved exactly like you'd expect an enemy authority in occupied territory to behave: he was helpful, patient, diligent - and all-too-ready to cast the resistance as misguided terrorists. Seeing the inhabited quarters progress and recover while Magnus Tower had to work for every ounce of scrap it could find did nothing to engender support in the more desperate members of the community. Slowly, the HPD was being re-established with defecting members or simply common patrolmen who desperately needed the paycheck. The local Army detachments were torn between joining the resistance or simply caving in to Washington's orders to assume more structural posts.

Tom shut off the shower head and wiped himself down. "Isaacs thinks Doherty's mutating. It might have something to do with three weeks' worth of nonstop via exposure. A lot of Sophia's long-term guests are showing similar symptoms. We don't have the tech on-hand, so we can't exactly sequence their DNA and figure out who's turning superhuman and who's just going through a cold, what with the insane temperature shifts we've been having."

* * *

"K" was Drake's monosyllabic reply, as he headed out of the condo and followed the few bends back to the walkway that encircled his floor's view of the central atrium. Magnus Tower wasn't exactly a Cyberpunk-worthy "mega-city" or an arcology, but finding all the comforts of home in such a constrained space still felt a bit odd. Looking down, he could see men dressed in Hydroponics' jumpers push carts packed with potatoes, lettuce, carrots and melons towards the small outlet supermarket that opened out onto the lobby. The place had once been a Whole Foods, but with the chain's very existence reduced to nothing in the wake of the invasion, people just tended to refer to it as Trudy's, now. Asparagus water had given way to more pressing items, such as an increased variety of fresh produce at affordable prices. Some crates were stolen from other outlet stores that had capitulated, but most were of the tower's own home-grown stuff. Times being tough, it also packed more than its fair share of junk items, now. The last shipment of Sno-Balls was to be expected soon, expensively fleeced from under the nose of a procurement detail put together and contracted by some of Herbert's former colleagues. Crime, it seemed, now was their bread and butter - not that stealing the Goat's new and swanky 2000$ smartphone hours before its activation didn't feel good, however. All that silver and cobalt could be put to better use elsewhere, as the resistance's growing presence on the Dark Web suggested. Processing power wasn't to be squandered on a tyrant, a contact close to Deadline had once said.

He lightly flinched as a metal ring tapped on the banister. Melmoth grinned at him, a steaming travel mug radiating with familiar warmth in one hand. Seeing Othstein in the actual flesh still felt weird - his usurped body had been vacated and incinerated, the tower's gates allowing him a fully corporeal existence - as tiny wisps of oily black smoke constantly rose from the corners of his lips and nostrils. He wasn't packing a stogie, however, having chosen to keep these for special occasions and for more tender moments with Abdiel. Tobacco wasn't cheap now, after all. An e-cig stood in the chair bar's place, the Spinner battery looking a tad ridiculous when pinched between two meaty fingers.

"Drake," he said, nodding, "'Morning! What's the glorious plan for today, hm?
- Horowitz and Sophia, for starters," he confirmed, as he headed for the elevator. "Got anything else you'd like to put on the docket besides Broketoberfest?"

"Har har," sneered the Broker, on a tone that made it clear he wasn't offended in the least. "Actually, I was thinkin' I might toss something in for the Committee to look over," he said, referring to the group leaders and main representatives. "The original plans for this place called for a movie theater in one of the sub-basements, but that didn't pan out for obvious reasons. We need food more than we need Golden Oldies double features, but the people here need entertainment, too. Someone's gotta keep the morale up, right?
- What are you getting at?"

Mel pinched one of his suspenders. "I've got this Class-A broad on Rolodex: a mother's touch with paying customers, Margaret freaking Thatcher with balance spreadsheets, you feel me? The eighties' excess and confidence bottled up and shoved down a power suit and a pair of pricey pumps - minus the drug habit. She's been working on a shopping mall project, and with ours being toast thanks to our new best friends, well..."

He shrugged. "I figured people could use the real estate, you know? For walks, to look at more than the same five or six indoor floral displays - for a shot at something that'd approach normalcy. It'd be Downstairs, sure, but all three planes are about as promiscuous as an immortal Spartan soldier at a Gay Pride parade, now, so it wouldn't bother anyone, really. Besides, it'd be in my neck of Downstairs, where it's safe."

Three crossed the plaza and reached the corner store, where the requested items were soon purchased. Ben, a solid man of Puerto-Rican descent, soon opted to toss everything in a box for Drake to carry. Seeing that, Mel tossed in an order for a hoagie. "Lots a' cheese, lots a' meat, plus bacon. Smush it down flat-
- ...and don't cut it," completed the short-order cook, smirking as he produced what had to be one of Melmoth's regular orders. "It must be nice," he said, "being a demon. All that cholesterol and not a care in the world."

Othstein shook his head as he smirked. "I stopped hiding as soon as I could afford it, thanks to this place. I'm not going to apologize because God thought it'd be cool if Entropy didn't affect Its two supernatural species. I'm fat, sedentary and shameless, Ben - but not an asshole!"

Ben smirked back. "Choke on it, Othstein.
- Will do, chief," he gamely replied, looking as though he would've replaced his eyes with two extra drooling mouths if he could've. "Mmm, bacon, bacon, bacon - Humanity's second-best export after interest rates.
- You should've possessed Harley Morenstein," scoffed Three. "Then the supernatural world's leading financier could've ended up being the Sauce Boss, too.
- Morenstein pre- or post-Muscles Glasses?"

Melmoth guffawed. "Before MG left, whaddaya think?! You should bug Zeke Lyman one of those days, if Goatse dot CX doesn't put him under eventually; see if Gluttony's got opinions on Epic Meal Time's Angry French Canadian.
- Nah," challenged the soldier, "their Crispy Tauntaun had a lot more bacon in it. It's just weird that it takes mortals to come up with real culinary travesties while Gluttony just, I dunno, binges on regular stuff."

They headed for Security's offices, where the group usually reconvened once or twice a week, spotting George Gammell coming in ahead of them.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"If they do become supes, it's not really surprising. With that rush of power from the onset of conflict, it may have given the Tree an extra boost in order to make more Gifted types. And, going by numbers, that'd be a good thing. As far as skill, that might be another issue," Aislinn admitted. "I mean, Sophia did unlock Ciaran's abilities during the time they were building the galleries, so perhaps the Tree thinks it might be a good idea to add more."

The roane recalled how her twin had elected to stay with the dryad, rather than occupy the apartment that had been given to him. "Honestly, it'll be good to see Ciaran. The sensation of time's been so weird lately, so it feels longer than just three weeks since I saw him. He's definitely gotten more protective of her, more devoted."

***

Tom and Melmoth would see more of their allies start to head toward the Security, Neasa and Abdiel being easily sighted. Meris was also seen catching up with George.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Gammell's newly-intricate relationship with Magnus Tower's residents had given way to a few changes of note. Titania having agreed to help him crack his own makings had resulted in him nearly permanently wearing his old circular Victorian shades. Behind the tinted glasses and visible as dark blotches against the slope of his serpentine head were two dark blotches, essentially tight clusters of cells that gene therapy was beginning to reconfigure into light-sensitive organs. He still relied on the Architect for mundane sight, but now occasionally looked to the world with a bit of visible surprise as he caught sight of a patch of shadows or a brightly-lit area.

"Heya, George, Meris," nodded Melmoth, "still working on that smoldering gaze, huh?
- It still is disconcerting," admitted the Animate. "The Architect enables me to see as you do, but I am now beginning to understand he has shifted his burden to only shouldering color and texture. My eyes are still a work-in-progress, so things do look a tad hazy - hence the indoors sunglasses. The gene therapy sessions would be more closely grouped together were it not for our current predicament, but the next order of business is to somehow coax layers of fatty tissue into dipping in my unused eye sockets, to form some sort of lens. Sensing light does me no good if I cannot focus it into a clear picture, obviously."

They walked down Security's short and blue-tinged hallway, heading for a central table. The room was lined with lockers that contained the staff's identifiable baseball caps and walkie-talkies. Two dozen Tasers also waited, along with flashlights and black tool belts. One wall was broken by an interior window that peered into the locked-off monitoring stations. Through it, an array of consoles tracked a wall-length monitor mount's worth of LCD screens, the tower's many cameras lying either stationary or lazily sweeping back and forth across a wider angle. A label identified each screen, with Club Ishtar and Hydroponics having their own ten-camera clusters.

"Abbie," then greeted the Broker, a bit more warmth seeping in, "did you sleep well, or did you spend a few eternities making sure my ex-creditor hadn't messed up Thermodynamics?"

In three weeks, there'd been time enough for Mel's fondness for Abdiel to become fairly obvious. He enjoyed bringing out her more casual attitude and had already taken her out to dinner twice. Tom being what he was, he could sense the Broker wanted that affection to mature into mutual attraction, while not being burdened by any sort of immediate need. Not being an incubus, Melmoth was in no hurry to cultivate or coax his evenings with Abdiel. Their shared dinners usually ended with aimless walks across the tower, where Melmoth tried to pry anecdotes out of the Fire Throne. He added chunks of his own life's story from time to time, aware as he was that following the development of commerce over Earth's history probably wasn't entirely germane with Abdiel's interests. You didn't need a diploma to understand that Othstein felt a tad outclassed, as well. He wasn't much more than an immortal bean-counter or a deathless schmuck with a thing for numbers, and she was Fire personified!

Of course, Mel had his own fires to keep fed. He ran the tower's budget as if every Excel spreadsheet Tom and Heathcliff pushed his way was a New York Times bestseller, and even found excuses to improvise himself as an electrician, if only for the sake of keeping tabs on the different sectors' power loads on the solar generators on the rooftop. Naturally, Allocer had had Magnus Tower's connection to the local grid suspended once he'd assumed power, and illegally leeching juice from neighboring office towers was impossible, the underground infrastructure having been extensively damaged during the first few massive incursions. The last sub-basement level now compensated for the tower's fairly intense energetic demands with Paradise-ordered pocket fusion generators. Thank God for Bitcoin and the black market, had once sighed the Broker... It also helped with the issue of garbage collection, seeing as most of everything that wasn't reused or recycled was now converted to fusion cells.

On the plus side, as Volker and Paimon liked to remind them, that meant the resistance had pocket nukes to lob at the Infernal hordes, along with a nearly-endless supply of ordnance for those few Paradise-issue guns that had survived Holden Hall's destruction. As for the rest - they had other connections.

Volker was already seated and was working on a laptop, all the while alternating with a smartphone. "Yeah, hi - Mathers, here. I just wanted to check in with you for Hart's flight path; we don't exactly have a shuttle pad at the ready."

He paused, waved hello to the group and gave his unseen vis-à-vis an odd look. "Yeah; I know Hart and Galbraith have both seen shit, but I'm more worried about the merchandise. You can't just air-drop crates two klicks South of us and not expect Allocer's cronies to jump on it. Not to mention, the fuckers have AA weaponry: they almost EMPed the Urakawa kid down into the fucking ocean, the last time we tried making a break for the spaceport. We don't have enough power or data-processing capabilities for a Paradise-issue transmat, so your only option is to break stealth at the last second."

The wolf blinked. "The Dutchman. Seriously? There's reasons why Sam's never gone to berth any closer than five hundred meters from the rooftop. He means well, but his fricking brig could tear off our radio antennas! Then where would we be, huh?"

Another pause. "Above. You'd lower the crates from above using a winch and pulley. I hope you realize that puts a gigantic Fucking shoot me now sign on the ship as soon as someone visually tracks it, right? They've got cannonballs, sure, but President Jackass has the entire US Air Force. I don't put a lot of odds for a floating brig against ballistic missiles."

One last pause. "Yeah, I know who the Matriarch is, she's the queen bitch in charge of three of Paradise's Sectors. Why?"

He pouted. "Fine, whatever. Yeah, I'm guessing the vid now. Send her over if you think it'll give us an extra hand, we could always use more-"

Volker paused, stared at his smartphone's screen and whistled. "Hubba-hubba," he said, flipping his phone for the others to look at. "I think I'm in love!"

The video looped, showing a blue-skinned and purple-haired female human ripping an APC's worth of possessed soldiers apart with what looked like a conjured miniature black hole.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"I slept well enough, even if it only functions as a break from the waking world," Abdiel responded, smiling gently at him. Perhaps some angelic literalness seeped through as she continued, "Though, knowing the bastard, he might try to do that eventually, but I'm not letting him do that."

Over the course of the three weeks, Abdiel had warmed up to him even more and enjoyed their dinners and the conversations that went on between them. There might not have been anything romantic yet, but she favored his presence and could see why the Broker had originally been offered a chance to return to Heaven. Despite all his outer bravado and seeming excess, he had a genuinely good heart and mind. His earthiness served as a nice contrast to some of her counterparts' rigidity.

Watching the footage of the Matriarch, Aspasia nodded approvingly. "Elena Nasir is absolutely formidable, so there's a reason why she's Queen of the Vanguard, or as they've become known as Space Mages. I didn't know it at the time, given how clueless as I was about magic, but they wield Anti-Matter."

"Ah, so you've met her before, and it proved to be interesting?" Meris noted.

"Yeah, you can say that again. That's one memory that's as clear as crystal. She's one of the few people to give Rendell pause and think twice about messing with her. It was the first time I ever caught a whiff of fear coming off him," the fauness responded.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"That's something to keep in mind," noted Three as he sat down. "That way, we'd know who to ping if it turns out Rendell wants to pull a Blofeld once he's helped us save the world."

He eyed Tom and Aislinn. "Who's up for Horowitz detail? You'd mostly stay safe, and you'd get a crash course on Animate creation as devised by cultures outside of the selkies'.
- I will stay," nodded George. "I might be able to temper the rabbi's expectations, being someone who once shouldered a cult's insane endeavors. The new being, if successfully brought to life, might be frightened. Depending on its originating soul, it may or may not be sapient from the onset. I would appreciate having a firm set of hands nearby, as well as someone patient.
- Three nodded. "The bridge. That's equal parts PR and point defense; seeing as we have to make sure that the engineers and building teams' foremen don't discover the Freaks' dark tunnel. There might be payola involved, there's a few demons in the foremen's numbers."

Paimon looked like he'd been about to speak, when something made him look to the already-seated Herbert. The former Pride attorney caught the ball efficiently. "If Public Relations are involved, I might be a decent roster pick. I'll need muscle, however."

Drake looked back to the group. "Finally, there's Sophia and Doherty. If mutations are involved, I'd like to put Doctor Isaacs on the team. He's still down in his lab; we need to check up on him, see if there's any breakthroughs involving the Pitspawn. You'd virtually be on the front lines, though. Anyone who goes should ask either Meris or Lucian; there's going to be a lot of threats to plan against."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Aislinn puffed out a breath and then nodded to Tom and Three. "I'll stay here and help Horowitz with the golem, and it'll be a learning experience," she mused. "I'd like to see Ciaran, but this takes priority."

"I'll check up on him, along with Sophia and Doherty," Aspasia offered. "Issacs might be on our side for the time being, but I would rather keep an eye on him in case he tries to take some genetic material from someone he shouldn't and further "Moreau" himself."

The older Archmage nudged the young man. "No need to get me; I'm right here. I'll head over there with Aspasia, Issacs, and anybody else who wants to come."

"If you don't mind, I'll go with you, too," Abdiel suggested, "You'll be facing the brunt of the conflict, so you'll need the reinforcements."

"I'll head down with Herbert to help keep things under control," Neasa said, looking to the Pride demon.
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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Volker shrugged lightly. "And Hart and the weapons shipment?
- You'll have the Dutchman's entire crew on call," noted Tom, along with Captain Sam, Lionel and Erin. You've been around; you probably know how proficient Nergal and Ereshkigal are. You'll be fine. Besides, Herbert's shield hasn't given out yet," he noted. In saying this, he looked back to Herbert. "How's that holding, anyway?"

Herbert's face looked slightly more sallow than usual, faint crevices in his cheeks and what looked like the early onset of bags under his eyes playing against his usually well-kept appearance. "As well as one could expect," he said. "Those juniors of mine who defected to mine and Leonard's side worked as decent ego boosters in a pinch, but professional obedience simply doesn't have the same tang as a good few courtesies. I know enough not to expect anyone here to gratuitously pat me on the back, either - and Mantus' concessions to my expertise are rarer than Mammon's charity drives."

Tom shrugged at Neasa. "Maybe you'll find a way to see how our boy handles a dozen or so armed and judgmental former peers. There's always a point where the only one around to pat you on the back is Number One."

Three smirked at Tom and looked back at Herbert. "I'm sure you'll do just fine, Herbert. Charm these demons' pants off and the Freaks are going to owe you big time," he said, his words triggering a head swagger that felt as autonomic as Tom's shivers of repressed libido had once been. Wormsworth let out a mollified chuckle, something in his cheeks' contour looking a tad healthier now that he'd soaked in something to nurture his Pride. "I'd say you didn't have to, Aidan, but I think we both know I'm not quite there yet," he joked. "A few more like this and I'll be as chipper as Anjali with a new book."

Melmoth scoffed in amusement. "Easy there, Atticus Finch - we've already got enough with Belphegor stopping by for week-long cat naps, between his Hulking around town and pulling people out of crossfires. I don't want to see what happens if you slip into a Pride demon's version of diabetic coma.
- The one person I know who's gone this far ruined a perfectly good body," noted the attorney. "You can relax; my power only has value if I use it, not if I wallow in it."

Three drained his coffee and straightened himself in his chair. "I'm going with Aspasia. We need to get back in three or four hours, tops - Coach is still trying to re-anchor a Gate to Faerie.
- I get that we need to check on Eirean and Vern at some point," noted Mel, "but why a full Gate when we could just open a planar tear and send something through? It'd be safer, considering the times we're in."

Tom clicked his tongue. "Because an untracked Gate to Faerie is our best shot at opening another Gate in there - one that'd lead to Hell, and to Riona's cell. Pride is tracking every planar shift, so we can't use a charted Gate. We both think we could pinpoint the exact fortress where she's being kept.
- Why not use the Gate in Club Ishtar?" asked Paimon, which made Tom shrug.

"Good question. The thing is, if we use my Gate, we'll be high and dry behind enemy lines in short order. Faerie also packs its particularly prideful sorts, and times like these enable the crueler types in Mab's greater Court. Silas and I have a lead on someone we could tap - literally - to chart Pride's fortresses and pick out the right complex and approach. Someone with the kind of blackened pride to use this city's suffering for their own ends.
- You mean besides the Goat," said Melmoth, his tone deadpan.

"Yes, but this example hasn't shown any interest towards what's happening outside of Faerie," noted Tom. "Nodin Thorn is a näcken, essentially a brook horse or a Celtic Ceffyl Dwr. Where he and his kind used to feed by driving travelers to a watery grave in centuries past, the last few centuries and the last few weeks, especially, have been rife with people seeking passage to other shores. Killing his victims might have become gauche, but he's turned into a self-styled bully living off of a flurry of extravagant Oaths. That has to be Pride enough for us to pinpoint the second or third-most bastion after the Goat's Spire."
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Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

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"If you're going to be dealing with a näcken, then perhaps bringing along Matriel or Hanako would help," Abdiel suggested. "Having someone of rank, besides your own titles of Knighthood, gives you clout. You'll need someone who knows their way around Oaths. Nodin Thorn could easily manipulate the situation for his own amusement, and you'd be stuck with a burden of an Oath. You'll have to outsmart him, in that case."

The fauness eyed the dark-haired angel. "I take it you'll open a portal to the Tree? We don't exactly want to waste time getting to it and make ourselves sitting ducks," she mused.

The Throne nodded. "That should be easy enough."

Neasa looked over at Wormsworth. "You said you needed muscle, but what sort of presence should I give off? I can show off charm, but I don't know if it has the same effect as it would with a Pride demon; I'm just a mortal to them."
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