Chapter VI - Asunder

[TennyoCeres84]

"With time, hopefully Ezemial will be able to do those things," Crystal mused with a sigh. "He should be able to have the same joys that other demons will want eventually."

Matriel appeared thoughtful as he watched Belial wrap the tires with chains. "Eventually, yes. However, with the way time works here, he'll probably feel like he's been imprisoned here far longer than it truly is. Whatever he learned in the mortal realm will likely have to be relearned to an extent. He might even be better off with staying Shield to reintegrate. If I remember correctly, he and Neasa McConmara got along well when he was staying at the Greenvale," he said.

The werewolf clicked her tongue uncertainly and frowned. "I suppose it's possible. It depends on what his state will be once we free him."

***

"Frankly, that tactic could still be done," Alana admitted, glancing from the warthog and back to Arthur. "If things are thought through strategically and not egotistically."

She sighed with annoyance. "I understand your desperation made you carry out rash decisions, but you know as well as I do that feral youngbloods face either two fates if they can't maintain some sort of order. Death or mayhem. They weren't turned as toddlers, but right now, they're purposeless, Arthur. They're not of any use to anybody, certainly not Sophia. You've had a happy relationship with her with nearly a century next to a relatively stable Nexus, but those crazed fledgelings drove her to hide her apartment several feet beneath the Earth, in order to not have herself drained. A Nexus is too vulnerable and unpredictable without its attending dryad.

Would you betray that friendship just because you thought you knew better? You'd risk sending all of us elders into a torpor with erratic whelps left to their own whims. Did you ever think that I could help you? I understand that we've had our issues, but I made you! What happened to that partnership?!" she inquired intensely.

"Partnership is exactly what could've kept this from turning into the clusterfuck that it did. You seem like you have a great partner next to you right now, but you have to pull the blinders off to be able to see that," Aislinn added.

***

"And you otherwise look dignified in wet clothes while violent shivering?" Meris retorted pointedly with a sigh.

Aspasia put the drum down and went over to the Pride demon, taking one of his hands in her quite temptingly warm ones. She placed a couple fingers to his wrist to check his pulse to see if it was still beating properly. "What Drake's doing is standard procedure for anybody's in the throes of hypothermia, Mr. Wormsworth. As a matter of fact, the tip of your nose is looking a tad frosty. I doubt Pride's aesthetic favors the nose tip, so please stop fussing." The fauness was unphased by the below freezing temperatures, as evidenced by her lack of shivering and the warm puffs of air emanating from her nostrils.

In the meantime, the archmage looked around at the frozen office and living area. "Hugging him will only do so much. The interior temperature needs to be raised. Also, this situation will probably occur again, so having something in place would be best," she suggested. She created a couple balls of warm werelight to drift around the space to thaw and generally warm the room.

***

Nami nodded. "Can't say that I blame you," she agreed.

The Throne of Technology eyed Allocer. "I turned off all of the recording in the cameras, phones, and computers for the duration we'd be gone. I'm thinking that we could use it to our advantage by targeting the respective officers we need to take care of. I can relay it through my prosthesis, if need be," she said.

***

Abdiel smiled as well. "As it should be. Our humanity keeps us relatable," she replied.

The Throne offered her hand. "I'm Abdiel, the Throne of Fire. It's a pleasure to meet you, Pericles," she greeted with a respectful nod of her head.

***

"It sounds like they're happy to find whoever is hiding the deepest secrets," Ariel commented to Otto, smiling conspiratorially. Such an expression might have seemed odd for an enigmatic being as a Throne. However, it showed just how human they really were. "I hope that they are sated by whatever it is they find."

[Karl the Mad]

Well, this was annoying. Most of what Vlastos had built in Hope was more or less gone, and anything left in Europe or Asia was out of reach for the moment. How very fucking tedious! One apartment after another, vandalized and repossessed. What, did they really have nothing better to do than hunt down one antediluvian to satisfy Pride's wounded ego?

Whatever. This whole Invasion thing couldn't last forever, could it? And he felt he was in a position to go help out! Even without all his money and influence and shit, he was still a phenomenally capable person, right? Antediluvian vampire strength, the Black Speech, illusions and invisibility and all manner of anti-magic... anyone would love to have him on their side.

Fortunately he wasn't completely broke, not by a long shot. They hadn't been very thorough in searching some of his old places either, and it seemed as if they hadn't even gotten around to tearing this one apart! Taken all together he had a respectable pile of gold bars and minor trinkets, which he figured he could pawn off easily enough Faeside. Although, if he was lucky, that one pawnshop downtown would still be standing...

No sense standing around here, then. He changed clothes into something a bit more discrete (black slacks, grey hooded sweater, dark sneakers) gathered everything up (even the ostentatious and entirely useless Smith & Wesson Model 500; if nothing else he could threaten people off if he didn't feel like throwing down, right?) and went back outside, deciding to head for the rooftops and make his way to the pawnshop like that. The air wasn't as fresh as he would have wanted, but it was easy to climb out the window and scale up the side to the top of the apartment complex. A few moments feeling the air for patrols, and he was off!

Hope still had the same basic layout, he was glad to see as he flew from roof to roof. And his senses were still sharp, useful for ducking behind hulking AC units to avoid the odd flying watchman. He had to go back to ground level eventually, but the pawnshop in question still had rooftop access and it still seemed to be open. Now the real question was, had it changed hands? No, it thankfully had not, and after scaring the attendant a little he was able to pull rank as "that other owner who's been gone for a while but he's back now and he needs a hand" and get some of his gold swapped for easy credit.

Now that he had some liquidity, he could set about blending in. Across the street was a convenience store, and he bought a couple blood bags to sustain himself for the next jaunt. Then it was back to the roofs and across town again, to the angelic precinct!

He descended to street level again, and walked up to the front door like any other joe. Time to face the music, so to speak.

[IamLEAM1983]

Marius wouldn't have had many a chance to visit Hope's more picturesque corners, before. Pride had obviously taken a shine to the place, having perhaps intended to designate it as its leading soldiers' high-class residential zone, but other powers had spread their wings over the streets Marius now walked on. The enclave far behind him and the dark zones' pops of gunfire having receded, he'd found himself entering a strange bubble of apparent peace of a starkly different stripe than what Hell's administrators had wrought over Sandhill or Willowdale. The neighbourhood had been gated, the combat armor-wearing soldier at the entrance having asked to see the card he'd received. A faint golden glow had waited behind Oakley Tacticals, something to the man's held rifle appearing more real, more solid, perhaps, than even your standard slug-thrower. With an unfocused glance and a few whispered words in the Black Speech, he perhaps would've caught sight of flaming wings and of a cavalry sword impossibly kept at a casual angle on the man's shoulder.

"Welcome to Pickman's Sound, mister Vlastos," had soon said the angel, stepping aside as the gate had opened with a motorized groan. "Enjoy your stay."

The locals weren't being actively watched, for starters. At most, Marius would catch an older gentleman or a mother in Tubalcain Park both looking back across the gate with a concerned look, aware that they had it easy and that friends or family waited for them - so close and yet, so far. The children didn't care, obviously. They'd been homeschooled as soon as Heaven had reclaimed control, and this was just another afternoon after their daily remote classes. Soon, the school year would be over. The kids could be heard discussing plans for the summer, the woman from earlier reminding them not to get their hopes up too soon.

Marius had been directed to Pickman's Sound's own police precinct, which looked to have been mostly spared. The car park that formed an L in front and off to the left side of the four-story building contained a few Army tents and was abuzz with activity. The smell of blood was faint, if distinct in the air; and it carried the distant cousin of another Celestial bouquet Marius would have caught eons ago. All angels had the same baseline, like sunlight turned into something that could be inhaled and sampled, but there were undertones that wouldn't quite strike him as being familiar. Pain, for one, and the sense that the blood he was perceiving came from a new recruit, someone new to the Host. The smell was soon followed by calls in Enochian that made any structural leftovers of his last thought processes articulated in the Black Speech waver like sand castles swept over at low tide. They weren't directed towards him, that much was obvious. Somewhere in those tents, a soldier in the Creator's name was in need of healing - and was in the midst of receiving it.

Inside, nothing much had changed from the myriad other small-town cop houses he would've seen over the last five decades. The conservative waiting area was warm with dark wood essences over white walls, most of his fellow visitors looking like the sorts who would've forgotten that Gabriel would've had a website or a hotline set up for less-than-urgent matters. The old and elderly, the generally content - or those whose chief concerns had to do with those still left in the enclave, or lost beyond in the non-militarized zones. He wouldn't have had that much time to sit down that a young Asian female officer rounded the front desk to meet him.

"I'm sorry if you've had to wait a short while, mister Vlastos," she said. "Gabriel will see you, now. If you'll just follow me..."

The way across wasn't particularly revealing, either: the locals were safe, and this translated as less of a need for active policing. The population density looked low enough to justify the near-absence of plaintiffs or suspects at the officers' desks - but then again, Pickman's had always been the local retirees' destination of choice. The few depositions the anthro, human and Celestial cops seemed to be taking had to do with structural issues, rather than anything criminal: someone's hitch had given out and consigned their boat to the local marina's waters without an easy way of getting it back, repairs done to the electrical grid weren't still solid enough if an elderly couple's complaints were considered, and someone else was shyly asking a female angel in beat cop blues if she wouldn't mind blessing them.

Still, there was something to this place that would later strike him as being self-evident. The angels' presence seemed to eat away at his resentment and apprehensions. He was surrounded with beings who likely knew who he was and what he'd attempted to do, they had more than enough collective power to destroy him utterly and - yet?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The angels around him weren't ignoring him per se, but they were acting as though the specifics of who Marius Vlastos happened to be weren't currently significant, or enough to cast blame. He'd been welcome from the first moment on, in the way others clearly felt welcome in places of safety. 

The enclave ignored him out of administrative blindness, while the Celestial compound simply granted him the right to exist, without judgment or expectation. At best, those eyes he'd cross while heading towards Gabriel's nodded back at him with the same patience Remiel had shown.

Gabriel's office was unmarked, curiously enough, and didn't look like the place you would've set aside for an Archangel. He'd chosen an interview room for himself, a pocket of cozy Brutalism set aside to provide a bit of silence and isolation to distraught witnesses or to children who would've witnessed something traumatic. There wasn't much of anything ostentatious to the room, with the old tartan hide-a-bed that occupied a corner looking like the exact sort that tended to have an obstinate spring set to spear your thigh if you sat in the wrong spot for too long. As for the man himself, the only way in which he might've resembled Ephesian's tormentor would've been if their apparent age ranges had been compared.

The commander of Heaven's armies looked both weary and alert, somehow both exhausted and spry, with pale blue eyes that smiled kindly and lips that probably had inspired a few transports of religious fervor, thousands of years ago. Now they were thin and supple, set in a face that had seen too much and chosen to neatly compose with it all - likely with all the pain and regret to expect. Cherubic blonde locks had turned to a pale off-white ring, giving him an almost Julio-Claudian look. There was a spark of wonderment in his eyes, something that spoke true to his reputation. Gabriel had long-since fought for Humanity. Like it or not, Marius' kindred were of Man and as such, had written some of the stories and legends that had fed the commander's respect for his charges, great and small.

Weary and alert. Exhausted by the rigors of war but still ready and willing to draw blades or guns at superhuman speeds - and with power so great he had no need to express it. Nothing filled the room, safe for the buzz of the halogen lights overhead and the occasional trill of birdsong, outside.

"Welcome, Marius," he said, standing up to shake his hand, smiling as he did. "Please, take a seat - can I offer you coffee or a blood substitute?"

* * *

With all tires prepped, Belial returned to his Humvee and briefly hung by the side passenger door's side. "In my experience," he said, pursing his lips together, "I wouldn't get my hopes up too much. That said, your group does have an odd knack for finding unorthodox solutions..."

Soon, they'd been driving away from Belial's factory, with only Squeaky and his wife having elected to stay behind to take a portal to Hope. Civilians had no need to be involved, in any case - or so had been the Smith's reasoning.

The horizon slowly changed ahead of their two-man convoy, Belial's dunes growing flatter and more sparse, the terrain easier to navigate by degrees. Soon, sand gave way to soft pebbles of ground Brimstone, the reddish hue of it growing paler. Hell's permanent storm seemingly abated the further Eastwards they went, with even the remaining breeze being soft and fresh. After what felt like almost an hour spent driving and with Archie and Crystal making small talk over their missed time together, Nergal's radio squawked to life on its own. The Smith's voice rang out.

"Turn your AC on from here on out; you don't want to breathe this in without protection. Short exposures are fine, so let's leave those for the rescue attempt.
- Why," asked Archie, "what lies in Gluttony's air that could be so pervasive?
- Need," replied the Smith. "Raw need, on too large a spectrum to guarantee you'd only end up hitting the brakes and satisfying yourselves with what's on hand in the van. It always starts as a pull of nostalgia, and it always comes along at the worst possible moment. It could start with one childhood toy, and then you're on your hands and knees, digging for late-Edwardian playsets like your old wooden train's the only lifeline you've got left.
- That doesn't seem very piggish, doesn't it?"

Belial chuckled bitterly. "It does if you end up pushing us back and deciding to stay there. Beelzebub will show you whatever he has to, to try and corrupt you. Like I said: one simple thing, and then there's no limits to what you'll end up yearning for, to what you'll chase after to find satiation. He'll push and dig into you just as you'll push and dig through his Fields. Sooner or later, we all want the same things, Holden. Food isn't much more than the simplest representation of our most primal needs, of the first things that have ever sated us or abated our curiosity."

Archie shrugged. "How should I remember what I first ate; I'm older than bloody gaslight!
- You say that now," noted Bob. "There's always a part of you that remembers. Beel's gonna take you there kicking and screaming, if he has to."

Gallows smiled in equal parts amusement and cruelty. "This guy? I'm bettin' mashed peas on the boardwalk. Nothin's more British than that."

Outside, the shadows of strange ring-like structures emerged from the pinkish, gloomy borderlands of Gluttony's demesne. Oddly mournful cries resonated in the air, almost like a cross between a wolf pack's more location-focused howls or an elephant's more situational brayings. The rings seemed to be made of tall monolithic structures - and the tip of one of them bowed forward, revealing it to be a kind of short trunk. They rolled closer to another pod, exposing a massive ring of seven twelve-feet creatures. They were bipedal from the looks of it, with almost fully articulate hands that looked a bit like a sloth's and that slowly dug a furrow between their splayed legs, scooping up the dirt and an unmeasurable amount of flotsam, in equal parts edible and inedible. The creatures looked to be encased in pinkish fur streaked with almost robin's-egg blue streaks, with a vaguely pear-shaped physique that ended in a long neck and a barely-distinct skull. Something like a cross between a starry-nosed mole's snout and an elephant's stretched down, its prehensile tip scrabbling through the creature's two handfuls of rocks. Eventually, it seemingly gave up halfway and shoveled everything into a maw lined with flat and powerful teeth, placidly chewing as a rain of stones, pebbles and various items came crashing the slope of its belly. The large sloth-like creature's eyes looked almost sentient, a myriad compound facets reflecting colors with no discernible pattern, their combined panels sometimes coming together in evoking either caprine teardrops, reptilian slits or mammalian craters.

Dark, floppy ears covered in fur were shaken and scratched with a few blunt claws, the creature parting with a few half-hearted brays in response to distant cries. Archie grimaced as he saw the creature pick at what looked like some sort of fur-covered cyst on its neck, only to pry it away from its skin with no discernible pain. The naked patch of skin left behind was paler than the thing's pink fur, peach-fuzz seemingly growing back to fill it in just as quickly. The behemoth observed its car-sized blob of tumorous flesh - and popped it in its mouth.

"Oh, dear God!" protested Archie, his disgust more than obvious. No outburst of spilled lymph or pus came, while wafts of something particularly sweet managed to worm their way past the van's air conditioning system. It smelled as though the being had torn its way through the wrapping of the largest coconut-flavored cake in existence, the nominally pleasant smell pushed so far as to turn offensive.

"What was that?!" asked Eustace as they drove past it and towards another pod.

"Gluttony's jailers," replied Nergal, "for which we have a few names! Orgy Wardens, Celebrants, Hell-Hogs - pick one!
- What I want to know," replied Holden, "is why bloody coconuts and not something less artificial!"

Bob snorted in amusement. "Beats me. Beats Ahriman, really. We know they change their physical makeup whenever Humanity comes up with another expectation for cheap and easily-produced foods and sweets. It used to be they were fruit homunculi or some shit, then walking blobs of honey and rosewater, then cured meat. I've even read reports about Hell-Hogs that look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man if he'd been made out of mochi balls, or giant centipedes made out of other giant-sized Gobstoppers. All I know is Lyman's in the middle of one of these pods, and he's probably scraping by with these things' own flesh.
- Then why doesn't he simply eat his way out?"

Gallows snorted. "Fly-man ain't dumb: you don't pair a prisoner with what might ultimately bring 'em comfort. You stick him with someone else's idea of paradise.
- Then why are they not disturbed?"

Bob pointed at the one they'd left behind. "They're pure biomass - zero organs in there. The prisoners can nibble as much as they want, they'll never have what they need to recover or grow strong. Empty calories made flesh, more or less. Hell-Hogs are worth shit in a fight, but they're great regenerators if you give 'em a source of kilojoules. That means they don't need skill to flatten you out. All they need is for the Fields to claim you, then one of 'em swats you away like a bug without thinkin' about it."

* * *

Arthur grimaced, still being pinned to the floor by Alana. "It's over for me," he said, "I'll never be able to lead other Freaks, after this! You should just drain me dry, Alana - try your luck again with someone else!"

Tom sighed and extended a hand towards Alana, so she'd be able to step off of her progeny. "I've been around, Art, and you're not the first leech I've met to royally mess up. The Vienna Council will look at the kids you've turned as soon as peacetime's assured, and cognitive therapy might bring a few of them back. Baby Freaks are suggestible to the core, and you did turn them with the intent to assemble a fighting force. There's a chance they'll still get to do something with their unlives.
- But they'll resent me for it!"

The warthog sighed. "You're their Ringleader, so you set the tone. You drove them into a homicidal frenzy, thinking this would help - and you'll have to set them on a come-down. Not now, you're in no state to do so for the moment - but eventually. Lucian's got them penned in, so they can't hurt either themselves or someone else."

He then pulled Arthur to his feet. "Now, I know you need emotional support; I know you want to bawl your eyes out - but you need to center yourself, in the immediate. We'll just briefly abuse of Sophia's patio chairs, alright - and sit down for a while."

His breath shaking, Arthur did as he was instructed, seemingly latching onto Tom's voice. His features were occasionally contorted by a wave of gripping sorrow, but he kept his focus on Tom's instructions. For vampires like himself or the Guildmates, being reminded of their ability to breathe had a noted calming effect.

"Good," said Tom. "Now, keep your eyes closed and think back on how you helped us, during the first incursions - how you and Alana both kicked ass. You were confident, you were in control, and fear hadn't started to mess with you. 
- Oh, those were the days," quietly groaned the thespian, to which Tom nodded.

"Here's what I think," then said the warthog. "Pride's not dumb, they studied us before starting this. The Goat took his sweet time, gave Ephesian false hopes for months so he'd have time enough to hide in the back; time enough to take us all in. They knew you'd step up to the plate, Art. You're a Holden, it's what your family's always done here in America. They knew you'd tell yourself you'd done okay with your striplings and your dependents for generations - and you did do alright - but at some point down the line, you started thinking you had nothing left to learn. That's what they latched on.
- You're saying Pride set me up to fail?" asked Arthur, which led Tom to squeeze one of the vampire's hands.

"I'm saying they've tried, Arthur. You'll have failed only if these people in Lucian's tunnels die, only if they kill another innocent. Whether or not they've succeeded is up to you.
- Am I supposed to overpower them, or do I focus on someone else?"

Peering past Sophia's fence, Tom looked at the park's infinite expanse. "We'll find you someone," he then said, "when both yourself and Alana will have agreed on being ready. Lucian sometimes brings back grunts to add to Heaven's frontline forces, I'm sure he can bring back someone with enough vanity or self-importance to be worthy of your curse."

There was another pause. "Everything you said, Tom - do you honestly believe it? Did I destroy everything I've worked for?"

The warthog looked from Aislinn to Alana, sighing. "You're lucky," he then said. "Your failures were contained to the park. If we get your uncle involved soon and avoid any of this leaking out of the park, we might be able to salvage a good chunk of your reputation. I wanted to rattle you when I said you'd end up voicing infomercials, but I would still definitely schedule a call to your agent as soon as something close to normalcy returns. Depending on what breaks out, you might lose out on Los Angeles' voice acting cabal for a few generations, plus a few regular sponsors."

Arthur scoffed in quiet self-derision. "Well, then. Matt Mercer was a fun voice director to work with while it lasted... A few more runs and I might've ended up on a podcast for Critical Role."

It was Tom's turn to gently scoff, and he didn't honestly mind. It meant Arthur was trying to turn things around. "You've played D&D?" asked the warthog. "Oh, man - Thomas Quint was a desperate nerd in his younger years. Part of his interest in the arcane stemmed out of rainy days spent playing Warhammer or Lord of the Rings' old pen-and-paper system. He always picked Glorfindel."

That ripped an uneasy chuckle out of the vampire.

* * *

"Just try and keep that heat in the office space," noted Three, "he doesn't need as much of it out here."

By now, Herbert's shivering was more of a set of muscular tremors that followed his spine, and he'd started surrendering some of his weight to the former Marine's arms. Aidan kept rubbing his back. "Just breathe," he said, "and focus on my voice. Stay awake for now, we'll get to the bottom of this once you're not at risk of losing your extremities."

He did his best to look back to Meris and Aspasia. "We know the drum works, at least. How was it, Asp?" he asked, something to his question making it clear he wasn't referring to the ghosts' verbal abuse, knowing this was the first time she'd have done more than simply act as Coach's mundane assistant, turning grimoire pages on his cue or following the basic sympathetic Neo-Pagan cues she would've picked up in the decades since.

Wormsworth cut in, smacking his lips out of spreading exhaustion. "The last one said something about Wrath being placed in three chain links, three bonds or three crowns. They said not to put them on. We'd be stupid to listen to half-crazy spirits, right?" he asked, adding a slurred chuckle.

Three smiled curtly. "That's Pride talking, Worms. What you just gave us is useful intel, no matter how crazy it seems to you.
- Oh, that's right," replied Herbert with an almost drunken chuckle, "I'm supposed to be all nice and humble, now. Sorry; I'll do better as soon as half of my brain isn't consumed with thoughts of weighted blankets and less-than-platonic hugs..."

Three snorted in amusement. "It's alright, I don't think hypothermia-induced bluster counts against your developing Good Guy cred.
- Thank God for that," slurred Herbert, his words devolving to loud snores that thankfully didn't last long. Three jostled him awake, which ripped a snort out of him. "Hold all my calls!" he weakly shouted, whipping his head around and blinking like a confused bird.

* * *

"Good call," said Allocer, who immediately unslung everything he'd carried through, waved his thanks back at Akaios and Ahriman, and ignored Amazo's closing of the same portal, as focused as he was on putting things together.

First came the mass SMS he sent by desktop, targeting the remaining mortals in the force. Less than a minute later, every cop on the force with a history prior to the incursions would receive a text message - Crystal included - that seemed to come from an unregistered sender. Its contents were simple enough:

Twenty-five minutes. City Hall. No demons. Ditch partners, if need be.

Let's do this.

That done, he fired up an onion browser and bounced an Internet connection off of Paradise satellites, reaching Magnus Tower's main landline, not leaving much time for Volker to issue formulaic greetings as he picked up.

"This is Allocer, mister Mathers. I'm defecting, effective immediately. They'll have intercepted this connection within the minute. If Tom Magnus and his allies are looking for a chance to make a push, there it is.
- Holy shit, are you-?
- Goodbye, mister Mathers."

Hanging up, Allocer then queued in an urgent teleconference with the City Council. One by one, the faces Ephesian had found in his and Miranda's sleuthing in the same building came up.

"Good afternoon, Councillors," he said. "I'd like to begin by introducing you to friends of mine. This is Nami Urakawa, Throne of Technology, and this is Francis Quigley, the displaced Heir of Solomon."

The orc and bugbear in the six screens started to protest, the other four humans in the grid turning tense.

"And this," he said, as Lucifer stepped into view, "is Lucifer Lightbringer.
- What in the Nine Circles are you playing at, Allocer?!" asked Nathan Orbison, the possessed Orc in charge of Willowdale.
- It's over, gentlemen," replied Allocer. "You wanted revolution? Here it is. Miss Urakawa, feel free to trace back and destroy their personal devices; it'll buy us a few minutes."

One of the women in the grid seemingly wilfully contorted her facial features, prim professionalism replaced with all the grim neglect of possessing demons in a heartbeat, fingers clacking so hard on her keyboard that some of her fingernails were heard snapping.

"WE WILL TEAR YOU APART," the chat log said, to which Allocer replied with by hocking a Hellfire-charged loogie and spitting at the monitor's integrated webcam. The smell of burning plastic immediately filled the room, even as the damage soon spread to the monitor itself. The last image it held was frozen in place before the panel died, gobbets of molten plastic falling down to the keyboard below.

Standing back up, Allocer recovered his weapons, ignoring the gleeful smile on Lucifer's features. "That was so fuckin' badass!" chirped the Prince of Darkness, fists raised in exultation.

* * *

"A Throne, eh?" noted the former politician, smirking slightly. "And here I was feeling honored when Herodotus came to speak before us!" he said. "Is there any way in which I might assist you?
- Respectfully, sir," noted Melmoth, "I think it's more a question of us assisting you. I can't claim to know the exact reasons that saw you re-enter the mortal plane, but my best guess is the higher-ups here thought the world would need some serious assistance in rebuilding - and in introducing my compatriots to mortal values."

Pericles nodded. "Yes, there is talks of my speaking before your United Nations as soon as peacetime permits, so that our new neighbours see that democracy calls upon their nobler values. In the immediate, I am to serve as a familiar face to millennial soldiers sent out to the front lines, history's purported first great politician," he said, scoffing a bit self-derisively. "In return, I've asked for others to follow in my wake; some I've harmed in the past and others I came to respect while resting in Elysium."

Melmoth blinked. "Like who?
- Leonidas and Ramses the Great," explained the Athenian statesman. "I trust my former enemy to know me best, and the most glory-crowned of the Egyptian potentates to aid us in the reconstruction.
- Isn't there still beef between you and Leo?"

Pericles laughed. "Beef is relative, over thousands of years spent in Elysium. The Spartans had one vision for Greece and my people had another, with both of us carrying notable flaws in judgment and exercise. The good news is the circumstances of our deaths enabled us to change, to improve ourselves."

The old Athenian's eyes softened. "Leonidas died hoping he had kept time aside to go fishing with his son. Toxic masculinity seems obvious to you now but to him, it was a hard-fought realization. To all of Sparta's dead, honestly. They were afraid and turned judgmental and bitter in that terror, while we turned callous and erected temples to Athena Nike years before our victory."

One of the Jabberwocky blinked. "Athena wore sneakers? No, that isn't it, isn't it?"

Pericles laughed softly. "Nike means victory in Greek. Athena Nike is Athena the Victorious."

* * *

"Hm, they don't need much," noted Otto, who recovered the small skull and stood up with a little grunt of effort. "I wouldn't be surprised if they started snooping around yourself, Ariel. Everyone keeps a few benign things quiet. Little aches and pains, for one - or how the old Wagnerian bravado of yesteryear is getting hard on my hips," he said, massaging his rump with a hand for a few seconds.
- I thought warlocks received increased potency," noted Nasir. Geier grinned at that. "Things are a little different when your patron is as conscious of his own ethical pursuits as you are as a practitioner. Nergal might slip on occasion, when passion gets the better of him - but he means well, and so do I. Seeing as I keep a few reasonable doubts around here," he said, poking his own skull with a finger, "I don't have all the perks of someone who commits to the Dark Arts body and soul."

He shrugged. "I can't complain, really. I've received an increased lifespan and a face to give nightmares to our enemies, and I mostly get to be the same old man I used to be.
- The same old man, without his family," noted Nasir. Geier looked like someone had rubbed that in too frequently to hurt him anymore, his gaze only sobering in response.

"That's correct, fraülein. All practitioners tend to end up alone in the end, or grow different kinds of families over time, as I have. Walpurgis and the Gentlemen are my family, now. Nergal and Ereshkigal are fond friends to me - much more than supernatural creditors.
- Would you hope to put down roots here, then?" she asked.

Otto gazed back at the cityscape. "There is room in my heart for two cities, my dear," he said, nodding.

[Karl the Mad]

Interesting choice of bouncer, Marius thought to himself as he waited for the card check to get over with. He chanced looking at the man sideways, caught the wings and sword. Very interesting, indeed. "Thanks, I'll try," he replied politely, accepting the card back and stepping through the gate. He had seen Hell on Earth today; time to view Heaven on Earth.

His immediate first impression was that things were sunnier here, even though the same flaming orb of fuck-all and hydrogen was illuminating the same things on either side of the wall. Life seemed to be going on as normally as possible, with concerned relatives and active youngsters alike congregating in the park there. He thought maybe when he was done with Gabe he'd take a minute to enjoy this sunnier sunlight, which he'd never done before.

The slight scent of blood caught his nose and he followed it to a makeshift medical ward, and the sound of the ancient tongue being used stirred equally ancient memories in the old vampire. It was angelic blood, clearly, and the victim smelled young, fresh, a little inexperienced. He kept going, into the precinct itself into a familiar waiting room, where he sat down for a few moments until another officer invited him to keep going. His head was still partly stuck in the past, and he replied in the same outdated language he'd heard outside: "Thank you."

As he approached the final door he was struck by how normal everything seemed, compared to the chaos outside. It had been a bit strange, to be acknowledged and yet passed over; had he actually gotten used to people around him being on edge, following the curse being lifted? Perhaps he had. And yet, no one had given him such since his arrival back in Hope today. He wasn't sure he liked it.

At last, he was faced with Gabriel himself, and looking at the angel's weathered features, he wondered what others thought when they beheld his own hate-wracked face, the lines of age and misanthropy, the bitter glances and sour frowns. "Blood, please," he replied as he shook hands, still speaking Enochian even though the ward was behind him. A second later he grimaced and forced himself to catch up. "Blood, please," he repeated in English this time, taking one of the seats. Inwardly he cursed himself for his slowness of mind, and hoped he could be a bit more mentally agile when it counted in the future. "Sorry, I..." What was he supposed to say here? He held up the card in his other hand. "I'm no good at small talk. You invited me here."

[TennyoCeres84]

With regard to how the Hell hogs adjusted to humanity's different tastes over time, Matriel mused, "It's not entirely unfounded, given how both Heaven and Hell are quite malleable in their respective natures. That's why you see so many buildings from different eras, while Gluttony's jailers are effected by mortals' preferred delicacies. The environment and its denizens react in response to what you want most."

Grimacing with some residual disgust from see the grotesque creatures, Crystal frowned. "Will we have to deal with those things when we rescue Ezemial?" she asked.

***

Alana smiled. "Maybe we can start up some DnD nights once things settle down," she suggested, then affectionately squeezing his hand. "You might have come close to losing everything, but there's still time for redemption, Arthur. Hope, both the city and the virtue, haven't been lost."

Aislinn nodded. "She's right. We'll be there for you to help along the way."

The vampiress went back to the previous topic of tabletop gaming and chuckled. "I think you'd make a good bard, if my suggestion pans out."

***

Meris let the sources of light hover in the office space and eyed Three and Herbert. "Even as disoriented some of these spirits can be, they still want us to defeat Pride. That's part of avenging them. In turn, they're probably willing to glean what information they can to give us the advantage. So, information can come from peculiar places."

As for the former soldier's query, Aspasia thought over the few minutes of playing the drum and replied, "It was different from anything I've ever really done before. I've played musical instruments previously, but I felt like the melody was coursing through the spirits, as well as me. It felt natural for me to play that drum. I think the logic behind the music's similar to what I'll need to soothe Azazel, but I think a different song will be necessary."

The Heiress nodded. "That makes sense. I did the lead vocals this time around, but you really should be the one to lead next time. It'll have a greater effect on someone who's essentially a distant cousin of yours. Plus, an embodiment of Wrath has a more intense sway that even angered spirits."

"I agree," the former commander answered. "I'm feeling more and more of a connection to my ancestry, yet it seems more simple than I thought it would be, especially to how it was right after I split ties with Elysium."

***

Nami focused on sensing the officials' respective devices in the distance and bid farewell to the burgeoning spirits in them before causing the phones, computers, and tablets to be fried to uselessness. On their end of the things, the officials would see the devices flicker randomly before going dark. Some of them actually caught flame with divine light, likely singing their fingers or any body parts close enough.

"They'll have to find other means to call for reinforcements, which will give us some time for our benefit, like you said," she noted to Allocer, then mentally reaching for the other devices throughout the precinct.

"Okay, kids, time to come back online. I'm going to need you to focus your relays inside the building and outside. There's probably some pissy demons here that won't take kindly to our presence; same for you outside cameras. Send it through the prosthesis you feel in my mind; then we can take out out these assholes," she directed. In the adjacent offices and rooms, electronics could be heard whirring and beeping in response, affirming that they had heard her.

***

The mention of Leonidas and the past mistakes they had learned from caused the Throne to recall their previous discussion regarding Aspasia and the Blue Chimeras.

"It's a few decades late, but Melmoth and I were discussing how some Fauns would probably love to hear your insights. You've probably been informed about the Elysium that was run by a Gregory Rendell. His "children" received twisted explanations of Greece's greatness, which they've had to unlearn," Abdiel explained. "They're not the same Fauns from yesteryear, but they have much of the same potential as the Wyldfae your people told stories about. Pan in ancient woods, playing his flute..."

***

Ariel looked back to gaze at the cityscape contemplatively and nodded. "This city will be the new Iram, with time, work, and proper intentions. A place where people can live and work without judgement from zealots. Not to say that they won't try to interfere, but I think Hope will serve as a good foundation," she said hopefully.

"Perhaps I wlll put down roots here myself, in due time."

[IamLEAM1983]

Marius' slip made Gabriel smirk as he briefly turned his chair around to open a small fridge. "Alright, the house has A positive, AB negative and... O negative," he said, bringing out three cans from the fridge. "The choice is yours."

The Archangel waited for the vampire to select his beverage, then set the remaining two cans aside. "I did, yes," he said. "Your employment or profit-making opportunities are currently limited, and my peers and I sensed restlessness in you, since you arrived. You're looking to make something of yourself again and the cards you're accustomed with have left the playing field."

He lightly reclined in his seat and steepled his hands together. "Washington is on the move and we've only just entered the final phase of the Goat's gambit. In his mind, he crushes us utterly by the same time tomorrow. His picking Hope still eludes me when there's a dozen or so more promising theaters for anyone wanting to make a statement, but Angel Time hasn't failed us before: blood drinkers are already fighting for Light across the world.

To be admittedly blunt, there's a fork, somewhere ahead in the future - a choice you'll make once you'll leave here. If you know how my kind operate, then you know I have no desire to goad you in any specific direction, and even my telling you of this could be seen as an extreme measure. I might have just added a burden of Determinism to your choices, and mortals do so hate it when the path ahead is laid bare. It's a right vampires obviously share, and not one we skirt past lightly."

Gabriel sighed. "I'd like to know you'll be by Shield's side, by the same time tomorrow. You might save lives. The local undead have been weakened and you're the only one with enough age and experience to weather Pride's last few psychological assaults, before the big push. Even without my gifts, I know you're not the type to fall to despair like Grimley or give in to false hopes like the younger Holden - even if our current outlook is grim. All current surveys suggest we'll lose Sophia and the Centennial Tree before the day ends. We have good, even decent probabilities waiting further down the line, yes, but our currently largest fork in the road asks that we pay a heavy cost. They have seed reserves and can plant another sapling, but the city will wither away for years at our most optimistic estimate. It'll be one of dozens of cities vacated by magic - unless a small miracle happens."

The Archangel scoffed, perhaps in derision of the situation. "I know this is sudden and I understand this probably isn't what you had in mind, in returning here, but... I think the world is tired of seeing you stick to the sidelines, cursed or otherwise, and tired of seeing you mull over old failures - when there's victories you can't even imagine waiting just beyond our grasp. Everyone heals at their own pace and in their own way, but..."

He hesitated, and then offered the kind of lopsided grin you kept aside for covert senatorial audiences. "I've seen you happy, you know. Or, well - happier, let's say. On most days you'll still feel as though most of us are desperately alien to you but - sometimes, at the favor of the right shaft of light?"

He glanced out his office's window, to the precinct's hustle and bustle. "Strange is an alright thing to be, Marius - especially now."

* * *

"I'd say it's likely," replied Erin. "Now, the question is, how do we spot Zeke's pod in all this?"

They kept driving in silence for a moment, until Archie rapped on the van's flooring with his cane. "Wait," he said, his tone curt. "Look at the Hell-Hogs - there's an order to their pens. We passed the last group with blue streaks in its fur, and now are seeing brown bands along their backs. These ones seem somewhat smaller, too. Was Lyman chiefly attracted to food? What was his main focus?"

Bob grunted. "His menu choices were as flashy as everything else; he wanted others to see he could afford Kobe beef or French truffles on a daily basis, sure, but he had a kinda... dissolute approach to doing his footwork for the Goat. I'm talkin' monogrammed dressing gowns and pajamas at two in the afternoon, his papers and his laptop just tossed out every which way, power naps whenever, plus ignored deadlines just to go check out the last exhibition Hope's Modern Arts museum hosted before the incursions..."

Archie nodded. "Right. Pretend I'm Lyman, for a moment. I've disappointed you beyond all measure. Do you subject me to someone else's definition of contentment and satiation, which would arguably still be a kindness - or do you subject me to the sight of someone else enjoying what should have been rightfully mine?"

Bob snapped his fingers. "So all he deserved was a handpicked Hog. We're in plains and they'd still need something like walls to close off all exits safe for one, so...
- We need to look for a building."

Nergal floored the gas pedal. "We need a vantage point, then. Brace yourselves, and keep an eye on the horizon."

The van leapt forward, Belial's Humvee falling in step at their side. Nergal aimed at the tail of a Hog that had its back turned to them.

* * *

"We'll see when we get there," started Tom, "the last rulebook Quint studied was the Second Edition, so I'm fairly behind on my-"

He fell silent, his ears perking in the direction of Sophia's front yard. His nostrils lightly pulsing, he stood up and left the dryad's rear porch, then followed the short footpath back out to the front.

Far ahead, Lucian's created infinity was collapsing. A heat haze effect on the horizon line was growing in definition, the infinite grass the Void Weaver had conjured turning featureless and flat, before disappearing in a wink. Another streak of light began to extend from the horizon light to the skies above, two flaming trails arching down towards the Tree. Tom winced, recognizing them as some of Rothchild's reformed Pride demons, who strangely had Rothchild in a clothesline around two conjoined arms. They landed just ahead of Tom.

"Infinity is falling," said one of them to the warthog. "The Architect's Speaker must survive - Order is looking to neutralize your countermeasures.
- THEY NEED ME ON THE FRONT LINES!" protested the Squid, to which the same Knight he'd freed earlier replied by placing a hand on his chest. 

"Perhaps," he said, "but the Tree needs you more. Akoman's hierophants are coming and the fuse will be lit in the enclave."

He looked back to the sky. "The Legion of the Burning Suns is reconvening just ahead of the dryad's demesne. Thousands of Pride's freed sons, reunited under your banner. They will hold fast as long as possible."

Lucian looked crestfallen, just about ready to hold onto the vaguest spark of hope available. "You'll fail, won't you?
- We may fall," replied the Pride Knight, but we will give our former comrades and their Eldritch allies a bitter victory," he said gripping Lucian's shoulder and looking past him to Tom.

"Warlock!" he called out. "Prepare the dryad; see to it she has rested and been fed. If you have any contingencies related to her power reserves, enact them immediately."

He walked past Lucian and gravely nodded at Tom. "Her glory is at hand. Her name will be sung in ballads across all planes and realms. We will give her a warrior's death, come the fateful moment."

Pausing, the Knight pulled out his sword and handed it to Tom hilt-first. "Give this to her ward, that he may do what must be done - when the time comes."

Tom weakly took the sword, his entire frame trembling, his mind racing. They weren't ready. Arthur wasn't ready, Alana wasn't ready - was Aislinn ready? What more could've been done? He realized that this was the first time since his having been freed that he truly felt fear. In the ages that had preceded this one, fear had always been conmingled with lust, with the brazen zest of confidence - no more. Tears brimmed his eyes.

Tom Magnus the Warlock felt weak, for the first time he'd ever be able to recall. "Are you afraid, Sir Knight?" he weakly asked.

The Knight drew in a sharp breath. "Yes, sir. I am afraid. I have been here for months, long before Lucian Rothchild freed me. My heart beats, now. New urges seize me. The scope of my mind is broadening. The mortal plane's expanses leave me afeared - but I still long to see them. That yearning could be snuffed out by one of my former comrades' blades. If I should die, none may guarantee me existence in another realm."

The demon stood straight. "I still have my pride, and the strength of a thousand thousand arms to lean on. Should I survive this, no mortal could deny me at his table, no man or woman could turn away my friendship."

Streaks of fire whizzed towards them, arcing down and turning around - demons with their backs turned to the Centennial Tree. They all sported the same gleaming chrome armor plates and the same gleaming red cape, their flaming wings starkly lighting the front of Sophia's house and casting a brief, if blinding light inside. They banged their gauntlets against their breastplates or shields, the Knight rejoining the group after one last squeeze of Tom's shoulder.

"GLORY!" the demons chanted, as Tom dazedly made his way back inside from the front. "GLORY! GLORY!"

Ahead of them, the far end of the park emerged out of infinity and Centennial Park returned to its normal dimensions. Pride's black horde now stood only a few slopes away. They watched, snarling in defiance as angels came in from the rear to reinforce the Legion of Burning Suns, hovering just above the line the demons had established. They joined in on the one-word chant, eyes fixed on the enemy's myriad sneering visages.

Inside, Tom felt too lost, too powerless, to so much as call for Aislinn. He simply sat down in Sophia's entryway, found a random spot to stare at and let his tears flow, mouth silently working over all the steps he'd taken, whispering his schemes out to anyone who would've been there.

From the rear, Lucian came up the footpath.

"It has begun," he grimly said, looking for all the world like he hated casting what amounted to a pail of ice water on Arthur's fragile optimism.

* * *

Three looked a tad dubious. "You're receptive, that much is obvious, but we'd know if you could make a connection to the local ley lines. This is great as far as your heritage is concerned, but I'm afraid some of our enemies might see it as something to exploit. You won't always have Silas around.

Wormsworth was about to interject when the internal PA system produced an alert tone. Volker curtly addressed the residents and guests:

"Shit's hit the fan, people. Centennial Park is shrinking again and something's tripping the structural wards set along the tower's support pillars. I'm reading a lotta small signatures, all dispersing through the ventilation and plumbing systems. To top off that trifecta of bullshit, sat-coverage reads a ton of portals opening just shy of Centennial's northwest end. Some of the thermal signatures are forking our way. We've got demons incoming.

I'm unlocking the weapon cases on all floors and arming Security. If it doesn't look like one of the local who's-who and it's not wearing chrome or purple, shoot it. Headshots advised, double taps encouraged. Magnus wouldn't want anyone here to end up as a skin suit."

He was heard sighing. "I know this was planned for Tom's use but... Boss ain't around for now. Neither's his lady. He woulda speechified this, but... If you're someone whose ass I kicked in the club, then you know why I can't.

Stay safe. Volker, out."

* * *

As expected, Nami would feel a mental map of the building form in her mind, constituted of the abstract grid-work of network cable junction boxes, PoE jacks and most of its electrical network. Every device connected to it was a small node she could tap into, and every node had its own facsimile of sensory organs. Laptop and desktop webcams for eyes, speakers for mouths - all of them connected to the small brains presented by computer hardware. In the meantime, Allocer rearmed himself, rallied the Archmage and Prince at his sides - pausing at the sound of a woman grunting and of her bones snapping. No screams were heard.

A polite knock was heard at the door. Magnus' slightly raspy voice sounding. "May I presume you're ready to begin?" he asked. "Your former secretary gave me little choice but to incapacitate her," he explained to Allocer. 

Opening the door, Allocer looked down to the weakly stirring body that lay, disjointed, on the floor. The secretary's eyes were well and truly alive, however - murderously staring up at the group.

"How'd you keep her from screaming?" asked Allocer.

"I crushed her windpipe," replied the Draugr with a shrug. "She kept her disguise up for as long as you remained in there; she only lunged at me once she heard you turn your computer's screen to slag. I didn't let her call for reinforcements."

Allocer sighed and looked down at his secretary. "I hope I'll have the chance to apologize to whomsever this sleeve belonged to.
- That will come later," the vampire said. "For now, may I?"

Hesitating, Allocer caught his meaning a second or two later. "Oh - Of course, Herr Haraldson. I might have gone overboard with the ordnance, in any case. Here," he said, handing a spare rifle to the Draugr, "I don't know how used you might be to modern weapons."

Magnus checked the gun's clip and worked the gun's lever in a few expert motions. "I'm used enough," he said, smirking.

Allocer hesitated. "Before we begin; I'd like to apologize for not supporting Wyvern Holdings in its efforts. I didn't know then what I know now."

Smirking, Magnus paraphrased a nugget from the Havamal.

"And then began I to thrive, and wisdom to get. I grew and well I was; each word led me on to another word - and each deed to another deed."

Allocer smirked. "I didn't take you for a philosopher.
- I'm merely quoting my betters," the vampire replied. "Now, let's see if puffed-up demons can equal my brethren in a raid..."

Haraldson then slipped closer to the wall next to the secretary's desk, listened as an office worker discussed work permits with a visitor, and then summarily kicked the door in. Nostrils flaring, he spun the rifle away from the apparently mortal visitor and plugged two rounds in the office worker's skull.

"Take the fire escape ladder outside," he then said, having to all but shout in order to get past the confused and terrified young man's screams. "If you see anyone venturing inside, tell them to stay away."

The young man blinked dazedly and looked back to the vacant body he still stood next to. "Is it... Is it over?
- Not yet," replied Magnus, "but soon."

* * *

Pericles nodded. "Yes, I've been informed before coming here. My only regret is that I never thought to consult the Fauns of Arcadia and Lydia for their desires concerning citizenship. This is another aspect where your people have rectified our mistakes. We offered them courtesy and even allowed them to establish stalls in the agora to sell their wares, they certainly spoke our language, as well - but we were hesitant to offer them the same rights as others.

I will meet with them without question," he said, "as soon as peacetime permits."

Melmoth seemed anxious to return to the matters at hand. "That's great but, um, I'm guessing you didn't have the time to review our plans for some of the fronts, right?
- I've had time enough," reassured the old man. I understand the city called Hope is of crucial importance, and a decent rear guard has already formed ahead of its Nexus," he said. That left Melmoth blinking - and Pericles catching on.

"Oh - you've been here since yesterday evening, I see. You weren't briefed. The Triton you know as Lucian Rothchild has-"

Mel interjected again. "Waitasec - Triton? Is that how you called Void Weavers in your day?"

Pericles looked confused, only for it to dissipate as he nodded. "Ah, yes - this modern age's obsession with clarity explains it. Yes, we did call them Tritons. We didn't know they could pull dark matter together, much less how they could use the same process to influence the formation of conventional matter. We thought they simply used some different, darker strain of magic. Let's go back to Hope, however.

Lucian Rothchild has redeemed a few of Pride's Knights and footmen, and allowed his blessing of clarity to be passed on to others. The end-result is exponentially useful, if limited when compared to Pride's near-infinite droves. The newly-formed Legion of the Burning Suns is entirely amassed in front of Centennial Park, and supplied with a detachment of angels that outnumbers them two to one. If our enemy was a Terrestrial armed force, I would fear nothing for this Nexus. Alas..."

Cordatus seemed conflicted. "Our added numbers shall surely aid us, correct?
- They would, yes. You do have several tactical advantages, not the least of which being the presence of Einherjaren and other warriors consigned to the Elysian Fields. They are undying and unrelenting, but our enemy is infinite. History's honorable dead is forever finite, in opposition - which is why all portals must be closed indefinitely. If the Goat's numbers cannot travel, then they become a tangible force."

A somewhat younger man with an impeccably-oiled black beard and a shock of black hair complemented by a bronze circlet ventured closer. "If Pride is convinced that their victory is imminent, they will greatly reduce their beachfront's guardians.
- And we cannot afford to send men forward from the sides," noted Cordatus. "We should leave a detachment of locals for Riona's prison and allow bombers or bomb-carrying brethren of mine to deal with the enemy's garrisons."

* * *

"All but two of the Thrones live here almost permanently," noted Otto. "You would be in fine company if you chose to live among us."

[Karl the Mad]

Happy, he said. Strange, he said. Marius looked out the window himself, thinking about Gabriel's pitch compared to Leonard's as he sipped from the can of AB neg he'd picked out. He suppressed a grimace at the cold, filtered taste of the stuff, thinking as always of how much better blood tasted when freshly drained and swallowed from a person. But sometimes one had to make adjustments, after all.

"Losing Sophia would be bad, of course. Assuming I go along with what you want, I'm guessing that's where I could be the most useful to the good guys?" He finished the can off and set it aside, and leaned forward. "It's like this, Gabriel. When I met with Leonard, he told me my soul was already damned and consigned to Hell, to his possession, and I'd wind up straight down there when I eventually died. Whether that was true or not, I ignored it, because at the time my plans for this planet were still on course. And he said as much, that if I succeeded it would make his own plans harder to carry out."

Feeling restless, he stood up and started pacing. "Now, of course, my plans and everything else I've built in Hope are so much muck in the water, and I don't have the same assurance I once had for myself. Now I'm vulnerable, without anything to obsess over and blind myself with. And I was blind, I realize that now, by greed or ambition or whatever you'd like to call it, by Victum's curse on this strain of bloodlust I'm a part of." He glanced at Gabe, and there was cynicism in his gaze. "It was Victum himself who turned me, you know. Oh, he was in disguise of course, thousands of years ago when the Library of Alexandria still stood, but everything I and others have researched since then has led to that conclusion. I show many of the signs of being an Ordo Dracul, but in what passes for my genes it's... off, somehow, prototypical almost. Not to mention the horrid form I take at night...

"But that's neither here nor there. My point is, I've had to worry about redemption in the back of my mind, and part of me is afraid I might be beyond it, that no matter what I do or who I fight for, the Goat or the Others will win over me in the end. And it certainly seems as if he's gone out of his way to take everything else away from me. I literally have nothing left to lose, apart from the remnants of my vanity projects overseas."

He stopped pacing, and leaned on Gabe's desk with one arm. "So you tell me, sir. What's in it for me, if I take your side? I know it sounds crass, but if I'm damned no matter what, well, why should I care, one way or another? And save the preaching, because I really am this selfish and petty. But know that I'm inclined to fight on your side right now anyway, for no other reason than that I couldn't stand seeing the goat smirk and preen at the idea of having me beneath him again."

He looked away, and a trace of his old bitterness crossed his face. "But that's not really enough, now is it?"

[TennyoCeres84]

The Throne and the werewolf hung on as Nergal drove the van forward with more vigor and watched the landscape with searching eyes, looking for anything that stood out from horizon.

***

While she shared his fear and dread, Aislinn wasn't the type to give into despair and hurried over to his side. "We can't just slump down and cry, Tom! We have to do something!" she implored.

"That's quite right, Aislinn. I know you all are experiencing a case of despair and fear, but I'm not about to let Akoman or the Goat's forces take the Nexus without a fight!" Sophia declared as she emerged from her bedroom, Ciaran near her side. Her standard clothes had disappeared and had been exchanged for a wooden chestplate that reached her hips; hardened leaf plates covered her legs. Even if she wasn't directly going to fight the oncoming enemy, she was at least dressed for battle.

The dryad noticed the sword in Tom's hands and sighed, placing a hand on . "Tom, I know what's coming, but I've done my best to prepare for it. I've sent my roots and vines to the empty shell in the precinct. It's funneling via into the container at a steady rate. Upon my death, my memories and my personality will be "uploaded" there. Also, I've prepared a special surprise for our foes," she explained.

"What?" the female selkie asked, attempting to grasp at any bit of hope that they could.

Sophia looked from an uncertain Ciaran to his twin and stated, "A sickness that will only target those still loyal to the Goat. The weak ones will perish, while strongest will grow severely ill, preventing them fighting. As you might have noticed with the thorns and vines, I have been experimenting and crafting such a concoction for these bastards. "

Ciaran grimly pursed his lips together and added, "It's about buying time and taking out as many as we can. That's all we can do."

***

"Yeah, I'm aware, Drake. All I can do is hope that-" Aspasia replied before she was interrupted by Volker's message.

"Well, fuck," the Chimera spat, sighing as she looked at the Aristocrat. "We don't have a lot of time to wait for him to finish thawing out. We need to finish getting him dry and dresed ASAP," she said.

Meris hummed in thought and eyed the demon. "Do you think stroking your ego would help build up the complex's defenses, at least to a degree? We should try to limit the number of attackers getting in and curtail the conflict. We have plenty of weapons, but not everyone here is a fighter."

***

Nami felt the numerous connections throughout the building open up to her mind and expand in front of her eyes, thanks to her prosthesis. She set the external cameras to watch for approaching vehicles or ill-intended individuals.

***

"I can cut off Pride's forces by erecting a wall of Celestial fire to keep them in and further enemies out, particularly around the gates," Abdiel offered. "As for letting them think they have the upper hand, a feigned retreat is one possibility."

***

Ariel was about to respond when she heard Volker's message from inside the building as well as the distant chanting from the angels and Legion of Burning Suns. She momentarily excused herself and flew up to get a closer look with her keen eyes.

Drifting back downwards, she explained quickly, "It seems the one known as Mr. Volker has picked up on your imps in the ventilation system, but the park is shrinking, so there's demons approaching from the northwestern end of it. Also, something is setting off the structural wards along the tower's support pillars. He's opened the weapons cases for residents to use, as we have demons heading our way. "

[IamLEAM1983]

Gabriel's smirk widened into a slight grin as he parted his hands. "You took the words out of my mouth, Marius," he said, "I can't tempt you with promises of resolution or peace, I know that much. You're owed these things as much as any other sapient being on this planet, but we've only ever been stewards to intelligent life. The only thing I can provide is your guaranteed right to make something of yourself. You're the only one who knows if this leads to contentment, greener pastures, or greater power."

He straightened himself in his chair. "Things have changed, however. What we can provide, structurally, is-"

The Archangel couldn't finish, as a klaxon sounded both outside and inside the precinct. "Attention all units," Dispatch said, "we have eighteen planar intrusions in and around Centennial Park. Holtzmann-class rifts, unloading heavy troops and several front-line units. Exo-Squads Alpha and Bravo to shuttlecraft pads."

A second alert sounded. 

"Attention: an unsigned SMS has directed non-demonic HPD personnel to City Hall. Shots fired on location. Arcane or supernatural personnel required; see Dispatch for details."

In response, Gabriel stood up from his chair, his wings briefly flaring into view even as his form grew blurry from the neck down for a split-second. His military court attire had blended into the fatigues, Kevlar layers and various pads and belt accessories expected of modern soldiers, with an M16 in hand and a hip holster that held what perhaps looked like a Five-Seven.

"We can provide support," he continued, his tone now curt and clipped. "We've rarely, if ever been at liberty to offer health, wealth or power to anyone, Marius. In these circumstances, however, there aren't any edicts preventing us from supplying firepower."

He opened the door to his office. "This isn't about what my kind can offer or what you're due. It's about your fundamental rights."

Gabriel's tight smile returned. "Marius Vlastos, wartime consultant for the Hope Police Department. How's that sound?"

* * *

Archie started to pointedly voice his objection to what seemed like a reckless tactic, only to devolve to wordless screaming as the van bumped up the Hog's tail and back, the creature warbling in protest. As they reached its neck, Nergal and Erin exchanged a look, each of them conjuring a claymore into being in the hand they extended out of their respective door. They both drove their blades down into the strangely soft and motile flesh, the Weaponsmith finding that the skull's plate seemed to helpfully give way under the van's wheels. The resulting warbles barely felt more pained than the previous one, the Hog grumpily attempting to shake them loose once or twice, before giving up entirely. Grunting, both demons kept the pressure on and kept the van stabilized.

"See anything?" soon asked Erin, her teeth clenched over the words. "Keep your breaths shallow, people!"

For seemingly as far as the eye could see in a wide arc, there were mounds and mounds of grazing Hell-Hogs of various shapes and sizes. Far behind, the distant pipes of Belial's factory were lost in the haze, small and indistinct. They had virtually nothing to go on, safe for the notion that a room or prison of some sort was their target. You'd have assumed another demon's eyes would have spotted something in this place, but it'd be Crystal's keen senses that would pick up a faint movement, far to the north - as if a large and distant hill had suddenly sunken away after a landslide. A large hill that looked covered in quilted velvet, if you judged it by the odd way light caught its surface...

"We'll never reach anywhere in time to avoid succumbing to this lurid locale's effects!" protested Archie. "What are we supposed to do?!"

Galbraith spared her colleagues a sharkish smile in the rear-view mirror. "I don't suppose Ratatouille is mandatory viewing in the HPD, huh?" she asked, even as arcs of crimson lightling already began to course down her and Nergal's respective blades. The Hog's warbles resembled the moans of a Taser victim, and it quickly caught on to the fact that standing up and moving northwards freed it from unnecessary pain.

* * *

Tom would need a few more moments to climb out of despair, but he looked at least like he'd made it up to resignation. Resting the blade he'd been offered on the floor, he pushed it towards Ciaran.

"This is for you," he said. "It's in case we run out of options. Sophia deserves better than to be cut down by these monsters."

He sniffed lightly. "Third right intercostal, twenty degrees up," he said, his voice wavering as he looked back to Sophia.

"It'll be quick. You won't have time to feel pain. Nobody who's stabbed like this does. The heart stops and you fade away quickly."

The warlock fell silent for a moment, and he then forced himself to stand up, then walking up to the dryad, whose hand he took. "I want you to know I've loved you as much as a friend can love another. My staff, those quiet afternoons I spent in the park before everything... Our small talk by the bike trails or the pond... I can't thank you enough for everything, Sophia. If your memories are going to be preserved, then you have to remember how much everyone here appreciates you. Ciaran first of all, of course, but-"

He hesitated. "Don't forget; you've got another love story, too. One with the rest of the city. You'll always be one of us, Sophia. Whatever happens."

* * *

Herbert stammered. "I'm n-not sure I can-"

Three bit his lower lip at that. "Sorry, Herb - we need your shield. I know it's hard to puff yourself up when you're self-conscious, but-"

He glanced off to the side and back. "Do you trust me?
- What? What about?! You've just partially dethawed me, I'm soggier than a wet blanket; I can't be expected to-"

Aspasia still being protected by her nanite patch, Aidan's next few words would register as random beeps to her. In response, Herbert all but slumped against Drake, with his small and narrow nasal airways leaving him to default to loud guttural snorts and long sighs. Meris, however, would understand that he'd used the Black Speech to key him into an immediate state of deep sleep. Three adjusted his own posture and used Herbert's own leaning force to be able to relax his hold on him, and closed his eyes. Barely a few seconds later, the demon's big eyeballs could be seen whizzing about behind his eyelids, sleepy chuckles leaving him a minute or so into the exercise. His ego soon became perceptible on the arcane level, his rapidly-expanding shield quickly blooming past the two women and the gargoyle.

Soon, Wormsworth's chuckles no longer were those of a merely dreaming mind stuck reacting to something pleasant, self-satisfaction turning pre-verbal hems and ahs into hums of pointed interest or polite laughter that could've indicated as much disdain as polite amusement. Three opened his eyes, grunted, blinked himself fully awake and gently pushed Herbert away, repeating his name until, at last, the big eyelids creaked open.

"Send the reporters away, Lewis; I need five more minutes...
- Wake up, Mister Sleep Apnea - I only made you dream about your own efforts. Your shield's nice and deployed now, and we need you nice and contented if it's going to stay deployed."

Herbert blearily blinked himself awake and yawned. "If you'll excuse me, then, I'll redirect a smidgen of power from the shield and over to-"

By way of explanation, his form and the mass of soggy clothes he'd shed on the floor both grew hazy, the grays and reds of his suit and tie restoring themselves, looking and smelling as though they'd all been freshly cleaned and pressed.

"Ah - much better," he said. "Supernatural hypothermia averted, thanks to you, fine friends - and one shield, up and running."

He then lightly socked Aidan on the shoulder. "I must say, though; if I were of Greed, I would be up in arms about marketing that stuff, Aidan my boy! I haven't slept like this since The Cacus of Cacus & Bune invited me to his private golf course!"

Aidan smirked at that. "Lemme guess - not a lot of green, lots of rocks?
- Rather Scottish, yes," he said, "minus the vivifying air, turf or, oh, any signs of flora and fauna. Tricky fairways - and an owner who would summarily disembowel you if you beat his par."

Three chuckled at that. "You should've seen Camp Performance's VR golf leaderboards. The Exos paid Maintenance to hack the rig's servers and inflate their scores.
- How predictable of them," he said. "Cacus, at least, knew his golf-claps."

* * *

Magnus, Allocer and Amazo moved from room to room with military precision, the first two gunning down those who turned aggressive, Amazo binding those who didn't. The sound of windows opening and of civilians clambering down fire escapes was heard, the resulting clamor soon clueing those from the lower floors into the proceedings. Security guards attempted to rush the three men - one of the possessed anthros going for a hopefully paralyzing howl. Magnus replied with his own loud, sepulchral moan and cut him down with a few rifle rounds.

Seeing this, Lucifer paused and kept to a few steps in the rear. "I didn't know the Draugr could do this!
- I haven't had to moan like this since Sweden was hooked up with electricity!" called back the vampire.

As could be expected, the ground floor reacted by evacuating all those it could, with rent-a-cops holding their ground partway up the stairs and refusing to risk themselves with an open exchange of volleys. "That's as much as we can do without support from the other members of the force," soon noted Amazo. "We're pinned down up here until further notice and some of us can't keep muzzles trained on poking shoulders or crowns forever!
- Couldn't you just vomit lava down the stairs?" asked Lucifer to Allocer.

"The building was just a loaner!" replied the former Knight Commander. "It's Doherty's - I can't just turn a chunk of it to slag in good conscience!"

* * *

The bearded man grimaced lightly. "A retreat would send the wrong message to all locals held hostage in the enclaves. However, a tactical withdrawal could be advisable. Abdiel's proposal also has merit: the enemy has to contend with the fact that every portal it opens acts like the spout of a sieve. Even if we only succeeded in slowing their flow, we could make notable progress."

Pericles nodded, a glint of recognition passing on his features. "Cyrus, is that you?"

The dark-haired and burnished man smiled, revealing a row of pearly whites of obvious Celestial origin. "Yes, Pericles. Greece's dealings with Persia may have been more limited than Rome's, but we nonetheless count you as allies."

* * *

"Grand," groused Geier. "The structural intruders would be my gremlins; they're merely taking position. So should we."

He turned back to the younger practitioners clad in Iron Age garb and hardened his features. "Battle-priests, in position! Assisting audio engineers, at the ready!"

Shouts in English and German popped up around the helipad, Otto taking position at the center of the pad's marker. "Cleanse yourselves!" he called out, channelled power amplifying his voice as well as any other mic. In response, Ariel and the others would see and hear jugs of water being emptied over outstretched hands, the liquid having been pre-emptively charged with power by witches of a different stripe, possibly Walpurgis' affiliated White Magic coven. Matted and dreadlock-laden hair was rendered slick, ritual robes were splashed, makeup ran - and the group grew perceptively more quiet, more open. Slowly, via crawled up the tower and reached them.

"We do this," called Otto, "for those that have preceded us. For all that has surrounded us, before people lived who could name it. Before the first words were spoken, before the first seeds sprouted. In these proceedings, even as righteous hatred flows, remember that we all are brothers. Bless those who would recognize our handiwork, and those for whom we fight. We beg understanding of the Elements, and pray our wayward foes are sent to swift repose.

For our ancestors, for our friends, for our blood - this is our ritual."

The musicians and attendants replied with a resonant shout of "Blessed be!". They paused and repeated the shout three more times, each one acting like a burst of faith-based magic, purity of intent acting like a drop in atmospheric pressure and sending pebbles and other debris careening away - as if banishing them from the tower's occupiable rooftop surface.

[Karl the Mad]

Ah, and so it began. Marius had gotten here just in time!

He heard rushing around outside the office, and Gabe himself quickly got into strife mode. That was a nice trick, he'd have to try and learn it himself.

"That sounds fine, for now anyway," he agreed as he too rose to his feet. "I should at least grab a vest or something, to blend in if nothing else. And it's unlikely they'll only have guns anyway, can your forces spare any other sort of protective gear?"

He pulled out the .50-caliber revolver he'd grabbed from his apartment, checking the chambers and making sure the safety was still on. He could click it off once battle was at hand. "I still think I'd be more useful at the Tree. If I can reach their portals, I can shut them down, along with any spellcasters they have on hand. I also know illusion magic and invisibility spells on top of all my natural talents."

Either way, he made to follow Gabe outside.