Reynald the Great had called for a family dinner. He didn’t normally have to call for one, it was assumed to be the default, but he had specifically asked each member of his family to be present at dinner tonight. Reynald II hadn’t known what to expect, but whatever he’d imagined, it wasn’t this. His father had sat them down for a perfectly normal dinner, and about halfway through set down his silverware to say, “So there’s something I need to tell you, Son. Technically, I’m a criminal.”
“No, you’re not, Dear.” His wife, Duchess Triana chimed in. “You haven’t been caught yet. You’re only a criminal once you get caught.”
“Right. Good point, love.” He turned to look more directly at his heir. “I’m not a criminal, but I definitely committed a pretty egregious crime according to Apotheosis. The proof of that is... Shall we say... Directly noticeable, as well. Up until now, we’ve more or less had a handle on it. Frank, you remember Frank, he did his job well, but it seems his aid can only go so far. At this moment, a small force of Church militia is on its way here for the first time in a long time. They gave no warning, they’re not here on official notice. It may very well be that this is urgent and harmless business, but I’ve got a decent idea that this is not a diplomatic visit.”
“Okay...? Wait, Dad, what did you do?! When?! You never leave the manor! How did you even find time to commit crimes against the Church of the Children of the Artificer?!”
“That’s not important. What IS important is that by the time they’re here, I want you on your way south out of town. I’ve already arranged passage, and a trustworthy friend will accept you into their care in Strandport. I need you somewhere safe in case this all goes horribly wrong.”
“What? No! I can fight! I’m already really far into my training. Even ask Dmitri! I won’t let the Church take you, Dad!”
“If all goes well, Son, they won’t even know something’s wrong. That's why your mother’s staying behind. We’re going to act like the perfect Ducal Mayoral Manor, and if all goes well we’ll see them off safely and send for you to come back from what should prove to be a lovely vacation in a neighboring town. I’m fully confident that we’ll be fine. But if anything, and I do mean ANYTHING, were to happen to you, I think we’d lose our minds.”
The Duchess nodded along in agreement. “If you had any idea what I went through when you were injured for just a few days, you’d never, ever suggest putting yourself in mortal peril with a straight face. I was close to summoning the lord of Hell himself just to make a deal for your health and safety. It took your father quite a bit of effort to talk me down from that ledge. Do you want to be the reason I summon the lord of Hell, Renny? Do you?”
Reynald II and his father both stared at the duchess. Reynald couldn’t tell if she was joking. She must have been, but the tone she had used hadn’t been conducive to him believing that. He glanced at his father, but he couldn’t read his father’s face either. He resolved not to fight his mother anytime soon.
Deciding not to address what his mother had said, he turned back to his dad and said, “If that’s what needs to happen, I guess I’ll leave it to your judgment. I’m not happy about it, but if that’s what you think needs to happen then I can’t argue.”
“Good. You leave in about 4 hours. Say your goodbyes.”
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Lothran tore out of the pendant like an explosion, like destruction personified. He filled four paces in any direction with the force and wrath of a hurricane of fire. The brat, the Lordling, he’d put him in there. Time was blurry to him, but he’d been in there a while. Years, at least. The lordling was nowhere to be found, either. The only thing around was a feast of humans.
“...Samael,” he uttered, “If you planned this, I’m going to kiss you on the mouth.” He grinned a horrible, wolfish grin, flaring flames licking at every lanky, jutting limb. He began a slaughter.
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Baratheus was terrified. The blast had knocked him backwards into a pile of bodies. He lay stock-still, staring up at what most certainly was not an angel of any kind, but rather, most clearly a demon.
“Samael, if you planned this, I’m going to kiss you on the mouth.” Samael? The prince of Hell? This demon was powerful and high-ranking enough to address the prince of Hell by name?
If he had had the capacity left, Baratheus most certainly would have shit himself at this moment. Alas, he found himself bereft of even this final faculty. Instead, he froze down to his core. His organs and flesh were both cold and clammy, as though he was dead already. He found himself sweating profusely, so much so that he felt he must be underwater. He watched as the demon looked down at the swordsman who had just given Baratheus so much trouble. The demon proceeded to pick up the longswordsman, with evidently no trouble at all, in fact with a nonchalant air, and bite his head clean off at the clavicle. As though biting celery. Baratheus shivered, against his will. He tried to fight the shiver, but it struck his spine with force.
The shiver seemed to attract the demon’s attention. It turned to face him.
“You..” It whispered, “You were the one who carried me all this time. I suppose I have you to thank as well for this bountiful harvest.”
Baratheus considered claiming some agency in this, but he couldn’t muster the nerve, even considering how useful it might be to have this being’s favor. It would be like lying to an avalanche.
“You deserve something, at the very least. Hmm.. I know! How about this! I..” He waved his arm and took an elaborate bow. His arms braided together in a grotesque mangle. “I will let you keep your life! I don’t think you’ll ever meet a more generous General in all your time on this soil. What say you? Oh, no matter, I know you’ll accept. It’s so rude.. to refuse a Gift.”
Baratheus simply sat, paralyzed. He couldn’t have replied if he wanted to.
“Well, I suppose I’ll go eat the other humans. It seems like a lot, and maybe it’s a bit of a chore, but I cannot EXPRESS how excited I am at this moment. I haven’t slain this many since the battle of Hob’s Haven. I almost worry I’ll get bloated.”
Baratheus attempted to do literally anything, and, failing that, unceremoniously passed out.
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Sinxi shot up from his perch. Angelica almost fell out of her chair from how sudden it was.
“We need to leave.” He looked her dead in the eyes. “Now.”
She looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge what he was on about. “Why?”
“No time. MOVE.” He was quickly growing. She hadn’t known he could do that. When he was about the size of a panther, he said “Why aren’t you putting on your boots? This is important.”
“I’m kinda waiting for an explanation. This is very out of character for you.”
“You can’t feel tha-” An explosion rocked the forest in the distance. “Ah. There it is.”
“There WHAT is?!”
“Demon. Big one. Much, much bigger than me. Not friendly either. Get on or I carry you like a kitten.”
“Getting on.”
She climbed onto his back and he started coiling his muscles to bolt in the opposite direction of the explosions.
“Shouldn’t we help, or...?”
“Either you’re utterly delusional or you haven’t been paying attention when I tell you things. That thing’s out for blood, and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever seen. You, me, and the Artificer combined couldn’t stop it right now. You can’t sense it, because you’re not particularly magically inclined, but whoever that is has been mounting and mounting in power since they broke whatever cover they were using. By the time they get here, they’re going to be so Artificer-damned powerful we might as well be looking at another War of Divinity scale disaster. There is NOTHING we can do against that. That would be like trying to kick a forest fire, which, by the way, I think they might have actually started one of those on top of whatever hell else they’re doing, so we need to go IMMEDIATELY.”
“Fine, just let me grab-”
“WE ARE NOT GRABBING ANYTHING.”
“Not even Lucien?”
“...WE ARE GRABBING ONE THING. FUCK.”