“A… code V?”
Momo's jaw dropped in disbelief as an endless stream of Nether-policemen poured out of their vehicles. The city had plunged into total darkness, except for the vivid red headlights of the police cars, pulsating like concert spotlights, scanning up and down the vicinity. All of the once-frantic pedestrians had huddled away in shops or driven off down dusky streets. Sensing imminent danger, Momo tried to grab for the rapier at her hip, but found her hand immobile, stuck fast behind her back.
She had failed to notice that the faceless policeman from before was already positioned behind her. He had cuffed her in an instant, the action so rapid and seamless that she hadn't registered any sensation of pain.
“Soul number four billion three thousand and twenty six, Momo ‘The Ripper’ Lim, you are under arrest for violating Nether laws and regulations,” he informed her. His breath was cold and lifeless as it landed on the nape of her neck. She twisted to face him, writhing in her cuffs.
“What? Which rules and regulations?”
One of the harsh red beams of light fell over her face, nearly blinding her. “Special Code S3,” the officer answered, picking out a weapon from his belt that looked curiously like a lightsaber. It had a black hilt and it fizzed with a red energy as he struck the air near her cheek—an obvious threat, but not one Momo was particularly frightened by. This was the Nether, after all. There was no safer place to die. It was like fainting in the Nurse's Office.
“S3?” She repeated his words aloud. She had heard that letter-number pair only once before. Her Ruler System had informed her that, if she were to die, control of the continent would default to S3. She hadn’t thought about it much since, given that she had managed, against all odds, to stay alive. But to hear it in these circumstances was curious. Did the S stand for Sera? It seemed likely that she’d have her sticky, evil fingers involved in this.
Confirming her suspicions, the officer replied, “Sera’s Three Stipulations.” But he didn’t offer any more clarity than that. He made a motion to one of his fellow officers. Something that seemed a lot like come help me get this criminal in the back of the car. As inquisitive as Momo was at what exactly a Nether prison would be like—or a Nether judicial system, for that matter—there was once again more pressing matters than entertaining her morbid curiosity.
“Wait. You have to tell me what exactly I’m being charged with,” Momo interjected, suddenly remembering where she was. This place wasn’t exactly New York, but she was quite certain that the police had to act like it was, to keep up appearances for the souls inhabiting it. “It’s the law.”
The man froze, his not-quite-head turning annoyedly to face her again.
“That’s not the law,” he said. His tone was sharp, but not completely assured. There was a weakness there; she could smell it. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Yes it is, and yes you do,” she declared emphatically. The more she pressed on about it, the less sure she actually was that it was true—it was safe to say Momo was not involved in much criminal activity during her time on Earth—but she was hopeful she could convince him of it either way. There was something about these replicant areas that forced a sort of method acting on their participants. “You have to tell me what I’m being charged with, and what all three of the stipulations are. Or else you’d be a very bad police officer. A corrupt one, even.”
Then, after making sure that last remark was heard loud and clear amongst the crowd, she murmured, “[Sow Conspiracy]” under her breath.
The Demagogue spell seemed to make an instant impact. The man’s colleagues all looked at him stiffly, crossing their arms and whispering. Sensing this sudden mistrust, he looked frantically from body to body. Finding only judgment and suspicion waiting for him in the crowd, he reluctantly gave in to her demands.
"You," he spat bitterly. "Have been found in violation of Code S3.2, the Anti-Terror Stipulation. Anyone who professes allegiance to an active threat against Nether society is liable to be swiftly detained. You, Momo Lim, stand accused of associating with a highly notorious threat to the safety of the Nether public. Enemy number one, otherwise known as V.”
Momo couldn’t help but laugh in surprise. She was positive Valerica was living for this. The sheer dramatics… God.
“So, just to get this clear, I’m being arrested for… mentioning Valerica?”
He bristled at the mention of her full name. “You are being arrested for showing allegiance to an active Nether terrorist threat, yes,” he reiterated.
“Terrorist? What exactly is she terrorizing?”
Besides me, Momo refrained from adding. Forever and always.
“Over the past several months, she has been cutting off several crucial routes of travel within the Nether. These disruptions have endangered soul civilians and created hazards for state workers such as ourselves,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Despite being removed from her appointed position as Lesser Goddess of Nether Maintenance, she continues to illegally meddle in the wiring. As such, Sera had to step in and cover for her position.”
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“Sera had to step in?” Momo said incredulously. “What are you even talking about? Valerica was doing all of that at Morgana’s request. She was ensuring that the traitors who were teaming up with Sera couldn’t leave the Nether and flee elsewhere. Standard preventative measures.”
As the words left her mouth, another bout of sudden gasps took over the crowd of police. Momo frowned. That wasn’t a reassuring sound.
“Have you been living in a cave? None of that information is accurate,” the officer scoffed. “Morgana has been ill for some time now. Her waning influence has caused the Nether Demons to reproduce out of control. Consequently, replicant areas have become nearly unpoliceable. Sera is the only thing keeping this place from turning into utter bedlam. Praise Morgana’s name, but she is no longer strong enough to do the job she has been tasked with—to protect and serve this realm.”
Momo gaped at him. Ill? This had to be Sera’s bullshit propaganda at work. But how was she even pulling it off? Morgana was supposed to be all-seeing, all-powerful, and she couldn’t even buy her own political advertisement in Nether Times Square? None of it made sense. The only possibility Momo could imagine was that Sera was keeping her away from her subjects somehow. Secluded and isolated. Some sort of goddess kidnapping. That would explain the sickness narrative. And with the entire pantheon on Sera’s side, such a feat seemed plausible.
“This is quite enough,” the officer grumbled, pulling at her cuffed hands. “You’re coming with us to the station. Boys, get the door open.”
“Sorry,” Momo said. “But that’s not happening.”
She flourished her wings, and whispered another Demagogue skill into the air.
“[Illusion of the Other].”
Momo smirked widely as the skill manifested. Like a ghost emerging from a dark grave, the silhouette of Valerica rose above the crowd of men, her immense shadow draping over them. Despite their lack of facial features, Momo could feel the utter and sudden terror enveloping them. You could hear a pin drop, it was so silent.
“It’s her!” one screamed, and all hell broke loose.
The faux-Valerica laughed maniacally, flashing her talon-like nails. Shrieks came from all directions as the policemen furiously elbowed their way back into their vehicles. Dashboards crashed with windshields and glass flew overhead as the vehicles smashed headlong into each other; car alarms rang out, red headlights flared and stuttered, and Momo took the opportunity to soar upwards, above the men and the beautiful illusion.
It was a scene of utter destruction and chaos.
Momo was sad Valerica wasn’t there to see it.
—
Once Momo escaped Nether New York—which was as simple as flying until her head bobbed back up into the emptiness of space—Nether Shibuya wasn’t too hard to find. She could practically hear it, even in the deadness of the Nether. The pumping beat of the bass, the chaotic thrum of a hundred feet hitting the floor. After all, it wasn’t just Shibuya, but a specific nightclub in the dead heart of the district. A shifty, noisy joint called The Viper. Bright neon lights decorated the club’s metallic frame, like a head lamp attached to a vibrating cage.
“What can I get you?”
The bartender—who was by all appearances a snake—fixed her with the question as she approached the bar. Fortunately, getting inside the club hadn’t been difficult. The bouncer had asked her for a password, but after she said she was looking for Valerica, he let her inside without question. “She doesn’t go by that here,” he had told her harshly. “Just call her V.”
Facing the snake-headed bartender, Momo folded her elbows onto the bartop. An action she swiftly regretted, as they quickly felt sticky with alcohol. “I don’t want anything to drink. I’m looking for someone,” she said loudly, her voice barely carrying over the bass. “Someone named um, V. Can you point me in her direction?”
The snake’s eyes squinted, his tongue flickering out.
“Are you a pig or something?”
“Oh—not at all, promise.” She waved her hands around defensively. “I’m not a fan of the police. And they’re definitely not a fan of me.”
He quirked his head, confused. “I wasn’t talking about no police. V just has this weird thing for pigs this month—keeps requesting them as backup dancers. I’ve been telling her there’s not many swine-folk in Shibuya, but she insists they do the best modern jazz contemporary.”
“Swine-folk?”
“Pig-folk, pig men. What, you’ve never met one? Jeez, next thing you’ll tell me you’ve never ordered a vodka cherry from a snake, either,” he hissed good-naturedly, using his tail to shake a cocktail tin. “You out-of-towners really need to read a brochure before you come here. Last night, I watched some guy faint after only ten shots of Nether Nectar. Ten. You’d think I had tried to kill him, the way his soul chain was shaking.”
“This music is shit.” The elf beside her at the bar elbowed into their conversation, drunkenly sticking his empty glass out for the snake to refill. “I came to hear some Deep House. This is like—like Deep Home or some shit. Too cozy. I want to feel out of my mind, you know? Like I… like I’m leaving my body, ascending to some crazy, Matrix-type afterlife…”
The bartender laughed, filling the elf’s glass with a dark liquid. “Dude, you’re already there.”
Just as Momo was about to pipe in again, the lights changed. The flickering reds and greens turned purple. Majestic, royal purple. The music vanished, eerie quiet overtaking the space.
The snake man turned his gaze towards Momo. He placed a drink in-front of her, the black juice sloshing onto the table. It smelled like fruit and sulfur.
“This one’s called Pain and Pleasure,” he whispered vaguely, gesturing towards the drink. “Now, drink up. It’s on the house. This isn’t a performance you can handle sober. Trust me.”
The beat of a gong pierced the silence. The main stage—which Momo hadn’t even noticed was there previously—came alive with white, billowing smoke. The music that came after was starkly different from the electronic noise that had plagued the room before. This new sound—this chant—was a singular note, haunting and feminine, building and building with no climax.
“Oh hell yes,” the elf said, scrambling out of his seat. “Get out of my way, out of my way—”
The smoke parted, revealing seven dancers on the stage—all distinctly pigs, if Momo’s eyes weren’t betraying her—and one human woman, draped in velvet, gripping the microphone stand. Her jet black hair fell over her eyes, but her mouth was open wide and grinning.
Seeing her, Momo’s heart began to stutter. She knew those lips.
“Salacious citizens of the Viper,” the woman sang to the cheers of the crowd, and despite the masses of people, her eyes seemed to find Momo in an instant. “I’m so dreadfully happy to welcome you to my final show.”