'Sit  down, David.'

'Is that an   order, ma'am?'

Rivka met my wry look with a sullen glare. Could feel neither exhaustion nor boredom, but she had the balls to look tired? Talk about priviliege.

I guess that's what you get for being the only agent worth something after your actually competent boss dies and  his boss scraps the barrel.

Bet I would've made senior agent without all the shit outside my control dragging me down. Not that I wanted the position-more paperwork and playing babysitter for grave-dodgers? I could spit-, but I would've done better than her. What did this toothy little cannibal do that I couldn't? She might've as well been lobotomised and locked up in a sensory deprivation chamber compared to me.

'It could be, if you keep acting like this. Don't make me-'

I couldn't help it. I began laughing. Oh, it took some shapeshifting to make the tears start flowing, but they were genuine. 'See? You have to ask and ask and  ask, what kind of leader are you? Either tell me or shut up.'

The ghoul leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. She was eyeing me skeptically, the way she'd been since I'd turned my chair around and sat down, alternating between slinging my arms across its back or leaning on her desk.

Like I was doing now. 'You're not talking to my strigoi side, Peretz. It's just me. I get it: you can't believe I've woken up. I can't believe...it took me this long, but I know how you feel.'

Was Rivka dismayed? Tired of me? Or just annoyed? Honestly, at that moment, I couldn't have told you-but she sure as hell didn't look fond, either.

'Help me understand, David.' Her voice was so soft, I could tell she was itching to deck me. 'Tell me why you discussed to meet with Szabo outside the country, and only told your superior after. On that note, if I'm such an awful senior agent, please suggest a replacement. Or, if you don't have ideas, point out what's not to your liking, and I'll look for a better option myself.' She looked into my eyes. 'Maybe you? Do you want my job, David? Is that it? Would that make you happy?'

She lowered her voice as I looked aside, sneering. 'What's wrong? Why are you so angry?'

I was so close to saying she wouldn't understand that I almost slapped myself. Fuck that bullshit teenage angst. If I was going to angst, I was going to do it like an adult, thank you.

I could've brushed her off, or course, but... 'Not sure you need to know.'

'So your boss and friend doesn't need to know, but Szabo does?'

I didn't answer.

'What are you two planning to do in Siberia again...? Oh, forgive me. For some reason, I thought you'd actually explained first.' Her tone turned serious. 'David, cut the crap and look at me.' I did, noticing she looked more frustrated than actually pissed. 'You two can't be stupid enough to be planning something illegal, or something you don't want ARC to know. You're smarter than that. Loric might not be, but he has his own hangups.' In the sense he didn't believe in petty crimes or staying hidden, if only because he saw such things as beneath him, rather than out of any sense of morality. 'So what can that snuff flick escapee help you with that I can't?'

'...Szabo's agnostic. You're...Jewish.'

'What.'

I shifted in my seat. It had sounded awkward enough in my mind, much less out loud, and the way she'd phrased her reply as a flat statement rather than a question didn't help.

'Riv, look-'

'David, if you're about to reveal some antisemitic streak you've hidden until now, I'll eat my fucking desk.'

'It's not that! I-'

'Good. Szabo doesn't believe in bigotry, either.' Some tension had left her shoulders, so that she looked a bit more relaxed now, if not exactly happy. 'To him, everyone's grist for the mill. Or skin for the rack, as it were. Anyhow...'

'Rivka,' I tried to sound less exasperated than I felt, which was easier than you might expect. I don't think I could've expressed it properly. 'Let me rephrase: I need help with a matter of faith, and Szabo, having none, can help me more than you, being religious, can.'

Rivka had too much self-control to let her puzzlement shown. 'You're having a...what, a pilgrimage while the world might need your help? Reem told you to be on standby, and I doubt I need to repeat that order.' The ghoul shook her head. 'We can't let you risk yourself like this, David. Even with Szabo helping. Siberia is smack-dab in the middle of Chernobog's sphere of influence.'

'So, I don't deserve anything I want or need. It's all about everyone  else's needs.'

'That is not what I-' she clicked her tongue. 'Dammit, David. You might go get yourself killed and you're not even telling me the reason. What do you want from me? What do you want me to do?'

The ghoul seemed to shrink in on herself, briefly looking far older. It...it wasn't her fault, dammit. She didn't know what had happened.

Before I could apologise, though, she smoothed her expression, sitting up straighter. 'If you can't be arsed to tell me as a friend, I'll have to order you.' Her eyes were half-lidded. 'You can keep refusing, of course. What'll happen if I insist? Will you kill me? Will Szabo drop in here to do it for you? Both of you have divine powers now. Well?'

As I held her stare, I was reminded of the fact neither of us blinked or breathed, much less moved, unless we wanted.

I caved in first.

'It's not fucking fair,' I whined, yes, there was no other word for it. It should've been beneath me to break down in front of my superior: not like it was her job to listen to things like this, unless Internal Affairs therapists were unavailable. 'It's not goddamn fair. I wake up from a nightmare, and the second I turn around to tell Reem about it, Lucian and Bianca go crazy, Alex doesn't want to talk to me anymore, and my dad's d-dead-' I gulped. 'I...I mean A-Andrei's dead, but...' were my hands shaking? Fucking  shaking? 'But my dad's dead too. It took him. It took him. It...'

I was repeating it like a mantra, yeah, like a fucking madman. Maybe I'd gone crazy, or maybe I'd finally realised I'd always been.

Probably the pitiful kind of crazy, given how, after mouthing a curse, Rivka got up in a flash, moving around the desk to put an arm over my shoulders and grab my arm with her other hand.

'David, David, look at me. Stop talking to yourself. David!'

I lifted teary eyes to meet her milky grey ones, her shark-toothed mouth twisted into a distressed grimace. 'Calm down. Your friends are alive. You can go talk to them-yes, even Andrei. The aether's right there, remember? And your father is-'

' Gone,' I spat, making her squeeze my arm.

'He's not gone, David. If what you told me is true, he's met a Cardinal Archangel. He's closer to God than ever. And he's still in there! He's still alive! David...'

***

Misha writhed in my grip like the worm he was, but he couldn't escape. To continue the metaphor, I'd only let him off the hook to get eaten.

Andrei's bearlike corpse-he'd died in hybrid form, but like an animal, nonetheless-was already cold by the time I got to his apartment, and the rest of the building had jumped into alert as soon as I'd arrived, suddenly noticing the smell of blood snd silver, all while wondering how the hell it had evaded their senses.

Someone had called the hospital, and the Service, but there was nothing more to do. The man who'd brought me into this world was dead, and I hadn't even been there to see him off.

I...I'd always thought Andrei's death would be more...climactic. I'd  wanted him to live, so he could...so we...

What? So we could what?

He'd been a wily old bastard. He should've scraped out by longer, dammit. He should've...survived enough for me to get there in time, not fucking fail, not again.

I'd made this oath, you know? This stupid little oath, sworn Andrei would die by no one's hand but mine, that I'd save his goddamn life if that was what it took to settle the score. Sworn neither of us would leave the world without some sort of closure.

But what more was there to add to that? What more, except "I lied, Andrei. Lied to myself, again. You died alone."

It wasn't the first time I'd lied to myself, even unintentionally. But, even though it was too late to make things right-wasn't it always?-, I could still try and make up for it by killing the were's muderer.

I'd gotten tired of the bald motherfucker nagging me-some cueball-looking bitch who should've been swallowed-to hand Misha over for questioning, and instead made a pocket reality to question him myself.

'Hello, grandfather.' My voice stopped his thrashing, and I dearly, dearly hoped this wasn't the most scared he could get. 'We're going to get to know each other. And then, while I make you pray for Hell, I'll also tell you why nobody is answering.'

'You're David.' He seemed stunned. 'The strigoi...the Silva priest's-'

His neck snapped in my hand. With my other one, I idly ripped out his spectral throat, then the tongue out of his gasping mouth. They went into the eye sickets, whick went into the ears after being torn out.

He wouldn't fall apart, or go insane. I'd never let him. I'd stretch time into eternity, rip it open like a corpse, if that was what it took to share a fraction of my pain with him.

This thing in the shape of a man, this simple creature I descended from, had little to do with the reason of my anger. Its suffering would offer no solution or end to it.

But it would bring me pleasure. And I wasn't enough of a fool anymore to think that wasn't a justification.

'Speak,' I ordered him, my power forcing his tongueless mouth to shape words, putting his mind into motion. I'd take care of that too. Not too soon, hopefully.

'You should be dead, you-'

And his cock went into his belly button, scrunched up and flattened. His balls soon followed, up the nostrils, until it was gushing ectoplasmic blood as much as his eye sockets were brimming with fears.

Made a nice contrasts with the drool that dripped down into his chest mixing with false blood and vomit. Look at gramps, running the whole gamut of fluids, just for me~

One could've almost been fooled into thinking he was a real person, if they were a fucking moron.

'I  am dead.'

That shut him up, and he slackened in my grasp, hanging limply. I was reminded of my first death, and began laughing. When he began asking what was so funny, it only made me laugh harder.

'Oh, nothing...' I lied, looking at the mess I'd made to try and pretty up his face. The human body was so  limited...so few organs, only so many ways to rearrange them. If he didn't soon turn into something more entertaining, I'd do it myself.

'Let's talk.' I let go of him, and, the moment my fingers left his neck, a barbed spike shot up from the ground of the pocket realm-as black as the sky was grey-, spearing the ghost through his crotch, the twisting to travel up his rear. A second spike rose, bending forward to fill Misha's throat, until it met the one impaling him in his chest, where they wrapped around each other, beginning to throb.

'You are going to tell me,' my, but I couldn't even muster a reaction at his writhing. Not even his pain made me happy?

Selfish bastard. He had nothing to help others with.

'Three things: how you escaped the aether, why you killed Andrei,' my lips drew back from my fangs. 'And how you got the knife you used to murder him.'

He couldn't speak, too busy trying to mewl in pain, to staunch the flow of tears the spike down his throat was drinking up as soon as they touched it.

Fine. I'd make him speak.

'The aether, Misha. The faithless dead can't just come and go if they are truly dead. You never lingered as a ghost. What changed?'

'I w-wanted to...'

Wanted what? To leave? To kill? 'Wanting only gets you so far.' What with the force that barred the dead from escaping. The aether itself, perhaps.

'It l-let me. You...'

'Yes?'

Misha tried to spit, or maybe open his mouth wider, as if he could get rid of the spike like that. 'The thing...that w-wants you.'

'What are you talking about?'

His laugh was a an agonised sob. 'You think...the sea of magic is empty? Have...has no one on Earth thought to really, truly look into it? It-'

Ugh.  Skip. 'How'd you escape? Spare me the disbelief.'

'The thing that guards and jails the dead let me. It wants you,' was that a grin? His bleeding mouth was stretched too much to tell. 'And...it doesn't speak. Didn't. Not to me. But I felt it. It thought this...' one of his finger twitched weakly, in the direction of where Andrei had died, in the real world. 'Would bring you closer to it.'

I was tempted to write it off as bullshit, spouted to stall for time or scare me, but I'd met what I'd become. And he hadn't been alone. 'Does this thing have a name?'

'Does it...need one?'

I wanted to rip his throat out again, and I would have, but he currently lacked one. 'So it let you go. Thanks for sharing that. I was  this close to tricking myself into thinking you're competent.'

Don't you  hate it when your torture implements prevent you from making out the victim's expression?

Misha made a horking sound, like he wanted to hawk a gobbet of blood, but couldn't. 'I killed your father, boy. Call me an idiot however much you want, I was smart enough to do  that."

I chuckled. 'Not that I needed your permission to call you an idiot, but thank you for giving it.'

'Does acting smart distract you from crying? Because I can tell that's what you want to doaaAAAAAGHHH!'

The sound his heart made in my fist was closer to a wet squelch than the satisfying squelch I'd expected. Still, credit where credit is due: most ghosts would've gone crazy or fallen apart by now, instead of regenerating to keep on talking. Misha had guts, besides the ones I had rearranged.

'I can make this last forever. I can drag all the pain, all the fear, all the disgust you've ever experienced to the forefront of your mind, and extend the sensation into an eternity of agony. I can trap you here, throw this place out of creation, and leave your remains screaming forever. Is that what you want?'

Silence is an answer, too. 'Do you honestly think I'm angry because you killed Andrei?'

He looked as bewildered as he could, with no eyes and a mouth full of spikes. 'You're not...then why the goddamn fuck are you doing this to me!?'

I smirked as he thrashed in place, only succeeding in tearing his insides apart further. The following pained moan was delicious to hear. 'Let me rephrase: I am angry at you for killing Andrei, but that's not the main reason. Just one of many. But since you're so fixated on that, let's have a chat.'

Smiling, I put a hand on his shoulder, and he tensed. Good. If he'd been stupid enough to relax, this would've been less pleasant.

I fipped the arm out of its socket to the tune of an ululating shriek, then stuck it into the ground, hand-first. The other arm followed, even as this one regenerated. Then, the legs.

But I still needed a seat for my chair...

Misha tried to escape when I tore away his torso, but the spikes caught his disembodied form, forcing him back into the prior position. I had to tear out his spine twice, slong with his arms again, to make the back of the seat and, aaahhh, tie it together.

Then, hands clasped, I leaned back in my chair, and bade him talk. He had some accusations to throw first, of course-don't all cruel people?

'You're a fucking monster...' Misha, trying and failing to swallow. 'Who  does that!? What kind of person-'

'I'm a strigoi.' I blinked slowly. 'Any other remarks, before you start being useful?'

I raised my eyebrows as he stared at me wordlessly, correctly expecting he'd crack first.

'You shouldn't exist.'

Ah, old, but gold. 'You're telling me?'

Misha shook his head. 'Neither...none of  us,' his head swivelled crazily, but I had a feeling he was trying to gesture rather than free himself...and that he was talking about supernaturals as a whole. 'Should.'

'Yes, you told Andrei you liked it better when we were all stories.' A matter of taste, not that there had ever been such a time. 'Do you have a point, or just a dream of...omnicide? Give me a hand here.' I tapped my boot on one of the chair's legs. 'I'm just shooting in the dark.'

'Look what you  do,' he moaned, barbs tearing up his regenerating tongue and throat. 'People don't  think about things like this, much less have the power to...'

He trailed off at my laugh. Oh, what a creature was man, in my grandfather's imagination! How innocent his mind! How boundless his mercy!

Ahhh...he'd clearly been tucked away in some quiet corner of the aether for too long. He sounded like the protagonist of that Darke Nyte movie series, the dhampir who was so disgusted at the danger supernaturals posed that he vowed to destroy them all, then himself. Just as hypocritical, though less flair. And...leather.

'Right.' I wiped my eyes, still grinning. 'Thanks for the joke. But, since I doubt you came back to slaughter every awful,  awful supernatural, if only because you lack the ability...why don't you start being honest?'

'Fuck you, boy,' he spat. 'Fuck you and every freak this world's given birth to. You took my life, then made me one of you!' He raised his head, as if he could appear defiant in a position like this. 'You want to kill me? Go ahead. Do it, before I turn into a monster like you.'

'No one  made you a ghost. You did it yourself. No one made you a monster, either. Far as I know, you died a jackbooted, thuggish rapist, killed by the people you failed to crack down on. What, couldn't stomp hard enough?'

'Who did I rape?'

How dare he-no, no, wait. Had to think clearly. I was done being manipulated, even by my own feelings. Had I damaged him so much he'd started forgetting things? I  hoped not; didn't want to restore his mind unless I had to, but breaking down a madman wouldn't be as entertaining.

'Do you remember my grandmother?' Not pops' poor mother Elena. Andrei's. 'She was a...'

'The gypsie, yes.' He seemed both irritated and confused. 'What about her?'

'So, you  do  remember-'

'Again. Who did I rape?'

I stared at him blankly, wondering if he had actually gone insane, but his next words put any doubts to rest. 'Far as I remember, you have to fuck someone who doesn't consent for it to be rape.'

'Yes...?'

His pissy expression faded at my growl. 'Forgive me, but, unless the definition changed while I was dead, fucking crows isn't rape.'

...fighting monsters like Chernobog, with their dreams of eternal, nightmarish empires, almost kept you from remembering there were still petty, racist scumbags around.

And we were fucking  related...

Perhaps interpreting my brooding as contemplation of his words, he went on. 'Look, I get it. We're-were-slavs, before we died. I know you're disgusted. But you have to understand: there was no feeling there. I...just had to get off, boy. Do you honestly think I wouldn't have asked a real woman if she wanted to or not?'

'...do you think I'm  disgusted by the fact you raped a  gypsie, as opposed to the fact you  raped my grandmother?'

I stood up slowly, savouring his panic as he tracked my movements. 'I wanted to flay you, and leave your ectoplasm strung across the room for the Service to pick at, but why not be more...' I was next to him in an instant, pulling his head apart. 'Open-minded? I can take you to Hell. Wrap you up, and give you to the Devil. Or Chernobog-remember him, from the stories? I hope you do. Or my grandmother. Find her soul, see justice done.' Finally learn her name. Then find Andrei's, share it with him. 'Or,' I breathed into his ear. 'I can take all your prejudices, and make a monster. What you saw my grandmother as. Multiply it a thousand thousand times, and have  them rape  you forever and ever and ever...'

My grin widened as he tried to get away. 'I'm just weighing my options, gramps.' I shrugged. 'I think I'm going to Hell if I die-wouldn't want to take the other path, and, well, it's not like Scratch and I don't know each other. Think he'll give me a spot if I show him what I can do? You'll have to help me, you understand-don't worry, you won't have to  do anything-, but, if I can get the chance to break people like you forever...'

My fatalistic rambling didn't seem to brighten his day. Hmm...

'So, your jailer...watchdog... whatever...let you go. Right. That's the how. Now, we just need the where and the why.' I made the spikes throb as he tried to turn his head. 'The knife, Misha. And the murder. Let's start with where you found it.'

'It was there when I got...' he took a rattling breath. Habit, I guess. 'When I returned.'

'There, where? On the street in front of Andrei's apartment building? In an alley? Where?'

'In my hand...'

He cringed as I raised mine, claws splayed. 'W-Wait! It really  was, I s-swear!'

'Explain,' I ground out, sounding far more displeased with his whines than I was.

'I felt this...' one of his hands closed, then opened. He shakily repeated the process a few times. 'Like sunlight on skin. A sort of...presence, I suppose. Like something I could find, if I just reached out.'

'The knife was entirely mundane.'

'The blade itself, yeah. But it was there, yet not, until I wanted it. I don't know how to explain it.'

I could tell he was being honest, but creating silver weapons wasn't something a new ghost like Misha could do, unless he was freakishly good at rearranging chemical structures with telekinesis, which nothing I'd seen so far indicated.

As such, either he was lying, or there was something he didn't know, or couldn't explain. Expecting anything, I opened my godsight, and saw...

...saw...

It was like the alien undercurrent of my future self's voice, except as an image. As I tried to sift through its dark aura intil my mind's eye wept and bled, it resolved into something I could understand.

I saw a figure, always distant but ever-present, walking unseen among the faitless dead. Among the aether's travellers, and inhabitants. Had we missed it all this time? Had we been so blind?

Or had some known, and hidden it?

I saw its link to the souls in its charge perish, and felt a sense of deep but hollow loss. As if a telescope that had lost its lens had gained the ability to grieve. There was nothing even close to human in whatever passed for its mind-and that was the problem.

I saw it begin slaughtering the unclaimed dead. Felt its confused frustration-why couldn't it understand them? Where was the replacement of its champion?

It never stopped in its duties, of course. New souls, from all across creation, were brought into the aether, but, in its madness, the thing lashed out, destroying them beyond recovery, as unable to comprehend why it was doing it as it was to understand its charges.

But I knew. It was destruction itself. Oblivion. Entropy. It was not a guide, nor a warden. It had just been forced into the role, by a-

YOU

 MUST

-by  something that saw it the way it saw the rest of creation. Without someone to restrain and guide its impulses, it inevitably returned to its roots. Someone who had to ensure it didn't destroy innocents, nor become lost in its rage at what it saw as usurpers.

Those who lived when they should have been dead. Those who had died when they should have survived. Those who were neither, and made a mockery of the cycle by their deeds rather than their nature.

The thing... loathed them. Its hatred was as cold and placid as it was vast: far from something that should have been able to overtake it, had it thought remotely like a human.

I saw it wanting to destroy Misha too, before observing him. It understood enough of his desires to know he'd kill Andrei if he got the chance, and likely perish in the attempt. It had been wrong, though: the werebear had failed, though he had dealt Misha a painful blow. Painful enough the ghost had been unable to heal and leave before I arrived, alongside the authorities.

I saw the thing in the aether create what Misha needed: without a silver weapon, he wouldn't have even tried to approach Andrei. I saw it hold the knife just outside his reach, dangling it outside hus perception until, wanting to kill his son so, so much, he reached out and took it.

The thing had nothing against Andrei. In its eyes, whether Misha died by its hand or by his son's, it was the same. It had merely given him...ha. Enough rope to hang himself with.

Better make sure it wasn't goading other dead morons into stunts like this, just to see if it would end up with them taking care of themselves, instead of it having to dirty its hands.

I thought of Nightraiser, and their strange power of destruction. Peering into the Outer Void beyond all others, I was dismayed, but unsurprised, to see the thread that rose from the thing in the aether intertwined with Nightraiser's, along with several others, all reaching into the same Darkness.

And, of course, it couldn't simply be destroyed or removed. Its creator-the most primal, unmanifest form of God, Azathoth, or whatever you wanted to call it-was not without its neuroses. Things had to be a certain way, or it would be unable to accept the nature of its dream.

And, should it wake up, everything would be lost.

Fixer would have taken care of it otherwise, or Nightraiser, I was sure, but their hands were tied-or, at least, the latter's were. They were a destroyer, too, but destruction would not help with this at all.

Fixer, however? He was supposed to keep creation going, and repair whatever was wrong. So where was he? What was he doing?

Things were already beginning to come together, even as I tried to find him. Merlin calling me Keeper, Chernobog trying to kill me for valuing life and death...the thing wanted me. More, it needed me: despite its nature, it didn't want creation to end, and so, yearned for a champion.

And, no matter how much I wanted to claim incompetence or show false modesty...I had my godsight. I had power, and could make myself as powerful as needed. And, finally, I, seemingly, had the mindset it desired.

Whenever someone tells you fate doesn't have a cruel sense of humour, they're fucking lying.

I lacked experience, but somehow, I doubted it had half of a shit to give about that. It wanted someone to keep it and the cycle it presided over in check right now, or-unless I was mistaken-everything would fall apart.

Because the goddamn almighty couldn't deal with it killing unclaimed souls. It was, from what I had seen, too great a disturbance in its dream.

Attention returning to Misha, I gave the ghost a piercing look. 'I believe you.' Struggling not to puke at how the fucking rat smiled, I slapped one of his ears off. 'Andrei, Misha. Tell me why you killed him, and I'll let you go.' Not go free, obviously. But he didn't need to learn that, and we in ARC believed in need to know.

'...it was revenge, alright?'

I looked down at his bowed head, as if he'd made some...some goddamn solemn confession. 'What'd you say?'

'It WAS FUCKING REVENGE, ALRIGHT!?' He glared daggers into my glowing eyes. 'But I wouldn't expect  you to understand, strigoi. You were never a man, even before you became a monster.'

Oh, you little bitch...

Brushing off the insults to the manliness I so highly valued, I smiled lazily. 'Revenge. How and when did Andrei do you wrong, exactly? Please refresh my memory if I'm wrong, but I'm fairly sure you died when he was a baby, and you never met. So...?'

'So? So I fucked one of those thieving whores who've been plaguing the world for centuries, and not only does the bitch fucking live, she even gives birth to another crow?'

'She died from the pregnancy, you heartless bastard,' I said frigidly. 'Don't you try to say she was ungrateful for...for...as if that was even her choice. As if what you did wasn't punishment enough. So, Andrei wasn't the son you wanted. Not one you planned for, nor the one you hoped he'd be. And that was enough for murder?'

'And he turned into a monster like the ones who killed me!' he roared, trying to pull himself free. 'He deflowered a child who didn't know better! And you, the child born of good stock? He abandoned you. Gave you to a caring man, yes, but don't be fooled. There is no kindness in their black hearts.' His voice was feverish. 'Abandonment, running from responsibility, is in their blood. All the world's evils are.' I could've rolled my eyes-how fucking dramatic could you make such childish hatred?-but I didn't, knowing he'd go on a rant if he saw that. 'And look at you! You grew up almost as worthless as you would've been if he'd raised you, then...then...'

'Died,' I finished. 'I'm sure Andrei is sorry the were who nearly mauled him to death turned him so he'd make a better chew toy. Do you want me to bring his soul back and ask?' As I spoke, I quickly checked if Andrei's soul was still in the aether. Thankfully, it was. 'Though I doubt you knew that. I'm sure you'll say he deserved it, and more, too. As for my mother...he was a goddamn idiot and a coward, yes. I still hate what he did, yes. But let's get one thing straight-he never knew my mother was a minor, and the thing they had? It was mutual. No coercion.' I breathed into his face, fangs bared. 'Did you know that? Did you know he thought that, by sleeping with a woman who wanted him, he thought he proved he was better than you? It was his one dream. He told me.'

I pulled back at his croak of a laugh. 'Again with that...boy! You can't rape animals, not that I expect  you to to understand that, either.'

'And what's that supposed to mean, grandfather?'

He smiled in what he must've thought was a sly way, though the lack of eyes ruined the leer. Almost as much as I was about to. 'I saw your woman. When I was returning to Earth.'

I'd have said I was Mia's man more than she was my woman, actually. 'And?'

'Zmei,' he laughed. 'More children's story monsters! Rapists, and brigands, and murderers! It's all in their souls, like it's in those of walking corpses like you!' With an effort, Misha managed to shake his head. 'You let her fuck whatever she wants-I can't even tell what she is. Whore, dyke, both? She fucks...goddamn walking statues too. I saw it, looking back through time. And you let her. I...just don't get it.'

'What?'

'Both of you should've fucked each other to death by now, then eaten each other's guts, or something. How the hell can two monsters like you pretend to be people? None of you has anything...anything...'

Seeing he was struggling with his words, I helpfully chimed in. 'Anything good in our hearts, I'm guessing?' I snickered. 'Mia is a goddamn saint, you moron. And, by strigoi standards, so am I.'

'And neither of you feels shame about such an abomination? A strigoi fucking a zmeu? That's something straight out of hell. No place in the world, unless it's the end of days.'

'You know nothing of Hell,' I promised him. 'And nothing of endings.'

It was a long, long time before I let him go. But, when I did, Misha was whole in both spirit and mind, due to my attention. No time had passed outside the pocket reality I soon dispersed, and I gave the Supernatural Service agent leading the investigation-a blonde, green-eyed werehorse, currently in human form, with a stubbly lantern jaw and a face made for scowling (his mom had probably been constipated while giving birth, and he definitely took after her) an apologetic bow.

'Family killing family. Surely you can't blame me for wanting a word?'

'At least give us a warning next time, dammit. You're ARC. We're both supposed to be professionals.'

'I'm off-duty. Not by choice, mind. And only because I've heard it's better than being off your rocker.'

I could tell he didn't know if I was being serious or not, and wasn't in the mood to find out. 'Right. Now, the ghost seems alright...'

'We just talked.'

'...so, if there's nothing else, we'd like to take him for questioning.'

'Oh, I think I can help you avoid wasting time. He told me so much! Always knew his grandson would open up his heart, in his own words.'

The werehorse's skeptical eyes moved between the silent, shaking Misha and I, but he didn't say anything, just gesturing for me to continue.

***

'...I suppose you're right,' I grudgingly agreed to Rivka's earlier statement, and felt her relax slightly. 'I  can go to them, but...' but Alex was too damn scared of me to meet, and it made me want to rip myself apart. Bianca was...in a bad place. Something had changed, and a short call to Aaron had made me think it would've been better to let her relax a while after the kidnapping.

Luci was going to her, anyway. Weird as he'd sounded, those two could never remain upset when together. I was happy for them.

As for Andrei...maybe I'd go looking for him in the aether, one day, but not now. He'd lost his aimless, half-empty life in a shitty, shitty way, and not even one he'd expected. He deserved to rest.

'But you don't believe Constantin is in there.' Rivka tapped her head, while I shook mine.

'If he is, he's a prisoner, whether he knows or not. Can't escape, and I doubt he can make decisions.' I ground my lower lip between my fangs. 'And I don't think I could handle seeing what he's become right now.'

'You don't have to,' Rivka said soothingly. Then, to defuse the situation a bit, or at least change the subject, even if briefly, 'What's with the beard?'

'Hah.' I rubbed it with one hand as the ghoul returned to her seat. 'I'm mourning, Riv. If I were human, I'd let it grow. As it is, I had to shapeshift.'

'I'm sure Andrei would be honoured.'

And my father, too, I hoped. 'Well, I'm always in black around here, so I had my work cut out for me.' Finally with a beard to stroke, I took advantage of it on every occassion I could. 'I never did learn why our uniforms are black. Maybe ARC mourns the times we failed, or were too late.'

'I always thought it was to show we meant to make the distinction of good and evil something obvious and real,' Rivka opined, gesturing at the white shields on her shoulders and chest. 'Then I woke up, and thought maybe we should wear grey, but I guess the quartermasters are lazy.'

ARC's internal politics cheered me up as much as the unintentional reminder of my future self's undertaker outfit. Rivka's next words only compounded my great mood.

'Now, are you going to tell me what you want to do? Or should I call Loric, who feels obligated to never shut his mouth?'

'...I want to kill, Rivka.'

The ghoul briefly lowered her head, closing her eyes and mouthing "Oh, God", and I fought not to rip her head off. 'David, killing won't make your friends better.'

'It'll keep other people from ending up like them.'

'You're not cut out for fieldwork,' Rivka said briskly. 'Look at yourself. If you want action, you can point out cults for us, but David, I'm asking this as a friend: please don't go into the field now. Please don't force me to make it an order.'

...she was so frail to me, Rivka. I could've killed her with a thought, but I didn't want to. Not really. All my power reminded me of was how precious her and everyone like her were. It was easier to crush than to cradle. To cherish.

'Szabo won't judge me for wanting to kill people who deserve it.'

'No, he'll encourage you. Which would be immensely helpful, given how you're so angry you could cry,' Rivka snapped. 'He went on a mission, anyway, and he hasn't returned yet-no, you're not joining him. So I don't see how you could meet if you wanted to.' The ghoul's dry smile was tight-lipped. 'And, David? Unless you decide to ignore the hierarchy just because your stick is bigger than mine, neither you nor Loric can go over my head.' She reached across the desk, grabbing one of my hands and squeezing it. 'And Szabo is a fucking monster. So, next time you need help, please, don't talk to him first. I'm here. I'll do anything I can to help you-it's what Marcus would've wanted. Gaol John expects senior agents to also be qualified but unpaid therapists, otherwise he'll send his own and throw a bitchfit. Let's avoid that, alright?'

I squeezed back, then pulled my hand away, putting it in my lap, next to the other one, and looked down at them. 'Would I be allowed to request that one of your fellow senior agents accompany me in an unofficial trip unrelated to combat?' Hopefully. 'When I'm not otherwise engaged.'

'The formal bullshit won't make your almost-blunder poof away,' Rivka warned me, then her voice warmed up a little. 'Tell me what you want, and I'll discuss it with Szabo if I decide it's a good idea. Don't worry about leaving him hanging, I sent him a message telling him to stay put and remember what his job is.'

I did, watching Rivka's frown deepen with every word. 'Fucking-beautiful. You're sure you don't want something less risky? I heard Head al-Hazred is organising naked sightseeing trips on Yuggoth.'

'I'm sure.'

Rivka stifled a groan. 'With your luck, she'll either start fighting all of us, or join us. No way you and the nightmare taxidermist are going alone. We'll see if the Strangeguard has some powerful but expendable chucklefucks to escort you. Tsar Power, maybe.'

I bet she enjoyed my grimace, the little harridan.

'Besides that...' she rubbed her brow with two fingers. 'Thanks for sharing your encounter with Misha Dravich, and the info you gleaned from that vision. I'll report to Reem, and we'll see what there is to do, if anything.'

The following silence might not have been comfortable...but it was a far cry from how on edge we'd been since I'd entered Rivka's office to tell her what I wanted to do. I had a feeling that, if I'd left and sent her a text, she and Reem would've clobbered me to death.

But I respected her, and I told her as much. Contacting Szabo first had been a...spur of the moment.

'I know, David,' she replied. 'And I'm glad you told me what happened in Bucharest first, rather than Szabo.' She made a face. 'Do yourself a favour, and hold your mouth around him. About that, at least.'

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

***

Mia hadn't flirted with any of her and David's friends yet, because she and her boyfriend had only hooked up recently. It wasn't that they didn't turn her on, but, when she was with him, at least, she wanted to try and disprove the idea of zmei drooling over anything that moved.

At the moment, David wasn't who she wanted. Not mentally. It wasn't his fault, of course, and he'd accepted that. A request to have a go at Cloudshade would have ended up with everyone giving her the stink eye, even if the Unseelie had agreed. Or at least questioning her tastes, not that she wasn't doing it herself.

Sure, the chick was pretty tall and buff by human standards, which made her a deliciously-muscled shortstack by Mia's, but...ugh. That was all. Her style and looks combined didn't make up for a tenth of the entitled wackjob personality.

Which was why she'd grit her fangs and went home with David. It had been a pretty lame night, conpared to their usual. Not  his fault, as she'd reassured him while making out. But, by the time he'd failed to get anywhere by eating her out(thank whoever had made zmei they were close enough to humans, physiologically-speaking), she'd confessed her heart just wasn't in it.

"Then why did you agree to start at all?" David had asked, slightly dismayed. Not at failing to get her off, but at the thought she hadn't wanted sex and had only started for his sake.

"Babe, I'm sorry," she'd smiled apologetically. "I  do want this, but, ah, you know what it's like. It can't always be you. Too much of a good thing can burn you out."

David had matched her weak smile with one of his own, which she'd taken as encouragement. "You  did help scratch my itch, don't worry. Took the edge off after that creepy bitch got me hot and bothered." Sometimes, it was better not to get what you wanted. "Mind if I take care of it from here?"

David had sighed. "As long as you don't feel that I'm pressuring you..."

"You're not," she'd replied. "David, I won't always get the hots for people I can or  should reach out to. And that's fine. It-physically-is fine if you're around to help me out. Thank you."

"...you're welcome."

Of course, then had come that weird dream they had shared, but not really; then, while she'd been showering, David had gone on to report to his boss, and returned crying, learning worse and worse news as he got closer to home.

Because the world just couldn't help but hurt her strigoi, could it?

A jump from Alex made her tighten her arms around the ghost, increasing her body temperature a little. Touching him felt weird, but she'd gotten used to several body types over the years, and, at the risk of making David throw his hands up, the cold had never bothered her anyway.

Which was why she'd taken Adriana's place comforting the ghost, to the woman's relief, as soon as a grateful but worried Mihai had explained the situation upon her arrival.

Well. As much as he could, before Alex calmed down enough to do it himself.

Maybe her instincts hadn't changed tack yet, but Mia realised she wasn't checking out anyone in the room, to her surprise. Or maybe it was just the stress?

'I don't want you to think I'm...talking shit about him, Mia,' Alex started, making her rub his back. The ghost nodded gratefully, then gulped, not looking at her. 'I know you love him. You two are great for each other, but...'

'Alex, I'm not going to do anything to you just because I'm upset,' she promised. 'And you can call me biased if you want, but I refuse to believe David would, unless he absolutely had to.' If that creepy bastard who'd killed Alex-and who, by description, sounded eerily similar to the one she had dreamed about-was even David at all.

'He said he saw no other way.' The ghost's voice was flat, toneless. 'Except for shattering his own mind.'

'Do you think you can share more about that?'

Whether he could remember was one thing, but would he be willing to?

'...you deserve to know,' Alex finally said.

And, though Mia smiled encouragingly, she couldn't help but feel he had phrased it threateningly.

***

Death was both quicker and less painful than Alex had expected. Instant, actually-he'd only realised he'd died after seeing his corpse-and painless. Nothing like the long, drawn-out ruination of his lungs and mind.

Despite the urgings. Despite the times he'd been called an altruistic moron. The time a mage or priest spent healing him could be used helping someone who actually needed it.

Alex had suspected, on some lonely nights, his house empty but for coughing, that one of his friends would get fed up with his refusals and just...drag him to a healer.

Heh...dying of asthma in a world filled with magic, tech that might as well have been magical, and even stranger shit? How weird was that? How stupid would future generations think he'd been, upon looking back at his life?

David had suprised him, though, as his friend often did. The being who'd ended his life with a thought might have looked like a strigoi, though with even darker eyes, but he recognised David. The voice, the part that still sounded human, was his.

And now, he wasn't letting him go. Why wasn't he? What more did he want from him?

'You can hate me, Alex,' David said, hands in his pockets but somehow holding his soul in place. 'I would be shocked if you didn't. But remember: this, like everything that preserves creation, is necessary.'

'How?' he demanded. 'How does murdering me...? What are you talking about?'

David's dark eyes were filled with guilt, and so, so much love Alex was taken aback. His friend had never showed his feelings like this. Maybe, except around his father.

'Soon, I will die too, by my own hand. Being ignored will push me far-forgive the ungratefulness. I will not be thinking about you, or the others, when I end myself.' David smiled sadly. 'Not how much you care, nor how much you will be hurt. I will be a fool-and that, too, is necessary.'

'What  for, David? Why must you do this?'

His friend-his murderer-laughed humourlessly. 'After I die, I will become a strigoi. If I don't, I will be unable to become what I am,' he gestured at himself. 'And if I don't, everything will end. And to become a strigoi, I must despair. I must rail at injustice, and rage against the world, which only goes on when people like you-good, selfless people, better than I'll ever be-die. Where are your miracles? Where are your rewards? Just because you refuse help, and for the sake of others, at that, why must you never be thanked? Why do others, so much less deserving, have luck heaped upon them, even though they don't help anyone, or waste their lives doing harm?'

...he was fucking insane. Not zealous-he was calm. But he possessed that serene, twisted conviction Alex only saw in serial killers or some of the worse supernaturals.

'You've changed, David.'

'For worse,' his friend agreed. 'And, yet, for the better.'

***

Aaron's human form was bald, with a long, red beard and deep brown eyes. Tall and muscular, straddling the line between bulk and gigantism, he was just small enough to still fit in rooms sized for humans.

Like the one where Bianca had just finished being interrogated. The iela had refused requests to sit down and calm herself a little before being questioned, instead just letting the telepathic mages into her mind.

It seemed, to Aaron, like she'd wanted to just be done with it. Like she'd been tired, despite iele being incapable of that.

The Mother of the Forest had been as grim as a headstone during the proceedings, staring at Bianca without blinking or saying a word as she stood at Aaron's side.

She had, however, at one moment, taken off her shawl, freeing her long, white hair. Everyone had looked at her like she'd just placed a mana nuke on the floor, but nothing had come of it.

Funny, Aaron thought. Bianca was looking more similar to the Mother than any of her sisters, though he wasn't stupid enough to call the hag ugly to her regrettably-exposed face.

The witch must've read his mind, at least metaphorically, with how she'd grinned up at him, needle teeth separated by gaps a dragonfly could've gone through.

By the end of it, the Service agents looked just as confused as Aaron felt, but didn't let that slow them down. A few left to contact ARC, others to begin their own investigation, leaving only a handful.

'Did the iele,' a weredog-Andrei Dravich's former partner, Aaron thought-began. 'Or this...individual calling himself David Silva, seem honest to you?'

'They were.' Bianca sounded oddly lifeless, almost robotic. 'They had no reason to lie, and David-I recognised him-has always been awful at it.'

***

'Let me  go, David!' Bianca knew she couldn't escape, but futility had never stopped her. She'd always struggled against the inevitable. 'What is  wrong with you?'

She'd been grateful for the save, at first, though surprised at David's presence. Then, she'd noticed the unusual clothes, the beard, the eyes...

Her friend sounded and  felt older, in that way primeval landmarks did. Something was wrong.

'I have no right to ask for forgiveness, Bia,' he said. 'But please, know there is no malice in this. I love you like the sister I've never had.'

Had she been human, her insides would have churned. It was all weird enough without the guilt in David's-dark again? What had happened?-eyes, or the strange tone of his voice. Because, she knew, he was being honest.

'Where are you taking-' their passage through a monochrome void, flashes of grey, black and white rushing by, had not involved movement. David, after dispatching that bastard ogre with a construct that looked and sounded just like Lucian, had grabbed her arm, then...

There had been a sense of being pulled along, through something stiff but yielding, which felt dense despite being insubstantial. Like...fog made of cobwebs.

'-me?' she finished, noticing they had stopped, and in her home realm at that. The snow, cleaner than almost anywhere on Earth, felt warmer than David's hand did, even though her dress' sleeve.

He didn't try to stop her when Bianca pulled her arm back. 'Why are we here? What the hell are you not telling me?'

'...are you familiar with the Multitude of Minds, Bianca?'

What... 'It's a coalition of alien telepaths, right? The one Grey One came from?' She crossed her arms. 'What about them?'

'A while ago, a young but powerful mind was stolen from Russia, just like you were stolen by me-'

'Don't talk about me like I'm an object,' she warned him.

David held up his hands. 'I misspoke. But kidnapping hardly sounds better, does it? That young mind will grow in the ages to come, Bianca. The Multitude's dream is beautiful, but they only accept telepaths into the fold. There are many beings who yearn for such comradeship, and would greatly benefit from it, as would creation as a whole. She will bind them to herself and herself to them, and oh, such beautiful harmony they will create...'

'Fell free to explain where I come in, once you stop being misty-eyed,' Bianca snapped, not liking this nonsense. Her sisters were approaching, and the pit in her stomach was growing with each step.

David nodded. 'Sorry. Sometimes, it's hard to act like time exists. This unifier of thoughts will need someone to ease her doubts and guide her, as will her chosen. Who better than you?'

She forced herself to laugh disbelievingly. 'Me? What the hell do I know about...any of that? I'm not more powerful than any of my sisters, nor more skilled. Why not take one of them? There's nothing I can do that they can't, and I doubt you'd miss any of them.'

'You'd throw your sisters to the wolves?'

Bianca scoffed. At least his sense of humour was the same. 'I'm not a coward, David. I just love my own skin more than any of them.'

Which was not to say she hated them. But their relationship had never been warm, after she'd left home. Any help after that had been out of obligation-they had raised her, after all-, and her sisters didn't hate her either, but...

'I know, Bia. Trust me.' My, but he wasn't asking for much at all, was he? 'You'll help your sisters grow too, don't worry. And so, so many others...'

'Why me?'

'Because,' David answered. 'They'd never do what they'll put you through to each other.'

***

'If I may ask a question of my own?' The weredog nodded at Bianca, who turned to the Mother of the Forest. 'Why are you here? I am grateful for the help, but I fail to see a good reason, especially when you should be hurrying elsewhere.'

'I've always seen you girls as mine,' the Mother answered. 'How many of you grew up in my forests? And Aaron here is good to have as a friend.' She lightly patted his arm, turning it to vapour from the sheer force. Aaron was grateful she was preventing collateral, even as he glared down at her. 'As for where I should be...you were just talking about necessity, my dear. My sister will survive, and the life born of her will make the world a better place.'

'However...'

'However,' the Mother grinned. 'That doesn't mean I have to be thankful for what he did to her.'

Aaron was about to ask what she meant when his phone began vibrating. Taking it out, he saw it was a call from Lucian. The zmeu hoped against hope that things hadn't gone too badly.

'Hello?'

'Greetings, Aaron. Is Bianca well? Please, pass my well wishes, and apologies that I wasn't there when I should have been, to her. Tell her I desire to meet at her earliest convenience, if you don't mind. Thank you, brother.'

As the call ended, Aaron looked at his phone like a Pentecostal demon had jumped out of it and started preaching.

What the fuck?

Luci had never talked like that, even as a joke. Had Maws done something? How the hell did he know they'd rescued her?

And why was he being so polite?

Aaron had half a mind to call back and ask what had happened; during the call, he'd been too baffled to ask.

Bianca giggled, drawing his attention to her, at the same time the Mother disappeared.

'Is my lover concerned? He need not hurry. We will never be without each other.'

He, Aaron thought to himself, had liked them better before.

***

Tyrone woke up to something that froze his skin, leaving his limbs numb, at the same time it boiled his insides.

His Lord, judging by his breath, was displeased.

The priest of Baal pushed himself to his elbows and knees, swaying. His cheek had been pressed against something lukewarm and slimy, but hard. Like a steel wall covered in marrow.

The rectangular floor disappeared instantly, leaving him falling in an endless, dark void.

His Lord, taking the form of a golden calf with eyes of ruddy fire, filled his vision.

'Yahweh's mouthpieces handed you over to me,' Baal began. 'After they put you down. They knew nothing they could conceive of would be worse than what you deserve from me.'

'But...but I did as you ordered, Lord! I took their garb, I entered their gathering-'

'And you played your hand far too late,' Baal interrupted. 'Had the Orthodox not noticed your allegiance, would you have reached out at all? When? After the meeting was done, like a child going to the teacher after class?'

'Lord, if you saw me faltering, could you not have...seized my spirit? Used me as your vessel?'

'Of course I could have.'

'Then why...?'

'Because, you monument to idiocy,' Baal answered. 'They would have taken it as a declaration of war. I am remembered as a tyrannical god and devourer of children! They equate me to Beelzebub! I would say I know how Thoth feels about Hermes, but at least the messenger never took his name. What do you think they'd have done if I'd posessed you?'

Tyrone had no answer.

Baal huffed. 'I knew I should have reached out to the Prosperity Gospel misers more, and damn Yaldabaoth's pushback.  Chernobog is having more success influencing the world than I am, and leaving aside the fact that he wouldn't know a temple from an outhouse, he couldn't even look at Earth until recently.' The god shook his great horned head. 'I should wash my hands of you, and feed you to DEATH...but you still have your uses.'

'Lord?' Tyrone's voice was a hopeful whisper. He didn't dare raise it.

'You failed me for the first time,' Baal said. 'But, though the failure was as staggering as your spinelessness, I am hard-pressed to find worshippers nowadays. I cannot forget your past deeds, either. So hearken, my priest...

***

Pierre scrabbled to all four at first, then staggered to his feet. He felt as if he had just gotten over a hangover, or a trance...

The Lord.

'You took over my mind,' he spoke to the Messiah's statue. 'You knew my distaste for Silva, but, guided by Your hand, I still prayed for him.'

'Because you wished to help him, my son,' the statue answered, golden features shifting from serene to beneficent. 'You know it to be true.'

'Perhaps,' Pierre admitted. 'But why did he have to burn me alongside the traitor?'

'Had you been without doubt, you would have been unharmed. Look at Angus Murphy-heathen turned faithful, and as sure of himself as Hell is eternal.' The statue spread a hand. 'And the one who called himself Tyrone was not a traitor. You have to swear yourself to something first to betray it.'

'A liar, then,' Pierre scowled. 'Not someone deserving to be compared to me, in any case.' He hugged himself, scorched arms flaking. 'I should not have been burned.'

'Shouldn not have been?'

'I am  FAITHFUL!' Pierre roared in the statue's face. 'Yet you raped my mind, forced me to pray to you for a brute's sake! Forced me...was that how you hardened Pharaoh's heart, too? This thoughtlessly?'

The statue was unfazed by Pierre's snarl. 'What do you desire, exactly?'

'If you were worthy, I would have prayed to you myself! No matter how deserving Silva is...no matter how important.'

'You are right, Pierre. But for one detail-which, as always, is the Devil's lair.'

'And how am I wrong?' the priest challenged.

'You think,' the statue smiled. 'That you are speaking to Christ.'

***

Angus pressed himself against the wall, air feeling like knives in his lungs. The Lady's graven image was still impassive, though, somehow, warmer.

'Why'd You do it? I don't understand. Costi is a stubborn hypocrite of a heretic, but he doesn't deserve to be trapped in his own mind. I would have prayed for him myself, Mother...'

'INDEED, OUR SON,' God acknowledged, Her perfect face made even more beautiful by her smile. As if having stepped down from the church's wall, She stood in front of him, and was everything he had dared imagine-and more. A mane of white hair framed a gorgeous face, with no wrinkles except those around Her glowing, pure white eyes.

The sense of ancient agelessness extended to Her body, the curves visible even under the loose white robes. Angus felt a twinge of shame as he noticed this, but She smiled.

'YOU NEEDN'T TRY TO HIDE FROM US, OUR SON. IT IS FUTILE, BUT MORE THAN THAT, WE UNDERSTAND.'

Angus wasn't sure his lust for the Almighty was a safer subject to broach than the one they'd started with, but at this point, he was willing to take anything.

'You are not mad?' he asked hesitantly.

'YOUR ADMIRATION IS ENDEARING, OUR SON, BUT WE ONLY LOVE YOU AS ALL MOTHERS DO THEIR CHILDREN. OUR WIFE IS THE SECOND ONE WE HAVE TAKEN, AS WE ONCE TOOK ASHERAH.'

Angus knew being envious of the Virgin Mary was ridiculous, and blasphemous besides, but he couldn't help the jealousy that flared up at the thought of the Holy Virgin getting to worship the Lady in such a manner.

Well, might as well shoot his shot. The thought of smiting didn't seem that terrible anymore. 'Would You...would You be willing to take a husband as well?'

Her smile widened as She placed a hand on his head, the priest leaning into the touch. 'WE WOULD RATHER YOU STOPPED MOCKING CONSTANTIN'S LOVE, WHEN YOUR OWN AMBITIONS ARE FAR GRANDER.'

'...yes, Mother.'

'HEAR US, OUR SON. WE WOULD ASK SOMETHING OF YOU...'

***

Gerald furiously wiped his glasses as he watched the aliens depart.

Well. The negotiations might have fallen flat, but at least they hadn't made new enemies.  That was something, in the Argument Engine's words.

The telepath had refused to talk until Grey One was presented to it, safe and unaltered, uncaring of the Shaper's promises and reassurances. The Xhalkhians had vowed to watch Earth, and the Collective in particular, in the future, to make sure they didn't misuse their powers.

And the Vyzhaldi, looking unimpressed with the whole mess, had left wordlessly.

'Aberrant Reyes?'

'Yes?' he bit out the word, tone more acidic than the Shaper, just as beleaguered as him, deserved. 'Please forgive me. What did you want to say?'

'The Collective shall continue searching for Grey One. ARC's assistance would, if available, be appreciated.'

Gerald laughed weakly. 'I'll see what I can do.'

First, though...he had a world to preserve.

'And you,' the Shaper turned to Mocker. 'Why didn't you say anything?'

'It's not that I froze up,' the reptilian protested with an irate preemptive glance at the Engine. 'But there was nothing I would have said that you didn't.'

***

Adam looked up, grin fading as the shadow fell over him.

Mother Wound. The common, yet living ancestor of the Vyzhaldi, and the goddess-queen in all but name of their Honoured Kratocracy.

And her Motherguard.

'The Terran anomaly,' one of the bodyguards, green-shelled and blue-eyed, spoke. 'Our Mother knew of you ever since you arrived, and shared her knowledge with us. You...' she looked him up and down. 'Are not what we expected.'

'As I am often told,' the undead replied. 'I do not look that different compared to when I left Earth, truly. I've merely grown a foot.'

'You only had one lower limb before?'

Ah...language barrier. Still, somewhat, in effect. Best avoid misunderstandings.

Adam idly wondered if the aliens used metric.

'I mean I was eight foot tall, rather than nine. Or less than half your height.'

The Motherguard nodded. 'You were described strangely, and poorly. You look like a Terran, except larger.'

'What did you think I'd look like?'

'We are not sure. You were described as a "creature". However...'

Adam frowned as the Vyzhaldi spoke. "Creature" might as well have been his name on Earth.

***

Christine was as pleasingly warm and soft in his arms as she had ever been.

After dinner-Ned's "my other ride is your daughter" had prompted some entertaining reactions from Elijah, though he'd changed it when she'd glared at him-they had gone to her old room.

Not to do anything specific, much as he'd have liked to make her his once again, and forever. Just sit in the dark, speak, and unwind.

That, they had never stopped doing.

'I'm not apologizing for the outburst.'

Understandable. He  was a son of a bitch. 'S'alright, hen. I deserved worse.'

She sniffed, not looking at him. 'And you're  sure David Silva is the only one fit to be...Keeper?'

'As sure as I am that I love you.'

'Fixer...'

'Do you think I'm lying, Chris?' he took her hand into his, tracing the knuckles, the calluses. 'Or joking? I'd only joke to make you laugh.'

'That's good, Ned. I'm just curious why you never thought to share this information.'

Oh, Fifi...bless your bleeding heart. 'If I had, all my plans would have failed. Nothing that happened since the Cold Madness,' when he'd taken David to that shelter, to make sure he'd light a fire in his heart upon leaving his love alone with her worries, surrounded by strangers, upon seeing his father again. 'Would have shaped him as he needed to be.'

'But like this, it all proceeded according to your design?'

Fixer smirked. 'I'd say you can bet your cute geeky arse, but, honestly, it was more of a group project. I'll have to tell you more abou that.'

'See that you do.' She paused. 'What do you want, Ned? What are you aiming for?'

'None of this happened because I wanted to, sweetheart. It's all for everyone's good. You think I don't care about David? The Keeper and I are practically brothers. As for what I want...' he cupped her chin, wishing they weren't on the edge of her bed. 'I want you, Christine. I want creation safe, and happy, and free to grow. Scheming brings me as much joy as power does.'

'Ned, I've told you. I don't know if I want that again, especially not after this.'

'Take your time. Mull things over.' Because, outside of time, she was his as he was hers. Every queen needed a jester, Fixer thought as he pushed along one alien, and let go of another.

***

Myriad had seen many bizarre things over the decades. Mao's bizarre conviction, the Koreans who'd fought against reunification after civil war had wreaked the peninsula, the Vietnamese who'd aggressively pushed France out, before begininning a brief but tense standoff against the Americans...

Yet, no oddity could stand against China's meritocratic spirit and mastery of cultivation. As mediators or advisors they'd prevented several skirmishes from turning into wars, and Myriad had always been present. His ability to fuse with anything, from people and constructs to tools and the environment itself, or even concepts, was invaluable.

This mission seemed like it'd be short and simple, which had nothing to do with being easy.

Tunguska, a towering behemoth with legs of lava, a torso of stone, arms of water and a head like a hurricane, had pointed out the target. Dharma had removed obstacles, while Myriad, after fusing with a temple dog, had followed the spoor alongside Rei Polneia, as Kriegblitz-nothing visible under the green, silver-trimmed greatcoat, black gloves and brown, red-visored gasmask, though he could still tell the German was smirking-moved them.

To her, every span of time was equal, and eternal. She could move any distance at infinite speed, or, if she wished, simply appear at the desired destination, should she wish. Her ability to manipulate photons and vibrations was less useful. It hadn't been needed yet.

The trip had gone smoothly. Suspiciously so, even with Kriegblitz's assistance.

Usually, Myriad found the precautions Armament took ridiculous at best, but, for once, he couldn't fault him.

That was how they found themselves in deep space, staring at the creepy little Russian girl, who, according to the briefing, shouldn't have been able to survive here.

Myriad scratched at his stubble-some arse had once told him wearing a fu manchu moustache was offensive towards Chinese people, as if he was Australian, or wearing it ironically; he'd still shaved after-, glancing at Armament.

The American had turned his body into swords, each an identical copy of Marmyadose, leaving him looking like the Shrike from Hyperion Cantos, or one of the robots from that game his nephews liked...what was it called, Battle Shape?

'Hans?'

'Smells like bait, Chang.' Armament crossed his bladed arms. 'I expect-'

Two portals opened: one next to Sofia, one a few thousand klicks away. From the first tumbled a little grey humanoid with a large head, while a house-sized, four-armed buglike giant flew from the other. Just as Myriad thought Grey One had last been reported heading to Russia, the portals closed.

'...Ok.' Armament pointed at their former locations. 'Neither of those.  But-'

Jim Bat smacked him.

***

Loric Szabo returned to the fight with a wistful expression.

Unusual, in such circumstances, but he  had been snubbed. Rivka Peretz had screamed his ear off for attempting to take advantage of an emotionally-vulnerable subordinate, before talking his brother down.

And what slaughter he had planned! What horror for them to sow and drink!

This incarnation of him wouldn't even have to leave the fight, for, fear being everywhere, he could simply manifest as many as he wanted, but no. Which left him alone with the buffoon and the ranting Nazi.

Even the bug had left! Oh, such things Loric wanted to do to him... alas, he would have to do with what he had.

Dirlewanger was becoming increasingly unhinged as the fight went on. Aside from the usual ideologically-driven ramblings, he'd also started warping the infinite reality they were in, while also trying to turn them into something equally harmless and horrible, or simply trying to erase them.

All attempts failed. Dirlewanger had nothing holy, so he couldn't have even affected Szabo before the changes he had gone through, much less Ryd'yk.

Szabo had devoured several fearmongers across creation, becoming more and more powerful and versatile, as like called to like. He was so, so close to the Fear Archetype, he could taste it! And he would...

There was, however, the matter of Ubermensch's passive power. The reason they had never attempted to destroy him, instead opting for this halfhearted imprisonment. As the embodiment of his, in Loric's opinion, painfully boring philosophy, he was empowered by destruction, violence, terror, and oppressions, whether caused or suffered, whether performed in the name of Hitler's legacy or not.

Luckily, they had similar abilities. Dirlewanger was a living nightmare, which meant Loric grew to match him in power at every turn. Ryd'yk, meanwhile, became more powerful whenever something absurd or ridiculous happened.

Dirlewanger had created a tree on and in which his creations, his victims, were impaled and tortured. Countless mindless creatures, writhing on a bone-white tree that made universes look like raindrops next to a sequoia.

Loric could see several universe, each twelve trillion light years in diametre, slide into the infinitely-larger realm Ubermensch had created. They were nigh-invisible even compared to the tree's innumerable black leaves, much less its trunk.

'You filthy animal corpse!' Dirlewanger screamed hatefully as he struck at him and Ryd'yk at the same time. Around them, Loric could sense tachyons, faster than light but frozen in place to their perception, and knew it wasn't just a trick of perspective.

The difference in speed between them and the FTL particles was not finite. They had all become as fast as Blitzkrieg, and Loric was sure she'd have made a snide comment about them trying to catch up justso they could stop eating her dust.

Loric caught Dirlewanger's punch with one hand, while Ryd'yk simply smiled as the Nazi's other fist smashed against what passed for its face. A fraction of the punches' force radiated outwards, and, though he and Ryd were more than durable enough to be completely unharmed, the tree wasn't.

Quintillions of light years thick, it was subjected to incredible pressures just by virtue of existing. Even if one had gathered all the matter in Loric's universe, converted it into energy, then shot it at the tree as a focused beam, it wouldn't have cracked its bark.

The aftereffects of Dirlewanger's punches, however, reduced it to a cloud of dust and splinters. The leaves were obliterated, no sign of them remaining, while the wretches...

Died quickly, at least, if not painlessly.

Loric's headbutt broke Dirlewanger's nose, which did little to improve his looks, and the Nazi's backhand ripped his jaw off.

Yes...this was definitely going to be a long fight, Loric thought as Ryd'yk, jumping in power, turned Ubermensch to bloody gobbets half a dozen times with a series of swipes, only for the Nazi to regenerate.

***

Rei Polneia had acess to an infinity of bodies. Quintillions on Earth, from seemingly ordinary bugs for spying to hulking combat forms, but his true arsenal was in a different reality, as endless as his creations.

And yet, despite his boundless mental prowess, Gerhard was at a loss as the target he had been sent to retrieve squealed in joy, airless void and all, when Grey One crashed into her, and what looked like a Honoured Kratocrat charged at them, features confused, but full of resolute anger.

He was tempted to open up his realm of insects, but the rest of the taskforce would give him grief. Still, any situation that made him want to go back to Dirlewanger was bad.

He wondered what was going on there. Couldn't have been worse than here, or on Earth.

***

Gilgamesh. Perun. Hou Yi. Susanoo. Mars. Apollo. Hermes. His good friend Heracles. Even Asterion, who had been recalled from Lithuania to Siberia.

And, last but certainly not least, himself.

Thor held his warhammer over one shoulder, scowling at Chernobog as he turned to grin at them. Behind the Black God, naked, flesh full of spiked ebony chains, a young woman he recognised as Baba Yaga was nailed to what had once been one of her house's support pillars with her own ribs.

'You did not rape her.' Perun's thunderous voice did not disturb a single leaf. The old god's brow was furrowed, eyes as white as his beard narrowing. 'Why?'

'Rape is cheap.' Chernobog stretched. 'Whether the mind, the body or the spirit is taken by force...it is childish to be offended by it. Do not all beasts take each other like this? And yet, mankind refuses to accept nature, while greater fools encourage them.'

'People are supposed to be  better.' Gilgamesh glared, the golden bindings of his long dark beard clinking against his breastplate as they swayed in the wind.

'Please. I swear half of this pitiful world's watchdogs have been raped. You'd think they'd accept the facts at some point.'

'If you didn't do it, why make her change appearance?' Asterion gestured at the tortured witch, making Chernobog's grin widen.

'There is such pleasure to be found in marring beauty...' the Black God pressed a clawed hand over where a human's heart would have been. 'Besides. If she'd stayed as she usually looks...how could I have even noticed I was doing anything?'

Thor's face curled in disgust. 'But he  did force himself upon her, Perun. Maybe not directly, but he planted his seed in her womb, when her struggles stopped.'

Chernobog tilted his head. 'You sound surprised. I need creation to  exist if I am to rule it, and a child sired upon Yaga would help, even if they never inherit my throne...yes, errand boy? Share the joke, so we might laugh as well.'

Hermes held up a gauntleted hand in front of his mouth, hiding his smirk. 'You, helping creation? You wanted to kill the Keeper, you idiot.'

'And you think, with his body and memories at my disposal, I could not perform his role better than him?' The Black God shook his head pityingly. 'You poor fool...'

'Enough talk.' Heracles held up his weapons, and chains grew from Chernobog's body as the heroes charged.

And heads flew.

***

Poor little Asterion...damned before birth by a fool's greed. Imprisoned for nothing. Offered a longer leash in exchange for servitude.

Did you really think it would end like this? When I was falling between oblivion and torment, I learned what I can decay, and thus unmake.

Everything, minotaur. Including the limits to my power. So, go on. Draw upon your plundered powers. Summon your labyrinth. Stamp your hooves. Bare your fangs.

It won't matter. I amused myself, and still drew you all here.

You will make fine slaves.

***

The starspawn was too detached, with too cold a mind, to be described as excited. It was, however, expectant.

The barrier it had been sealed behind since its unplanned exile was falling...no, being pulled apart.

Was its primogenitor reaching out towards it? What honour!

It must have defeated the intruders, and taken all there was as its own. Such vistas it would behold, in its sire's new domain.

After all, everything must have changed.

***

When Lucas heard what I wanted, his mood, just as shitty as mine, brightened.

Lucian had already left by the time I'd arrived, though I glimpsed, with my godsight, a golden-scaled body, curved spikes dotting the forearms, while straight ones rose from his shoulders and tail, as they once had from his mace. More spikes curved up at the sides of his crest, forming something like a crown.

His eyes were black, with yellow slits.

The former colours, reversed. Subtle.

As we tore apart the Cthulhi's cage, the squamous mass of tentacles and eldritch light moved forward, seeming almost excited. Then, it noticed us.

Forget Szabo. I could find acceptable targets by myself. Not like I didn't have time.

'This the rapist?' Lucas asked through the aether, all six eyes on the starspawn, holding Three Moons Falling with both hands.

'Mia stopped it at "molester", actually,' I answered.

'Well.' Too angry to smoke, he instead clicked his fangs. 'That changes everything, doesn't it?'

***

'...hey, Mona.'

'Andrei? I...I never thought we'd meet again.' The girl's long brown hair fell over eyes brimming with tears.

He pushed it aside, revealing a face that would never grow old. 'Neither did I.'

She shook her head, lips trembling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. 'I'm so sorry...I should've told you. I-'

'Hush.' He hugged her back. 'Both of us have to make amends, but you were no worse a mother than I was a father.'

'Our son...is David alright? Is he alive?' Her voice died down to a whisper. 'Why'd you come to me?'

Ha... 'I planned...wanted to die for him, you know. Helping him. To make up for...everything.'

'Andrei...'

'Forgive me.' Dammit, but even the aether had dust to get into his eyes.

'I didn't see...all that happened. My mind is not always whole. You've caught me on a good day.'

'Any day I catch you is good.'

They both smiled, though hers was thin. 'Hey, hey. We have forever to...if you want to.'

'I'm not sure we do,' she looked into the distance. 'So answer me this: were you a good father?'

'...I don't know if David loved me, in the end.' He pulled her against his chest. 'But he didn't hate me.'

Damn dust...still, at least her laugh was beautiful.