Ken was looking at the moon.

That was not new. Astronomy had always been an interest of his, even before his magic had awakened, allowing him to perceive things in real time, regardless of distance. But the moon...

His fascination with the satellite had been attributed to a variety of reasons by his detractors, including a speciesist joke about him having werewolf ancestry.

He did not, in fact, have any. Even if that had been the case, all variations of therianthropy were transmitted through bites, scratches, exchanges of fluids. Not, perhaps bafflingly, to a were's child, simply because of who their parents were.

Ken suspected there was a metaphysical component at work there, but he digressed. The maroons who'd so slandered him knew less about parabiology than they did about psychology, his in particular, if they thought his affection for Luna was  genetic.

No...genetics, and their supernatural analogues, were brutish things, set in their ways, hard, if not impossible to change. Not for lack of capacity, but of will. However, if he started thinking about ethics, he'd waste even more time.

Ken's infatuation with the moon was, to put it bluntly, just the first stage of his love for the universe itself. Being the celestial body closest to Earth, it was the easiest to reach. The rest would follow, in time, but the American mage did not believe in starting, or attempting to start other steps of his plans when he was yet to accomplish the first. Rushed work was sloppy work: after all, if his parents had focused less on  fucking and more on conceiving a child, maybe he wouldn't have been born so physically weak.

Short-sighted bastards...no matter. God had promised them to him, body, mind and soul, to do with as he pleased. Among other things...

About...eight years ago? Maybe a smidge more. It was so hard to focus, with the glory of God suffusing him...about eight or so years ago, Ken had been stopped by ARC-the Global Oligarchy's thugs in black-while attempting to show his love of creation.

It was simple: creation-and its unthinking, thus pure, contents-was the thing he loved most, after himself. What better way to show that love than by remaking everything into his image?

A narrow-minded fool-of the same tribe from which his parents sailed, the brutes-would have sarcastically asked why he didn't start with Earth, then, since he was already on it.

Sadly, even such simple answers needed at least half a brain cell to come up with, and common sense had clearly been named ironically. Why? Earth was positively crawling with the Oligarchy's lapdogs, the hounds that so fiercely snapped their jaws around the status quo to prevent it from changing. He had, with the optimism of the virtuous, believed Luna, more remote, would be a better place to start. Alas...

He had only been starting to carve his right eye into the surface when they'd found him, and stopped him, and imprisoned him...they'd taken away his license to practice magic, and told him to be grateful he wasn't being punished by one of the moon gods. Grateful!

And the last sign he needed to confirm their moral ineptitude, their spinelessness? Not a week after, a crater far greater appeared on the moon, then disappeared. Ken wracked his brain for an explanation for years, until God came to him, and revealed, in a dream, those responsible.

Not only had the mage and strigoi responsible gotten off with a slap on the wrist, the strigoi had willingly entered ARC!

It was a conspiracy!

That alone would have rankled, but God, His aspect as black as the sorrow He felt for Ken, as black as the velvet of the void, had revealed even more: how the mage responsible should have lost his magical license, but had kept it, with the official reason being that he'd done it to help a dying friend.

That had been a lie, of course. No fool was naïve enough to believe in  friendship as a justification, much less heartless blackguards like ARC. No-God showed him a laughing, scheming monster, without form but vile in aspect, pulling its puppets' strings from behind the scenes, making sure everything around the strigoi developed so that he'd be pushed to enter ARC, then...then...

God had showed Ken the monster's other face, eager to sunder His kingdom. Had showed him how He had been usurped, and how, should the puppet of the schemer-whose grin was a smiling mask over nothing-assume its intended place, creation would continue as it was, Godless and cruel.

Should the monster's mirror win, though, it would end entirely, and that could not be allowed. God needed people like him, fearless and willing to leave their mark upon history, in order to retake His crown.

Ken looked up at his beloved moon as his brethren continued the ritual. When it ended, the moon would become a new eye of God, the act of snubbing its false gods greatly empowering Him.

The requirements of the ritual had been exacting, however, else it would have been over in moments. The Russian astronomers' blood had to be warm; the moon needed to be drawn using the life fluid from the eyes that had gazed upon it for decades; its names in God's tongue with the blood from their still-beating hearts as they looked upon it...

Ken wished, blasphemously, that he could've just drawn in the snow, but...bah. What did a momentary inconvenience matter? Soon, he would become the regent of creation, God's deputy, remaking it in his image and His name.

Ken grinned under his skull mask, flexing his gloved fingers. Soon, beloved...

***

The last thing the poor, grasping fool saw had occupied his every dream and waking thought for years. It was only, I supposed, fitting, if not merciful.

Reading his thoughts as they came had been an unpleasant experience, like fishing in a cesspool. Erasing him and his underlings from existence, so thoroughly they would never be remembered by baseline humans anymore, had been both far quicker and more pleasant.

You just can't help yourself, can you? Clinging onto the smallest, pettiest hatred...building it up into evil.

Now you're just sounding dramatic, David. Do wronged people not deserve the truth, and a chance at making things right?

...I can hear their cry, Chernobog.

***

 Issei felt his spirit curdle in disappointment as he watched the water. Patches of it were frozen over, yes, and nothing was alive, as far as he could see...but there were still tides. Life had begun in water, and neither had a place in Kurokami's empire.

Issei had always been ambivalent towards Japan's past imperialistic ambitions. On the one hand, his forebears had been simultaneously too brash and a century too late for what they wanted. On the other...reminding gaijin of their place was always worthwhile.

Because they never reached towards his country except to take, did they? They threaten Japan into opening its borders; they cut off its oil supply; reptiles turn mad and the gods who let it happen not only get away scot free, they continue being worshipped, too!

And the Mars mission...even Yamada ended up making nice to the reptilians when they fell upon their alleged allies, just like the rest.

Kurokami had shown him a better way. A path that began in the hinterlands of the realm Japan had once beaten. All the past humiliations would be undone, if only he was faithful.

The gashadokuro's green eyes glowed with a light almost as sick as his permanent death head's grin. The priests might not have been lashed, but the implication of his presence was a whip unto itself, much less his glare...

His...glare...

Kurokami often appeared to Issei through visions or dreams, but...his gaze had never been like this. It had always been full of dark serenity, not a bright glare...

A bright...glare...?

***

The skeleton's bones crumbled into nothing, just like the soul he'd sold did under my glare, which soon turned to the god holding the slack strings of his lost puppet.

You dare?

The amusement didn't hide his anger, which made me wonder whether he was even trying to mask it, or failed because I could see through him.

Destroy your worshippers' souls? Why wouldn't I? I know you don't believe in sanctity, so it must be possessiveness, but...surely you can't be so greedy you've forgotten my promise?

I could spell what your promises are good for with your father's remains. Either of theirs.

My razor-edged smirk was just as ugly as his unnaturally-bright one. I am done letting you take from me, or anyone else. From now, I shall take from you.

***

Lev brings down the lash with some relish, and more than a little eagerness.

He is, and has always been, a petty man. It is said that even wretched people delight in the suffering of others: usually those lower than them, but sometimes their peers, too, or, the best, their superiors. There's a saying...Bulgarian? Romanian? "May the neighbour's goat die too." Lev Illych wholeheartedly agrees with both the sentiment and the saying.

This is why he glories in his duty as an overseer. Preparing humans to receive parts of Chernobog in order to be empowered is iffy work, at the best of times, unless their faith is strong-and those who are faithful are, usually, already empowered by him, in one way or another, to varying degrees. Or, if they are not, they are more useful to the Black God in their current positions.

The would-be Everdark are not useful, however, to any true extent. Yes, dogsbodies are always nice to have around, but these chumps got cowed by even him-and Lev knows he is a small, though not physically, man.

When Sof...when the little witch bloomed, and her powers woke up? He knew shit was about to go down. There had been no magic school in his former, now destroyed village, and, had he been a better man, Lev would, perhaps, thought to send her to a bigger town, in order to assure she had a proper education.

However...he hadn't wanted that. His wife had been a tailor (not a real job, as he'd told her many times, not that the silly old cow had been good for anything else), so he had provided for her and their kid. Logging had paid good enough that he had felt it was within his rights-indeed, entirely right-to do what he wanted in the house.

But his darling wife, the ungrateful bitch, had taken offence to that. Didn't they always? People with no skills had all the time to complain.

They fought, every day, all the time. He never laid a finger on her-he wasn't a brute-but she clearly couldn't be brought around to accepting him as head of the household, and that at at him.

The witch's magic manifesting had upset even that fragile, tumultuous order. Lev had been entirely mundane, in those days. How could he pretend to any authority when his daughter could do who knew what just by thinking? No, clearly, she'd either side with her mother or just attempt to take over herself, and fail disastrously.

Still, a small part of Lev had wrestled with whether to keep his daughter's powers a secret (maybe even from herself? Could he have managed it?), or send her away and thus reestablish order. In the end, he had time for neither.

The little freak, with all the power she could want and too stupid to handle it, snapped. She didn't understand that it was entirely normal-indeed, expected; healthy, even-for married couples to fight and argue. There was quite a fitting analogy Lev would have shared with her, if he'd known it was needed: two dogs in the same courtyard will snap at and bite each other, but they'll join forces in an instant against an intruder.

Had he told her that, maybe he would be here...but, in a way, it was better that it had happened like that. His eyes had been opened. Not by her-sje'd merely raped his mind, and her mother's, too, the monster. Made them puppets, forced to behave. The other villagers soon followed, and...

It had ended, in a relatively short time. Had ended well, to boot. He'd been sent to therapy and rehabilitation, given a new house and job in a new city, but...

Lev wouldn't bitch and whine about...emotional scars, though they were there. But he didn't want to be weak again, and, in the world that was, he would be. How long before another menace like the witch came along? One that didn't just take over minds, but simply destroyed? They wouldn't put him together after. They could, but they wouldn't. They'd ramble about the importance of life and death, how they were a light in the dark, the bedrock of human experience. Not something to be cheapened.

Bullshit. Chernobog had shown him what things were really like. Lev had always agreed with several of the, if you wanted to be flowery, revelations. Weres healing from anything but silver? Were those brief deaths, quickly reversed by regeneration, exempt from the bullshit of the cycle of existence?

Chernobog disagreed, and so did he. He wasn't a true believer, wasn't a worshipper, but the Black God had shown him the means by which he'd protect him from monsters, and heal him if he was somehow hurt, despite all odds.

And if all he had to do in exchange was something he liked, he wouldn't refuse.

The Unseelie Everdark were different from what they were making now. The Black God had been unable to take over them, for Fae were immune to direct esoteric effects, like most supernatural species, and they had manipulated the fragments of himself he had given them by means of their own powers.

Human Everdark would be just as powerful, if managed right, and susceptive to control, too. One just had to prepare them right. Break the body, until it rotted and decayed; shatter the mind; extinguish hope to crush the spirit. The vessel Lev was whipping could barely whimper anymo...o...

***

Hoist by his own petard. There was some poetic justice to be found in an oppressor being strangled by his own whip, even such a narrow-minded bully.

Suddenly, I was willing to cut Sofia slightly more slack, for some reason. I wondered why.

Chernobog probably agreed, given he didn't even comment on this execution. Instead, a construct of shadows appeared above the fallen overseer. With a thought, I erased him from existence before it could possess him, and Chernobog didn't press the point. Instead, the construct quickly took his place.

***

Luda does not look up from her station-neither the literal board covered in screens, nor her place in Chernobog's court. She has felt her husband die, through the bond the Black God tied between them (at Lev's request, of course. Grabby, paranoid twit...), and, even though the severing leaves her feeling emptier, rather than dead or twitching on the floor, she was still briefly imbalanced.

Could even Chernobog fail to foresee obstacles? The Strangeguard, the renamed, rebranded remnants of the KGB's occult branch, were not even nearby when her daughter went mad, then mad with power. They didn't come when she stole her own mother's mind, only after.

They stopped Sofia, yes. Offered compensation, and reparations, and assurances that nothing like it would ever happen again.

Then the Fright Before Christmas came. Then the wave of eldritch invasions, though at least they and their cohorts managed to evacuate most of the world before that. It still wouldn't make up for anything, in Luda's eyes.

She found the Black God shortly after rehab was over. The clinical, warded facilities she spent time in, where time flowed as their owners wished, prevented him from reaching out to broaden her mind, which told her everything about those liars' "helpful" intentions.

Chernobog promised an everlasting, unchallengeable empire, where he would watch through the eyes of everything, reaching out with their hands to quash potential threats before they could rise. There would be only peace under his eternal...gaze...

Luda's eyes glazed over as she stared thro-no. Into the screen...s?

Her head swayed back and forth as she tried to press a hand to her forehead. She'd been monitoring several facilities, alert for signs of enemy action or internal sabotage, so why was she so...

So.

Luda blinked. Why had the image changed? Everything inside one of the warehouses in the Urals had disappeared, but nothing had followed. In fact, it was like both the image and the sound had frozeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

Luda came to, almost jumping out of her seat. Had she fainted? It had been...head-splittingly painful, like one of those headaches that made every second seem to stretch forever, but she hadn't lost awareness. She was sure of it.

Luda looked at the screen again, eyes peeled for changes.

Then, time caught up with her.

***

Chernobog actually chuckled at the pile of dust I made of his lookout.

Small victories, for a small man. Canaries in coal mines, David. Do you honestly think I need people paying attention for me? It gives them something to do, makes them feel protected, even when I'm not being directly focused on them.

I am aware. What you are not-can't be-aware of, because of who you are, is that not even people like them deserve to live on after their spouses die.

***

Maxim feels only a small, brief flash of satisfaction as he executes the Everdark, whose Chernobog shard briefly hovers in midair, before flying away, in search of a worthier host.

Dissenters, even here. Even among those chosen by the Black God...truly, depravity knows no limits

Maxim has always been a man of the law. It was why he joined the police, then the Strangeguard, when his weak point-targeting magic manifested. Unrest led to anarchy led to chaos. It all ended in oblivion-but now, it never would.

He'd been there when they'd taken the mind-controlling witch brat away. That she was not only spared, but offered therapy (all in the name of shaping her into a stabler weapon, of course, but still) had added enough insult to injury, but ARC's strigoi had been the star that had broken the camel's back.

Maxim had heard of Loric Szabo. He heavily doubted any supernatural law enforcement officer hadn't, but the undead flayer was especially infamous across Eastern Europe's supernatural communities, if only out of proximity. He hadn't actually met the freak until that day, had fooled himself into thinking the stories were just bullshit: ARC hyping up one of its leashed psychos, so they wouldn't have to pull out the actually heavy guns unless necessary.

He'd been wrong. Not about the power: Szabo had been strong even then, easily Popigai level, if not borderline...ah. Who cared about the old classifications anymore, anyway? And he'd grown even stronger, according to the Black God.

Upjumped rabble-rousers like Szabo were exactly the reason a firm, strong hand was needed. ARC hadn't exaggerated anything about him; if anything, they'd downplayed him. Maybe unintentionally, since Szabo's ops were not exactly the kind of shit you could publish, but...he'd seen enough. ARC willingly employing monsters like him had been the last drop. They'd already grown too powerful and arrogant for something supposed to watch international areas for the Global Gathering-and if their leash-holders were willing to let things continue like that, they were even worse.

Maxim was aware Chernobog's reign would be infinitely longer and more horrific than any human regime. But he'd seen where those led.

No-

***

What do you hope to accomplish, David?

I told you. I can hear their cry. And I know what you've done.

***

Elia snarls as she feels the foreign force battering at the walls of her existence.

When her hometown was razed during the Fright, she knew she-the world-needed someone who could not only make promises, but make said promises reality. The Headhunt had shown her the pantheons didn't give a rat's ass when it came to getting what they wanted, but she'd chalked that up to...apathy, for lack of a better term. The gods clearly didn't see Earth's inhabitants as people. But it had taken their failure to defend what they claimed as theirs for her to realize thee truth.

Chernobog had almost killed the Fae, after tricking them into letting him into their realm, and that alone had been worthy of worship. But then, not only had he been thwarted, the world had continued to treat with the Fae like they were...allies! Like...like...

No one but Chernobog cared anymore. Mortal or god, they all just wanted everyone to play nice and not rock the boat, so they could keep fucking around with whatever got their rocks off. Chernobog had promised Fae genocide, and she'd joined to make his dream a reality, but they were being opposed at every step.

Her god had even gifted her with the power to get stronger when harmed by those she hated, so that she might both strike them down and never forget her-

-pain-

***

'They were all begging,' I whispered, putting my hands on Aya's desk as I pushed myself upwards. 'But you'd never give it to them, would you?'

Endings rarely fall under my purview, strigoi.

And yet, my worse half and I smiled, we took six of yours without even getting out of our chair. We are coming for you, but do not fret: not yet. I have a few monster I want to meet yet.

'David?'

'I promise we'll be careful, ma'am.'

Aya, not fooled, raised an eyebrow at the phrasing. Szabo, who'd obviously waited to make me appear more unhinged than I was, only appeared an instant after, the motherfucker.

'Indeed,' he added, a trillion trillion horrified grimaces dancing across his clothes. 'We won't miss anything.'

***

Constantin went quiet for a moment, the surroundings silent but for the crackle of flames.

'Killing children.'

'It is not the first time for either of us,' Uriel replied. 'Nor will it be the last.'

'But...why? How are they corrupted?'

'You cannot see? Hear?' To Constantin's dismay, the Cardinal Archangel sounded more relieved than surprised or worried, but his voice didn't change, nor did his eyes move from the flames ahead, or his hands from the reins that ended nowhere and led everywhere. 'Perhaps 'tis for the best.'

'I will not kill without knowing why.'

'Liar.' There was something vicious in Uriel's voice now. 'You already have. You are doing it right now, with your own hands, but you can't even perceive it.'

'Because of what you did to me.' Constantin felt his rage begin to boil over. 'Because you blinded-'

'Blinded? You did not even know what your affliction was before I saved you. You couldn't tell it was an affliction to begin with, much less find a solution by yourself.'

'I wasn't ill,' Constantin protested. 'Everyone has doubts. And I did not ask to share my being with you.'

'Your soul was calling for help. How could it know the manner in which it needed to be helped, much less detail it? You wanted God to end your doubts. Would you rather He killed you and sent your soul to the beyond?'

Constantin looked down, briefly, then back at the angel as his eyes met only more flames. 'I still want to help the world. I can, so I must.'

' "I can, so I must" is the most foolish ideology there has ever been.' Uriel's face was a stony mask as he tugged one rein. 'You know how many sinners believe in it? All of them, in the end.'

'Send me to Hell, then.'

'No. You are still needed, and you will always be. Not Constantin Silva-what you represent, and serve as the foundation of. We shall ever grow.'

Suppressing the shiver that threatened to run up his spine at the words, Constantin grabbed one of Uriel's pauldron, trying to turn the Archangel around. Uriel did not budge, but sighed.

'God shouldn't have done this.'

'...it's never enough for you, is it?' A shadow passed over the angel's face. 'You used to be thankful for not being smote, but now, gifts are not enough.'

'Gifts?'

'What do you think God's Mouth is? What we are?' By now, the shadow had settled over the grim, tanned face, Uriel's eyes burning like green coals within it. 'You were so consumed by doubt, only moments aware from it becoming literal. My father wanted you to let go, so He could welcome you to Heaven, but that wasn't enough, was it?' Uriel snapped the reins angrily, as if they were whips. 'Nothing is ever enough for humanity. You only take, take, take, and yet...He loves you more than He's ever loved us. More than He's ever will. But I've seen the writing on the wall.' As the angels shoulders slumped, his wings moved to cover them.

Constantin reeled back, as if struck. 'I...I didn't kno-'

'You didn't know,' Uriel repeated. 'You didn't even know you were speaking to my father. You thought Him an imposter, just like your son did, and refused him the same. Do you know what Yaldabaoth did upon your response? He laughed.' Snap. 'And laughed.' Snap. 'And laughed.'

'But I love God.' The tears running into Constantin's beard didn't turn to smoke, despite the fire boiling his insides. 'I do. I swear I do...David didn't know. If...if either of us did, neither would rave refused, I can promise y-'

'Things like that,' the Archangel cut him off. 'Are called tests. And people like you,' snap. 'Are called failures.'

Constantin drew a deep, shuddering breath that raked his lungs like burning knives. 'What is God's Mouth? Why does it kill children?'

'Necessity.' Uriel sounded just as tired as he felt, for a change. 'Chernobog, as an outcast among the pantheons, appeals to those who feel they have been wronged or abandoned by them. Those who have no one left to pray to expect for him, but are too afraid to stand on their own feet.' The flames dimmed, then blazed brightly again as the Archangel breathed. 'Not all of them are willing, of course. Not all of them are evil. The smallest souls are the easiest to fill, and the desecration of innocence is a leaves bleeding scars across creation.'

The angel beat his wings once, twice, as he snapped the reins. 'What is God's Mouth? We. Them. Those to come. God already has a messenger, and a voice. Why would he need someone else to speak for Him?'

'A trinity of heralds?'

Uriel actually looked amused. 'Not everything is about numbers, Constantin. Nor should you look for patterns, for you are almost assured to find them...something that matches your expectations, at least. Gabriel passes news, and Metatron edicts. What is left?'

The beating of winds, the snapping of reins, the crackle of flames unite into a single, threefold sound.

'Judgement?'

'That,' Uriel smiles. 'Was the last time you will speak that as a question.'

***

Aaron was unfamiliar with returning home bewildered.

He was used to being beleaguered, yes. Baffled, even. Angry, usually.

Anger was good-the second decision he made after classifying this new feeling as detestable. Familiar, understandable, clear. Anger, he knew how to deal with. He can work with it.

What he can't work with is the double punch of Bianca's kidnapping and rescue, and what it drove Lucian to.

Silva doing foul shit for the greater good troubled him a great deal less than it does Bianca, he thought, not with disdain. The girl simply hasn't had the need to make grey choices like he has yet, and he hoped she never would.

What ground his gears was pointless, stupid sacrifice. Which is what Lucian couldn't or didn't want to see was what he has done.

The zmeu looking up at him with a sad smile looked almost the same as he did before. Save for a few spikes and the colour of his scales and eyes, he still looked like Lucian, down to the moustache. A part of Aaron mused that, with the golden scales, it makes him look like one of those Chinese dragon statues.

Their parents were gone, and good riddance. More fool him, for hoping they could stall for time, never mind pull a miracle and get Luci to calm down. Aaron knew that, left alone with Lucas, either of them was likely to do something rash. It happened in the end, anyway.

'Brother,' Lucian broke the ice. 'It warms my heart to see you in good health. If I might inquire about my paramour's current business-'

'Stop.'

Black eyebrows rose fractionally, but the black eyes barely changed. 'Is something the matter?'

'Stop that,' Aaron repeated hoarsely. 'I want my little brother back.'

Now the eyes changed, though he wished they didn't. It was like watching coal frost over. 'Do you, though? Do you truly? I have been a source of shame to you for decades, brother mine, though I've only just begun to understand why-fear not, for I agree. I was the caricature you didn't want us to be seen and remembered as. I know you feel the same about Lucas' girl; yes, yes, don't try to hide it. Mia would agree, not that she wants to mutilate herself into the opposite of what she is.'

Is...was it supposed to be raining today? They must have strayed into another zmeu's territory, but...no. Still his. 'I never wanted you to do anything like this.' It should have been me! Hurt me, not him! I can take it! I deserve it! Look...look what he did...'Did those two force you to do this? Trick or taunt you?'

Lucian's sigh was as desolate as his brother's voice. 'It was willing and self-inflicted, brother. I know you want someone responsible you can beat to death, but I have passed beyond that.'

Was that a joke? Yes. Good. Hold on to that. 'Well, now. A new coat of paint is no reason to get...cocky...'

Lucas' fanged grins were dripping transparent protoplasm as he touched down, Three Moons Falling slung over one shoulder. Aaron hadn't seen him smile like this since...

***

'Mercenary work, Luc?'

'It pays,' his brother shrugged. 'And lets me live. Go around, offering my services. The Party reduces a migraine to a headache. They can use me themselves, or pull the plug if I get unmanageable.'

'...you love it, brother.'

'If I can't lie to you, I won't try.'

***

'Someone seems pleased with himself,' Aaron noted in lieu of a greeting, drawing a short, humourless bark of laughter from Lucas.

'Someone is,' Lucas said, a pleased, distracted look in his eyes. 'I haven't killed anything righteously in decades.'

'You looked like you were about to start, with father,' Lucian said, and Lucas' left head turns to him, as if seeing the younger zmeu for the first time.

'...well, you look like a fucking paperweight now. And "father"? If your voice wasn't still annoying, I wouldn't have recognised you!'

Lucian smiled. His family was here. Almost everyone was.

***

Mia hadn't known you could hold someone's stare without meeting their eyes, up to this point. But, as she stares at the floor while Alex looks away, eyes bitter and arms crossed over his knees, she understands.

'That's horrible,' her contralto filled the silent room. 'Alex-'

'I know,' the ghost snapped, still not looking at her. 'That's not the man you love, but, Mia...' he ran a hand through his once-black hair. With his white-blue, transparent ectoplasmic body, the hair looked more like a splash of dark blue ink. 'I know I...I got scared at the thought of him coming here. But our David-the David of the present-wouldn't do that. We both know it. Right?'

'If David thought even a single person's life could get mildly better, he'd kill himself without hesitation. Again.'

The zmeu's flat voice gave Alex pause. Sometimes, he forgot she was less than half his age, and belongs to a species prone to emotional extremes to boot. Before he could reply, however, she continued.

'Is what I would have said yesterday. Now...I don't know.'

'Mia?' Mihai prods. The zmeu smiled at the unintentional mana pulse going through his veins.

'Why do you think I came here alone?' She looked from Mihai to Alex. 'Have you heard from Luci or Andrei lately? Constantin?'

***

When people talked about the Strigoi Society, it was always in ironic or mocking terms, if not outright hateful ones. No matter which group was discussed.

In truth, there were two Strigoi Societies, and, though people sometimes mixed them up or mistook them for a single organisation, they rarely mixed, and never without disastrous results.

The first and most obvious was the loose, semi-coherent gathering of strigoi who tried to support themselves and each other in greater society, or away from it, when they went to live off the grid. Strigoi being what they were, leadership and order were neither common nor welcome.

The second was the bunch of strigoi-chasers, like tornado enthusiasm with a fetish for dangerous undead, but I was repeating myself. These people trailed behind strigoi, documenting their activities, hunting them to either help or hinder. Some strigoi hated them with all their dead hearts could muster, while others kept them around as thralls or gophers. Most just thought they were an annoyance that should drop dead, if possible.

The people who came to Siberia's outskirts were, almost universally, members of the first category. As far away from civilisation as possible, without going underwater or underground and risking the ire of the Watcher Over Horror and Reptilian Collective.

'Have you ever wondered why here?' I asked out loud as we slowly descended.

'Why a cold, almost lifeless place? You can't possibly be asking that unironically, brother,' Szabo answered, sounding a bit disbelieving.

I shook my head. 'Why not Canada, then? Or the Poles?'

'You have to remember,' he adjusted his jacket collar, and the collarbones rattled in protest. 'Most of our kindred here are several times older than me, never mind you. Many of them predate the discovery of the New World-I mean by Columbus, not Erikson, mind. And even those who don't grew up too poor to learn or care about such things as Canada, or the Poles.' His leather boots crunched into the snow, briefly forming into paws. 'For them, this was the top of the world, the edge of Earth and human knowledge.'

We were on the northern border, closer to the Arctic Circle than civilised Russia. Ahead, I could see the North Pole, invisible to human eyes, but appearing like an ivory crown on a blue maiden's brow to my godsight. I could see how a strigoi born, dead and risen in the Middle Ages could have interpreted this as the ends of the world.

We were not alone, however. Life, in its myriad small forms, was everywhere around us-as was undeath.

There were many times of strigoi, if one classified us by tendencies and tics rather than nature. Those who knocked on doors to be let in. Visitors, physical or spiritual. Stranglers. Heavies: strigoi trapped somewhere until someone happened by, after which they, invisible, latched onto the unsuspecting victim's back, slowly draining their lifeforce and making them sick while they remained imperceivable.

We were not there for any of them, however, though I noticed, with some amusement, a heavy, her arms wrapped around a taller, burlier strigoi's neck as she hanged off him. I could feel them trying to drain each other's lifeforce. I suppose all couples had their games.

'Have you ever met her before?' I asked Szabo, as a strangler-a strigoi that appeared in people's dreams and strangled them while draining their lifeforce, which translated into reality; I really had to start training my powers-approached us through the aether. With a though, I crushed his throat and burned his flesh, but, when I sent his lifeforce in Szabo's direction, the older strigoi gave me a disapproving glare, nose wrinkling. 'Something wrong?'

'There is nothing more wrong than being spoon-fed your success or power. Keep that to yourself, brother, or let it go.'

I met his stare with a smile as I consumed the energy. 'Ahem...'

'Everyone meets Domna at some point. She doesn't let kin die without laying her eyes on them.'

'She sure didn't mind that time my goddamn head popped off,' I said, as we walked towards the grey snow-covered hill in the distance, everyone giving us a wide berth after the strangler's sudden death and processing.

Szabo ran his tongue over his fangs, producing sparks and a sound like a knife scraping against steel. 'But that wasn't your final death, David. You are still he-'

'-re,' Szabo finished, looking around puzzled. No longer on the snow-covered field, we were now in an equally-cold and bleak chamber, just as grey as...yes, the hill it had been carved into. Grey walls, floor and ceiling, grey carpets, tapestries and blankets, even the entirely superfluous flames in the fireplace at the far end were, somehow, grey. It was like being trapped in the world's oldest, most boring photo.

'You're still faster than me,' he told the small woman in front of us. Much like the room, almost everything on her, from her skin and hair to her old, tattered habit was grey, except for her fangs and eyes. She had the brightest smile I had ever seen, even in the dim light of the chamber, and eyes as dark as my future self's. 'And my speed is infinite now.'

'Whose isn't, Loric?' She waved a dismissive hand, a gesture she quickly turned into an invitation to sit down. 'You people think having forever to react to something makes you fast. Come to me when you can react to something before it happens, and without precognitive tricks.' When she turned to me, her smile became ever brighter, and not just literally. 'Hello, David. I am sorry if you were expecting me on that night in Bucharest, but, as Loric said, I knew it wasn't the end.'

'You mean I'll die again?' The thought of never turning into whatever I would become was somewhat appealing, even if it meant leaving everything and everyone out to dry.

Call of the void, people. Intrusive thoughts.

The strigoi's grey mane barely swayed as she shook her head. 'Never again. That was your last death: your brother was wrong in that regard, but I have a nose for such things.' Seeing both of us were still standing, she sat down, legs folded primly under her, habit barely wrinkling.

Not wanting to look like a rude jackass-she only came up to my chest when we were both standing, and I didn't want to make her look up-, I followed, sitting cross-legged. Szabo just plopped down, hands on his belly like a satisfied boyar.

'You are Domna Economou,' I said. 'The First Strigoi. I've wanted to meet you for some time.'

Her smile thinned. 'ARC has?'

'Joining would be appreciated, but this is not a recruitment pitch. Even remaining neutral is enough: you keep this community quiet, and control them almost as tightly as you control yourself.'

'However I do that,' she voiced my unspoken thought. 'But you didn't come to share ARC's worries with me, son. You want something from me.'

I looked down, swallowing. 'God killed my father.'

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'Yours, too?' Domna chuckled drily, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the fireplace. 'Please don't go there. Constantin prefers to cool down by himself. He's out now, but he'll return soon.'

My heart stupidly leapt at the name. Not my father, obviously. Undeath would never touch pops now.

'You cannot feel my lifeforce, can you, David? Loric?'

'I can feel you're hiding it. Like putting a boulder over a spring.'

'I can feel the barrier you've raised.' Szabo's smile was just as bright as Domna's, though far ghastlier. 'But it's redundant. Anyone who's seen your power can guess.'

Domna raised an amused eyebrow, then her shields sli-

***

I came to clutching my head with one hand and my eyes with the other. Loric seemed similarly surprised, for the second time that day, while Domna looked as serene as she had before blowing our heads up.

'It is as you say, David. It takes a certain degree of discipline to control yourself when you've eaten as much life as I have.'

'Or direct it at people without blowing up the multiverse,' I suggested.

'Mhm.' She picked at her fangs with a pinky. 'You would be surprised what you can eat, in creation's upper realms.' Folding her dainty hands into her lap, claw tips touching, she looked at the fire, then back at us. 'You are feeling adrift, David, and you come to me? I am not exactly a font of spiritual wisdom.'

Bullshit. 'Who's Constantin? To clear your throat before you tell me about yourself, if you want.'

'You can't have possibly forgotten. He was your country's first strigoi hero before your grandparents were in diapers!' Was she playing up how aghast she was, or just screwing with us to have fun? Old people were sometimes like that. 'Please, do refresh your memory before he returns. It would do your health no good to offend him.'

...what. 'You mean Constantin from the ballad?'

Szabo winced unhappily. 'You could have told us the Strigoi Brother would be here today, grandmother.'

'You could have called ahead,' Domna shot him down. 'Don't worry, Loric. He's unlikely to beat you for the same reason twice.'

'I could take him now,' Szabo muttered querulously, eyes darkening.

'In a fight, too, I'm sure,' Domna giggled. 'Listen to me, David. I can read your life lines, no need to show me your palms. Neither the man who gave you life nor the one who raised you is gone. You can meet the former in the afterlife, and you just have to reach out to the latter, if you can bring yourself to.'

What did she know? 'You said God killed your father, too.'

'God killed neither of our fathers directly. He lifted yours out of the dust of humanity, and mine...' she pulled at her habit, and I nearly looked away when her chest came into view, but she hissed for me to look. The cross-shaped burn mark was still smoking. 'I grew up seeing the cracks in the monolith widen and deepen, boy. Christendom didn't split in a day. I fought for everyone to get along. My whole family did. How could I live with the failure, when I knew what it portended? And look at that, the broken mirror is now a mound of shards.' She laughed bitterly.

'Your father?'

'My father died trying to kill me, David.' Her habit was whole again. 'I was young and feral in those days. I felt life, and fed. My father could barely convince himself I wasn't his little girl anymore, much less kill me. But, by God, he tried. He wanted closure, you see? Almost as much as he wanted me to be at peace. God...nudged him.'

'Nudged,' I sneered. 'Fucked his mind and sent the shell after you, you mean.'

Domna's eyes shone. 'My father died a whole man, more human than I've been for nearly a thousand years. Do not attribute false atrocities to God-there are more than enough to be laid at his feet.'

Szabo chimed in while I was mulling her words over. 'You've never told me this story before.'

'Good thing you brought David, then.'

'So it would seem. So,' there was a strange gleam in Szabo's eyes. 'Did you kill him?'

Domna nodded. 'Oh, yes. Horribly. The only thing that stopped me from using him as a man was that I started with a kick between the legs.' She bit her lower lip. 'He only touched me once, with his cross, and not even the sharp part. I don't know if he was too hurt or delirious to land it, but he only scarred me. Maybe he only wanted to bring me back to my senses. His death did, in any case.'

'Dooming our parents is always sobering,' a new voice agreed.

***

'Bia.'

'Luci.'

Old nicknames, spoken in the same voices; still, they sounded new and raw. Awkward. Almost as much as Aaron felt while looking at his youngest brother and his lover. The silver-haired iela was looking up at the golden zmeu, her expression serene, but otherwise blank. There was no trace of relief or joy on her face, nor in her voice.

'I should have been there,' Lucian said, taking a knee-as much as his backwards-jointed legs allowed him-so he could look her in the eye. 'You shouldn't have to ask. From now on, you'll never have to.'

'...you really think it's your fault, don't you?' Emotion finally entered her voice: dismay. 'Not mine for being weak and stupid.'

'You have never been. Only I.'

Bianca smiled. 'Had I been half as smart as you think I am, I would have hired Andrei.'

'Let him rest,' Lucian said, making Aaron jolt. Bianca's arrival-she had merely appeared, without any sign of creation warping around her-had been surprising, but...

He glanced at Lucas, who was leaning against one of the barracks' walls, which was constantly melting and rebuilding itself upon coming in contact with the smoke of his blunt. After an experimental, enchanted spliff combining all chemicals known to mankind had been discarded as too mild, he'd turned to his own mixtures, some of which could easily dissolve structures tougher than most planets with just the fumes they created. Aaron wondered how much his brother had changed, if he was tapping into his morningstar's power like this.

The blue zmeu stared back, saying nothing. Clearly, the ball was with him.

He supposed it was only fair. He'd started the damn mess, or at least hastened it, in his attempt to help.

'Fair,' Bianca agreed, then her shoulders sagged. 'Do you know why I look like this?'

'Gorgeous? Because you're aging gracefully, of course.' The zmeu took one of her hands, kissing her knuckles. 'Yes. The scales have fallen from my eyes, Bianca. Becoming one with destruction removes most obstructions.'

'And you agree with David?'

Lucian grinned at her cold tone. 'I'll beat him for you, if you want. But I would sooner we were hurt, than both of us, and everyone else, died.'

'But you still hate him.'

'I hate what he did, yes. And I dread the moment our David becomes him. But it is inevitable, my love. Just like you winning my heart.'

Aaron would have gruffly joked about sappiness on any other day, but now? They deserved-needed-this. Each other. He'd stand by as long as he was needed, then go look into whatever had happened to Dravich.

But first...

What do you still want?

Apologies, offspring-shard, the Underdweller said. But this one wanted to tell you it failed.

Didn't we both? I won't pat you on the back. He shifted his footing. Why'd you leave? Or Maws? My brothers haven't told me yet, and I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth.

This one's mirror-counterpart returned to his prior assignment upon the transformation of this one's most recent mirror-shard. He claimed to no longer be interested.

And you?

This one is now fully aware you don't love her.

...he wouldn't apologise. You've never given us much of a reason, mom.

This one had no experience with raising young prior to having you. This one-

Then why'd you agree? Maws couldn't have left you pregnant unless you wanted to be.

***

Eldritch entities, a catch-all term for the residents of the Outer Void and the lesser ones that preceded it, could not enter and leave dimensioned reality at will. Those who could were bound by or to certain other restrictions or locations, instead. It was unknown, and thus the subject of much discussion among them, whether this was a result of the Lord of All subconsciously protecting its Dream, or simply a random trait of said projection.

The one that called itself the Underdweller did so for a simple reason. Rather than being subservient to another, it was the concept of being under something, or the underside of something.

And it was curious. Its peers found its fascination with dimensioned entities, even those that could become dimensionless, eccentric at best, grotesque at worst-like a human in love with cartoon characters.

It cared not for their opinion, though. Rather, it was more focused on the barrier-chain-wall holding it back from entering the multiverse, in order to speak to the fascinating polycephalous entity it had observed.

As it tried and failed to break through, it spoke to her.

'Awfully hot and bothered, aren't we?'

'This one knows not what you mean. But...this one understands. This one would be much obliged if you would indulge it.'

'But of course! Your sons have important roles to play in the future, so get to making them. Go right on ahead-but don't stick around, eh? Stunted development would be...supremely unwelcome.'

'This one thanks you, Remaker.'

***

'You demand answers.' The Watcher was looking past Sklaresia, at Vyrt. 'From her disapproving tone, one could almost be forgiven for thinking we deserted our post.'

'Talk to me, you conjoined pit-bull,' Klare said. 'Don't act like I'm not here.'

'We know you didn't run away,' Vyrt said in a conciliatory tone. 'But you've never moved the ruins of Atlantis before, either. You can understand our concern, especially when you brought them back-also with no warning or explanation.'

'Our duty is to our history. We do not owe anyone anything.'

'Rich,' Klare scoffed. 'I'd say you owe everyone more than you'll ever be able to give.'

'Our vigil is payment enough. Nephilim,' the Watcher's weapon shifted into a trident, which they rested over one shoulder. 'Nothing we say can be used to gain an advantage, by you or your masters.'

'I am aware,' Vyrt replied smoothly. 'But if you can simply move the ruins-and, therefore, the Horror's prison-at will, then there is no reason to remain on Earth. After all, you do not owe anyone anything, in your own words. Is your history easier to defend on your world? Or perhaps you like punishing those who try to plunder it?'

The Watcher did non answer.

'Here is our current hypothesis. You do not have to confirm or deny, but remember: silence is an answer, too. With the walls between worlds thinned by the Fae incursion, and the deluge of eldritch invaders that followed, there was of one or more getting at the horror, or otherwise distracting you enough for it to slip its chains. How close are we?'

'Far. We have never been and will never be distracted. We gain the power and abilities necessary to defend Atlantis, and, because Atlantis must be defended, we cannot be bested or bypassed, as long as our duty is necessary.'

'Then?' Vyrt asked softly.

***

The House of Horror never got easier on the eyes, no matter how much time passed.

It had been their palace, once, in a bygone age. Their house. Atlantis' rulers had been horrors in their own right, but that was not where the name came from. Rather, it came from that of its newest, only occupant.

'Mother,' the Horror's voices were childlike, to varying degrees. 'Father.'

'Qhynart,' the Watcher greeted. 'Wylkhas. Ylvha.'

Their children's faces, already stretched, widened even further, into things that only vaguely resembled pained smiles. It was the most beautiful thing the Watcher had ever seen. The only thing that remained beautiful to them.

The silver-skinned, shapeless thing under, around and above them reached out with trembling, half-formed limbs, running twitching appendages over the Watcher's greaves, their gauntlets. Like they had once reached out to their parents, their masters.

'We want out,' the Horror burbled, trying to wrap tighter around them. 'We see them walking our world.'

'They shall be cast out.'

'By us?'

'No. It is not our purpose.'

The Horror's hopeful tone faded into nothing at the Watcher's words. When it opens its mouths again, its words were pleading, with an undertone of slyness. 'It is not right to be torn away from our world while strangers stride across its skin.'

'Even here, you are tempted. We shall remain, until the storm is ended.'

'You do not want us to be free, do you?' The Horror now sounded accusing, hateful. 'You want to stand guard forever, and call it penance.'

' 'tis penance,' the Watcher said. 'And you have nothing left to offer creation, except the legacy of Atlantis.'

Hatred. Even as their continent fell apart around them, the into the seas, the Atlanteans did not repent. They did not regret their deeds, nor ask for forgiveness. They cursed the gods while their bodies broke, while their minds collapsed and their spirits shattered, and that was the fuel of Horror.

Zhalkhos and Xilema gathered their people's loathing, their spite. Their children-who had never known slaves except for their tutors-had died before their eyes. Young woman, two boys: one adolescent, one barely a toddler.

Because the gods spared no one. In this, at least, they were fair.

The Horror roared in anger and denial as it rushed at the Watcher from all directions. And, though it knew not, its tears mirrored those sstreaming down the face under the helmet.

***

'Why is the demoness here?' the Watcher asked, finally acknowledging Klare.

'Please, do not deflect,' Vyrt said wearily. 'If you continue stalling, I shall take my leave.'

'Do so, then,' the Watcher said. 'And do not bother us again.'

Vyrt turned, as did Klare, with a huff. Before he departed the pocket reality, though, he spoke once more.

'She felt wronged by me. Felt I had threatened her only family. She wanted recompense.'

'...go to the Keeper, Vyrt,' the Watcher replied. 'And trouble us no more. There is a destiny to fulfill.'

***

Constantin watched, with some amusement, but no small amount of confusion, as his little sister turned down every suitor.

It wasn't just her answer, that she was too young. Being the youngest boy, Constantin was familiar with being dismissed as an idiot brat by his elders whenever he got up to some scatterbrained scheme.

But his sister...

'Mother,' Lenuța said one day, after two foreigners came to court her, and left, bemused by her hesitant non-answer. 'I dearly love one of those men, and would eagerly go after him.'

'Oh, my dear,' Lena said. 'With you so far, longing shall take me. How shall I see you again? Who will bring you to me?'

'Come on, mother!' Constantin jumped to his feet, grinning at his family's expressions: amused, hopeful, sad but surprised. 'You have three sons-surely one of us can bring our sister back, when your heart misses her? I shall do it myself!'

So they married her off. Constantin, the one to convince their mother, took his sister to her groom himself, and returned home more than pleased with himself.

Then the plague came, and left the land harrowed, and Lena alone in the house, her children departed: the daughter to faraway lands, the sons to the grave.

The old woman hobbled to the cemetery, shawl undone as she tore at her grey hair. In-between mourning her older sons, confessing to wanting to kill herself in their absence, sinning be damned, she cursed her youngest. 'Constantin, Constantin! May you be cursed, cursed by your mother, for giving away your sister! Your brothers looked at me, and told me not to give her away! But you, you cursed boy, did it! So I curse you, with all my soul: may the earth not receive you, may the dust not want you anymore, may the clay bash you! For, out of longing for Lenuța, I wish my life's thread broke!'

And so she cursed, one day and the next, and the one after that. For days and weeks she cursed, and woe, for so much cursing, the curse took root.

***

And, at sunset, Constantin awoke.

He came out of the pit, pale-faced and cold as ice. Weeping and wailing, he spoke with dismay. 'If only I could depart, for I am cursed, but I cannot, for I am buried. If only I could depart, for mother demands, but I cannot, for I lack power. I have no horse, and no mantle, and no one beloved in the world; for, whoever sees me shall tremble in fear, and cross himself. Nor to my mother shall I go, as she cursed me, for giving my sister away!'

And as he brooded, and wept, he prayed. 'Oh coffin, proud coffin, become a hawk of a horse. And you, funerary shroud, become a mantle. And you, cross, change, become an iron blade for me. And You, God, revive me, give me power today. To Lenuța I shall go, and bring her home.'

And God listened to him, and gave him the might of the living, as did his his coffin, turning into a horse, his shroud into a mantle, and his cross into a broadsword.

And Constantin mounted his steed, departing in a rush. And the horse barely touched the ground. Indeed, it flew, for its master spoke to it, his voice filled with great longing. 'Fly, roan, with me, for I fly alongside you! Fly, roan, along the way, for I fly in your wake!'

And night had not yet fallen when they stopped, at Lenuța, in another country.

***

When Lenuța saw her beloved brother, she spoke sweetly: 'Constantin, Constantin, tell me if 'tis good or bad. Nine years, see, have passed, in which I have not seen you. Neither have you give me news, nor written me letters!'

Constantin spoke: 'Since you have gotten married, nothing bad has happened. We are healthy at home-mother is still healthy. New happenings, I have none to speak of, but good news I still bring you: our brothers got married, but, caught in their own thoughts, they didn't invite you to the wedding! I am your more affectionate brother, and, since I am getting married, I hurried here. Should you wish, come to my wedding!'

And so Constantin spoke, his voice full of sadness, tears falling from his eyes and sighs coming upon him. But Lenuța knew him, and again she asked him: 'Tell me brother, true, if you call me to revelry, so that I might wear red and white, and mount a white horse; or if you call me to mourning, so that I might wear clothes of mourning, and mount a black horse-let us begin, brother, honestly!'

'And I tell you, sister, that I call you to revelry.'

And she dressed herself proudly, in her white clothes, and the two set off, on the known path, surrounded by mighty woods. And as they walked the path, birds followed them, and the vile mountains spoke: 'Since the sun had been sun, and the flower in the field flower, and the world world, such a wonder we have not seen: the living walking with the dead, along the woods. The living walking closely with the dead, risen out of the pit! Ay! Great wonder! The living with the dead on the path!'

Constantin heard well, but Lenuța didn't understand. Jokingly, she said: 'Hear, brother Constantin, what do the mountains speak of you?!'

Constantin, moaning heavily, answered: 'Let them speak, sister, and waste their minds; let them be with the singing as we are with the walking; may they guard their song as we watch our walk.'

This, they did not heed, for their path they followed. Four long summer days they walked, and rested little.

***

When the sun rose on the fifth day, they beheld their village, full of darkness and clouds. When they were close to the village, Constantin said: 'Lenuța! Ride your horse more gently, for I shall ride mine harder, so that I might tell mother to welcome you well, open the gates lay out the tables for you, fill your cups!'

And he spurred his horse, and rode hard, not to his mother, as he had promised, but right to his grave. Here, he dismounted, and said: 'Horse grown under grassy earth, bone-gathering lair! You took and brought me, on the path and through the sky, and did a great good, for my mother, for me, for mother, for girl, for me as well! And you, beloved mantle, white shrouding cloth, and you, shining blade, the cross at my feet, our time has come, 'tis cometh, to return whence we came! You, good mischievous horse, change your body into coffin, and you, shining sword, become cross at my feet, and you, beloved mantle, become shrouding cloth! And You, God, holy God, give me again my place in the grave, for I have passed through what was harder: to Lenuța I went, and brought her home!'

God listened to him: the earth split, the clay rose once again, and Constantin was buried.

***

And as Lenuța entered the village, she was surprised, for everything was changed, broken by mourning. but more surprised she was when she found herself home: the gates were bad and broken, so that you could jump through them, the stable empty, the grass grown around the bend. The poor girl waited for her brothers to come running, and welcome her at the doorstep, but nobody did, not even Constantin. She hurried to the door, but found it locked, so she started knocking on it: 'Let me in, mother, let me in the house, for I am your beloved daughter, faraway Lenuța!'

Her mother from inside, weeping, sent her away, cursing: 'Go into the fire and the evil ones, do not darked my days, go into the fire, go away, and mock me not! Three sons I had, all three I put in the clay, all three I put under the earth, may holy God know them! And Lenuța, my beloved girl, is married, married, in a faraway country. Never shall I see her! But let he who sent her away be accursed!'

But Lenuța did not stop, she knocked and pleaded: 'Let me in, let me!'

And her mother grudgingly let her in, and, as she seated and saw her, she recognised her. 'My dear, mother's flower, I can't believe, is it you? Oh, I hadn't even dreamed that I would see you again!' And weeping, Lena said: 'Much plague and hardship did the holy God send, and took away my sons, so that I was left without them! If only you, my beloved daughter, were not married in a faraway country! Much of my longing I would forget, if I could see you. You would help me, and I would cherish you! But let who took you away be accursed: may the earth not receive him, the dust not want him, the clay throw him outside!'

Lenuța heard, and cold shivers took her: 'See, mother, you cursed, and the curse took root! Constantin, Constantin, how you tricked me to walk the path with you!'

And she told her mother how Constantin brought her along the path, and the many things he told her. Lena then became frightened, and, as she sat and listened, tears came upon her, her mind seethed, her brow became clouded. She told her daughter: 'Let us hurry, Lenuța, to the graves in the grass!'

***

As they reached the grave, they fell upon it and began to weep, and speak: 'Constantin, come out, come, Constantin, again, come again, dear Constantin, for we miss you so, so much!'

The earth, however, cackled; Constantin moaned bitterly.

'Come out of the pit and speak, speak and tell us, how do you live in the pit, how? Come an tell us now! Come and see us at least, come, Constantin, again!'

The earth laughed crazily, the pit cackled, joking, the clay answered: 'Do not plead with me, better curse, Lena, stop praying, what is ours, is not yours!'

Always the earth laughed, the pit cackled, the clay joked ceaselessly.

'Oh, do not be, grave, a heathen, free Constantin, oh, do not be, grave, evil, free my child! Or give him voice, grave, for a few words!'

The earth then became quiet, the pit spoke not. Constantin, with effort, said: 'Oh, mother, you are to blame, that I do not have peace and rest, that I do not even have a place in the grave, that I am restless under the earth. Neither dead nor alive am I, neither fire nor ice, neither in the pit can I be, nor outside can I come. For you cursed me, mother, for your beloved Lenuța, so that the earth would not receive, so that the dust would not love me, so that the clay would hurl me outside. The clay threw me out, the dust mocked me, the earth banished me! Mother, if you wish me well, do me good now, and unravel my curse, for it crushes my soul!'

Lena sighed deeply, heavy thoughts chastising her. And the poor woman said: 'My dear! May you be forgiven and of the curse unbound. However...let the earth be accursed, for it listens to me not; may great woe fall upon it, for i does not let you out, may bitter woe fall upon it!'

The dust then shook, the clay roared furiously, the earth split: ' 'tis not enough that you cursed an innocent child; now you curse me, I curse you instead! For you do not have a mother's heart; your soul is not fit; nor are you fit under the sun to die as all people die; but the earth, out of rage, shall swallow you alive!'

The dust scattered to the sides; the earth opened. Lena from the grave said: 'Accursed might I be, woe, for my curse! Like, forever, may be accursed whatever mother finds herself cursing her child! May she herself be accursed, never have peace, banners at her burial, nor priest to speak of her! Woe to that mother who curses her child without guilt, for she curses her son, but she is cursed by God!'

***

Constantin had taken off his gauntlets in order to...chill his hands by the fire, as he finished recounting the story of his undeath.

Even from behind, I could see the thin layer of frost forming over his grey, calloused hands. It didn't bother him, of course, but it did leave me wondering what the hell that "fire" was.

'Your sister,' I said. 'What happened to her?'

Constantin shrugged, the shoulders of his black greatcoat barely shifting. 'She returned to her husband. Had four beautiful children-happier than we ever were. I was a happy uncle, then a happy great-uncle...they've gone their own ways. The family line will end with me, if it ever does.'

I put a hand on one knee, feeling irate for some reason. No...vexed? Something was niggling at me. 'Would you mind looking at me?'

'Will you mind if I don't?'

That tore it. 'Yeah, you two-faced pussy. I'd ask you to look me in the eye like a man, but you were too much of a bitch to face your own sister. You had to lie to her, so I get you at least know your limitations.' I stood up as he did the same, and, tough I was quicker, I could tell he was taking his time. 'Who doesn't know the Voica ballad, dammit? Who asked you to start rattling off its version in prose?'

'If you disliked it,' he asked slowly. 'Why didn't you stop me?'

I snorted. 'I thought maybe you'd reveal something new, or at least not finish on the same cliffhanger Coșbuc did when he turned it into a poem.' My lips drew back from my fangs. 'But I don't know why. Not that I'm surprised. You must be an unique class of strigoi: the disappointer.'

'You want to know what happened after?' Constantin turned around. 'Fine.'

He was over a head taller than me, far broader and burlier, dressed in a thick black greatcoat over a grey plain shirt and pants, the only thing stopping him from looking entirely plain being a black leather belt with a silver buckle that seemed to shift shape every moment. His beard was thicker than mine, just as grey as his hair. Grey hair and black eyes, like we all did. Except for me.

I only had two, for that matter.

A normal human would have likely been distracted by his stature, the buckle, or maybe the three concealed objects he carried, slung across his back. None had been there before he had turned to me. All three were long and slim, before ending in protruding, bulky shapes. Hammer, axe and...staff, probably, according to what my godsight could glean from their coverings. The hammer was wrapped in bandages, just as thick and black as Constantin's greatcoat, and...yes, same "material". The axe was covered in bulky white chains, which rattled as it tried to break free. And the staff...

It was weird. Like a sort of long, grey rubik's cube, or a series of puzzle boxes linked together, but clinging to the staff as tightly as if it had been painted over it. My godsight couldn't pierce any of the bindings.

But I wouldn't waste time trying to glean details when I knew nothing would come of it. A normal human would have probably missed all of Constantin's eyes save for the open ones, too, but I saw clearer than that. Beneath the ones he had been born with, on the cheeks and jaw, were two more identical pairs. And on the forehead, hovering ominously atop an aquiline nose, was a seventh, vertical eye.

I was reminded of Miguel Fernandez' wife, but this motherfucker was way uglier than Sklaresia, which I let him know.

'Yes,' he said. 'I am aware.'

'Why are you here?' I asked, aware that Szabo and Domna were looking between us like they were at a ping pong match.

'In Siberia? On Earth?'

'Well?'

He traced the staff, which the hammer and axe were crossed over, with a finger. 'I haven't come to stay, if my presence repulses you so much. I am passing by, as always. But I see you have a sage's eyes, so I would ask you something.'

I rolled the eyes he liked so much. 'Sorry, if you want to exploit me, you'd better pay like everyone else.'

'My question, then,' little big bro bulldozed through my refusal like it was his sister's opinion. 'I am away from the world for long periods, and only come to stay briefly. Do people still love each other?'

I admit: I was caught off-guard. 'What?'

He came closer. 'Do families still help each other? Do mothers cherish their sons?' His voice grew bitter. 'Or was my lesson for nothing?'

I couldn't help it. I punched him.

Now, he was no pushover. Much like Domna, he was bursting with enough power to destroy dimensioned reality and ruin the rest of creation simply by unleashing it-and unlike her, he wasn't hiding it, either. I didn't know what she'd eaten or where he'd gotten his...whatever they were, but it took me some effort to become as powerful as him.

When I did, however? Constantin was the kind of being whose existence pervaded all of creation, with the tridimensional aspect merely being an infinitesimal extension.

My much hurt all of him, without damaging a single blade of grass on this single world.

He rose from the false fire, already healed, expect for his pride. I was about to hurt it even more.

'D-Do pe-people sti-ill...why don't you see for yourself, you goddamn, idiot? Live on Earth and gape at the fact we've grown past stacking shit to make hovels?' I jerked my head at him. 'What're those weapons on your back? Why are they covered?'

'Weapons?' His face scrunched up. 'I despise things that can only be used to destroy. These...are tools, David. I-'

'Watch your mouth,' I warned him. 'If you want to keep it, you don't use my name.' However he knew it. 'You're so fucking curious? Go. Look. I fucking despise you...you...' my hands were clenching and unclenching, claws digging into my palms. 'You play at being people, but only give a shit about your hobby horses, don't you? You,' I turned to Szabo. 'If you ever think about playing mind games with me again, I'll sew you to your wife's corpse and make it eat you. You,' I looked at Domna. 'Would do the world a huge fucking favour if you killed your little strays, instead of playing house until they're jumping at newcomers. And you,' I pointed at Constantin. 'I hope the earth fucking eats you again, and feeds you to that old bitch who shat you out.'

As I turned and prepared to fly away, Constantin called out to me. 'Do you know why I'm always travelling?'

'Kill yourself.'

He didn't give a damn about my suggestion, of course. ' 'tis payment to God, for helping me reunite my family...however briefly. Do you want to know the tales of my tools of trade, and the things I have sla-'

'Fucking hell,' I looked back at him, my smile all fangs. 'I hate you even more now.'

***

Blood dripped from every spike and barb on Oberon's torture armour. The enchanted iron it had been forget from didn't burn his skin, for he wore thick padded clothes under it, even over his head. And, even if he had been naked but for his armour, he could have made it hover centimetres from his skin, harmless, with a thought.

There was nothing harmless in the oubliette. Both Coldhold and Cloudshade hung from the ceiling on spiked iron chains that dug into their joints. They would never kill them, but they would leave scars. He'd already taken their eyes, for they could clearly not see the writing on the wall.

'You are a bloody caricature,' he spat, walking past the tongueless, limbless Coldhold. Between his wounds and the chains, he looked like a slab of meat in some macabre butcher's shop. 'Destroying civilisation, simply for the sake of destroying is something, but you are cliched even by your kind's standards.' King Fae shook his head. 'I should kill you and every last of your idiot former followers.' Coldhold would never rule again, even if people wanted him to, despite his abject failures.

Abject failures, for an abject failure. Fitting enough, if...blunt. Hmm. Perhaps he should switch from blades for a while. 'And you...you stupid, stupid little girl. Running out of Fairie to enact a cruder version of my own plan, after it had already been set in motion. Overestimating yourself, and the gaggle of idiots you took along. And when you realised your target was already gone, what did you do? Try to ruin Earth with your monster, and slaughter its defenders. Because your bloodlust caught up to your lust and your aimlessness. You know what I should do?'

Cloudshade, who was hanging upside down, whimpered around the gag in her mouth, tears running from her sockets. 'Plhs...dnt...dnt r-rpe mhh...'

Oberon's heart softened, despite himself. 'Of course I'm not going to rape you, you fool.' He laid a hand on her cheek. 'Leaving aside the fact Titania would kill me, don't you think I would have done it if I wanted to, by now?' He gestured at her breasts and womanhood, touched by neither his hands nor any torture implements. He was not a pervert, nor a monster. 'But you have to pay, as do us all, because of your foolishness.'

Oberon took a deep breath, then let it out, feeling the air leave alongside his dignity. 'After your attempts at genocide, and the failure of my attempt to have the pantheons get rid of Chernobog from us, no Fae is ever allowed to even scry Earth again without asking for permission first. We also have to lend aid whenever asked, and...can you hear that? 'tis the sound of Fae relevance, going down the drain.'

With a sneer, he looked back at Cloudshade. 'I will speak to Earth's realmsmoot, and to the Heads of Abnormal Research and Combat, to let you visit Earth. Then, you are going to go to David Silva and his lover, and apologise, in whatever manner they desire, for attempting to drive them apart or otherwise vex them, as well as trying to ruin Earth on two occasions. Understood?'

She nodded wordlessly.

'Good,' Oberon said smoothly. 'If they want to keep you as a third wheel, or something in that vein, you are going to accept. Don't worry,' he added at her shudder. 'They're good people, naivety aside. If they never want to see your face again, a feeling I wholly understand...you are to return here, and work as a public servant-building, healing, teaching, defending and so on-until further orders.'

***

God's Mouth did not even flinch when I appeared a few metres behind it, unable to approach further due to its blazing holy aura.

The thing wore my father's black habit, though all the gold had been replaced with the red of blood, and was even shaped like him, until you saw its face.

Or lack thereof. Pops' shoulder-length grey hair had become a sort of miniature stormcloud, down to the flashes of red lightning that lit it up every other moment, that moved when the creature turned. Its beard, similarly, resembled his.

But there was nothing human in it. Even as it pulled it boot out of the crushed chest of the Everdark child it had stomped to death, there was no hesitation, no regret, in its posture. No pleasure or trepidation, either. It was like a robot. A golem.

It had no flesh, either. Only a gold-tinged red flame that burned without fuel or smoke, shaped like my father's body. Only the hands and face were visible-but that was enough.

'David Silva.' Its voice was not my father's. If there had ever been an echo of pops', buried somewhere deep, it was now lost under the emotionless drone of the Archangel that had raped his soul. 'Have you come to join me?' It gestured at the horizon, and the remains of the burned cultists around it, with a clenched fist.

'I'll send you to Hell, screaming,' I promise, staring into the flames, for all that it made me weep blood. It was like looking at the sun through a telescope, but I'd rather go blind than back down.

'No, you will not,' it said in a sad voice. 'You know your purpose, but...you will not fulfill it here.' It lifted its head, as if realising something vital was missing. 'David? Why aren't you in the aether? DEATH needs-'

'DON'T FUCKING SPEAK LIKE HIM!', I roared, trying and failing to punch a hole through it. There was no empty heart to rip out. It would take more to destroy it-but I would destroy it. And then, when I dragged its corpse before its puppet master's throne, I'd ask it some pointed questions, too.

'David,' it sounded unsure, the monster. I could barely wait to make it scream. 'You do not underst-'

'I know exactly what will happen if I don't become Keeper,' I cut it off, voice flat.

'Then...can you not find DEATH? Do you seek our help? Is that the reason you came?' it asked, raising a hand to wipe away my tears. I caught its wrist in a grip that should have crushed it. 'David...you must. You cannot...' it ripped its hand free, something like rage colouring its tone. 'Because of what happened to a handful of people? You, your lover, your friends?'

'My father,' I growled, swallowing a hiccup. 'You should have never touched him. I'll never let you steal anyone again.'

It shook its head furiously, voice rising, thunder shaking the sky in response. 'You would let everything end, because of the pain of a few?'

Liam. Vyrt. Merlin.

...Chernobog.

No one would ever love, or laugh, or live anymore, if I just refused. Ever.

But no one would ever be hurt again, either. No one would be led along by uncaring gods anymore.

'Give me one goddamn reason I shouldn't,' I hissed, grabbing it by the throat.

It grabbed mine in turn, and, when it spoke again, any trace of Uriel was gone. 'You are not the son I raised,' it spoke in my father's voice.

And I lost it.