Travelling a city the size of London was laughably easy at my speed, especially with no traffic or bystanders to slow me down. And yet, I was by far the slowest of our little party, only able to keep pace with the Fivefold, who, I got the feeling, wasn't trying her best.

Out of curiosity, I focused my mindane senses on her. I didn't want to use Mimir's sight and see her soul-that would have been violating. And, it seemed, my senses were far sharper than eight years ago.

From a dozen metres away, the Fivefold's heartbeat was as loud to me as a lion roaring in a normal human's ear would have been to one. And yet, it was not the sound that caught my ear. That honour went to the wet ripping and tearing, combined with the slurping and dry cracking, like someone was folding an autumn leaf.

Interesting. I couldn't see anything on her exposed skin, and her suit wasn't bulging, so...

'Not all demons can be placed in seals, David. Some must be bound in a rather cruder manner,' the Fivefold said, without looking at me, while walking on the Thames. Seemed she was still better at reading me than the reverse.

'I'm sure you won't leave me hanging on a hint. Maybe you can tell me, after the story of how you met my father.'

'The fact Constantin hasn't done it himself should tell you how boring it was.'

'Right. Boring.' Something told me the thing making that strange sound-probably that demon she'd said was immune to everything but simple strength; did that include holy seals and inverted pentagrams?-was connected to the way they had met. Perhaps even the cause.

The Roundhouse (that is, New Camelot's headquarters) floated along the Thames, doing a tour of the city all day, every day. The tall, yet somehow squat-looking building was circular, with square watchtowers rising from the sides, like a medieval recreation of the Colosseum.

"Um, yeah, David, but what do you mean by  medieval? Early Middle Ages? Late? High?"

I'd have to be high to answer that, yes. Wouldn't wanna embarrass myself more than usual. For me, "medieval" meant when Roman marble was swapped with grimier, grittier brick. Feel free to bury me again for how wrong I was. Just tie me down, this empty head might make me float away.

At the moment of our arrival, the Roundhouse was close to Buckingham Palace, which was empty but for the Beasts of Britannia guarding it: the lion, the unicorn, the red dragon. Each strong enough to rip Earth in half like a rotten apple, not to mention fast enough to make me look human. It wasn't their physical prowess that made them impressive, though. It was their nature.

Plato had been, if not right, at least closer to the truth of reality than other philosophers. Just like a square was the shadow of a cube, which was the shadow of a tesseract, and so on, for there was an infinity of dimensions, there was a realm beyond the multiverse and the aether, which were its shadows. This Realm of Ideas, if you will, was both the bedrock of creation, on which all was built, and its beak, from which all grew down, like an inverted tree.

But how did the Outer Gods and other eldritch horrors fit in with all this? Well, how could a grim, nihilistic writer half-glimpse this realm, beyond everything and empty but for the blueprints of reality, and name it anything but an Outer Void?

Thank God such ideas, whether sentient or not, lost much of themselves when manifesting in the multiverse. The Beasts on Earth were infinitely lesser than their true selves, that is, the dimensionless, unchanging things beyond time and space: the image of the United Kingdom, carved into the wall of creation's cave. Which meant that, as long as that idea existed, they could heal from any damage, any maybe increase their power at will, or even clone themselves, if the rumours were true.

The Roundhouse's wall, white as ivory and only looking like brick, shifted to form a locked gate, which, if you ask me, was kind of redundant. The wooden scales that rose out of the Thames were more interesting, though. For a moment, I thought I saw a pale hand let go of the scales, and a flawless, inhumanly pale face smile at the sight of my eyes.

I guess she didn't limit herself to lakes, anymore. Kind of strange she would appear so close to her trapped, former lover and teacher, but Nimue had never been shy, especially when it came to taunting Merlin.

My musing was cut short by a quack. Such an incongruous, mundane sound, after everything, that I almost stopped hovering and fell into the river. Going by Sam's grumble, and Szabo and the Fivefold's smirks, they had caught my blunder, and I'd bet the wendigo was annoyed I hadn't fallen.

So, the Round Table. You wouldn't believe how many adaptations of Arthur and his knights had been made before the Shattering, and even a few after. Some overflowing with supernatural elements and actors, others with barely any at all(those tended to be more liked; after all, if you could ger good special effects without magic or supernaturals, it meant you were skilled, and knew when people wanted something new). Out of them all, the Monty Python version was my favourite, to the surprise of no one who had even a vague impression of my attempt at a personality.

Merlin's too, it seemed.

'Why is there a duck on the scale?' I asked, almost to myself, aware of how incredulous I sounded. It was then that the Knights made themselves known.

The gunmetal-grey armour of New Camelot's Knights wasn't worn: it was part of them, as much as their flesh and souls. It could be summoned or dismissed with a thought, but automatically appeared when a Knight was threatened, and allowed them a range of abilities, from walking on any surface, regardless of density, gravity or lack thereof, to surviving in any environment, planetary, otherworldly or void of anything we could describe as real.

As such, when the Knights leapt over the outer wall to land in squads, they landed on the water like it was solid ground, before marching towards us.

Most of the Knights were human, at least in size and shape, but I saw a few hints at other species: the insect-like gait of a Fae or hybrid, languid when not bursting with speed and dashing all about; the weightless, stiff movement of ghosts; and, of course, the Knights that weren't even similar to humanity, and made no attempt to hide it.

The armoured dragon that filled the sky above us was so large, it should have never been able to fit in the Roundhouse. Either it shifted size when inside, or the place was a TARDIS moonlighting as a building. I wouldn't have been able to tell if the building had grown to let the dragon pass, or if it had become larger after exiting-it moved too fast for me to see.

The Knights that drew my attention, however, stood aside from the others, and not just because of their size, though they were huge(she said), if small compared to the dragon above.

One of them was one hundred-forty metres tall, and almost as broad, with six wings covered by an armour so fine every feather stood out in relief. The Nephilim's androgynous figure burned my eyes, bringing tears of thick, cold blood to them, which crawled down my cheeks like tree sap. In one gauntlet, they held what looked like a shepherd's crook, if made from a radio tower.

It was the third time I had seen it. Auspicious.

The Knight at its side was far smaller, merely thrice my height and several times broader, but no less impressive. The armour covering its amorphous body looked more like a sheet of metal, for it showed no features to suggest separate parts.

The cambion smelled like death, literally, for all the distance and the river. Corpses let to rot in a swamp while flies feasted on them and maggots filled their hollow bodies with eggs, or tossed into a desert to dry under the sun. The sludge that somehow dripped through the armour was thick and a dark so green it was almost black. The lidless, bloodshot eyes swimming in each drop of sludge stared at us with desperation, and I-

Please.

Kill us again.

Death is no release. Merely respite.

Pain, pain to forget, we are BEGGING-

They all lied to us. This is not how things should be.

They are lying to you, too.

Closed the ears of my mind to them.

The cambion giggled discordantly at my disgust, an armoured tentacle rising from the central mass, the end shaping into sickeningly human long fingers that waved mockingly at the Fivefold.

She didn't wave back.

'Please, brother,' the Nephilim said in a melodious, tired voice that held an undercurrent of...fondness? Resignation?

The fact I had trouble telling the two apart said a lot about my relationships.

'Do not start something I will have to end. At least, not until this crisis is over.' The Nephilim's featureless helmet then moved to look down at us. The Knights could see through the metal of their armour like the clearest crystal, though it immediately darkened or remade itself to protect them from blinding or mind-blasting sights. I doubted the Nephilim needed such protections, though.

'Welcome to London, agents. I pray you shall not be as cold to us as you are towards your own countries.' It held up a hand to preempt any reply. 'I find that rather admirable. The realms of grasshoppers come and go like sick mayflies, lasting scant millennia at most. Only a bleeding heart would attach themselves to such ephemeral existences.'

'I think the segregation based on species is worse than our nonexistent patriotism, Master,' Shiftskin said, muzzle twitching as he gnashed yellow rat teeth.

'Indeed, Head Samuel. Not all forms of stupidity are equal...thank grandfather.'

As the Nephilim's faceplate drew back into the helmet, I noticed the Knights were staring at us, unspeaking, unmoving, if relaxed. Perhaps it was a test, like I was sure the duck would be, too. Of our patience, maybe.

The Nephilim's steely eyes were as grey as its armour, unblinking storm clouds in a face that could have been male or female. Its expression remained pitying as it took us four in, though the disgust in its eyes grew with every movement of its head, reaching its peak when it took in Szabo. Every orifice of the strigoi's face was gushing blood while he grinned up at the Nephilim, who hummed in what sounded like consideration.

'I am the Master of New Camelot's London Chapter, working directly under Grandmaster Bedivere,' the Nephilim said, hefting the crook I realised was its staff of office. Most Masters preferred batons, but I guess it was making a statement about shepherding. 'You may call me Vyrt, as my brother mangled "virtue" while we were learning English, in a childish attempt at mockery.' The weary fondness had returned to its voice. 'Tonight, provided we do not have a resounding success or failure at breaching the wall between realms, you are to rest.'

'You came at a beautiful moment,' the cambion giggled in a silky smooth voice wholly at odds with its slimy appearance. ' "Understand, the only way to reach the monsters we must put down is to march through Ireland unopposed. We swear it will go better than the last hundred times!" .'

'The actual proposal was longer, and even polite, but, essentially, the same,' the Nephilim replied while nodding to the Fivefold. 'Agent Faith, know that my brother has not gone senile. We share your disappointment.'

'We are ready to face him, and greater than the last time,' the Fivefold replied, face blank, hands clasped behind her back.

'So I can see,' Vyrt smiled thinly. 'Hello, Christine. Xelkhe. Ylvhem. Zhannar. Greetings to you too, uncle. Have you chosen a name?'

A howling blackness filled my sight, physical and arcane alike, before it was dispersed by Vyrt's bell-like laugh.

'It would be easier to erase your sins than me, uncle. Stand down!' The Nephilim thundered at the Knights, who had summoned all manners of weapons into their hands at the demon's unexpected attack, from maces and war hammers to wide-barreled rifles that hummed as they glowed a metallic blue.

'Agent Faith is a greater asset than she is a threat...the same cannot be said for her fifth self, at the moment, but you will control yourselves. Unlike my uncle, you are able to,' Vyrt said, then turned to me. 'Agent Silva, I would have words with you.' Sigh. 'After you go through my cousin's absurd test, of course.'

'Is this one of those tests we fail by asking about details before it?' Sam smiled, eyes narrowed at the scales.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

'No. You step on the scales to prove you are not an eldritch abomination in disguise. If you are a supernatural inhabitant of this reality,' the Nephilim continued, eyes dead. 'You will weigh as much as the duck.'

***

As I paced on the desk in Vyrt's cavernous office-you could've fit my hometown in here, with space for a few villages; more points to the TARDIS Roundhouse theory-, I took in the skyscraper-sized portraits of Knights past, from the first Round Table to their heirs across the twentieth century.

Damn me, but I've never been able to understand the obsession so many leaders have with looking sternly constipated. It's like they're trying to say "I'm too stressed to smile, too proud of my work to frown, and not bored enough to look neutral. Hold on, let me clench my cheeks. The ones on my face, too."

I've seen it with everyone from politicians to gods to portraits of the voivodes. Țepeș has one where he looks fairly serene, though, or maybe just contemplating what stake to use next.

Someone should make a vamp porn flick with that theme, one of these days. Call it "Stakeholders" or "Rising stakes".

Vyrt's arrival was not preceded by anything, nor did I notice the Nephilim until it sat down in an enchanted tungsten seat larger and heavier than most buildings.

The clang caused by it sitting down almost drew my attention away from its clothes. I hadn't expected it to keep its armour, but this looked like a bathrobe-

'It is, David,' Vyrt replied, leaning forward, hands clasped on the desk, shoulder-length curls, the same colour as its eyes, swaying. 'I am off-duty, at the moment. If you expected the me who saw comfort as sin, you will have to travel back in time.'

'Sounds fascinating, sir. May I ask why you wanted to speak with me?' I smiled. 'You know, I saw you twice, when I last came to London. You were hovering above the Roundhouse, looking over the city.'

'Actually, you saw me thrice. I was at that con you were, as the Doctor.'

Wha- 'There were...a  lot of Doctors there, sir. Which one were you?'

'All of them,' Vyrt smiled self-deprecatingly. 'Apparently, I look too masculine for the Thirteenth and too feminine for the rest. The things you learn...'

The Master trailed off, looking past me and the dumb look on my face. 'But how? All Doctors? Did you change costumes mid-con, or...?'

Instead of replying, Vyrt jerked his head at something behind me, and I turned lightning-fast at the shadow that suddenly fell over me. Another Vyrt, this one armoured, stood behind me, clutching his shepherd's crook. Both of them then cleared their throats and pointed at another pair of Nephilim, who had appeared beneath a portrait of Gawain, standing triumphant over a slain knight.

Soon enough, the office was filled with armoured half-angels- and, according to my senses, they were all as powerful as the original, who felt like...like Odin, that time he'd come to me after the Headhunt to suggest I should become ARC's liaison to Asgard. Between Vyrt and the hundreds (more? Their presence was blinding) of copies, I was positively drowning in power.

'I take after my father and grandfather,' the original spoke, making me turn to him. The others had disappeared, lessening the pressure on my soul. 'I create. I build. I strengthen. I can,' he gestured at the now-empty office. 'Replicate myself ad infinitum, each copy as powerful as me, and with the same abilities. You can imagine the demands I receive, when I can do this...using it for harmless entertainment, rather than filling every place in every moment of this universe's past and future with Nephilim, is what I would do, if it were my choice.'

'That's a creative use of power.' See? I was so slick, I made puns without even trying to.

'Thank you. But, as I was saying, this is the fourth time we meet. Please do not look for patterns in everything. Or are you the type to see shapes in clouds, too?'

'Sometimes,' I said defensively, not crossing my arms. I was  not feeling called out. 'So...this meeting?'

'Aya Reem hopes you will grow in power and prowess, David. I intend to help you. If you are uneasy about my opinion of you, calm yourself. I am used to working with loathsome creatures.'

'Wow,' I scowled. 'Thanks for the fucking honesty.'

'You are welcome. Your existence is only half as disgusting as the fact a being like you bears a name like yours.'

'Well, forgive me for not seeing my suicide while in diapers, and choosing a fitting, evil name,' I bared my fangs. 'Is this why you called me here? If I wanted to listen to someone insult everything I am, I'd talk to myself.'

'Choice...fascinating, isn't it? And so, so burdensome. Sometimes, I wonder what God was thinking when He created it. Animals are shackled by their instincts, but people? Angels, fallen or otherwise? I always thought grandfather gave Samael too long a leash. If He had imposed His will, there would have never been a rebellion.' Vyrt's eyes darkened, white flashing in them. 'There  should have never been one.'

Alright, discussing theology with someone closer to God than I'd ever be, even if he was way too honest when it came to his opinion of me, was not the worst way to spend my time. 'God has always valued freedom.'

'You are a mayfly, David. You do not remember the hundreds of millennia before the Flood, the slaves, broken in body and essence alike. So few who walk the Earth do...you should ask the young Watcher, someday.'

Young? Hundreds of millennia? 'How old did you say you are?'

'Ah,' the Nephilim smiled. 'You think the Shattering started everything. How do you know events before it weren't directed by beings like me? Were you there?'

'Well, were they?'

In response, Vyrt plucked a feather from one of his blazing wings. Larger than me, it was surrounded by ivory fire that left strobing afterimages whenever they flickered. 'What is this? A feather? A gathering of atoms? A construct of holy power? So it is with time.'

The Nephilim let go of the feather, which blurred out of his hand to seamlessly move back into its former place. 'Alas, however the past might be viewed, one thing is certain: we all chafe under the yoke of free will. Can you imagine, David? Can you imagine the Lord's mind filling our bodies, directing our every action and thought? We would never know doubt, or fear, or sadness, for the Lord does not feel such weaknesses.'

I didn't like the feverish grin on the Nephilim's face, but I couldn't exactly escape, either. 'I do not know. I have heard...theories, about us all being dreams in the mind of an unfathomable creator.'

'Those theorists are more right than they are wrong. What do you think about their ideas?'

I shrugged. 'Even if all I feel is fake, I might as well enjoy it, for it feels real to me. And there are worse lies to live with than love.'

' "His greatest lie was convincing the world love is real",' Vyrt quoted wistfully. 'You are indeed right, David. My wife tells me this whenever I start acting, and I quote, mopey.'

God bless that poor woman, having to brave this creepy zealot's ramblings every day.

'You might meet her after she finishes tearing down the aetheric barrier alongside her fellows. I think you would enjoy it. You see, she follows the teachings of a rather fey woman, whose name we try not to say in these halls,' the Nephilim said with a conspiratory grin, before lifting one hand to show me a gold ring you could have probably driven a car through.

'She sounds lovely.'

'Oh, she is.' The wistfulness was back. 'Loves tearing things down, for that is her magic. Calls me a man, though she does not treat me like one. In private, that is.'

Riiiight...'I-'

'Your stance on love is the reason you are an admirable person, despite being a vile creature, David. Much like my brother. Well, half-brother. Can you believe Vykt and I share a mother? He took all her good looks.' I wasn't touching that statement with a barge pole.

'Strange to hear someone like you say this about a cambion,' I said, sticking my hands in my pockets. Unlike Vyrt, I didn't have a multi-story, fluffy white bathrobe (woe, woe!), so I was still in my black ARC shirt, pants and boots, with the grey headstone inside a white shield Crypt symbol on both shoulders. ARC was going through a few changes in looks at the moment, and we weren't sure what we'd end up looking like.

Vyrt's eyes were disappointed as he shook his head. 'If you cannot separate who people are from what they are, David, you might as well crawl into your empty tomb and stay there.'

'Um...you mean grave. My death wasn't exactly planned for, so nobody had time to build me a tomb. And we haven't made any modifications since.'

'Ah, linear time,' Vyrt put his chin in his hand, smiling crookedly. 'Were I able to sin, I would envy your innocence, David. Briefly...hmm. The skin of what you call reality is going to break in short order. Keep calm, carry on, and open your eyes.'

I felt something like a flick across my face, then saw the solar system as if from outside, except the sun was far closer to the Earth than it should have been. In fact, I could see the planet's surface superheating into plasma, as the black-veined sun opened in the middle, becoming a slit black eye.

It wasn't a patch on its owner.

The worm that filled my sight could have eaten that octopus Reem had thrown out of our reality without opening its circular mouth fully, and its segmented, sickly yellow body surrounded the solar system countless times, the pull of its unimaginable weight beginning to tear apart the planets.

Being so big and heavy, it probably wasn't expecting Vyrt to fly straight through it, splitting flesh far tougher than yamadium for light years on end. The Nephilim burst out of the cosmic maggot, its puslike blood not touching him, and grabbed it by its shredded tail with one hand, before tossing it out of my enhanced sight. The last glimpse I caught of it was the maggot flying straight through thousands of stars, turning them to nothing or causing them to explode. The resulting supernovas couldn't even harm its dying body, unlike Vyrt's strength.

Before I could breathe in relief, the stars in Earth's skies also split open, black veins bulging as a swarm of thousands and thousands of maggots tore through the Milky Way, perhaps driven by hunger, perhaps by the desire to avenge their dead kindred.

I could hear their brutish thoughts as they covered thousands of lightyears every heartbeat, see images of Vyrt torn open and filled with their eggs, dead but alive, screaming eternally as their larvae ate their way out through his heart and eyes and mouth.

The Nephilim's aethereal laugh drowned them out. A blazing white streak smashed through the cosmic swarm, splattering them and sending chunks covered in yellow gunk flying across the galaxy, which had been turned into a diffuse cloud by the clash.

'Such simple desires...' Vyrt muttered to himself, putting his hands together. Then, new matter flowed into existence out of him, filling the holes in the Milky Way, before quickly being moulded to remake the galaxy's former shape.

It must have moved at trillions of times the speed of light, because otherwise, how could such quantities of matter covered such immense distances in seconds? And yet, Vyrt was relaxed as he fixed the damage. With a snap of his fingers, the nephilim removed the eye-bleedingly bright tear in space that had swallowed the galactic core, through which only madness could be seen. Spinning a finger, he bent space, recreating the supermassive black hole at the Milky Way's heart.

Then, he was back on the Earth he had restored, moving a hand across the empty sky and recreating the stars. A smile made the sun blaze into existence at the centre of newly-wrought, familiar planets.

'What did you see, David?' Vyrt asked, sitting down like he hadn't just played Minecraft with the galaxy.

'You, probably terrifying every alien observing us?' I snarked weakly.

'Actually, they are familiar with Earth. Hence why they stay far, far away. I meant the worms. What did you  see?'

'They were big, but...'

'They were worms, David. Also known as bait.' Vyrt smiled mirthlessly, showing teeth bright as the sun's core. 'Shall we see what is biting?'