DEATH Keep

The new workplace wasn't a dump, but it  was begging to be turned into one.

The Keep hovered on the edge of creation, in the Outer Void, and-I will endeavour to describe things in a manner that makes sense to humans-consisted almost entirely of identical, bare grey rooms.

All empty. All endless.

The ceiling of the room I was in seemed infi itely distant, and, if I were still capable of such things, I'd have almost certainly gotten dizzy looking at it.

There was no darkness in the Keep, no shadows, and no source of light. I liked to think DEATH tried to distance itself from the greater whole that was the Darkness. I understood being embarrassed about your origin.

How very...human.

As Keeper, all of my selves, on every level of creation, were syncrhonised. Due to this, turning most of my attention to my self here felt less like travelling, and more like stopping staring at a single detail in the mirror, and instead looking at the whole.

My sight pulled back, zooming out. Past the multiverse, with its infinite layers of infinite realities. Past the aether that ran through and dwarfed it, several times over. Past the Dreamlands, where dimensioned reality was like a shadow with no substance, which any of the Dreamers could've snuffed out with the effort it took humans to breathe.

And, finally, past the Voids. If the Dreamlands were a dimensionless extension of reality into the beyond, the first Void around it, past the First Gate, was like an endless abyss, caught in an eternal sunset.

This was the first of what I'd dubbed the Twilight Voids, due to their, so to speak, appearance. The first of these vacua transcended the Dreamlands like they transcended the waking worlds, like the second surpassed it.

And so on, and so forth.

Until the obstacles a traveller may find became substantial, and they had to pass through an endless multiplicity of Gates and Ebony Voids, each immeasurably greater than the previous.

If one were to brave this journey, and pass through the Ultimate Gate and into the Outer, Ultimate Void without losing their sanity, they could turn back, and look at creation in its entirely.

Most people willing to try this would've probably been pretty mad at how I treated the Ultimate Gate like a revolving door, but it wasn't  my fault it was so flimsy.

The Keep rested somewhere on the brink of the Outer Void, like a house built on the edge of a cliff. It was not a home, though. It was a place for DEATH and its Keeper to rest, and contemplate, and discuss, but it was a stronghold. Something between a show of force and a status symbol. "I am here. I am important enough to come here, and powerful enough to remain."

It was to the Outer Void what DEATH was to most people, really.

And today, from a linear perspective, was the day I would be properly instated as (hopefully the last) Keeper of DEATH.

I sat on an insultingly uncomfortable chair-the softest thing in the room, by elimination-and felt the floor behind me shift and swell, becoming a flight of stairs, at the top of which, on a raised platform, was a throne.

It was what you'd have expected from someone who'd build a place like this. Jet-black, with a row of skulls across the headrest and two more forming the armrests. Except it wasn't occupied by some edgy dark lord...no, wait, DEATH  was sitting down.

I stood up from my throne-a smaller, grey, unadorned copy of the one above me; subtle-, turned around, and sighed.

'Who are you doing this for?' I asked, gesturing at it. 'Seriously. I know what you can do, and you know I'm not impressed by shit like this.'

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED, KEEPER MINE, WHETHER PEOPLE MIGHT DO THINGS LIKE THIS BECAUSE THEY ENJOY THEM?

I rolled my eyes. It wasn't screaming, exactly, but its dying rattle of a voice was somehow soft as leather sliding over bone and loud as thunder, at the same time.

It had changed since we'd joined. Back then, it had sounded like a normal person, which might have explained why it had appeared unsure. Now...I had a feeling I knew what its words would've looked like transcribed, and wasn't surprised. It shared some of pops' interests, after all, though I wasn't sure who'd influenced who.

'What do you want?'

WHAT I WANT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT CAN BE GIVEN, RECEIVED AND PRESERVED. It held up a hand before itself, and I watched as its appearance changed.

With DEATH being what it was, it appeared most often as the closest thing to a neutral embodiment of its concept as possible: the Grim Reaper. But even that varied.

Sometimes, it was just a cowled robe, empty save for darkness, hollow sleeves clutched around its scythe.

Most often, it looked like a skeleton, or rather parts of one.

And, rarely, it looked like an emaciated corpse, deathly pale skin, in some places as white as maggots, in others ashen grey, spotted by rotten yellow and dark red splotches. Its hands, though rotten and ending in broken claws, gripped the scythe as firmly as its will was directed towards the destruction of its enemies.

There was always a scythe, but it varied in appearance, too. Most often, it was black, with a steel blade, sometimes shining and spotless, other times rusty and pitted. Or it was made of brown, twisted wood, or something that resembled white metal and bine, but was neither. It had one head, or two; a handle, or a dozen, or none at all.

The scythe was a sceptre as much as a weapon. In most cases, the implication was enough. People dying of fear was convenient, when you were there to end or take them away anyway.

DEATH stood up slowly, like a great burden was trying to crush it, though if you asked me, it was just being lazy so it could look dramatic. It loomed over me, towering no matter how I tried to look at it, tall as forever was long. Like the ceiling, and the room, and the Keep. It used its scythe like a walking stick, and creation shook with every step. I knew it could rip the Outer Void apart with a wave of its hand, save for the other Archetypes and the things beyond, for all that it was changeless and unchangeable.

When DEATH came face to face with me, it was like looking into a mirror, at first. Then the false flesh fell away, leaving only a grinning skull barely covered in parchment-thin skin, and a few wisps of colourless hair barely hanging onto its scalp.

YOU ASK WHAT I WANT, KEEPER MINE? I WANT WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED, WHAT I'LL ALWAYS CRAVE. I WANT THE CYCLE OF LIFE AND DEATH PRESERVED.

'You're yet to explain what that entails,' I pointed out, making it nod agreeably.

THE FACT IT NEEDS TO BE EXPLAINED IS...SADDENING, TRULY. Its empty sockets made a rolling sound as they moved slightly in its face. DO NOT FEEL INSULTED, KEEPER.  YOU UNDERSTAND, ELSE YOU WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN CHOSEN AND PREPARED.

'Groomed,' I corrected, only slightly bitter compared to the hatred I'd felt before...before...

THAT IS WHAT I MEANT, YES.

'Grooming is the term used for manipulating people in order to shape them into what you want them to be. Usually when a weaker person is abused by a stronger one.'

It held up a bony hand. I SHALL FINISH DETAILING WHAT I WANT. THEN, YOU SHALL LAY DOWN YOUR GRIEVANCES.

Well, at least we had the work dynamic already set. Nice.

I WANT MORTALS TO STAY DEAD WHEN THEY PERISH. NO MORE SOULS BEING BOUND INTO VESSELS AGAIN, WHEN THE SPIRIT USED TO BE FAITHLESS.

It lowered a finger.

I WANT TO BEAR THOSE WHO DIE UNCLAIMED INTO THE AETHER, WHERE THEY CAN ENJOY OR LANGUISH IN A GODLESS AFTERLIFE.

Two.

I WANT THOSE WHO EXPLOIT AND PERVERT THE LIVING AND THE DEAD AND THE GRAND CIRCLE THAT BINDS THEM DESTROYED. THOSE WHO SEEK TO SHACKLE OR DESTROY ME, OR THOSE WHO MUST REMAIN UNBOUND AND DEATHLESS.

Three.

I WANT TO BE KEPT. I WANT-NEED-YOU TO ASSIST ME IN THE AFOREMENTIONED TASKS, TO LIGHT MY PATH WHEN I AM GOING ASTRAY.

Four...is death. Was that guilt, or was I just trying to put a face and voice to a force of nature?

WHEN I LAST LOST MY WAY, THE DREAMER COULD NOT BEAR IT, AND CREATION WAS NEARLY DESTROYED. AS IT HAS HAPPENED BEFORE...I HAVE NOT THANKED YOU, KEEPER. It spread its arms, the scythe's blade gleaming. BESIDES THE POWER I HAVE GRANTED YOU, ANYTHING YOU WANT IS YOURS.

'Anything,' I deadpanned. 'I had  everything for a time, and I didn't want it.' I couldn't stand the idea of people going crazy with fear at the thought of what I might do, after my eyes were opened, and the red haze disappeared.

DEATH bowed its head. I AM SORRY IF MY HUMBLE SERVICES ARE NOT TO YOUR LIKENESS, MY KEEPER.

'I'm surprised you don't cut people with just that tongue,' I retorted, then looked straight into its sockets. 'There is only one thing I want from you. Life from death. My children...'

ONE COULD SEE THAT AS TOO PIVOTAL A CHANGE OF UNDEATH. WERE THE DREAMER STILL ASLEEP, EVERYTHING WOULD LIKELY FALL APART.

'But it's not,' I said. 'I don't understand everything it sends me, but creation no longer risks being ended by its nightmares. And I doubt it will just stand by and allow it to be destroyed, from within or without, no matter how much it wants us to improve ourselves.'

DEATH agreed silently, so I decided I might as well do it. 'Sit down. I want to talk.'

ALWAYS. ANYTHING.

After we took our seats, I reshaped the room so we were at eye level. I no longer had Mimir's eyes, but the blessing the Mover had granted me functioned as a substitute, and more. Creation being stabler now-and technically always, depending on your relationship to time-, changes that would have never been allowed to happen did. For example, the decisions my alternate Keeper self had performed no longer being necessary to preserve the Dream in the long run.

And God, I was glad for that. The Keeper who'd become one with me had been a bitter man, carrying on because there was no alternative. The Mover had never awakened for his creation, and the cycle of sleep and waking had never been broken.

Chernobog had never given him Mimir's power out of spite. Instead, he'd taken it for himself, and the pantheons had broken themselves against the unholy abomination born from that union, before finally dragging it down. In a nearly godless creation, with all divine beings inimical or inscrutable, he and DEATH had taken on most souls, hoping nothing would come that would disrupt the Dream.

Pitiful...

'You killed Andrei,' I began. 'You put the knife in his murderer's hands.' I leaned forward, fingers steepled in a deceptively calm pose. 'And I know why, so I won't ask. You'll say you wanted to destroy Misha anyway, so if they killed each other and Andrei's soul came to the aether, good. But they didn't.'

YOUR POINT?

My lips pulled back from my fangs. 'Are you sorry? Truly sorry? Do you even care? If you do...I want an apology.'

While DEATH and I were linked (to arcane sight, a black chain binding my left arm to its right would have extended between us), we didn't literally know and feel everything the other did. We could have, but I didn't want it in my head. If I knew its state of being and could tap into its power, and vice-versa, we were both willing to leave it at that.

YOU TALK AS IF YOUR GRANDFATHER DESTROYED YOUR FATHER'S SOUL. HE MERELY KILLED HIM. ANDREI DRAVICH'S SPIRIT BEARS NONE OF THE INJURIES OF HIS DISCARDED MORTAL COIL.

I palmed my face, trying not to growl as I rubbed my eyes. 'Alright...first off, Andrei is not my father. Constantin Silva is. But he's still a friend, and I hate you for what you did to him-and to all those other souls you wiped out!'

I snarled the last part, standing over it with my hands balled into fists. DEATH didn't even flinch.

AS I HAVE TOLD YOU, I CANNOT PROPERLY MANAGE MY CHARGES WITHOUT A KEEPER. There was no sign of frustration in its tone or posture, but I could have felt it even without our bond. I AM NEITHER OMNIPOTENT NOR OMNISCIENT. THE DREAMER FORCED ME INTO THIS ROLE WHEN IT BROUGHT FORTH CREATION. IT MUST HAVE FOUND IT APPROPRIATE FOR THE EMBODIMENT OF ENDINGS TO TAKE THE SOULS UNCLAIMED BY ANY GOD.

I looked down at it as it unflinchingly met my glare, then scoffed, sitting back down. In a way, it was right. But, just because it was a victim, it didn't mean it could torment those weaker than it, those it was supposed to protect. It didn't mean it was moved by their vulnerability, any more than the Mover had been by its.

'That's never going to happen again,' I said, knowing that, in the time loop necessary for me to end up here, Andrei had to die, in order to push me along the path. I'd only been able to change small things, be there for Alex, make fewer, and I almost spat at the thought, necessary choices. But some of them still had to happen. The Mover didn't seem like it was about to lift a finger on this note.

'You brush it off so easily, like death is meaningless because the spirit survives! That's like saying you can maim someone if you want, unless you cripple them permanently.' I smirked. 'And I bet that, if someone was killed in a way you disapproved of, you'd send me after the responsible, or go yourself.'

MY BELIEF IN WHAT IS PROPER AND IMPROPER IS NOT SET IN STONE, MY KE-

'Call me David, dammit. Or Silva. I don't need to hear that title from you, of all people.'

IT CAN CHANGE, DAVID. I CAN CHANGE. LET US CHART THE PROPER COURSE OF LIFE AND DEATH. TOGETHER.

I looked around, idly noting how much like a desperate lover it sounded-when we weren't even in a working relationship yet, gosh-and decided to capitalise on its eagerness to please.

'You really want a Keeper, don't you?'

I WANT A KEEPER. I NEED YOU, DAVID.

I nodded carefully. 'Creation is no longer in danger if you are...alone.'

LEAVE ME, AND I WILL DESTROY UNCLAIMED SOULS AGAIN, RANDOMLY, AND WHENEVER A NEW ONE JOINS.

I didn't hit it. I didn't even glare at it. From anyone else, it might've sounded like a threat, but I knew that it was just stating facts. It wasn't even a promise, merely a description of what it would do in its natural state.

Because it had never been meant to be a psychopomp, or a guardian of the dead. It needed a different perspective, to balance it, and, as much as I hated it, it had to be me. Partly because it didn't want anyone else as its Keeper, partly because, and I knew how selfishly paranoid it was, I didn't trust anyone else to deal with it, have access to its power. The moment I found a suitable candidate, I'd leave it behind, but until then, I'd Keep it.

Tch. I didn't have a problem, of course. I could quit whenever I wanted. What I didn't want was innocents being torn apart in its mindless rampages, or, though I doubted it would ever admit it, to sate its spite at the duty it had been forced to perform.

I briefly thought about asking the Mover to change that, and had to bite my tongue not to laugh.

'There's still time before Andrei's funeral, in the linear world,' I said. 'You owe me. I want you to do something for me; several things, rather. Don't worry, it's nothing you wouldn't have done by yourself. But I want you to let me choose how it goes down.'

DEATH's skull seemed stuck in a permanent grin. Even so, I could feel its amusement.

* * *

Misha let out a delicious whimper of pain as he rolled across the pitted floor. Looking at the empty chamber, you'd have thought we were in the Keep. In truth, we were in the aether, in what was about to become my grandfather's personal hell.

DEATH used to handle punishments by itself in-between losing its last Keeper, however that had happened, and bonding with me. I didn't know if it was also pushed to do that, or if it hurt people of its own volition (and, if that was the case, why. Humanlike cruelty? Curiosity? Boredom? They ran closer together than one might have thought, when it came to inflicting suffering). I'd convinced it I understood hurting others better than it, though. From experience.

'Hell-o, gramps~' I sang, bouncing on the balls of my feet with a smile, hands behind my back. 'Happy to see me again? I know it hasn't been long, but I like to thing we've forged an unbreakable bond, you and I.'

Misha struggled to all fours, fell down, and gingerly turned so he could sit on the floor. He was wearing a prison outfit, tattered from the last journey he'd ever take, and was glaring like me, despite his eyeless, mangled face.

Luckily, I had experience with those, too. On both ends.

'Hasn't been...?' he wheezed, brow wrinkling in confusion as he tried to both kill me with a look and remember if he'd forgotten anything. 'What the hell? I've been gone for days!' He stood up on shaky legs. 'Longest damn days of my life! Those worthless policemen of yours interrogated and imprisoned me, but...'

'Nope!' I said cheerfully, popping the "p". 'You couldn't even perceive, much less resist it, but I'm happy to tell you everything that happened to you took place in altered time.' Like anything even mildly important that needed to be done quickly, nowadays. 'If you actually were a powerful ghost, you wouldn't be bound by such little things as time. Alas, for you...'

He managed a pretty impressive sneer, for someone doomed. The fact he wasn't aware of it might've played a role in it, though. 'I'd rather be weak than an overpowered freak like you, boy.'

I created a chair, taking a seat in front on him and leaning forward. 'Not that I approve of blackface,' I said. 'But you'd make a great Ruckus if they ever adapted the Boondocks to live action.' Not that he'd get the chance.

'What are you blathering abo-'

I smiled blithely at the mouthless ghost-not that he needed it to talk; this was just an aftereffect of his capacity for speech being removed-and settled comfortably into the black leather chair. With the sliver of power I'd received from the Mover, I'd altered myself a little. Bringing my sense of touch back had been the second change, right after the return of my sense of taste (when it came to food, mind). I'd even added an option to start feeling pain again when it would be advantageous.

'Never mind. You see, grandfather, you've been a very bad man,' I ran a finger along an armrest, realised I was acting like an edgy teen in a revenge fantasy, and cut the shit. 'An awful bastard, in fact. And it's my duty to make sure people like you get what they deserve.'

Black, barbed chains burst into existence, digging into his flesh, and he writhed in horror at the memory of our first meeting. I laughed, and heard DEATH chuckle softly in the back of my mind, happy for my joy.

'I threatened to have you raped forever by a monster made from your preconceptions of my grandmother, and people like her,' I said, standing up. 'But I won't lower myself to that level. Oh, you'll feel her horror, her pain, her despair, whenever you become too calm. Don't try to look for a pattern. I don't believe in psychological comforts like that, when it comes to the damned.' He'd also feel everything the people he'd oppressed had experienced under his heel, but I saw no need to spoil that surprise. 'That's just a sideshow, though. You have been selected to take part in my first experiment involving the guilty unclaimed dead. Be honoured! And say hello to your cellmate. He can get grabby, when he feels he's being ignored.'

* * *

Misha cursed as his mouth reappeared, right after the disappearance of the monster the crow's spineless kid had become. It seemed his powers were not so great, if he needed to be present for them to work. The ghost scoffed. He'd find a way out of here, again, and this time, he'd make sure the strigoi would see everything he'd ever cared about defiled and broken in front of him. Then, he'd take him, and do to him exactly what he'd done to his father and grandmother. In that order, if he was lucky...no. He didn't deserve that. No one who turned into things like him deserved anything. Misha was no faggot, and certainly no corpse-fucker, but he didn't need to be for what he had in mind. Honour allowed anything, when you had to humble the deserving.

He'd show him true despair.

And then, he'd put things right. Why not? The world needed a firm hand on the tiller, and who better than him, who'd remained a man, despite everything he'd been through?

Misha gasped in pain as he felt something cold and sharp tear through his ectoplasm, and found himself waist-deep in the chair the strigoi had left behind. The ghost looked behind him, and saw steel teeth in the grinning maw that had been the chair's seat. The thing shook once, twice, and almost swallowed him, only leaving his head outside.

Misha screamed in agony and disgust as he felt many-legged things, cold and slimy or furred and unbearably warm and wet, crawl and scuttle in and through him. He tried to gulp, then some of the little horrors burst out of his mouth, and he closed his eyes, crying and gritting his teeth, after seeing them wriggling on the floor. More of them ate him from the inside, hollowing out places they could nest into, around his heart, inside his groin.

Then, with a rush of displaced air, a strigoi appeared in the room, but it wasn't his grandson. No, this one looked older, with thick, swept back hair, and was wearing an old doctor's coat. Misha would have cursed him, if he hadn't been so horrified of the monsters inside him.

The strigoi cast about him with dark, suspicious eyes that finally settled on Misha. 'You're not Constantin...what'd you do to my darling?'

Great, an undead cocksucker. Misha's mouth opened, despite himself, then disappeared. Two smaller copies of it, as if it had been split in half, replaced his eyes, screaming endlessly.

The strigoi's eyes briefly widened, then he sniggered. 'Well, a hole's a hole...is what I'd say if I still had anything to fill it with!' He snarled at the surroundings, looking for the culprit. Seething at finding none, he turned his attention back to the wretch in front of him. 'Oh, I can hear your thoughts, little man. See them on the aether's tides. A homophobic soldier, and a ghost who hates supernaturals! Hypocrisy squared, aren't you?'

As he took a step closer, licking his fangs at the sight of the quivering twin mouths, the chair the ghost had been trapped in disappeared, leaving him staggering on half-eaten feet, little, ugly shapes falling out of him.

The mouths' teeth ground together as the ghost's hands balled into fists. The strigoi flexed his claws. He might as well fill his time with something, until he could find his love.

* * *

You know that joke about two arseholes fighting in the street? The real life version was even funnier.

Looking at them from the outside, you'd have wondered who was really being punished. I liked to think both were.

DEATH looked expectantly at me, like an infant or dog awaiting approval, and my mood briefly darkened. It didn't think like me. It was just trying to get into my good graces.

'I want more,' I told it. 'I've seen what you do when left to your own devices, and you make a right mess of things. From now on, unless I specifically request otherwise, I'm going to choose how the guilty are punished.

It nodded. NOT SO DIFFERENT, YOU AND YOUR FIVEFOLD FRIEND.

Actually, Christine didn't have a pressganged Archetype breathing down her neck, but, yes, I suppose we wanted similar things. 'As you say,' I allowed, before it started giving its opinions on other people I knew. 'I just need to clear a few things with ARC, and then I'll be able to focus more on Keeper duties.'

YOU WILL CONTINUE TO SERVE THEM, AS WELL?

It already knew the answer, of course, with its timeless perception, but this discussion would've made no sense in any human language if I described the way it actually talked.

'Why not?' I mused. 'Asterion works for Hades and the Aegis Adamantine, and, without bragging, I don't think I'm less competent.'

THEY WANTED TO FEED YOU TO HIM, FOR EATING GODFLESH.

I looked at it askance. 'I am aware,' I said tersely. 'Of the proposition Loki made in anger. But he was grieving for his children.'

AND YET, YOU WERE NOT GUILTY. NOT THAT SENTIMENT IS AN EXCUSE. YOUR HATRED OF ME WILL NEVER STOP US FROM WORKING TOGETHER.

I breathed out through my fangs. 'Let's talk about that.'

IT SEEMS THAT THE GODS ARE AS CAPABLE AS METING OUT JUSTICE AS I AM ON MY OWN, it said, in what I suppose was meant to be joking self-deprecation. It just sounded judgemental, though, even while putting itself down.

'Stop. Deflecting.' I looked at it, trying to find anything piglike.

IF IT HELPS, THE TARTARUS ENGINE BELIEVED YOU INNOCENT, IF UNLUCKY. MAYHAP HE WOULD'VE EVEN GONE AGAINST HIS KING, IF COMMANDED TO END YOU.

The warm, fuzzy feeling at learning people were capable of basic decency-DEATH must've been shocked, shocked-was so overwhelming I had to actually fight it down. Or it would've been, if I'd been the same cynical little cunt I'd been during my human life and early undeath.

'Let's say it does and move on.' I grabbed it by the spine, and it let itself be moved. 'Why?'

WHY TAKE A PIG'S SHAPE? WHY WATCH YOU YOUR ENTIRE LIFE?

'Well?' I threw it back onto its throne, where it settled like it was boneless, ironically enough. 'And while you're at it, you can tell me why you stood around while my father was going crazy with your hoof firmly shoved up your arse.'

THE EVENTS CHANGED. IT HAS NEVER BEEN SO, IN THIS CREATION.

'My father and friends remember,' I retorted. 'To varying extents. Sometimes, it's like a half-forgotten memory, which they know is there, even if they're not sure what it entails. But the details can be brought into the light on a whim.'

AND YET, something glimmered inside its sockets, THE EVENTS WERE UNDONE. AS THINGS HAPPENED, YOUR FATHER REALISED HE WAS PLAGUED BY DOUBT, AND PRAYED FOR CLARITY. PERHAPS GOD WAS KINDER THIS TIME.

'Answer me,' I demanded. 'Why a pig?'

YOUR FATHER HAS NOT TOLD YOU.

'He suggested I ask you myself.'

VERY WELL. PIGS WERE FIRST KEPT AROUND NOT FOR MEAT, BUT BECAUSE THEY COULD CONSUME WASTE, THUS DISPOSING OF IT. THIS WAS THEIR ORIGINAL PURPOSE. MUCH LIKE I KEEP CREATION CLEAN BY REMOVING CERTAIN DREGS...AND IT APPEALED TO ME, TO ASSUME THE SHAPE OF SOMETHING THAT STILL LIVED FOR ITS ORIGINAL PURPOSE.

I kept my expression under control. 'Is this why you ate that pile of corpses when it tried to break into pops' house?'

PARTLY. IT WAS AN ABOMINATION, BUT I ALSO NEEDED TO PROTECT YOU, MY KEEPER IN THE MAKING.

'Couldn't you have done that before it killed the dogs?' I asked petulantly. Usually, I wasn't so demanding of people who'd saved my life, but DEATH was an inhuman monster, so fuck it.

ITS NATURE MADE IT DESERVING OF DESTRUCTION. BUT, HAD I ACTED EARLIER, AS TIME COUNTS SUCH THINGS, EVERYTHING I HAD PLANNED WOULD HAVE BEEN FOR NOTHING. DO NOT TRY TO TURN BACK AND CHANGE THINGS, it added in a warning tone. THAT NIGHT CAN ONLY BE MADE WORSE, NOT BETTER.

I let that slide, because I felt it was hiding something else. 'That wasn't the only reason, though, was it? For the Hogge disguise?'

I ADMIT THE OTHER TWO WERE MORE...WHIMSICAL. Its teeth glinted in its skull. THAT FANTASY NOVEL SERIES CONSTANTIN LIKES-A BEGONE RELIC OF A TIME WHEN THE SUPERNATURAL WAS STILL...MYSTERIOUS. ROMANTICISED. BUT ONLY BARELY. IT WAS COMING INTO THE LIGHT, SO SIR PRATCHETT- I swear, if it made a night/knight joke...DECIDED TO CAPITALISE ON THE SITUATION. A GOOD IDEA, EVEN IF THE INTEREST PETERED OUT FAIRLY QUICKLY. Its skull swayed inside the hood. MOSTLY.

I grunted. Nothing new. Although, the way it talked now was also a reference, though it hadn't mentioned that. 'And the third reason?'

THAT ILLUSTRATED SERIES NEVER CAME TO BE IN YOUR UNIVERSE. THE MARKET WAS OVERSATURATED, SEE? NOT TO MENTION THE PRINCES OF HELL WOULD'VE TAKEN OFFENCE.

I took a brief look across creation, and saw a reality where said series had come to be. 'Another hog, cleaning up the leftovers.'

IT'S DIRTY WORK, BUT SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT.

Determined not to show any reaction to the (unintentional?) pun, I pressed on. 'All right, I get your...theme.' "Mask" would've been more fitting. 'I don't like that you lied to my father, though.'

I DID NOT LIE, DAVID. I MIGHT HAVE CROSSED HIS PATH SO I COULD END UP CLOSE TO YOU, BUT I WAS TRULY INTERESTED IN HIM. Maybe protecting him too. Who knew, when it wasn't talking?

'Don't expect gratitude for whatever you might've done while playing watchdog,' I warned it. 'All of that was washed away when you decided Andrei could be murdered for the sake of expediency.'

AS YOU SAY. It was only some humanity away from shrugging. What can you do? WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT, DAVID?

Besides everyone I wanted dead at my feet, my friends safe and my family at my side? To see Andrei off.

He deserved that, in the end.

* * *

'...was not a good man,' Aaron began to wrap up his speech. Though only a fraction of his true size, the Admiral was still in zmeu form, a few heads glaring at the closed casket, some others looking at it with something between fondness and exasperated relief.

At getting rid of him? At the old were finally getting to rest?

'If you ask me, we were both cowards. We could've attempted to escape the country, maybe even succeeded. But we remained to serve. Only I did not enter the Navy to save my own hide, unlike him. Dravich knew what the Security did. He considered it less important than his life.' Now, all of Aaron's heads turned to look at the few gathered, posture awkward, as if he wasn't sure whether to apologise or not. 'Understand-I never hated him. I do not say this to mock. I believe that, after so many years doing wet work in the shadows, Dravich would've liked the truth to come out, in the end.'

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I'll have to tell you about the Dead Living, one day. Aaron had so many good words about them and their origin, you would've thought they were related.

I took the zmeu's place, and, if my face was wet, it was because I hadn't wanted to disperse the day's storm with my powers. It would've felt...vulgar.

'I'll be brief,' I began, eyes sweeping across the rows of seats. My friends, Lucian's brothers, Mia, silently encouraging me to be sincere. God's Mouth, standing a ways away, the rain steaming before it could reach him. And in the front row, a group of grim-faced ex-Securists, friends and enemies, come to see if the bear was really dead this time.

'I knew Andrei as the man who fathered me for less than a decade, and that throws a shadow over everything he said and did before.' My chest shuddered as I breathed the wet air in. It smelled of earth and newly dead flesh, only now starting to rot, after it had been taken from the morgue. 'I do not doubt...I no longer doubt that he was truly my friend. He tried to help me, in his own way, when I came close to true death. It took that to make both of us honest-fear of commitment seems to be a family trait,' I said with a weak smile, drawing more murmurs of agreement than I'd have liked from the former Securists. Ileana hushed them with a growl, before gesturing for me to go on.

I did not mention that I truly didn't know whether I should have changed things in the past. But then, changing creation to suit what I believed was necessary was the way of the old Keeper. I was not omniscient, even if I saw futures where Andrei was happier...unlike everyone else still alive.

Had he raised me, I'd have come back as a strigoi much sooner, and everything would've fallen into oblivion not long after. Paths not taken...

Let's just say he'd have been one of those fathers who meant well.

'But I do know he wasn't an evil man. I needn't remind those gathered here of the lives he saved, rather than ended. Of the time he fought in the Fright, despite his then-employer being dead and thus unable to provide any payment, simply because he refused to let monsters who'd used his body as a weapon of mass murder run wild. Let us not mince words-he was a civilian. Licenced security, yes, but his contract had been abruptly terminated. He could've run. Legally, he had no reason to fight, or stay and help. No reason at all...if he'd been the coward I'd believed him to be. They...they could've killed him.'

That went on for a while longer, until Bianca softly told me I was becoming agitated. The rain getting in my eyes, I walked to the casket, pops appearing on the opposite side. I gingerly lifted it, and began lowering it into the grave with my power over wind. He'd helped bring me into this world. It was only fair that his son, the Keeper of DEATH, would usher his remains into the next.

'Bless him, Lord,' Constantin began, putting his hands together, his voice like the crackle of flames. 'He never prayed to you, and yet he did not live in wickedness. My eyes have been opened, as David's have. Let him and You grant him safe passage into the hereafter...Amen.'

The grave had been mine, and the Ghencea cemetery staff had kept it empty at my request. I was sure they'd have liked to put it to use, but they'd never said anything, and I wanted something to remind me of my...true beginning.

Thank God for undeath. I'd never done anything worthwhile with my life. Prepared the next generation, yes...but none of my old students had come to my funeral. I doubted they'd heard about it.

My gravestone had been removed, replaced with one reading

Andrei Dravich

1945-2031

Father and friend

Marked by blood, not defined by it

You will never be forgotten

'I should've been there,' I whispered even as I moved dirt to fill the grave. 'He shouldn't have died alone.'

'Everyone dies alone, David. Everyone I've killed, at least.'

I turned slowly, unsurprised to see Andrei's ghost. He wore a spectral replica of his former uniform, and was toying with the memory of a flask. 'Good riddance to a bastard.' He looked at my friends. 'You know I'm not really gone, right?' Then, to Alex, 'We're neighbours now. We're gonna keep you up all night.'

At my friend's confused, questioning wince, another ghost materialised at my side, wrapping her arms around one of mine.

'Glad to meet you, David,' my mother said sheepishly, unsure if she should smile. 'I wish I hadn't-'

'Hush,' I cut off the apology. 'You were lucky to remain yourself, in the aether. No more. I will not let people lose their minds anymore. I will put them together myself, if necessary. As many times as it is needed.'

As Simona's mouth began to tremble, Andrei looked at the others, then put a hand on my shoulder. 'Mind if we huddle a bit? I'll be back soon. Heard a real son of a bitch is buried here, and I wanna piss on his grave.'

I let the two lead me away, to a nondescript corner of the graveyard, full of faded headstones.

Andrei, true to form, didn't wait until I was about to open up before he threw an accusation at me. This time, though, I couldn't blame him.

'I remember how things were,' he said, putting an arm around my shoulders as my mother let go, standing a few steps behind. 'When you went around asking people if they wanted to live, if they believed existence was worth it...you didn't come to us.' He tilted his head at Simona, who said nothing, but watched expectantly.

'No, I didn't,' I said. 'I could say I didn't believe you'd have anything noteworthy to contribute, but that would be more arrogant than what I actually did.' Quite a feat, let me tell you. 'I thought...you-we-had been through enough shit. That you wouldn't want to go on longer.'

'Sleep from which you don't wake up is called death,' Andrei said reproachfully. 'True death, not leaving your body behind.'

'I know,' I said, eyes downcast. 'I don't have an excuse.'

The former were sniffed. 'Not that I'm some kind of saint, but if you're contemplating omnicide, you could ask everyone close to you.'

'Leave him alone,' Simona said, walking closer. She was dressed in a skirt and blouse so plain as to be indistinct, and I knew she was still getting the knack of shaping her body. 'David...I'd have liked to be asked, even if you didn't listen afterwards. But, in the end, it doesn't matter. What you nearly did was awful, but I didn't believe you'd do it, for one moment.' She looked at her lover, who let go of me. 'Andrei told me about you. He thinks you're a better man than him.'

The were looked away. 'Don't get smug. It's not a compliment when the bar's that low.'

'I understand,' I told her. 'I tend to do stupid things when I'm only listening to myself, so I'm glad I didn't.' A brief, awkward silence settled between us, as the ghost looked up at me, fingers interlaced. I gave her the best smile I could while unsure how I felt. 'I've...always wanted to meet you, mom.'

Simona hesitantly returned the smile. 'Thank you, David. It's...nice you see me that way, but I haven't been much of a mother to you.'

'We can change that,' I said, then added, 'I must say, you're much more...formal, than Andrei led me to expect.'

Her smile disappeared, and I wondered if I'd said something wrong, but she'd turned to glower at him. 'Dravich, what bullshit did you fill his head with? Told him I'm a bitch because I liked to live?'

That...was more like what I'd heard about her. 'He did say you...didn't care about how you were seen,' I said, since Andrei was being very quiet, having found a fascinating patch of grass.

Simona looked from him back to me, expression dry. 'Bet my transparent arse he called me a slut at some point. He could make even that sound bad...'

'I couldn't possibly comment,' I replied, wondering if she'd just been reserved at the start because she hadn't known how she should act around me. She'd been scared-still was, in a way. Scared I'd hate her. But-and I meant this in the least offensive way possible-she was too pitiful to hate. Hearing about her life made me feel bad, not angry.

'Sure you couldn't, you're nice,' she said, back to staring holes into him. Andrei looked back at her, face blank, and I thought to lighten the mood.

'Hey,' I told him, thinking of my first two fighting inmates. 'Get pops and ask him if he wants to see something funny.' I looked at mom. 'No offence, but I've always seen him as my father, and I don't see that changing.'

'It's alright, kid,' she put a hand on mine. 'He sounds like a good guy. I'd like to talk to him after you come back, and thank him.'

* * *

'...you are dismissed,' Bedivere concluded with a withering glare at his former associates. Vyrt looked resigned but serene, while the face of Merlin's astral projection was unreadable.

'I will not pretend I am ungrateful your actions helped save creation, in a way-agent Silva did most of the work, however. But I am not going to pretend I do not find them loathsome. Almost as loathsome, ideed, as the fact that you decided to undertake this in secret, hide what you did for me.'

He looked into Vyrt's grey eyes. The Nephilim had shrunk down to human size for the discussion. 'It makes my heart twist and writhe, knowing God would see such things as necessary. I will contemplate His will at an opportune moment, then decide my path forward. But that does not concern you. Vyrt, you are hereby stripped of knighthood and the rank of Master, and are to return to Heaven, remaining there until called upon.' A twinge of anger entered Bedivere's voice. 'If you remain on Earth as a civilian, I cannot guarantee you will not be hunted, by a variety of parties for a variety of reasons.'

'What if the Lord sends me to do His will on Earth?' the Nephilim asked flatly.

Bedivere's smile showed his teeth. 'Do not taunt me. The only reason I am not putting you on trial is because I am still thinking about it.'

'You are separating me from my family, Grandmaster.'

Bedivere almost sneered. 'Miranda and Vykt will take an oath of silence, should they choose to leave New Camelot. I know you spoke to them before you spoke to me. Should they remain, they will take an oath not to collaborate or communicate with you without my permission.'

Vyrt's eyes turned sad. 'They are innocent, Grandmaster. You are essentially forcing a divorce. And it is not that I care about myself, but you are hurting the woman who told you about my deeds the moment she could-before I did.'

Bedivere stared down at his desk, unclenching his fist. 'I must think more.' He then turned to Merlin, his arcane sight burning with the image of the chain or cord linking the cambion to Hell. 'You just can't help yourself, can you, sorcerer? I saw Arthur's dreams, when everyone's minds were bound. I know you pretended to be God, in order to set him on his path.'

'So did Arthur,' the mage retorted calmly.

Bedivere would've asked how he could be so shameless, if he hadn't known better. 'You are already serving penance, being tormented unto the edge of endurance by your own kindred. You cannot meaningfully influence the universe anymore.'

Merlin's smile was barely visible in his beard. 'You give them too much credit, Grandmaster, and me too little. You would be surprised what a few carefully-placed words can achieve.'

'From you? Never,' the old Knight said. 'You also told your lover before you told me, and if that doesn't say something, I don't know what does.'

'Why, Grandmaster,' the mage blinked incredulously. 'Are you implying I would do something awful but necessary, then sacrifice myself to alleviate my guilt and ensure Britain's future?'

Bedivere's self-control was too firm for his eye to twitch. 'Let's talk about that. You brought the Knight of Rebellion back, ostensibly to deal with a monster who was stopped by another ARC agent.'

Merlin looked amused. 'Surely you don't believe the fear creature was the sole reason for Mordred's return? I brought him because his power will be needed in the future, and because my absence will need to be filled.'

An absence caused by the mage's ritual, which...no. It was not the time to fall into circular thinking. 'You know very well you're not supposed to bind souls to corpses.' Bedivere's voice rose slightly. 'You're not a god! That's not for you to choose! Even with Mordred's consent.' Perhaps, he thought, especially with it. Going along with anything that man wanted...

'You can be sure the Lord and the Hosts knew what they were doing when they suggested it to me.' Merlin's smile became roguish. 'You can ask Vyrt for a report, after he gets home.'

Bedivere almost told him not to mock, then the mage disappeared, dragged back to the Pit. Vyrt looked at the space where he had been a moment before, then at his former Grandmaster, and vanished in a flash of silver light. Bedivere wanted to call him back, then decided against it. In a way, Vyrt was just following his order, even if he hadn't been sent away yet.

Bedivere's sigh became a groan at the new figure who'd draped himself across his office's visitor chairs, and silently wished he'd decided to do this on the lake.

Mordred's grin widened with every wrinkle that deepened on Bedivere's face, but the Grandmaster could tell he was frustrated. The undead just had one of those faces given to sulking.

'Let me guess,' Bedivere started. 'You're pouting because not everyone fell at your feet and recognised you as rightful King when you took a walk?'

Mordred's expression soured. 'It would not kill them to be grateful.'

'For what, exactly?'

The Neverking did not answer.

'What do you want, Mordred?' Bedivere asked. The undead's flaming eye sockets shone softly.

'These politicians-they're the result of my rebellion's aftermath, as much as I want to see them as usurpers. They are...accepted, if not beloved. And, as much as I would like to kill them and put the land back on track, the people would fight me, and I do not wish to slaughter them.'

Bedivere hoped he didn't look as stumped as he felt, then reasoned that no face was expressive enough for that. 'Then?'

Mordred adjusted, now sitting in one chair, and leaned forward, armoured elbows on the desk. 'I have studied this system of rulership, and I know how to rise to the top. With my natural aptitude for leadership, it will only be a matter of time...'

* * *

Tamar-Caleb-and I stared at each other steadily, my dark eyes meeting his burning sockets as I looked for any signs of acceptance or refusal.

His wife, in a separate room, was doubtlessly wishing she could've listened in, but he'd asked for privacy, and the intense woman had agreed.

'I know you hate him,' I said gently. 'I can't imagine how much. But you're pushing your luck. Eventually, some underworld ruler is going to want the old arrangement back, so they can torture him to their heart's content, or pass him among their peers.'

Tamar didn't reply right away. When he did, his gaze didn't meet mine. 'You are right, Silva. You can't imagine. But...' one of his fists opened, and a small, wretched shape unfolded, until it once again had the shape and size he had possessed in life.

'He is not being left off the hook,' I promised the Goetia Head, not looking at the dazed ghost. 'But he is godless. Some standards have to be upheld, even if you want to punish him forever.'

'I'm sure you know what you're talking about,' the hellbound said, looking me up and down, taking in my new outfit: grey suit, white shirt, black tie with the Crypt symbol. 'Keeper.'

I smiled calmingly. 'I believe I can perform both of my current duties, sir. And, if you will have me, I will continue to.'

'How?' he asked, referring to the first statement. 'Say DEATH needs you in one place and Reem in another. What are you going to do? Multiply?'

'I'm working on it,' I answered honestly.

* * *

The Uberfuhrer twisted around so fast time did not pass before the movement was completed, and met the eyes of a dead man.

It was a harmless thing at first glance, almost humanlike in a monkey suit as grey as its skin and hair. But its smile revealed sharklike teeth, and its eyes...by the void...

They were like endless black pits, swallowing the meagre light of his domain and returning nothing. In contrast, the thing's fangs were almost eerily bright.

'Hello, Dirlewanger,' the corpse said softly. 'I am here on behalf of ARC, DEATH, and humanity.' Its smile widened. 'Not your idea of the species. The trait.'

He growled. 'You do not get to use my name, filth.'

It chuckled. 'Of course not, Oskar.'

And, for a moment, he saw himself in the darkness of its eyes. Not as he was, but as he had been, before he had become empowered by truth.

Dirlewanger scoffed. 'Another subhuman, raised to fail and die again. I can tell by the accent.' He crossed his arms, trench coat swirling around his jackboots. 'What do you want?'

Its face became grim, all traces of amusement fading. 'You are going to stop creating people to torment them. I don't care how much you stunt them, so the entire world doesn't come down on your head. Creating beings who can't think properly, just so you can hurt them, just to exploit a loophole...' the corpse shook its head. 'You're going to stop.'

It was not a request. It was an expectation, an order, and Oskar had to laugh at the sheer, unbridled arrogance.

As if Slavs like it deserved anything, much less to tell their betters what to do.

He abruptly stopped when all of his property, every piece of infrastructure, every creation (not slave, slaves were people; they were worth less than the dust they walked) collapsed, the former with a hideous, painful screech, the latter with gasps of what would've been relief, if they'd been blessed with the ability to feel that.

Oskar wanted to get angry at the corpse-this was undoubtedly its doing-but he instead fell to his knees as white-hot pain lanced through him. Yet, impossibly, he didn't feel himself become more powerful as it surged through every aspect of his being.

It made no sense. Every act of violence, physical or otherwise, against him made him stronger. Fools believed it was because his ideals glorified such things, but the truth was that existence recognised the truth of said ideals, and empowered him to punish those foolish enough to oppose them whenever he was hurt.

Despite that, Oskar felt as if his body was crumbling, like the buildings had, while every instant of misery his creations had felt rushed into his head, drowning his thoughts in despair, fear, and hope for a salvation that would never come.

Except it had.

Oskar stared at up the corpse uncomprehendingly, and it looked down on him, a glimmer of pleasure amidst the disgust. Dirlewanger felt hatred swell within his heart. It had always come easily to him. But now, that oldest of virtues did nothing to help him. He tried to push himself to one knee, and almost fell to all fours.

'Hghh...h-how?' he managed to croak, sweat beading his brow as he tried to get to the corpse and rip it to shreds.

'Wouldn't you like to know?' it said lightly, and Oskar gave a choked roar, making it erupt into laughter.

It only stopped long after a human would've choked to death, its grin back and something glimmering in its clawed hand. 'You've finally begun to feel a part of what you've inflicted-a fraction of what you deserve.' It threw down whatever it was holding, stepping backwards and becoming transparent, until it was finally gone.

'Wouldn't do not to share it with a kindred soul...' its voice lingered on the air after its departure, but was soon replaced by a raking cough.

Oskar finally managed to rise to his feet, only to see one of the worst traitors he had ever known. That was when he noticed he was no longer in his (now desolate) realm, but in the endless, green-blue expanse of the aether. He dimly wondered what was the point of this relocation, but brushed it aside, to focus on the bastard in front of him. 'You?'

Adolf's eyes speared into him, cold as always. 'Dirlewanger...? How are you still alive, you incompetent-'

Hitler cradled his shattered jaw with one hand, ectoplasm seeping through his fingers while his teeth reformed. 'Don't you dare accuse me, you supercilious Austrian! Your incompetence cost us the War, and the Reich Eternal!' Oskar thundered, pulling back his hand. 'It should've been me at the helm! Rommel! Even Himmler! Anyone, but you...' he took a step closer and trailed off, noticing the infamous, self-inflicted gunshot. Oskar couldn't help but laugh. 'Well, I suppose I shouldn't judge you too harshly. At least you killed Hitler.'

Before his former Fuhrer could reply, both of them fell to the floor, as Hitler's pain flowed into Dirlewanger's mind, and the Uberfuhrer's earlier torment returned with a vengeance, now also shared by his ex-commander.

They briefly locked eyes, then their surroundings changed, and they were in an endless, gloomy chamber, gas nozzles popping out of the walls at regular intervals. All around them, what looked like shadows of their dead comrades appeared, and their pain was added to the fold, shared and multiplied.

Then, at the edges of the room, appeared the memories of their victims, and they knew this was only the beginning.

* * *

'Ryd?'

A pause. Then again, more insistently. 'Ryd'yk?' An undercurrent of amusement entered the voice. 'That is the name you're going with at the moment, isn't it?'

The eldritch creature paused, an eye forming to look at its spouse, grin widening. 'True enough, Y. Wassup?'

Yani leaned against the couch's arm, blowing a strand of dark hair out of their face. 'I've been trying to get our attention for a while.'

Ryd put down the woodworking knife, its head twisting around as the rest of its body followed. 'Is this about my car's extended warranty...? No, wait, you didn't say you've been trying to reach me.'

'The fact we're in the same room might have to do with that.'

'Don't be so sure!'

Yani rolled their eyes, adjusting their baggy shirt as they got off the couch and walked over to Ryd's workbench. 'Are you nervous, hon?'

'Huh? I don't think I could be if I tried.' The myriad colours running up and down the edges of the white silhouette shimmered. 'Why?'

'Because,' Yani deadpanned. 'You were just telling me about kicking Nazi arse in one of those secret mentions everyone knows about, the stopped and started carving...' they glanced at the results of Ryd's work dubiously. 'Is that a turd?'

'I prefer to call it a faithful representation of Dirlewanger,' Ryd said, needle teeth gleaming purple as it indicated the figurine's misshapen sections. The grin was angrier than pleased, though, and Yani noticed the tension in its voice-there was no body language to read. They walked behind Ryd, hugging it to their chest.

It sighed. 'It's just...so void-damned awful. People willingly believing shit like that when they should know better, know the truth. Oh, don't get me wrong, I've met far more hateful creatures across creation, but those were made to be like that. People should be...better.'

Yani laid their chin on top of its currently blocky head. 'You're just venting your anger.'

'Yeah, I guess.' Ryd gave the wooden figurine a baleful look. 'I'm gonna burn that, after I carve it up some more.'

Yani kissed the top of its head. 'You wanna finish? Did you and the ARC guy beat him? Or...?'

'Oh, no, we didn't retreat. Not really.' Ryd's tone became thoughtful. 'When everyone joined minds...that was like nothing I'd ever seen. And, for a moment, he...we all understood each other. This shocked him, I think. Loric and I headed back, satisfied he wouldn't be a threat for the time being. He's still a loathsome bastard, but he's started getting his commeupance. Don't worry.'

'That's great to hear,' Yani replied. 'So...' they massaged Ryd's slim shoulders. 'Rorie's out.'

Ryd snorted. 'Kid's probably ending up helping cops again while trying to prove society doesn't work. Let them be.'

'That's not what I meant,' Yani said, not wanting Ryd to go haring off after them, in case they'd gotten into trouble.

'Ah...' Ryd smiled slowly, leaning backwards against them. 'You do feel pretty excited...'

* * *

Ying had never been good with long silences, or the awkwardness that came with them, in part because he was unused to either. When he was around, things were...lively. The presence of dragons like him encouraged existence and its possibilities to flourish.

As he and Houjiao continued reaching for the same things across the table, he realised he was pretty crap at staring contests, too. At least at involuntary ones.

His father was in his dragon form, as always, and, despite his best (half-hearted) attempts, Ying still noticed the grimace of distaste at his human appearance. The fact he'd insisted on remining like that, despite being asked to shift, hadn't helped. It wasn't that Houjiao disliked humans, he just hated disguises. In his opinion, his son had nothing to hide or be ashamed of. Ying agreed, adding that his looks were a matter of taste and preference.

Houjiao was a jade-coloured dragon, the size of a small train even while coiled up, with a thick, white beard and whiskers, dark brown antlers, and black-slit, piercing yellow eyes.

Especially when he was being judgemental, which was most of the time, as Ying had already concluded. He didn't remember his pops being such a dick in his youth, but then, most people were stupid as kids. He must've been naïve. And senile.

His ivory-coloured mother, Anjing, bustled back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, always with a ready, if nervous smile. She'd ended up playing peacemaker, to her displeased surprise, and was clearly hoping something would happen to disperse the tension. Ying gladly obliged her.

'I know you disapprove,' Ying told Houjiao. 'But could you stop scowling? You're curdling the tea.'

He was honestly surprised he'd managed to swallow both the meal and his words so far, and his father's next words only added to it. 'You care more about that than being honest to yourself?'

Ying's smile became noticeably edged, which was quite a feat with his default razor teeth. 'Actually, whenever I point out that I'm being honest, you bury your head into the sand. It was interesting to learn I was sired by an ostrich.'

As he spoke, Ying indulged his father's request, scales sliding over morphing flesh. Houjiao didn't seem particularly cheered up by that, though. Ying wondered why. 'That's just another kind of mask, boy.'

Ying's eyes flickered between his parents, smile widening as he noticed Anjing's attempts to hush his father. 'No, let him talk, mom. I know you agree.'

Houjiao leaned forward. 'Your lust is your own business, but I will not have you making us laughingstocks.'

'I can't see how I'm doing that, or what it has to do with you.'

'No?' Houjiao snorted a puff of green flame. 'You could have a wife and concubines, if you can't get your fill of flesh, but you're afraid to commit.'

Ying laughed, tapping into his chi to shake Heaven's infinite, infinitely-heavy far reaches. 'I've committed to more than you'll ever dream of, old fool. I never noticed you saving creation from your padded seat here.'

'I doubt you would have, even if you hadn't been busy with your dalliances. You're still a child, revelling in your power, playing games with your little friends and pets, surrounding yourself with weakling to put your mind off the loneliness, instead of an equal who could bring you purpose. You know what your whores are? Distractions from a future wife. And your catamites are distractions from them-'

'Don't even go there,' Ying cut him off softly, and something in his eyes made his father hesitate. Ying looked at Anjing. 'How about you? Shushing him up, so everyone can pretend to get along and be friends?'

'Grievances are not a reason to show a household's strife to the world,' she answered. When she spoke again, her voice was dismayed. 'Oh, darling, if you could only see that...I don't care who you love, but don't you care about your legacy? Marry someone. You don't have to cherish her. Just keep up appearances...'

She trailed off as her son flew out of their mansion, and didn't notice his angry tears.

When Ying landed, it was at the edge of the Jade Emperor's palace's gardens. Yudi was sitting cross-legged in the emerald grass, sipping rice wine and appreciating the harmony of the Ten Thousand Things, when his formerly-exiled friend touched down, becoming human once more.

'Ying? You are troubled,' Yudi noted at his friend's drawn, sullen face and red eyes. His face softened as he waved his guards and attendants away. They'd been relaxing too, inasmuch as they could, and there was no need to interrupt that. 'I told you they hadn't changed.'

'You were right.' Ying took a drag from his pipe, Tongdao's voice filling his ears, while his other hand adjusted his scarf. It was the same blinding white as his three-piece suit, boots and slicked-back hair, and he didn't want to stain it. 'You're always...bloody right...'

'The thought does not seem to lighten your heart,' Yudi opined, making the dragon laugh bitterly.

'I...I'm not even sure it's unfair, you know? They got over it so quickly after I murdered Tongdao, it barely took a couple billion years. And when I thought as everyone else did, and you called me back and said my deeds proved I'd become better, I thought...'

'That was a moment of ultimate order,' the Jade Emperor said. 'It showed us what we could achieve, but we went back to thinking like ourselves after.'

Ying fidgeted, pushing his dark, round glasses back up his nose. 'Yeah...I guess we did.'

* * *

The Akupara was far fiercer and faster than one would've expected of a being of its size and temperament. It had likely eaten the elephants meant to support the world on its back, judging by its bloody hooked beak, then the world itself.

Which it must have done with care almost as great as its relish, given the way it blew at an Earthlike planet for getting in its way, and the cosmic currents-though nothing compared to the force of its blows-pulverised the rocky world, reducing it to superheated dust.

I looked at the Asura, pacing across the void at my side. He had, moments ago, bisected an identical planet, cleaving a rent large enough to fit our moon across it.

He had done so to prove the strength of his arm and the keenness of his blade, which I had acknowledged, before pointing out that it would not be enough to scratch the rogue Chukwa.

There is no denying young warriors, though, no matter the land they hail from.

He approached it, swinging the sword at its eyes, his own widening as it shattered, eliciting nothing more than a surprised blink-was he really trying to kill it with something so harmless?

It snapped at him, and he pushed against the beak with his limbs, before shoving the World Turtle backwards. He then drew an axe that looked almost as wicked as it felt from the bag slung across his back, and I nodded approvingly as he brought it down on the Akupara's head, splitting it in half vertically.

However, he then moved to brutalise its remains, and that would not do. Ending the menace had been enough; it had once been a noble creature, and I would burn its corpse.

I moved the light years between us in a moment, interposing myself between him and the dead Turtle faster than he could perceive and raising at finger as he brought the axe down again.

He glared at me, orange eyes blazing in an ebony face as he noticed his weapon had split the skin of my index finger before stopping. How and where he had acquired the evil-feeling weapon was not my business, but he would not destroy what remained of the Chukwa to sate his rage, especially not with that axe.

I flexed my finger and sent him flying, arms broken. He came at me again, and the axe shattered on my raised forearm, while a finger poke to the chest blew a hole through it-I could've stuck my head in it, though I did not.

And...

'Knot,' Aya interrupted him, not unkindly. 'Your report is thorough, but...' he had a tendency to ramble. 'Can you get to the point, please?'

The druid turned lich blinked, something he had to remind himself to do nowadays, though his agents were kind enough to do it for him.

'Oh,' he said. 'Of course! Apologies, apologies...yes, the rogue World Turtle was dispatched, and the Asura was not offended. He and his family regularly hurt themselves worse to make a point, he told me, so he did.'

He tugged at his beard as he nodded, his grey goat head wobbling on his fleshy neck. It was the only hairy part of the Fomorian's plump body: his dead skin was pale and smooth, dark green Celtic knotwork snaking across his limbs and torso. The reason for his name. Knotwork went by Obair Snaidhm, when he wanted to be formal, and by Knot when among friends.

'All in all, the patrol was a success. That universe will soon return to its routine, and the Brahman Cluster will be better for it.' The Fomorian's milky eyes twinkled with good cheer. 'It is a blessing, truly a blessing, for things to be so peaceful that senior agents can afford to patrol the Clusters!' His expression became sly. 'So peaceful that the pantheons agree to it...'

'Let's not tempt fate,' Aya reminded him. 'Simply enjoying it is enough.'

'Oh, definitely, ma'am!' he agreed. 'It's just, after Mag Tuired got levelled the second time, despite my urgings for compromise, I became something of a pariah among gods...not just mine. I had to run away, and keep running, so it's nice to be welcomed, if not feel welcomed.'

'I thought you were marginalised because you laughed when Balor's eye was put out.'

'In my defence, it was bloody hilarious.' Knotwork's snout twitched. 'But, ah, my pacifism certainly did not do me any favours.' And taking up druidism hadn't helped. It was viewed as a thing of the humans and their gods, no matter its usefulness. Knot still wasn't welcome in Ireland, and instead spent his time as Britain's senior Crypt agent.

Knotwork was a pacifist in the sense he would've done anything to prevent needless loss of life, no matter how much he had to cause himself. Still, Aya had to...agree...

The skin around the mummy's eye sockets wrinkled as she felt something crawl, hissing, around the edges. Not of the Crypt headquarters, but of reality, and order.

'Good job, agent,' she told Knot, trying not to sound distracted. 'Keep up the good work.'

Knot appeared somewhat puzzled at the parting words-Aya wasn't usually this formal with older agents, especially those close to her-but left without any questions.

Aya placed her palms flat against her desk, the lights in her sockets flaring as she stood up.

Her surroundings fell away, until they were only a memory on the endless dark waters of the beginning, like an object reflected on a puddle.

Come into my ocean, said the serpent to the corpse~

Aya missed having eyes to roll. She compensated with snorts that would've appalled her mother. 'Apep. You're awfully smug after not doing what you agreed to, or anything at all.'

The snake's rage almost surged to the fore, like a tide, but he shackled it with an effort. Aya chuckled inwardly as he tried to present a satisfied, unconcerned façade.

'Oh, I don't know. Your strigoi seems to have handled himself, despite everything.'

'Especially you.' Aya sat down, letting the waters of chaos cover her to her neck. A mundane human would've been erased by their briefest touch, so that they had never been, the possibility of them existing vanishing as the idea of them faded from creation.

Mummies like her, though, were impervious while the thing stolen from their tomb was away, and Aya was blessed besides.

'Did you come here for a reason?' she asked, kicking her legs back and forth.

Apep watched the movement with barely-disguised contempt. He loathed ordered existence like it was a thorn in his tail, and its inhabitants even more so. To see one treat his home as if it were water incensed him, but he quickly adjusted.

'I have indeed. I thought you might like to be reminded of the truth, now that the lie of order has passed.'

Aya was not disappointed with the snake, but only because she had no expectations. Hoping he'd see the light and cease corrupting and destroying would've been too much; a reversal of Apophis' character, nature and role.

But, with what had happened to the Aesir and their foes...

No. Thinking about what might have been only ever saddened her.

'And what truth is that?' Aya asked, morbidly curious about Apep's latest scheme.

His face-just the suggestion of features, really; wicked fangs that caught the dark light of angular eyes-changed, becoming fuller, more real, until it was a human's.

Aya's heart didn't skip a beat. It hadn't in over a millennium. But she still felt a rush of anger, and distantly noted her body would've warmed with the rage, had she still lived.

Faisal Reem, or the simulacrum Apep had wrought, looked remarkably similar to his human self. Half a head taller than her, skin tanned by decades of harsh sunlight, but still lighter than hers, a beard that reached to his chest and hair that reached to his shoulders, both dark as coal.

His eyes were pits of nothingness cleft into his face, above a surprisingly human smile, and Aya remembered those early years of marriage, spent apart but for the moments of brief joy they managed to snatch from the jaws of fate.

No time elapsed before the treacherous memory passed. She was Samuel's, now and forever. He had never hurt her a fraction as much as this smiling monster in front of her, and he never would.

'Aya,' he said, voice tinged with the appealing burr of their youth, not the snarling roughness before the end. 'Your body is as beautiful as it is false.'

Charming as always. How had she fallen for him? 'And my heart as ugly as it is true?'

Faisal leaned to the side, the darkness around him coalescing into armour covered in snakelike fangs. 'My dear lying, murderous wife...if that is what you believe, I can do naught but agree.' He stretched lazily. 'Do not misunderstand me-I know this is not an illusion. You are as you were on the day of your death...against all odds.' Faisal shook his head. 'You should be a shrunken, dried crone, the little flesh remaining tight against your bones.'

Aya laughed in his face. 'I know a few places where you can find mummies like that, but I do not believe in cruelty against undead.' She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 'And you? You should be a mangled, hideous corpse, not just hideous. I am blessed by my gods, just as you are cursed by your new one.'

Faisal walked closer, whispering, 'Do not lie to me again, Aya...'

She turned away when he tried to grab her shoulder, not meeting his eyes. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Again,' he murmured. 'You do not think I am ugly.'

'Physically? No,' she admitted. 'But you're hardly the first handsome monster I've met, though I only had to kill the others once. And none of their souls were as ugly as the void where yours used to be.'

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and a silence passed between them. Finally, Aya leaned into his touch, and Faisal tried not to jump.

'What do you want?' she asked quietly. 'You took our children. What more do you want from me?'

'...I am not here to hurt you,' he promised. 'I am here to make you an offer.'

Aya could've told him where to shove it, but she wanted to know. The last time he'd come to bargain had been in the Middle Ages. He'd taken their children's unclaimed souls-they'd been too little to decide upon a faith before their deaths-and used them to sow chaos.

He'd used Aqim and Bilal's dead seed and Farah's barren womb to raise an army of abominations, which he'd unleashed upon the Old World. They were put down in the end, with Aya spearheading the purge of her monstrous grandchildren, but Faisal had tried to strike a deal with her, promising that everything-the forced, incestuous breeding of young, uncomprehending spirits, the slaughter of people who knew nothing of the creatures that hunted them-would end, if only she became his bride again.

She had refused, obviously.

'Go ahead,' she demanded.

Faisal's smile wavered at her cold tone and colder stare. 'Creation has settled down enough you needn't fight for it any longer. Step down, and I will release our children. They will go wherever peace awaits them, or,' he sounded so cheerful, like he wasn't blackmailing her using ghosts unlucky to be born to him, but entirely innocent. 'They will come with us. You have seen what life leads to, Aya. Nothing but pain and dismay. Join me,' he extended a gauntleted hand. 'Return to chaos. We can be husband and wife, a family, once more.'

'No,' she replied flatly. 'Creation still needs me. Even if it didn't, I would never spend eternity with you, in the bosom of Isfet.'

'You might change your mind,' he retorted. 'After you realise how much you hurt them.' He raised his hand, three lights encircling as many fingers like rings. 'My Lord has taught me how to bring you to heel. Did you know that every monster you've killed, every foe you struck down, marked them? All your enemies' pain has been shared by your spawn for over a dozen centuries!' His smile became a sickly grimace at Aya's shocked face. 'Do not believe it will ever stop, if you continue to disobey me.'

'Faisal-' she began, tears trickling from empty sockets down a face as dark as ebony, invisible in the sea of chaos save for the twin lights shining where the mummy's eyes had been, but he cut her off with a harsh laugh.

'They tried to go mad, you know? They always do...but the Lord taught me madness is an escape, a refuge. It does not let one properly suf-'

'You son of a bitch!' Aya snarled, retracting her ichor-covered fist from Faisal's caved-in chest. 'How could...Apep taught you? No! This is human cruelty! The serpent knows naught but the desolation of worlds! This was  your idea! You're lying, trying to...to pass the blame, as if following such orders is forgivable!'

'Your mutt has spoiled you,' Faisal spat, chest healing. 'Always indulging your every whim, eager to kiss your feet. Unnatural...just like a warrior woman! A leader of warriors!' He chuckled. 'You call me a monster, then break every rule of the world you claim to love!'

'What did you think was going to happen, Faisal?' she asked tightly. 'That I'd fall into your arms, crying and begging, then forgive you? Go back like nothing ever happened?'

He shook his head, hair swaying wildly. 'I was always too kind to you. Let you dress as you liked, speak as you wished, do what you wanted. And look how you reward me!'

* * *

Sam was walking through a darkness wholly different from that assailing his lover.

He had recently gotten a premonition, a hunch, if he was being honest, that he could help both himself and everyone else by retracing the steps of his first ancestors.

Whether it had been an instinct or something whispering to him in his own voice, he had gotten the feeling he could finally leave the shadow his parents cast over his life, even after their deaths, at last.

And then, there had been Black God.

Sam had been walking through Salem when he'd come across a cave mouth.

It had appeared from the same place it led to: nowhere. He had entered, to destroy it if there was any danger to be found, and, after an endless descent, he had reached a circular room, where Black God had been waiting for him.

Chernobog's recent atrocities had made him pretty twitchy when the god had presented himself, before clarifying he was a different deity.

He had looked like Sam, never close to his people, much less their gods, had imagined: a crescent moon on his forehead, a full moon where his mouth should have been. A charcoal buckskin mask, covered in sacred patterns painted in white, had hidden the rest of his face from sight. Skin the color and texture of charcoal. The Pleiades on his temple.

Black God had been sitting by a fire that had burned with no fuel or smoke, and had raised his head at Sam's approach. He had told Sam how the Navajo did not appreciate his inventions, from the making of fire to several celestial bodies.

"They haven't said it," Black God had said, referring to his fellow deities. "But I'm sure they're going to kick me out sooner or later." He'd raised his head. "Like they did to you."

Sam had faked a loud belch. "Y'know, when you want to tell someone you are not so different, you and them, it helps to actually have things in common." He'd scratched his neck with a long middle finger, like an aye-aye looking for insects, wondering if Black God was getting the message. "Nobody kicked me out. I left when I was a dumb kid, bursting with fear and rage, and never looked back."

He doubted he'd have been welcomed, ARC or not, victim of abuse or not. Sam had been raised as a skin-walker before he'd become a wendigo, which made him  two of the worst things you could meet in North America. And that was before you counted the Archetypes he'd browbeaten into submission, reducing them to little more than wells of power that tugged at his mind.

Beast did it whenever he turned into an animal, even partly. Hunger did it all the time, melding with his wendigo appetite.

Still, even with them leashed and muzzled, he wasn't expecting a medicine man to invite him to share his fire or meal any time soon.

"That may be so," Black God had agreed. "But, whether by design or chance, we are both outcasts, or about to be."

"Yeah," Sam had replied. "Just said we're not similar at all." He'd leaned forward, stirring the flames with a hand covered in dragonscale. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Black God had huffed. "You've been listening to the rumors. Reading the stories. I know they're out on that information web, for anyone to peruse. The ones in which I'm a dullard and a beggar, trying to trick people into helping me out of pity. You don't want me, either."

"I'm taken, yeah. And not into whiny creeps, in case Aya kicks it."

Black God had been unamused, but undaunted. "They're always saying I peaked early, that I haven't done anything noteworthy in decades-"

"I agree entirely, but what's your point?"

The full moon had dimmed. "I thought you, of all people, would sympathize. I wanted to tell you of a way to help yourself, but you can forget it."

"Fascinating," Sam had said. "How about this: as per the Syncretic Treaty, I'm going to kick your ass for manifesting in the US without warning or permission. But, if you tell me what you came here to say, I'm going to stop at feeding you your own balls, not start with it."

Sam had discovered he could be very persuasive that night.

And that was how he'd ended up walking the Worlds.

The First was small and dark as soot. Sam walked among endless carpets of insects, struggling with his temper and hunger, knowing he'd fail if he lashed out to crush or eat them. He passed warring phantoms under a sky full of witchcraft and First Angry's sharp cackling, ignoring the instinct to help or attack, until he reached the opening in the sky.

The Second was dominated by a great blue plain. Sam walked with the swallow people, but did not step into their cone-shaped, tapered blue houses, no matter how tempting their food or women. In the end, despite the protests of his gut and loins, he pulled through, with Taschonzii, the Swallow Chief, admitting they didn't have enough food for him and sending him on his way.

The Third was...rough. Split by mountains and differences, as memories of men and women drifted apart, while Sam forced himself to watch, not change the past, until the Flood came to wash everything away.

The Fourth was partly hidden from Sam, tall, dark pines rising beyond the clearing he found himself in after floating on the Flood's waters. In it, was a bonfire, burning inside a circle of stone, a medicine man sitting on a log as he warmed himself. He was wearing buckskins, gray pair held back by a simple headband, and several necklaces: beads, pearls, a wendigo fangs strung on a leather thong. His eyes were brown, his tanned skin leathery from age and exposure.

"Hello, son," the medicine man greeted him. "Glad you could make it."

Sam shrugged, unused to compliments. "After I realized I needed to let things be, not fail by trying to make them better, it was a piece of cake."

No need to emphasize how hard doing nothing had been. It would've felt too much like admitting weakness in front of this walking ballsack.

The healer nodded, putting his hands close to the fire. "I came here because my peers and I have decided...to welcome you among us."

Sam almost cackled like a warlock at the pause. "Provisionally, and with great distaste?"

The healer proved unflappable to his needling. "What else could we feel when we see you parade yourself in dead flesh? Before your parents proved it, we weren't even sure wearing human skin would have any effect."

"I'm glad their research helped the community."

The healer took in the smile etched on Sam's face and didn't press the point. "Some knowledge, 'tis better not to have." His fang necklace rattled as he took a deep breath. "Having reviewed your deeds as a hunter of monsters and keeper of order, we have decided you are not a witch."

"Could've told ya I don't have tits myself. Saved you some time."

"Dibé," the healer said, making his hackles rise. "You are not a  witch." He had slipped out of English for the last word. "Your magic does not harm the community-only its enemies."

Sam tried to slow his harsh breathing down. "Who told you I want to come back? You wise old fucks had your thumbs so far up your collective asses, you never even noticed the kid trapped in a living nightmare on the outskirts." He knew that might've been unfair, and didn't care. "I looked for my desire to belong, but it left with the last shit I had to give."

The medicine man's eyes were sad. "Do you truly believe that?" The shadows cast by the fire lengthened, thickened, as the cloudless sky was swallowed by darkness. "That's the pain speaking, boy. Even now, they've got you by the throat."

Sam didn't bat an eye as the simulacra of his parents shambled their way to them. The healer seemed an eternity away, his fire dim and his eyes hidden by the shadows.

He was in the darkness, alone but for them, once again.

Except he was the monster now.

As he watched them, Sam realized he'd never seen much of their human faces. Both of them were pale and sparsely-muscled, with dark eyes, twisted mouths and hooked noses. The only real difference, Sam noted, was his mother's longer, thinning white hair.

Both of them had that lean, hungry look, from living on the edge of humanity.

Sam drew upon his powers, to destroy them once more, then felt them slip out of his grasp.

"You shouldn't have done that," the shadowed man said forebodingly. "This is a place of magic, not stolen power. Now, they'll take you."

Sam watched as the two grew, until he felt like a child again, and laughed as they tried to push him down and rip at his flesh.

"Oh, I see how it is," he said, not budging even when his mother's flesh took on the traits of a thousand beasts, and his father's features became indistinct, taking on the sexless aspect of Hunger. "You've overplayed your hand. See, these bastards have already done the worst a human could suffer to me. There's nothing left to scare me anymore."

"You know nothing about what you speak, boy," the medicine man said, voice growing harsher.

"You call me boy, when you look younger than me. When you hide your age from my senses. You use the name given to me in insult, without even sharing yours."

The darkness rippled, each word like a stone in a pond, and Sam was now standing above the creatures...whatever they might have been meant to be. His anger boiled at being taunted with his past, at finally being able to hurt his tormentors like they deserved. Their deaths had been too brief, not to mention unintentional. Merciful...

"What are you?" he asked the man by the fire. "Black God? My buried homesickness?" A thousand and one growls thrummed under his next words. "My desire for vengeance? A spirit, sent by the gods to test me, because they think they deserve to?"

The man's mouth was a pit in rotten fruit, a wound in flesh. "You passed the first tests, and think you are a sage. You think doing nothing here will give you the high ground? Make you noble? You'll fail, boy."

Sam was already turning away.

"Go back, and you'll have nothing! Nothing but the old fears, the shadows on the edge of vision! Kill them!" He flung his arm at the old skin-walkers crawling on the ground. "Become a man!"

The demands grew more insistent with each step.

"Break them! You know you want to! Stop lying to yourself!"

"Flay them! Eat them alive! Bloodshed is your only true love, not that undead  bitch!"

"Lose yourself in the slaughter! Thinking has only ever hurt you-let the blood help you forget!"

But now, Sam had a feeling he was doing the right thing. Not because he was too pure for this, but because he was needed elsewhere.

He didn't look back when the shadow the man cast became something that resembled no beast or unliving thing. He knew he would've been lost if he did.

Its voice never changed, though. It was still his.

"You're fooling yourself. Still a lamb to the slaughter. That's what you've always been. That's what you'll always be." The cawing laughter tore at his nerves, but he never turned his head, even when a hand tugged at his shoulder. "Did you truly believe that inane dream? You, gaining that power, helping the world? You weak, selfish little plaything, too scared to think straight?"

It was clear to him now. He hadn't caught a glimpse of Aya. Nothing worth a damn.

He had to leave. He might've belonged here, with the blood and the freaks, but she believed he was better than this.

"Go away, Dibé. The dream will end soon. Then you'll wake up, back in the hut, in your parents' arms~"

* * *

In the end, he turned out to be right. Sam slipped out of the scarlet gloom and into a deeper darkness.

Aya laughed brightly when he arrived, even as her own monster snarled curses at him. Faisal tried to find his footing as Sam tackled him, pushing him down through the unending tides. Chaos had never bothered him.

Finally, growling as something broke inside himself, Apep's champion threw him off, and Sam skidded backwards, coming to a halt at the mummy's side. They shared a knowing look, but no words. There was no need. That they were both standing there said enough.

'And here's the dog itself,' Faisal was looking at Aya as he spoke. 'Coming running when needed. Too weak to face me yourself. At least you admit it. Hiding behind-'

'Yes,' Aya interrupted. 'Without him, I might've listened to you. Might've given in, if only out of sheer tiredness. Duty is a cold comfort...unlike love. Not that you've ever known either.'

Faisal looked so stumped Sam doubled over laughing, causing Apep's chosen to turn to him. 'You think you're better than me.'

'Aya says I'm bigger, too~'

'Bastard!' Faisal screamed. 'You stole her from me! Twisted her! Doing everything she wants so you can be indulged, making her think she deserves the world.' His eyes were like crimson coals in his dark face, wet with unshed tears. 'But I'll put an end to this. Make things the way they were, the way they  should be. After I remind my wife of her place, I'll deal with you too, mongrel. I think I'll wear your corpse as I take her.'

'Took the words right out of my mouth.'

Sam matched Faisal's grin, but only the wendigo's widened when a calm, deceptively human voice filled the expanse of Nu. Under it, like a shark showing only its fin, was a yawning silence so deep, it could be felt in the bones.

It did not sound like a single voice.

'Faisal Reem. You stand guilty of stealing unclaimed souls and twisting them for your own purposes. You will not escape.'

Faisal did not take his eyes off the two in front of him. 'You cannot pass judgement on me. This is pantheon business.'

If anything, the voice grew more serene. 'It stopped being pantheon business when you took children too young to follow a god and made monsters from them. Your own, you heartless...' It was only now that any semblance of anger could be felt in the voice. 'You think I, out of everyone, will let you hide behind the gods? Those days are over. Everything you've done was to break a grieving mother. I am coming for you.'

* * *

'Watch your step, my dear. These fiends care naught for your youth and innocence.'

'You watch your mouth, Serpent. And I am not your dear.'

'No...' Lucifer's cheerful face was just as sincere as Nimue's as he walked alongside her, demons watching from every direction. 'Definitely not.'

Satan's head swivelled between his onlooking subjects. 'Watch your step around this hag! She's as old as Britain's first lake, and thrice as spiteful.'

'Better,' she muttered, leaving him behind as she walked down, into the depths, to the frozen lake of traitors.

The Lady saw her beloved as she passed, and shared a nod with him. They both knew they'd strained their bonds with their Knights-again. But, just like he did with his torture, she would bear it.

She walked until she saw a tall, grey-skinned demoness with a bristling mane of silver hair. She had eight breasts, arms and black eyes, arranged like a spider's, and was swinging a barbed whip at the moaning, screaming sinners.

She stopped at the Lady's approach, and froze when Nimue embraced her.

'Thank you, girl,' Nimue whispered into her chest-while tall by human standards, she didn't come close to the demon. 'I wanted to kill that awful boy in the womb, and so did Merlin. I'm glad we didn't.' She pulled back with a shrewd look. 'Mordred might me of some use, after all. Thank you, for treating him as he deserved. You helped him become who he should have been.'

'You are welcome, Lady,' the demoness replied mechanically. 'But I was only following orders.'

* * *

'Why'd you never tell me?'

Kenji rubbed his throat, the handprint already gone. 'You wouldn't have believed me, Ren.'

'Perhaps,' Bushido acceded. 'But did you even try? You didn't know what would happen. If not for that Romanian, I'd still be stumbling around, seeing red, played by the man who made me a lackwit.' His eyes flashed dangerously. 'What else did-do-you lie about? Is yamadium really forged from the iron taken from the blood of your failed workers, and quenched in their molten flesh?'

'They're all volunteers,' Kenji replied, and it took Ren a nanosecond to recognise the joking tone.

That was when Yua bustled into the office, trying to catch the breath she didn't need.

'Apologies, Yua-sama,' Ren stood up, bowing. 'For taking your seat.'

'Huh? There's nothing on Ken's face.'

Bushido didn't comment. 'Your husband was just starting to be honest with me.'

Yua looked between them, eyes bright. 'You two...shit like this is why I think my idea needs more consideration.'

Kenji nodded. 'Everyone celebrating together usually only works in cartoons, but...the world has changed.'

'Right,' Yua said, face darkening. 'Why's Bushi so calm?'