So, Teotihuacán, the two Pyramids of the Sun and the Moon. Center of the Mexican Death Zone. The only 'active' Death Zone in the New World, but every bit as ferocious and unending as the ones in China and India.
But it was run out of two Pyramids under two masters, and those Pyramids stood otherwise alone.
That made them vulnerable.
Mexico was also something of a stronghold of the Church of Light, which had centuries of influence and power over its leadership. They used the Death Zone as the center of their arguments for staying in power, and teaching use of a lot of Light Magic to combat the endless undead that streamed out of the Pyramid, looking for more souls to harvest.
However, out in the countryside, that influence had been severely undercut by the Church of Heaven, which wasn’t concerned about the rich and powerful, and instead worried and worked with the more normal folks to prevail against bandits and protect them during the coastal raids.
The result was clear lines of influence eroding away the Church of Light’s following in rural areas, spreading in towards the cities where the Church held sway from all directions. The absolutely horrible performance of the Church of Light and Synod during the littoral invasions had put faith and trust in them at an all-time low, as they refused to come to the aid of those who didn’t worship them... and didn’t come to the aid of the weak who did purport to worship them, regardless.
The Synod itself had never moved out, always sticking close to Rome, leaving only local priests, and maybe a wandering Archangel if one of the stronger coastal cities got lucky, to deal with any attackers.
The Church’s priests had some power against the Undead, except they could never kill them all, only butcher them for now and force them to go make new bodies, losing soldiers and believers all the while and repeatedly while it happened. They had collaborated to keep the Death Zone relatively contained while leaving the army to guard the coastal cities instead, playing to their own strengths, which had further worsened their reputation as casualties at the coast mounted quickly.
The Acropolis was better at Healing and had more Healers. The Synod and Church of Light could fight, but only would for their own and on their own terms. Was it any wonder their influence was eroding, even in Mexico?
That influence had taken another huge hit when the Undead Hunters had shown up and began working there.
At first it hadn’t seemed much, just another bunch of mercenaries killing undead for a daily wage and the small bounty on them. After all, they never ran out of Undead to kill.
But those Undead Hunters had been extremely good at the job! Their odd combination of Light and Water Elements used together, enhanced by the Scepters all of them wielded, tore through the Undead like no other magic any of the observers had ever seen... and although those watching didn’t know it, those Undead weren’t coming back, they were permanently slain.
That fact actually made no difference in the fight against the Undead, as the Netherworld had effectively limitless troops to throw at the living, but the power of Disruption to just instantly slay the things and vivus to Burn them away was hard to ignore.
Like in Egypt, there’d been attempts to steal the Scepters. When those had either failed bloodily, or succeeded and THEN failed bloodily, they turned into calls to make them available for the ‘average’ Mage in the noble fight against the undead.
That didn’t happen, either.
The Undead Hunters had only grown over time, the Holy Magic slowly working its way through Fire and Lightning, and then even those with Healing and Water were terrifying foes of the undead. The expressions of the soldiers when demure little Healers were out there reducing undead to slush even more quickly than they could was always fun to see.
When it came out that I was the trainer and sponsor of the Undead Hunters, much was explained, and a lot of the pressure on them seemed to evaporate. I didn’t actually do anything about that, as Sama was the one who loved to take down Synod and Curia idiots ready to do things, and if a few dozen of their agents happened to disappear at the same time as that rumor started flowing and I didn’t deny it, well, things happen to folks who liked to stab others in the back, right?
All of which had brought me here, today, to the office of the President of Mexico, located in the National Palace on the Constitutional Plaza, well outside the Death Zone of the two Pyramids.
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The office smelled of old money and deal-making. Really, I could smell the tobacco and old paper, it had seemingly seeped into the old cloth, tapestries, and ornate wood. There was religious iconography everywhere, the symmetrical cross of the Church of Light prominent in many paintings, wall hangings, carved into the wood and stone, and hanging from the golden necklaces worn by many of the people here.
My affiliation with the Church of Heaven was well-known by now, and the tension between Light and Heaven was probably clearer here in Mexico than in any other nation. It was the faith and influence of the rich and powerful against the faith and will of the poor and driven, and guess whose side the numbers were on?
Everyone else was on their toes as I entered the palace. That was primarily because they were all mages, and the magic was Singing to greet me as I walked in.
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Part of the aspect of my Worldsinger Title was that I didn’t need to actually Sing to evoke the Sublime Chord anymore. The most passive use of Sound magic, stirred up by my Heartsong like a Spell Reserve, equivalent to me humming a silent tune in my head, was more than enough to get the world’s magic to react to me... and I was always Singing in my head, to the Markspace, and to the Allegiance.
So, all these mages who weren’t very friendly to me could feel all their Stars humming along as I walked in. Random objects with magic in them were lighting up and adding to the melody, the Wards of the Palace were chiming greetings and parting to let me by with their erstwhile controllers gaping, and every single one of them could feel the Manafield playing along with me, saluting my Presence and proclaiming who it loved best.
Heartsong at the level I was using it at had terrifyingly effective subtle power. The default power of the Sublime Chord was to give a +1 bonus to Caster Level for every ten points of a Perform (Song) check above 10, maximum of +4, doubled to +8 if you were using Good magic because my Chords thrummed with the Words of Creation that I knew. In addition, I had Vocal Accompaniment, and could deliver a second Heartsong effect at the same time without any issue, which was normally an area bonus to hit, damage, and morale, or to help people’s skill checks, all done to benefit the Allegiance and Markspace.
Heavenly tunes to beat down enemies, or to work by, as you chose! Sama and Briggs could interweave into both of those with incredible skill and take them even further with other bonuses, which was one of the things they were constantly doing, too... although Briggs did it with Oratory and command, not Singing.
That, of course, was only if you were my friend and ally. If you were not... well, I was literally In Harmony with the world, and if you were not my friend, you were Not. You were literally fighting against the magic of your own Stars, the Manafield felt like it had suddenly gained spikes and needles.
Trying to Cast at full power in the face of my Song was going to be very difficult to do. Even getting off lesser spells was more of a trial than any mage wanted it to be, as the magic and their own Stars seemed to be fighting their disharmonious actions.
I was exactly five minutes early, enough time to be shown directly to President Cortega’s office and not waste time. My erstwhile escort supposedly leading me there had to hurry to keep up with me as I made my way through the defenses of the Palace, and the checkpoints supposed to slow me down and put me in my place while they fiddled with things found their Wards opening up and me striding forwards without really stopping.
I was also a Sage, and none of them dared to touch me, even though all the guards were at least Mages here, some even with some combat time.
The President’s aide, a thin fellow with a practiced politician’s smile, did step forward as I came up to the doors, glancing once at the fellow who was supposed to delay and frustrate me, ensuring a more favorable frame of mind for the President.
“Miss...” his words choked in his throat as I just looked at him, and he almost staggered as what was supposed to come next couldn’t make it out of his throat. He gasped and choked, trying to figure out what was wrong and gagging rather awkwardly as I stopped politely to look at him. While I wasn’t overly tall for a woman, in two-inch heels I still looked down at him.
“By the Decree of the High Emperors of this planet, my proper Name is Healer Fae,” I reminded him courteously. As in, that’s what They called me, so that’s who I was. “You may use Lady Fae if you find yourself unable to be proper.”
He looked into my silver eyes, which bored right through him, raked over his soul, and left him suddenly sweating abruptly before me. “My, my apologies, Healer Fae!” he sort of squeaked out around his tongue. The stress on his vocal cords lifted as he tried to look away. “The President is coming from a, another, m, meeting, and, and...” his voice strangled in his throat again, his lips flapping and no sound coming out.
“Let us ignore the fact that the rather nervous President Cortega is currently debating whether to greet me sitting or standing behind his desk, trying to make an impression of power that will not impress me in the slightest. I will remind Mister Diego that lying to me is a very bad idea that does not work.
“Now, if you will be so kind as to open the door, see me in, and close it behind us.”
He was moving to do so before he realized it, the doors fully open and him bowing deeply to see me in before he remembered he was supposed to delay me and watch me stew. Despite that, the doors closed quietly behind me as I came to a stop before the frozen President of Mexico, caught as he came halfway around his desk to greet me too late.
I glanced at the solidly-built, middle-aged man in an impeccable suit and hair, manicured fingernails, polished teeth, and very professional smile. He was also a Low Archmage; it looked like he’d taken the Air Element to its high point, and also wielded Sound, Curse, and Water, although none of his other Elements were at Archmage. Busy doing political things, no doubt.
“Healer Fae, an honor to finally meet you in person,” he finally managed to get out personally, catching himself before he choked. He finally offered me a handshake, I returned it, and his eyes got a little wide when I squeezed his grip effortlessly. Civilian or no, Archmages were much stronger than normal people, and it was very clear I was much stronger than he was.
My eyes tracked sideways to the nearby wall, where a bookshelf with classics of Mexican literature and history were ensconced proudly, along with some personal photos of himself meeting various dignitaries and celebrities, also mostly politicians.
One of them was Archangel Raphael, I noticed instantly.
“Your Grace, this is a meeting between myself and the President, although the contents of it will be public soon. I suggest you exit that room, as I’m going to seal the room for privacy.”
I snapped my fingers, a bubble of magic snapped out, and we were safe from eavesdropping.
The President looked at me, a little wide-eyed that I’d so easily sensed the Bishop sitting in the concealed room there, now unable to listen or look in at all. Also, all his recording devices weren’t going to sense anything.
“If it makes you feel more secure to be behind your desk, by all means, Mr. President,” I told him kindly.
He swallowed, that hum and the wash of my magic past and over him making him realize that he was indeed dealing with someone far out of his league.
“The chairs will be fine, Healer Fae,” he managed to bow, seeing me to the comfortable antique sitting chairs gathered in a circle at the side of the room, adjusting to the circumstances. “Would you like a drink?” he asked courteously, gesturing towards the stocked bar at the side of the room.
“No, but you may want to grab a bottle of something strong for yourself.” He paused as I sat down in the chair he indicated, then he steeled himself, marched over to the array of liquors there, where he grabbed a four-hundred-dollar bottle of tequila and two crystalline glasses before returning to sit opposite me.