It was cold, but the dim, hazy light was still there on and off at this time in May. Legion formally knelt before the Obelisk of the Covenant of the High Ice.

“Mother of Ice and Wisdom of Winter, this is Legion. We have come seeking a Pact with the Land and the High Ice.”

Their words traveled only as far as the Obelisk to any normal ears, but the Wind whipped them away, and the ground thrummed beneath their feet.

They were a Warlock Grandmaster, and all Spirits could hear their Voices.

The Old God swirled up out of mist and ice and snow shortly, Her power and influence congregating before Legion’s senses. Legion remained on one knee as the ancient demigoddess materialized, Her form now more adapted to modern sensibilities.

There was no reason to do this in the old way, of course. Ughril bore a Blessing on Her hand, and connection to the Markspace with it. Legion could /see Her right over there.

But this was the way it was done, showing one’s sincerity.

The Guardian of the High Ice regarded them levelly, assessing them. Legion had their Astral Ward down for now, allowing the Old God to Assay them, measure them, and show good faith and trust... and measure their power.

They did not need to come here. They did not need Her power. They were here because it was the right thing to do, because it showed respect, and even an Old God would need, if not a servant, an ally... and a Pact was a small price to pay to have a Warlock Grandmaster on their side.

Hellfire burned about them. The last two such Pacts on the world harmonized, flames billowed forth, and Shvaughn Firejumped out next to them, promptly kneeling to the Mother of Ice as well.

It was on the cheeky side to not come earlier, but both Warlock Grandmasters coming together for this was showing massive respect to Her, and She knew it.

“I thank you for coming.” Her voice was older and colder, vaster and deeper than Her slender, icy, and inhuman beauty could hold. “You both hold great power, and do not need such a Boon from Me. Why do you seek a Pact with the High Ice?” The term referred to both Her and the Land.

“Respect,” Legion responded instantly.

“I’ve enough of offending the Lands I walk over, Wisdom of Winter. I’ll have your Approval, or I will not come here,” Shvaughn replied simply.

“So many souls, so many Pacts.” Traces of cool amusement wove about them. “The grasp of Hell upon you both, striven against so harshly. You are indeed Warlocks in the old and ruthless mold, Grandmasters.”

“To serve or be obligated does not mean weakness, Mother of Winter,” Legion replied quietly.

“And even the clutches of Hell can be evaded, given time and will,” Shvaughn declared grimly... and with a knowing slide-eye at Legion, who had already partially achieved that goal.

“Will and readiness to fight define a true Warlock, and both your hands are heavy with blood. It is good to see Warlocks of such stature again.” Ughril waved Her hand, and around the Covenant before them, new Words and lines of text in ancient form wrote themselves. The language was gone before humanity was born, but it was perfectly clear to the two Warlocks who looked upon it.

“I agree to this Pact with the Mother Land of Antarctica, and with Ughril, the Guardian of the High Ice, before Heaven and Hell!” Legion stated calmly. The eldritch Words flared one after another, and ancient power hummed cold and mighty as threads of power flowed down upon them, and with a pain like endless icy razors, scribed themselves onto the soul of Master Fred, the sensation radiating out to all of them, magnified and reflected into a swirl of agony across the lesser souls, who yet withstood it, balanced and bound upon that unmoving stolid soul at their center.

“I agree to this Pact with the Mother Land of Antarctica, and with Ughril, the Wisdom of Winter, before Hell and the Four Elements! If you Call, I will come. If you need, I will answer. If I walk here, I will respect your Domain as I would my own!” Shvaughn declared firmly.

The Words flared again, and the icy Words drove down into the skin of the Hellbound Warlock, flaring and spitting against her Hellpact, but winding themselves into place among many other such Pacts, stolen and not, that swirled about her gestalt soul.

Ughril nodded to them both. A wind blew past bearing snow and ice, and Ughril’s presence and power vanished from this place as smoothly as She had arrived.

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The two of them rose from the ground together, feeling the slumbering power and awareness of the Mother Land beneath them, their own hot and bright Auras upon it, as well as the ancient and primal tie to Winter and Cold that Ughril represented. It ranged up and out over the great black basalt range before them, and towards the Bottom of the World, where Hyperborea waited.

“Would you back me in a bid to become Queen of South America?” Shvaughn asked them calmly.

Legion turned to face the other Hungry Kiss Warlock. They were fully aware they could overcome and Consume Shvaughn now... and it was likely that Shvaughn was both expecting and expectant of the fact.

But it would not happen without Good reason. As a Warlock Beyond Good and Evil, they were aware of things that had to be done for the continuation of the world itself. They had chosen to stand with Good, but if Good rose too high, the other Powers would band together and utterly destroy this place, by one means or another.

It was not that it wasn’t a goal to aspire to, but that the world itself couldn’t possibly take such a conflict. In that light, even if Good managed to gain a firm foothold and grip here, there would still be places that there must and would be conflict in.

Good was fully capable of restraining itself to assure itself of long-term goals. The other three Profound Alignments... in the end, they wanted it all.

South America and Africa were at this time going to be those places. It did not mean Good would not be there, but by direct design, it would not dominate there.

“We admit that you would be ideal for the job. But we think it will conflict with your desires, other Obligations you are acknowledging, and your own much-prized independence. It is Hell pushing you towards power. It is very unwise of you to so cater to Hell’s desires. Aim beyond them.”

Shvaughn looked away, momentary frustration giving way to intense thought. Above all things, she prized her life and independence from any one force, despite her Pacts. “What are you suggesting?” she asked formally.

“Grand Warlock of the Lands of Conflict, for now.” Shvaughn’s emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You are Lawbound, Chaosbound, and Sinbound. You understand the conflicting desires and demands of three of the Alignments... and by its very absence, that of Heaven.

“Those two Mother Lands will be the centers of violent conflict between all the Alignments, while Good will attempt to reign elsewhere.

“I should think that manipulating all forces and maintaining their balance while you grow in strength should satisfy your personal desires for power, while keeping you from deepening a commitment to any of the Four.”

Shvaughn tossed her fiery hair in thought. “This... will it get me to the Eternal?” she asked softly, her eyes hungry as she stared at Legion’s draconic wings and scales, and the freedom from Hell they represented.

Legion shifted her tails and wings thoughtfully. “Traveler has already secured three of the nine dragons from the Empire of Cold Blood, and their Dragonhearts.” Shvaughn’s eyes almost popped as they lit up with Scorn. “One of those is indeed intended for you.”

“That...” Shvaughn took a deep breath, multiple hues of fire crackling around her as her eyes went black and crimson, yet edged in blue, the pupils square as she reopened them. “You are such idiots,” she shook her head, but could not resist smiling.

Legion was anything but surprised when Shvaughn came in, the two of them fitting together as smoothly as merging flames. The kiss was as much laughing demand as cold trust, for it could be a tool for them to Consume her.

But they would not do so, and if they did, Shvaughn would not regret it, anyways.

Pact energies swirled about one another, and it was only in this situation that Shvaughn could taste the energies of Heaven without pain.

They’d both popped nine fox tails, which were playing about one another in their own sensuous dance of red and gold. “You kiss so much better now than you used to, Boxer,” Shvaughn laughed softly, their foreheads touching, revealed erinyes spike-horns touching curling lilitu-dragon horns, and multi-colored flames dancing about both of them.

“We may be the most kissable person on the planet,” Legion smiled back calmly, tongue flicking out multiple inches longer than human to caress Shvaughn’s lips with golden fire wrapped in crimson, which promptly spurred a diving lunge for it with a laugh that went down both their throats.

“And where are you heading to next?” Shvaughn asked, eyes dancing as she enjoyed the electric sensation of just being held by Legion, and a body that was all curves of gossamer silk and unyielding steel at the same time.

“It is time to go see Kali,” Legion sighed.

Shvaughn made a little face. “So unfair that you can Take demons and I cannot. I demand a Tyrant of Ten Thousand Years Pact when you come out!”

Legion inclined their head. It actually was a good match for Shvaughn. “You do not have a Demonpact of your own? Impressive.” While the two of them could potentially steal any number of overlapping Pacts, they could only swear one Pact to one Power themselves.

Granting Shvaughn one would also reduce the Pacts demons could offer to others on this world by one. Hell already had primary Claim to her soul... what was the Abyss going to do about it?

“Not that there haven’t been offers!” Shvaughn laughed, in no hurry whatsoever to disengage. “A Dragonheart. Does that mean I will only have to reach Seventeen?” She glanced up at the sky and scowled despite herself.

“When the Shroud falls, so will its suppression on mortal souls. We fully expect you to pop several Levels quickly. Perhaps not to Seventeen... but, indeed, that all depends as we work towards the end.”

“More dead Cultivators, more truly dead Undead,” she agreed with a nod, leaning forward to start kissing Legion’s eyeless face slowly, the Tats there popping and flaring with her. “Mmmnnhh!” She pulled back in delight. “Most kissable on the planet!” she repeated in disbelief.

“Huggable, too.” Despite herself, Shvaughn eeped in a very non-Amazon-worthy manner as Legion squeezed softly, and Shvaughn’s eyes almost rolled up into her head.

“I, hah-!, I demand some of your free time!” Shvaughn blurted out.

“Well, you do want Kali to give you a Pact. There are multiple ways that can be done...” Legion nodded slowly, eye Tats flaring and concentrating in a manner that was somehow extremely suggestive.

Shvaughn laughed in expectation and delight, and leaned in for another kiss. “Bring me back to India,” she whispered as their lips met.

Draconic wings twice the size of her own black-feathered erinyes pinions snapped out to settle down and around the two of them. Powerful pulses of Wrath arose, and swept the two Warlock Grandmasters away.