The second half of Margaret’s dinner was something to behold. Verune sat side-saddle, with the back of his chair at his right and his legs man-spread out front. His tail swished on the carpet behind him as he speared clumps of minced meat on the sharp tips of his claws. Half of what he ate was absorbed into his body without ever reaching his mouth. Tiny appendages wriggled out of his scaly yellow hide wherever foodstuff touched him and then pulled the stuff into him, melding it into his flesh. Margaret stayed silent for most of the meal, speaking only when spoken to. She watched the Lassedite’s meal trickle through the underside of his skin like wandering veins.

It also helped that the Lassedite wasn’t the most frightening thing at the table. That designation belonged to his young ward, a fellow creature that had followed in after him. Were it not for the skirt or the nice pair of young tits on its chest, Margaret wouldn’t have known the figure was supposed to be a girl, not that it was a girl—not anymore, at least.

It was even more monstrous than Verune himself.

The girl-creature had the body of a nubile young thing, except someone had swapped out its arms, hands, and head for something downright demonic-looking. Like Verune, the creature’s replacement parts were covered in minute scales, only dark-red, rather than mustard yellow. Its arms ended in a small palm bearing three fingers—one like a parody of a thumb—tipped in horrific claws that glinted in the light.

But it was the creature’s head that made Margaret shiver. It didn’t have a face; it had a snout, the kind of thing that had no business being on a human head. As the creature turned around, Margaret could see the back of a human girl’s head jutting out from the back of its head. The bit of neck, scalp, and thinning hair was stuffed back there like a cork in a wine bottle.

The red-scaled face had no mouth, just a symmetrical assortment of muscular holes that dotted its snout.

It’s like the front half of its head is a fucking Whiffle ball, Margaret thought.

It had four eyes: two featureless golden globes on either side of its head. A pair of ulcer-like wounds festered further back, one behind each rearmost eye.

Holy Angel, is it growing another pair of eyes?

A crest—mane?—of dark, black and green hairs grew from the top of its head; it looked like something you’d find on moldy bread. The mane started behind its eyes and curved down the back of its head, encroaching on what little human hair the monster had left.

And now this freak was sitting beside the Lassedite—another unexpected guest for this most unusual dinner.

Verune called it “Lizzie.”

More like the Lizzie, Margaret thought.

The Lizzie spoke much more often than Margaret would have liked. It didn’t speak in words; it spoke in those resonant organ sounds, though not as deep as Verune’s. Craziest of all, the Lassedite seemed to understand it.

But Margaret didn’t bring any of this up, of course. Her priority was to answer all of Verune’s questions as best as she could as quickly as she could. Fortunately, he seemed pleased with her answers.

Apparently—at least as Verune told it—the reason he’d disappeared from history was because the Hallowed Beast appeared to him, killed the Imperial family—and their entourage—and then cast Verune forward through time, sending him into the present. Had it been anyone else telling her this, Margaret would have had them thrown out onto the street, but Verune was an exemplary exception. When a big snake man magically floated into your penthouse suite and told you he traveled through time on a mission from God, you only choose to doubt him at your own expense. The world was a dog-eat-dog place, and unless you were top bitch, you kept your tail between your legs, where it belonged.

Margaret knew that much. She wasn’t one of those godless eggheads, but she was smart enough to recognize a superior being when she saw one. Rufus had been a bit overwhelmed by the time travel revelation, and had stepped out into one of the bedrooms to make a private call. Meanwhile, Verune kept telling his story and spelling out the nature of his requests.

“Ordinarily,” Verune said, in that melodious voice of his, “violence ought to be avoided whenever possible. But… these are the Last Days.” His distended throat-sac quivered as he spoke. “Even as we speak, Hell is raising its armies. There are demons in our midst.”

At that moment, Rufus re-entered the dining room. “D-Demons, your excellency?” he asked.

“I am glad you have rejoined us, Archluminer,” Verune said. “As for your question, you heard rightly.” He nodded. “The Green Death transforms the bodies of unrepentant souls into demons. They are horrid creatures; beings of rot and rage, wild and maleficent. I have seen them with my own eyes.” Verune raised a claw. “I had to crush dozens of them last night. They were streaming out from a burning brownstone.” He shook his head. “It was… horrific.”

The Lizzie let out that music-speech of hers.

Verune turned to face the creature. “No,” he said, “that was before I found you, though some of the bodies I carried back to Lct. Stoneway’s-at-the-Rousas came from demons.”

The Archluminer coughed as he took his seat. “Bodies?”

“Their numbers have been steadily increasing,” Verune said. His head bobbed on his neck as he nodded.

“So,” Margaret said, turning to Rufus, “who were you calling?”

“A contact of mine in the Melted Palace.” He glanced nervously at the Lassedite. “I feel Lassedite Bishop—your current successor, that is… I felt he should… uh… know that you’ve returned.”

“Yes.” Verune nodded encouragingly. “That is quite appropriate.”

“Will you be reclaiming the Lassedicy?” Rufus asked, even more nervously than before.

“Yes and no,” Verune answered. He tossed his fork into his mouth. There was a soft fizzing sound along with the crunch of the metal as he chewed it and swallowed. “I intend to reclaim the Melted Palace once our numbers have sufficiently grown, though I do so not as the leader of the One, True, Resurrected Angelical Lasseditic Church, but as the founder of its divinely ordained successor: the Last Church.”

Rufus’ eyes bulged. “The Last Church?”

Verune nodded.

Margaret interrupted the Archluminer before he could ask a follow-up question.

“Now that Rufus is back,” Margaret said, “would you mind telling me what’s happening to you?” she asked. “And to that,” she pointed at the Lizzie, “creature?”

“Margaret,” Rufus admonished, “don’t tell the Lassedite what to—”

But Verune interrupted the Archluminer’s interruption. “—My good Umberridge,” he said, interrupting the Archluminer’s interruption, “Mrs. Revenel’s curiosity is as natural as it is appropriate.”

A look of shock broke out on Eyvan’s face. “Wait, your Holiness, you don’t mean…?”

Nodding, Verune crossed his claws on the silk tablecloth. He gestured to himself and the Lizzie as he turned to Margaret. “As I’m sure you’ve seen, all across the world, there are those who have begun to change into something… more. We have taken to calling ourselves changelings, though that designation is merely temporary.”

“Temporary?” Margaret asked.

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Verune nodded again. “Yes, we are changelings only until our change is done.”

“And… those serpents on the news… that’s what you’re changing into?”

“Yes and no, Archluminer. Yes and no.” Verune turned to Margaret. “The Angel has given me revelations. These ‘serpents’ as you call them are, in truth, divine beasts. They are the Blessèd Chosen.”

Margaret and Rufus gasped in unison.

“We are being transformed by the might of the Hallowed Beast Itself. It is infusing us with Its infinite power, to build us into an army to fight against the forces of Hell.” Verune turned into Margaret. “And you, Mrs. Revenel, will stand with us.” He reached his claw toward her across the table.

“What?” Margaret said. “How? Look at me!” She gestured at her dismal physiology.

“You will be joining us, Margaret,” Verune said. “I can see it. I can see the power building in you. Soon, you will shed your mortal form and take on the role the Godhead has prepared for you, with all its awesome responsibilities.”

“W-What?” the Archluminer asked. “You can tell?”

Nodding, Verune pointed at his eyes. “I have been gifted with true sight. All of us have.” He turned to the Lizzie. “Even little Lizzie can see the Hallowed Beast’s power beginning to flow into Mrs. Revenel.”

“True sight?” Margaret asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Verune smiled. His smile thrummed in his throat-sac.

The Lizzie nodded, and then said something in that sound-speech of hers.

“She asks: do you feel as if you have died?” Verune said, translating for her.

“Yes, I do.” Margaret nodded. “I have since earlier this afternoon.”

Verune smiled. “That is the first sign. Others will soon follow, as will the hunger.”

“Wait… you mean?”

Verune nodded. “Yes, Margaret, it was the same for all of us.”

“But, why do you look so… monstrous?” she asked. Before, she would have asked the question with impunity, but now, she nearly felt guilty for criticizing the appearance of a divine being.

“As agents of the Godhead, our appearances reflect the souls of those who look upon us. The righteous see our true, glorious forms,” he said. “Others see only horrors.”

“But I don’t see anything like that ,” Margaret whined.

“It is only a matter of time,” the Lassedite answered, softly. “It is as I said: we can see the divine halo surrounding your body. Soon, your new form will emerge from you like a butterfly from its cocoon. You will join us in our glorious work.”

Margaret felt her eyes widen. She whispered excitedly. “I’m going to become a divine beast?”

Eyvan nodded. “Yes, Marge, you are.”

Suddenly, the terror Margaret felt at Verune’s appearance was leavened by the thrill of becoming a creature of God.

All of her prayers, all of her hopes… they were coming true.

I’ll be able to serve the Godhead more than ever before…

And when it was done, she would finally look as magnificent and righteous as she truly was.

It was a dream come true. Weird as hell, but still better than her current situation.

Verune lifted a porcelain cup to his still-human face, opening his mouth to drink the wine within. His jaws’ hinge was far back in his head—a completely inhuman location. The joint was somewhere beneath the scaly, sickly yellow skin that sagged around his neck like a bloated scarf. Starting from the corners of his mouth, bloodless tears ran across his cheeks, splitting the flesh open all the way to his ears.

Was this his true, glorious form? Or was this a monstrous horror?

Margaret couldn’t tell. But, at this point, she didn’t care. It was too ridiculous to be anything other than the truth. And it confirmed what she’d always known: the Angel would never forsake her, not after all she’d done. She was His faithful servant.

Having finished the wine, Verune tossed the antique cup into his mouth. A soft, fizzing sound accompanied the awful crunch of the porcelain as he chewed.

Margaret couldn’t see the slightest trace of blood dripping from his lips.

Margaret cleared her throat while Rufus loudly coughed.

“Well, how can I be of assistance, your Holiness?” she asked.

The sweet scent in the air was overpowering. It stung slightly when she breathed in, and Margaret’s horn-rimmed glasses did a poor job of keeping the irritants from getting in her eyes.

Verune nodded. “The people of this age have lost their way,” he said. “They forget their duties to the Angel. They have forgotten that this world is but a waypoint; our true home is Paradise. The moment we lose sight of Paradise and the Covenant that guides us, we become dis-ordered; we become idolaters who exalt creation instead of its Creator. We put our ways over Their ways. Yet, for all this sin, the Angel allows us the opportunity to repent.” He shook his head, stretching his throat-sac. “But the people do not repent. And that is their undoing.”

Rufus nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, your Holiness.” The Archluminer coughed. “The people are so lost, they deny their sins; they deny their need to repent. They look on evil and call it good, and look on good and call it evil. They act as if the Primordial Sin itself was a meaningless fiction.”

Verune rumbled in assent. “The folly of this age has made Elpeck into a city of the damned. Now, by the hand of the Green Death—the Angel’s judgment—it is fast becoming a city of the dead. We must act quickly. The demons must be routed out and destroyed, or Hell’s armies will swell by millions.”

Squinting, Evyan nodded and coughed. Turning to Margaret, Eyvan pointed at a wall. “Nearly everyone out there in the world sees the changelings as horrors. They think they’re the Demon Norms themselves!” He laughed bitterly, and then his expression mellowed. “His Holiness is right: they look on good and call it evil.”

“How can I help, your Holiness?” Margaret asked—utterly genuine.

“As you, yourself, shall soon experience,” he answered, “the changelings need are vulnerable during their transformation. They need to be protected and guided.” Verune’s expression turned grave. “They must be kept from succumbing to temptation and using their powers for evil. This is the purpose of the Last Church. We gather the changelings and give them safe-harbor. We give refuge to all who yearn to be saved. The Innocents are both virtuous and capable. Their assistance would be invaluable, and, as their principal benefactress, I humbly request you arrange this for us. Moreover,” he glanced at Eyvan, “Eyvan tells me you have a large facility beneath the earth—beneath this very building, yes?”

Margaret nodded. “That I do.”

“It would be an ideal place to shelter the changelings, both those we have with us, and those who will join us in the coming days.”

“And what do you intend to do with this shelter?” Margaret asked.

“Nothing other than what I have said: it will be a safe-harbor, where, under my leadership, the Last Church will teach its followers the truth, and instruct the changelings in the proper use of the miraculous powers the Godhead has granted them.”

“You’ll give me whatever assistance I need in my transformation, right?” Margaret asked.

Verune nodded. “But of course. It is my sacred duty to lead you, and all the others.”

Margaret nodded. “Then, by all means, make yourself at home—you and your followers,” she said. “I don’t much care for company, but for once, I’ll make an exception.” She briefly glanced at Rufus. “Our doors are open to you.”

“Excellent,” Verune said. Faint hints of green wafted out of his mouth as he hissed the sibilant. “The rest of the Last Church is already on their way here.”

Eyvan cleared his throat. “We’ve obtained a military transport, and are using it to bring the others here as we speak.”

“I imagine you’ll fit right in down in the compound,” Margaret said, addressing Verune. “Though, while you’re up top, please try to keep the house tidy,” Margaret added. “The robots just finished cleaning it.”

“The hallways in this building are rather narrow,” Verune said. “While I can currently manage it, some of our changelings will not fare so well.”

“No need to worry, your Holiness,” Eyvan said. “There’s a service elevator in the garage. It goes straight to the compound. It’s quite large, and should accommodate the changelings, no matter how big they get. Well,” he added, “unless they get really big.”

“Excellent,” Verune said.

“Speaking of which…” Rufus turned to Margaret. “It’s been a while since you asked ALICE to contact the boys below.”

Margaret looked up at the clock. “You’re right. I must have lost track of the time.”

“Is something wrong?” Verune asked.

Margaret looked up and spoke to the air. “ALICE,” she said, “did the boys down below respond to my summons?”

“No, my Lady,” the AI answered.

“Open the secure videophone channel, then,” Margaret said.

“In the dining room, I take it?” the AI asked.

“Yep.”

“Who is this Alice?” Verune asked.

The Lizzie—or was it just “Lizzie”?—leaned into him and whispered a muted melody.

Verune nodded in understanding, and then gasped as, with a soft whirr, a disk-shaped slice of the ceiling above the table slid out of the way to make room for a cylindrical arm to emerge from the resulting hole. The cylindrical arm was wrapped in a console’s screen—wide, and paper-thin—which unfurled as soon as the cylinder had fully extended. The black screen flashed to life, displaying the icon that signaled a videophone call being dialed.

The ringing tone kept on ringing, long after the call should have gone through.

“What’s taking so long?” Margaret asked.

“My apologies, my Lady,” ALICE said. “There seems to be an error.”

“Can’t you fix it?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. My apologies, my Lady.”

“Damn it,” Margaret swore.

“I can go check on it, Marge,” Eyvan said.

“What is happening?” Verune asked. “I would appreciate an explanation.”

“Something’s happened down in the compound,” Margaret said. “Something bad. I can’t think of any good reason why they wouldn’t respond to me in a jiffy.”

“What if the Green Death got them?” Rufus asked. His voice was soft and tremulous.

“If that’s the case,” Verune said, turning to Margaret, “you should accompany us, Mrs. Revenel.”

“Oh?” Margaret asked. There was a bit of an excited quiver in her voice.

“Yes,” he said, “it will be a useful lesson. And even if the plague is not the culprit, you would soon need to join us, regardless. It will not be long before you will need to feed. It is better you relocate now, while you still have your mobility.”

Margaret thought about asking for more details, but then decided against it. She preferred to keep it a surprise. “Alright, your Holiness,” she said, “let’s get going.” She moved her wheelchair away from the dining table with a jerk of the joystick.

Verune nodded graciously. “I sense this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership, Mrs. Revenel.”

“Please,” she said, nervously, “call me Margaret.”

“Certainly.”