Chapter Summary: The Sovereigns are drama queens.
-------------------------------------------
Morgan strode forward confidently.
Each step brought her closer to Clan Song's manor, where the Awakened Ball was to take place.
Part of her couldn't help but be amused by just how easily they had snatched away that little event from her Clan. Father must have been seething. Then again, he had been seething for a while already, if her remaining contacts within the Clan were to be believed.
Uncle Madoc must have been going bald from putting out so many fires.
She arrived at the first stop in a matter of seconds.
Two gigantic steel doors, surrounded by a tall fence that covered the whole perimeter of the Song stronghold. Morgan had studied them extensively before, in case she ever had to assault them, and knew they were capable of withstanding the assault of Corrupted Nightmare Creatures. How amusing that today they would open the doors for her all on their own.
Rows of PTVs were waiting there in line, being ushered in one by one by the gatekeeper. She noticed the eyes of their occupants easily, and the way they pointed at her. Some recognized her for who she was, and others, much to her irritation, recognized her because of that horrible movie that had premiered two days before.
She had attended incognito, curious about what role she was going to play in it, and she was still furious. Being reduced to an arrogant nemesis only to be easily defeated by Changing Star without saying a word?
If the director's house hadn't caught fire already, she would have done it herself. Maybe when it was restored?
Filing the thought for later, Morgan kept walking forward without pausing for a second. Ignoring the honking of the many vehicles, she planted herself before the clerk.
The man took a single look at her, paled upon realizing just who she was, and stepped aside to grant her passage without asking for an invitation. It certainly helped that she had leaked a sliver of her Transcendent aura.
Having passed the first stop, the manor itself came into view, though such a word felt like a misnomer.
Oh, it was certainly pretty. What with the white stone it was made of, the decorative vegetation, and all those arches and walkways. However, her trained eyes could easily pinpoint that decoration had been a very secondary objective for the architects tasked with designing it. All of those arches and walkways could be turned into death traps, the central palace-like building was made of the sturdiest material found in the lands of Song within the Dream Realm, and the dozens of teams scouting it at all times would make any would-be invader pay gallons of blood for every drop they spilled.
It had been a nightmare to come up with a good strategy to take it, and even then she had been unsure if she could pull it off.
Would now be different? Could she take it all on her own now that she was a Saint?
She couldn't help but want to try. As relaxing as the past month had been after the hell of her Third Nightmare, the idea of a little violence was quite appealing.
Later, perhaps. With so many Awakened around, it was just a matter of time before a dispute erupted.
Morgan arrived before the manor itself next, where another queue was waiting. This time, the guests were on foot. Among them, she recognized politicians, CEOs of important industries, a celebrity or two, and some Awakened of renown.
Without breaking her stride, she kept walking past the queue, and the frontmen opened the doors for her without a comment, much to the chagrin of those still in the queue. The gatekeeper must have warned them of her arrival in advance. How convenient.
Paying no mind to the complaints, she entered the main stronghold of her former enemies. Her power and status had put her far above all of them even before she was a Saint. Now that she was, they didn't even amount to bugs.
There was a butler waiting for her on the other side. Old but dignified, dressed in an elegant three-piece suit and wearing with pride a long, well-trimmed moustache. He also was dead.
Morgan quirked an eyebrow in surprise, but did not resist when the corpse waved at her to follow.
The Queen of Worms herself was welcoming her into her house? How... flattering.
"How have you been, little Morgan?" the old corpse asked warmly.
"Little Morgan? It has been a long time since you last called me that. Auntie Song," she replied, full of amusement.
The corpse chuckled, an action that was completely at odds with the dignified servant, and shook its head.
"It has been a long time since I have done many things, dear." Its head turned slightly to catch her eye. "I take it that your self-imposed exile from the world is over now that you have shown up here?"
Morgan shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just here to start a bloody fight, then run away again."
The old butler threw its head back and laughed uproariously.
"Ah, little one. You were always cheeky like that."
It stopped then, so abruptly that she almost ran into its back. Immediately after, Morgan felt a crushing weight landing on her shoulders, making her feel like she was carrying the weight of the world on them.
She had expected to be ready to resist Ki Song's displeasure. Father hadn't been shy about imposing his Will as a punishment, or just to show his disappointment -and he always found a reason to be disappointed- after all. And still, she wasn't.
"I have always found your arrogance amusing, dear." The pressure increased twofold, making her knees threaten to buckle. "Adorable, even. Why, I still remember that one time you ran to me and proclaimed that you were going to defeat me. You were just too cute, holding that toy sword with pride, your hair a mess, and giving me that big smile with a missing tooth. How I wish I had taken a photo." The old butler shook its head in mock sadness. "But you are a child no more, little Morgan."
The pressure increased once more, and the world seemed to disappear. The decorations, the hall, the ground beneath her feet, the roof above her head. All gone. The smell hit her then, coppery, sweet, and everywhere. In her mind's eye, the old butler disappeared. Instead, she was standing at the foot of a mighty crimson throne, atop which sat an abomination that was both woman and an ocean of blood without a bottom.
Her knees buckled and hit the ground, the metal of her greaves scraping against the finely polished floor. The pressure steadily increased; her head hurt, her body hurt, everything hurt. Morgan's hands went to her throat next, trying and failing to force it to take in air.
She was drowning. Drowning in blood.
A hand that weighed more than a mountain landed on her shoulder as gently as a fly would, and the pressure vanished. So did the smell of blood and the endless depths. The old butler was standing once more before her, smiling kindly, with that long moustache of his that gave the corpse a dignified air.
"You are a woman now, little Morgan. I would be terribly sad if something were to happen to you just because you couldn't keep your mouth in check."
Morgan offered a shaky nod and accepted the corpse's helping hand to stand up.
They resumed walking as if nothing had happened, the old butler even whistling a cheerful melody as they walked through halls and corridors.
She watched its back wearily, externally composed, while inside, her heartbeat had refused to settle down just yet. The sheer weight of Ki Song's Will remained at the forefront of her mind.
Her own, as little as she had managed to grasp in the past month, felt so insignificant as to be nonexistent in comparison. It had been batted aside as easily as she could crush an ant. Easier even. All of her newfound power, all of her pride, her Will... had been worth nothing in the face of what a Supreme could casually bring to the forefront.
Eventually, they reached the main hall where the Ball was taking place. A room of gargantuan proportions where hundreds of people were already present, like fish happily swimming about, ignorant of the leviathan prowling the waters.
"We announce the arrival of Saint Morgan of Valor," the herald proclaimed, catching the attention of everyone present.
Morgan noticed their gazes then: some shocked, others curious, and a few, consisting of the mundane and Awakened alike, even fearful. Minutes before, she would have smiled arrogantly, preened at the attention. Now? They meant nothing to her.
The butler winked at her and then left to do whatever it was that Ki Song did with her toys.
Rather foolishly, she had convinced herself that now that she was a Saint, she could stand up to her Father. To both Sovereigns. That she could be free and independent. Bow her head to no one, and obey no other will but her own.
Ki Song had been kind enough to teach her that it wasn't the case, that in her eyes, she was still nothing more than an unruly child. And she intended to keep that lesson in mind.
She was far too weak to live the way she wanted just yet.
-------------------------------------------
Eunbin plucked a glass from one of the passing trays.
The liquid inside was dark red, thicker than one would normally expect from wine, but not unpleasantly so. It smelled of aged wood, citrus, and, if her nose wasn't lying to her, a touch of honey.
She took a small sip and smiled. Perfect.
If only the entertainment could be just as good as the refreshments were...
There were a total of five groups spread across the great hall in which Clan Song's Awakened Ball was taking place. An amused part of her couldn't help comparing them to the cliques she so often saw forming back at the orphanage.
First, there was hers, composed of the heads and scions of various Legacy Clans. She, along with Seishan, Silent Stalker, and the new heirs, had been tasked with babysitting them for the evening. With so many Awakened and competing clans around, violence was bound to erupt at some point, after all.
Stalker had already disappeared somewhere, hating this kind of event, and Shan was talking with the scion of Clan Sorrow about some matter or another. As for Eunbin? She was waiting for things to get properly started before deciding how to have some fun.
Valor was to her left, currently the strongest -if she ignored Mother's vessels- and most numerous group present. They appeared normal, chatting among themselves, but Eunbin did not miss how firmly and cautiously they stood, as though soldiers gone to war rather than people attending a social event. Saint Madoc was leading them, accompanied by Saint Jest -the only one looking at ease- and Saint Rivalen. They must have been very tense, so deep behind enemy lines, despite the fact that they were nominally allied against the Dream Spawn.
House of Night, on the right side, were the weakest -among the Awakened- by far, as was to be expected from that bunch. Among them, the only ones worth noting were Saint Bloodwave and Master Naeve, which said more than enough. While not as uptight as the brutes of Valor, they too looked a little tense. Eunbin couldn't quite blame them, considering how likely they were to be crushed if a fight broke out.
Then there was the Government. President Angela was currently chatting with Saint Thane, while Saint Winter was busy demolishing the buffet and Saint Jet already looked bored out of her mind. So far, they were the most relaxed group, though it only took a glance at Soul Reaper's face to tell she dearly wished something would happen so she would have an excuse to escape her boredom.
The fourth group was composed of independents of decent fame and standing. It was made up of both Awakened and Masters, and their lead had been unceremoniously taken by the very surprising appearance of the lost princess of war. Eunbin could barely restrain her laughter when she saw Madoc's face upon seeing Morgan of Valor showing up -a Saint now- and refusing his offer -more like an order- to have a private talk. Whatever she intended to do, it was sure to be entertaining.
Finally, there were the mundanes. CEOs, celebrities, athletes, and other assorted people she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to.
All of them were staying within their own groups for now, waiting for the moment the Ball officially started before mingling about. An amused part of her mind noted that, aside from the mundanes, everyone save for Saint Jest was wearing an armor Memory of some kind. And President Angela's business suit looked very reinforced.
On the surface, everyone here might be on the same side -humanity's- but nobody was foolish enough to lower their guard just because of that. Grudges of all kinds were abundant within such a high-profile gathering of people, and tensions were quite high lately. Nobody wanted to be caught without protection if violence were to erupt.
The Government's efforts to build a bridge between factions were commendable, even successful at times, but in the end, it couldn't do anything about human nature, or just how much distrust there was between the different groups. Oh, they would mingle about, exchange pleasantries, broker profitable deals, and make promises of friendship. It was the whole reason they bothered attending this charade, after all.
However, she was just as certain that it would take little to turn the social gathering into a bloodbath. She sure knew that if anyone present dared touch her charges, she would break their minds into countless little fragments and put them back together as though they were one of those strange paintings her mother was so fond of. Picasso was the painter's name, perhaps? She hadn't paid much attention in lessons about the old world's history.
It didn't help that nerves were high due to how close the Antarctica campaign was. Dire Fang had already left a month prior and was busy leading the efforts to turn all the cities within the central continent into a fortress. She herself would be leaving in two weeks, along with the heirs.
The analysts were optimistic for once, but Eunbin had seen their predictions go wrong too many times to take them at face value. She would consider herself lucky if only three-fourths of what could go wrong did. No wonder the Dream Spawn was being so successful at subverting the Sovereigns' domains with such an amount of uncertainty and danger on the horizon. She herself could admit to being a little worried despite Mother's assurances.
Eunbin brought the glass to her lips again and found it empty. She must have been more worried than she thought if she could lose track of how much was left.
She plucked another one deftly, and just as she was going to walk toward Shan, the herald announced a new arrival.
"We announce the arrival of Song Sunless and Nephis of the Immortal Flame!"
Eunbin's lips twitched at the former. She could still remember his annoyed tirade against all the paperwork involved in legally adopting the Clan name. She suspected that if not for Mother bribing him with hundreds of shards, he wouldn't have gone through the hassle.
The heirs strode forward into the room with all of the pride and self-assuredness she expected of them.
Unlike all the other Awakened, they were apparently wearing mundane clothes. Sunless wore a splendid black suit that, in her humble opinion, made him look like a cartoon villain, while Changing Star wore knightly attire that consisted of a set of black trousers and an equally black doublet that made her resemble a ghastly revenant of the past come to claim revenge. They made for quite the enchanting yet amusing pair.
The reason why she said, apparently? To her trained eye, it was obvious that the clothes they wore were made of Sunless' manifested shadows. Meaning that they too were wearing armor. Of the Transcendent rank, at that.
Maybe she should ask Sunless for a gown of her own? His Aspect was just too useful not to abuse for fashion purposes.
The pair noticed her gaze and immediately approached. They were accosted on their way by guests when they passed close, but they managed to extricate themselves graciously in a timely manner.
All that time she had spent teaching them -reinforcing the lessons in Changing Star's case- about etiquette hadn't been wasted, at least.
"How much longer is this thing going to last?" Sunless asked the moment he came within earshot.
Or maybe they were.
Chuckling in amusement, she shook her head. "Mother intends to make a closing announcement, so I assume as much as she wants it to last."
The way his shoulders slumped, one could be forgiven for thinking it had been hours since he arrived, instead of mere minutes.
"Damnation."
Eunbin opened her mouth, then blinked, genuinely surprised upon realizing that the one to have said so was Nephis.
"Damnation indeed," Sunless agreed.
She looked between the two of them, hoping that they were trying to pull a prank on her, only to realize they were completely serious. They were such a terrible influence on each other.
"Cheer up, little brother and little sister." They threw her an annoyed stare at that. "There is plenty of night left, and I'm sure that a lovely pair like you two can find ways to make it pass by quickly."
"What do you even do at these things?" Sunless asked. "The only thing I can recall is drinking, eating the smallest portions of food ever, and looking down on everyone else."
"There is dancing too," Nephis added evenly.
"Dancing?" His brows rose thoughtfully. "Haven't done that since I was a Supreme serving under a God."
What?
"Was that between being a Sacred and a shop owner?" Changing Star inquired with curiosity.
What?
"Yeah, it was fun, I guess. Far better than warring against other Supremes, that's for sure."
What?
Ah, right, the dreams.
He hesitated briefly. "Do you want to dance later?"
Nephis considered it for a moment before assenting with a faint smile.
The pair left then to talk with Shan, completely oblivious to just how much they had confused her in a few sentences. Eunbin plucked another glass from a passing tray and sipped from it.
She had the sensation that the boredom was over now.
-------------------------------------------
Madoc's back was tense as a bowstring.
None of that showed on his face as he drank from a glass of wine and picked up a shrimp appetizer from one of the passing trays. It tasted good, but the portions were so small it felt like eating air. There was the buffet, but he didn't feel safe enough just yet to abandon his men, and it would look ridiculous if all of them, adorned in their armor, went at the same time.
The things he did to save face.
And how annoying it had become to do so as of late. The reputation of Clan Valor had started recovering from the fiasco at the Immortal Flame manor, but it was slow going, and even now he could hear many of the guests mocking them, probably thinking that he couldn't hear them. The disastrous assault led by his brother against the Ivory Tower had not helped matters, either, secret as it might be.
Someone smacked him on the back, and it was only decades of experience that stopped him from summoning his weapon and turning them a head shorter.
"Relax a little, boy. You look ridiculous," Jest told him, the old man looking just as casual and at ease as ever. "Just think of how lovely an evening this is! You wouldn't want to drop the ball, would you?"
The old man snickered, and Madoc rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Do you ever stop?"
"Being so handsome? Sorry, can't do," Jest replied cheerfully.
"Could you be at least a little serious?"
"Why would I? You are already doing it enough for the two of us." Jest plucked an appetizer from one of the passing trays. "Besides, one of us has to be on the lookout for the most important thing."
Madoc tilted his head. "Which is?"
"The gossip, of course!" the old man proclaimed with fervor. "Do you have any idea how many juicy tidbits I have caught already while you were brooding?"
Not for the first time, he wondered how such a ridiculous man could be the most reliable assassin of Clan Valor.
"Anything useful?"
"Well, apparently Saint Charybdys and Master Scylla have broken up again. Something about a disagreement in decoration. I personally prefer the blue curtains with white dots, but I can see Scylla's point about white with blue dots."
"…by useful, I mean for our cause, not for you to amuse yourself."
"Ah, then no."
It wouldn't be proper to facepalm.
He repeated that to himself ten times before he managed to suppress the urge. Being so capable of annoying him must have been part of Jest's Aspect. It had to be.
"Have you found anything about Morgan's plans for the evening?" He asked next, hoping to assuage his concerns.
Jest shook his head, serious for once. For all of one second, before he relaxed again.
"Not just yet, but I'm optimistic. I'll go ahead and keep looking now."
Madoc saw the older Saint marching away, his gait as easy and carefree as it could be. How he wished he could affront life with such an attitude.
He sighed and cast another look around the room.
Nothing had gone wrong while he was talking with Jest. His men were safe, still talking among themselves. The different groups kept to themselves, and nothing was on fire, which was good enough for him. Even Morgan, who had refused his every attempt to talk with her so far, was keeping to herself.
There had been a small stir when Nephis and Sunless arrived -he could almost feel his prosthesis itch at the sight of the latter- but things had settled down quickly enough after that.
It was hard to believe, but it almost looked like nothing would go wrong.
At that very moment, as if they had been waiting for him to think so, two presences descended upon the room.
Everyone present flinched and turned in unison toward the door, where the trembling herald hurriedly cleared his throat and announced the new arrivals.
"Presenting Lady Ki Song, head of Clan Song, and Lord Anvil of Valor."
There stood two people, their auras so powerful and heavy that they almost felt physical. Or at least physical enough to make him, and everyone else, feel like there was a weight resting on their shoulders.
One of them was a woman of exquisite beauty, wearing a regal red gown long enough to spill over the floor when she walked. There were many things about her that caught the eye, but if he were to pick one, it would be the sword piercing her chest, which she treated as a mere adornment.
The other was a tall, handsome man with a thick but dignified beard. He wore an elegant suit adorned with a vermilion cloak and stood as straight and sharp as a sword. His eyes were the color of steel, regarding everyone in the room with cold judgment.
The Sovereigns were here.
After more than a decade living in the shadows, they had decided to appear in public at last. Why now? Why here? Why hadn't his brother told him?
A quick look at Beastmaster confirmed that neither did she know about the Queen of Worms' arrival at the event.
Just what were they planning?
-------------------------------------------
Naeve shuddered at the feeling of oppressive weight landing on his shoulders.
By his side, Uncle Bloodwave looked toward the Sovereigns with a grim expression. It didn't take a genius to know that, if it came down to it, they would be helpless to resist them.
Supreme Ki Song walked to the front and smiled charmingly, her mesmerizing beauty contrasting sharply -pun not intended- with the sword stabbed into her chest. He could almost feel the pressure she emanated increase with every step she took.
Anvil of Valor moved at the same time, not falling a single step behind his rival. Unlike his fellow Sovereign, his face seemed carved in steel, looking down upon all with cold indifference. The pressure he emanated magnified too.
"It is a pleasure to see all of you here tonight," she began, sounding like she genuinely meant the words. "In times of hardship like these, it is important for all of us to stand together."
"As Awakened, it is our duty to fight against any and all threats to humanity," Anvil continued, every word delivered with cold, ruthless precision. "Many of you must have heard about the Chain of Nightmares and the danger Antarctica is under. The Spell won't find us lacking."
Ki Song's smile grew sharper. "No expense will be spared, no weapon will be left unused, and no option will remain unexplored. For the survival of humanity demands nothing less."
Their speech continued a little longer, but Naeve had stopped listening. There was only so much hypocrisy he could stomach, after all.
He knew them to be calculating and ruthless -it was practically mandatory to reach such heights- but to also think they were shameless enough to deliver such a speech after they had spent decades suppressing any and all threats to their hegemony left him speechless.
Uncle Knossos and Typhaon were risking their lives right now, challenging the Fourth Nightmare just so they wouldn't have to keep living under the tyranny of the Sovereigns, and here they were, playing at games. How many Awakened had been silenced for resisting them? How many were killed for not bowing the knee to them? For deciding that they wanted to grow stronger without their approval?
Naeve gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying anything he could regret.
Fortunately, the speech ended soon after, and he was spared from enduring it any longer.
The pressure remained, however, a warning to behave and a reminder of who held the true power here. The only ones who seemed oblivious to it were the mundanes, lacking the senses to feel anything but a slight resistance in every movement that could be chalked up to being tired.
At least something good had come out of their arrival.
The ice was thoroughly broken, and people started mingling at last.
Naeve decided to do the same, if only to tear his mind away from the two monsters pretending to be humans walking among them.
He found who he was looking for soon enough, and he started walking in Saint Sunless' direction after giving a nod to his uncle.
His daughter had insisted very vehemently that he get her an autograph, and he couldn't deny such a simple thing to her. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to build a rapport with such a powerful Saint.
Naeve found the man beside the buffet, already piling up two plates with food.
"Good evening, Saint Sunless," he meant to say.
However, the nerves he felt in the presence of the powerful Saint, the fresh memories of the movie two days ago, and his still-volatile emotions from minutes prior turned it instead into:
"Are you crazy!?"
Saint Sunless turned to him, one eyebrow quirked and his eyes incredibly flat.
Just three words, and he had already potentially offended a man who could kill him and all of his family in an afternoon with a hand tied behind his back. Did that beat his father's record of four? He thought so, but he was a little too busy fearing for his life to feel any sort of accomplishment.
"Probably," the Saint replied dryly. "Hello to you too."
Naeve coughed uncomfortably and extended his arm for a handshake. He cringed right after when he realized that Sunless had both hands occupied with plates.
For Spell's sake, he was making such a terrible impression!
Luckily, Sunless spared him from continued embarrassment by manifesting a shadow tendril that shaped itself into an arm to shake his hand.
"That must be very convenient when you feel an itch you cannot scratch normally," he commented absent-mindedly.
"Very."
Naeve cringed, realizing that he had spoken aloud. He just couldn't stop himself, could he?
He coughed again to regain some measure of decorum and offered the man a smile that his wife insisted was very charming. He personally thought that it made him look like he was trying to sell a used PTV with obvious defects, but she was the smarter one of the two, so he listened.
"I apologize for my poor manners," he said, feigning a calm that he did not feel. "I'm Master Naeve of House Night."
The other man shrugged. "Sunless, but I would rather be called Sunny. And it's fine. People have called me far worse things in our first talk. "
Naeve felt a little relieved by that. It didn't look like he was going to die just yet.
Then he was confused.
"Like what? If you don't mind answering, that is."
Sunless smiled then, and for some reason, he felt goosebumps. "Well, you see, there was this one time when I was taking a stroll at night, minding my own business, when I ran into a rather foul-mouthed group. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I ended up rescuing someone from a well who insisted I had to be a Nightmare Creature. Which I found quite offensive since..."
Naeve listened, equal parts impressed and horrified by the story told by the Saint. A story that he proceeded to spin into a longer, more elaborate tale that, by all logic, should have been impossible to have really happened, but the legend of Saint Sunny was just too absurd to deny.
And he had thought that his "probably" answer had been a joke.
-------------------------------------------
Jet observed the Sovereigns with a vague feeling of amusement.
It seemed like Supremes weren't beyond making dramatic entrances. The way they released their auras at the same time practically screamed, "Look at me," and now they were even trying to outdo each other while pretending not to. The drama queens.
"You think they will come to blows before the night ends?" Winter asked curiously.
"Hopefully," she replied.
"You know you are supposed to say 'Hope not,' right?"
Jet shrugged nonchalantly. "It's either that or I start a fight with Changing Star. This whole thing is just too boring."
Winter snorted. "You'll have to get in the queue. Saint Morgan looks eager to do that too. Why do you even hate her that much, now that I think of it?"
"I have my reasons," Jet replied calmly.
The other woman looked at her inquisitively for a moment longer before losing interest and focusing back on the ongoing aura competition between the Sovereigns.
At least the way Anvil of Valor had frozen for a second upon seeing his estranged daughter had been hilarious.
She sighed and took another look around, hoping to find something to make time pass quicker that wasn't the most tense tug-of-war game ever. How Saint Thane could enjoy these things so much was beyond her.
The arrival of the Supremes had broken the ice, at least, and the different groups had started mingling.
With little else to do, she walked toward the bar to get herself something decent to drink. The champagne flutes tasted like fizzy water to her, and the wine wasn't much better. Jet was fairly certain that all that talk about structure, evocative imagery, and earthy flavors was just rich people trying to convince themselves they hadn't been scammed when buying their grape juice.
She found more people there, though none of them were the kind she was willing to strike up a conversation with. She had already dealt with enough pompous Legacies for the day during work; she had no interest in dealing with them here too.
The bartender shot her an odd stare when she asked for her drink, but was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
Less than a minute later, she was already sipping from it and sighing contentedly. The Afterlife, she thought it was called in bars. Personally, she preferred the name given by the outskirts. Paint Stripper.
The damn thing had the kick of a Corrupted Beast and could get even Awakened and some weak Masters drunk in sufficient quantities. It was the first drink she ever had, back before she was an Awakened, and she couldn't stop herself from coming back to it just yet.
People also had the funniest reactions when they decided to try it themselves and found just what they were dealing with.
Jet took another sip of the clear liquid and took another look around the venue.
Sadly, there wasn't much to be seen. Winter was talking with Thane, Sunny was gesticulating wildly while speaking about something to an increasingly horrified Master Naeve, and President Angela was dealing with some CEO.
Just as she was considering whether to go and join Sunny's conversation -whatever it was that he was speaking about must have been fun, given poor Naeve's paling expression- she spotted someone else alone, having just ended a conversation with Master Seishan, and decided she might as well have some fun.
It took little more than a dozen steps before she arrived beside the woman, who immediately noticed her presence.
The world seemed brighter around her, almost as if she were some kind of angel. The coldness that always surrounded Jet clashed with it, dimming the light slightly, but nowhere close to the usual effect it had on the auras of other Saints. As much as she disliked the woman, she had to accept that her hype wasn't completely disproportionate.
"Saint Jet," she greeted calmly.
"Changing Star."
The woman's gray eyes observed her closely, the question "What are you doing here?" shining clearly in them.
"What's wrong with a little social visit?" she asked playfully.
Nephis' composed mask did not waver. "Your last social visit consisted of accusing me of doing terrible things."
A cold smile spread across her lips. "And yet I was right about them all."
"You were," Changing Star agreed just as coldly. "And yet you were wrong about others."
Jet shrugged. "So I have seen. Quite impressive, if I say so." She pointed at the black band in the other woman's hand. "He even proposed to you. How did it go? Did you force him to do it? Blackmail? Some sort of bribe?"
White flames danced in Nephis' eyes for a brief moment, so briefly that anyone with worse reflexes than her would have thought they had imagined it.
"Our personal lives are none of your business," the silver-haired woman replied coldly.
"Normally, I would agree." Jet accepted it easily and took another sip from her drink. "But you two are bound to serve beside me very soon, and I would rather nip any potential problems in the bud. Two Saints deciding to fight each other under my watch would be rather inconvenient while the apocalypse is going on, after all."
"I assure you there will be none of that."
"Sorry." Jet made no effort to sound sorry. "But I find it hard to believe such a thing from someone of your ilk."
Changing Star took a step forward, the world brightening around them, and only then did she notice just how hot it was. She noticed the pressure landing on her shoulders next, similar to that emitted by the Sovereigns but far weaker.
And maybe there was something terribly wrong with her, but she was even more eager to poke the bear.
"You hate me. I know that; you know that. I can understand why, and I won't fault you for it." Every word coming out of the woman's mouth carried the same perfectly controlled and even tone, but the heat kept increasing steadily. "However, I won't tolerate any more insults. If it's Sunny you are worried about, then I encourage you to be his friend rather than waste your time being my enemy." White flames started dancing in her eyes again. "But if what you want is to fight me, then let's do it and stop beating around the bush. I'll even let you pick the time and place."
Her cold smile widened. "I prefer this version of you. More direct, less preachy, and far more honest."
Nephis' expression did not twitch, her blazing eyes still looking straight into hers with the same intensity.
The air around them became colder under the influence of her aura.
"You could do with a little more of a sense of humor, though." The light became brighter. "Very well, I'll drop the matter. You go ahead and keep playing the savior, but don't bother pretending with me."
Jet stepped away and started walking back toward the bar. Her drink had been finished at some point during the conversation with Changing Star.
She had her fun too.
-------------------------------------------
Anvil observed the festivities with cold eyes.
What a waste of time this was.
He could be in his forge, working toward creating the perfect sword. He could be hunting in the Dream Realm, expanding his repertoire of swords. He could be devising strategies to be implemented against the Dream Spawn and the Worm. He could do so many more productive things.
But no, here he was, standing beside the woman he despised most in the world.
His eyes lowered to the glass of wine he held. It was rich, sophisticated, with an elaborate taste that revealed more of itself with each sip. It was, by all means, excellent. It also happened to be one of the vintages Sunless had stolen months ago.
It only took a look at Ki Song's amused eyes to confirm it. She always favored petty displays of power like this.
The Worm wouldn't be so amused once he drowned her and her brood beneath an ocean of steel.
"Planning my death again, dear Anvil?" she asked idly.
"Yes," he answered immediately.
There was no reason to lie.
He knew the Worm too well, and she knew him too well in turn.
That, among many other reasons, made it inevitable that they would come to blows.
"You wound me," Ki Song lamented, pretending to be hurt. "We have gone through so many hardships together, and yet you act like nothing would make you as happy as my death. Is your heart truly made of iron, old friend?"
"And can you do nothing but sing your inane songs, old friend?"
Ravensong smiled, as sharp as any of his blades, and twice as deadly.
"You always were too much of a sourpuss, old friend. How dear Smile could tolerate you for so long is a wonder."
Plink. Plink. Plink.
His cup fell to the ground in a rain of glass, sliced into countless, millimetric pieces by an outburst of his Will. The air remained sharp after that, so sharp, in fact, that anyone foolish enough to come close to him would die before they knew what had happened.
"Still a sensitive subject, huh?" the Worm continued, mocking.
Her own Will had been brought to the forefront, nullifying the effects of his in her surroundings. The air smelled of freshly spilled blood and decay, and if anyone were foolish enough to approach her, they would turn into a rotting corpse in an instant.
"Is there any point to your prattling?"
Ki Song tilted her head and looked him up and down, then shrugged lightly.
"Is it so hard to talk to me, old friend? How long has it been since we had the chance to just chat?"
"Not long enough."
She continued as though he had said nothing. "It was before your attack dog killed one of my daughters, if I recall correctly."
As if the Worm had ever forgotten or forgiven any slight.
"The day before your puppets killed one of my brothers."
Ki Song hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. "You are correct. What was his name? Kevan, perhaps?"
"Yes," he replied coldly. "Song Mei was yours, correct?"
"Correct." Her eyes turned colder still. "My daughters still light a candle for her every year."
"They must light many a candle, then, given how many of them you killed yourself."
The smell of fresh blood intensified, and for but an instant, her red gown rippled, as though a beast preparing to pounce on a long-hated enemy.
The sentiment was mutual.
"How many brothers do you have left, Anvil? I would feel terribly sad if Asterion made any more of them into thralls," she said in a venomously sweet tone.
"Fewer than you have daughters, so I assume Asterion will make more thralls out of yours," he replied coldly.
They looked into each other's eyes, and once more, Anvil considered striking the Worm here and now.
The costs would be terrible. Ki Song was more than capable of killing every single person present owing allegiance to him before he cut her down, and he himself would pay a terrible price in doing so. The damage to his clan's already poor reputation wouldn't be negligible, either. There were countless other reasons why it wasn't wise to do so at this very moment.
But the temptation...
Anvil could almost taste how sweet it would be to wipe that smug smile off his old friend's face.
The Gods were dead. He needed no further proof than the fact that his flaw had taken everything else while keeping the Worm alive and well.
He could feel his hand itching for the hilt of a sword that wasn't there. His Will sharpening in preparation for battle. Calculations were already running through his mind for the most optimal runic arrays. Strategies were devised and discarded at breakneck spe—
Anvil grasped a finger of his left hand between two of his fingers and snapped it without hesitation.
The fresh wave of pain banished the haze of fury clouding his mind enough to regain the clarity that was swiftly leaving him.
"He's becoming stronger," Ki Song commented calmly, almost conversationally.
The damage had already been restored by the Worm's Aspect, but she too had chosen to gouge a deep wound into her wrist to break out of the mind plague.
"He is," he agreed in the same calm tone.
"Your efforts in culling his influence?"
"For every weed pulled, five more seem to sprout," he replied honestly. "Yours?"
"I'm a little more successful, but not much more," Ki Song admitted.
"Your little project?"
"It's advancing well," he replied curtly, unwilling to share any detail more than necessary. "Your secret weapon?"
Ki Song's eyes shone with glee. "Almost ready."
He nodded, not bothering to ask for details she wouldn't share.
The conversation died out soon after. He felt no inclination toward talking to the Worm, and even she had better things to focus her attention on than just pestering him with her petty games.
His gaze roamed the room, then easily found the raw iron he intended to work with.
Morgan was speaking with some independent Master. He did not know his name, and neither did he intend to. The way he was slouching was all he needed to ascertain just how poor a material he would make. No, what interested him was his daughter.
She had surprised him pleasantly for once, and he couldn't wait to see what she was playing at. The temptation to appraise her here and now and properly find her new limits was there, but if he had waited for two decades to see her make something of herself, then he could wait until she was done with whatever ploy she was preparing.
Anvil was a patient man, after all.
He found the Worm's new heirs next. They were dancing to a slow song in the middle of the room, the two of them alone, catching all eyes with each step they took while theirs were reserved solely for each other. His late wife would have called it romantic, but he preferred another description.
Waste of time.
If it were up to him, the two of them would be out in the Dream Realm, battling their way through the untamed lands, testing their steel over and over until they broke or proved themselves worthy of his judgment. Instead, here they were, playing the role of politicians for the Worm, letting their talent rust.
They, too, tempted him to appraise and properly forge them into something that could be worthy at last.
Ki Song sent him a warning look then.
She had always been infuriatingly precise when it came to reading him. She could have made for a worthy sword herself, if she weren't so willing to let her steel rust while she played house.
Asterion had committed many sins throughout his life. All of them were unforgivable, but if he were to pick one above all others, then it would be forcing him to tolerate Ravensong's continued existence, if only for the sake of killing him first.
He would fall. Anvil would make sure of it.
But Ki Song wouldn't be far behind.
That, he promised himself.
-------------------------------------------
Ki Song regarded the hall with satisfaction.
Elites from all over the world, Waking and Dream alike, had gathered under her roof. They had come to pay respects to her. Bowed their heads in submission to her power and influence. Accepted just how inferior they were to her.
It was everything she had ever dreamed of, and more.
And still, her greedy little heart couldn't help but want more.
She glanced at Anvil briefly. The man-shaped hunk of steel was coldly observing the room, probably thinking about how much he missed his forge. She swore he loved it more than he had ever loved Smile or poor Gwyn.
If she wanted more, he would have to die. Just like the Dream Spawn.
Her fingers twitched. The temptation to get started here and now was strong, both before and after the Nightmare Spawn had sunk its teeth into it.
Later, she told herself.
Blood and death would come, but for now, she had an announcement to make.
A look was all it took for the herald to straighten up and clear his throat loudly. The music stopped right after, and the lights dimmed while a bright beam landed on her and Anvil.
"It has been a pleasure to host you all tonight, but as with all good things, I'm afraid the festivities are over for today," she said in a regal tone, the same one she employed to issue decrees in Ravenheart.
People all over the hall looked at her, and, detecting something in her tone, unconsciously straightened up. It never failed to bring a smile to her lips, just how easily she could command a room. Even more easily than her pilgrims at times.
"But before you go, there is an announcement that my dear friend and I have to make," she continued in the same regal tone.
Slowly, measuredly, she released more of her Will, making everyone who hadn't yet done so focus solely on her. Anvil's joined hers a moment later, just as oppressive as hers was. Even the mundanes were starting to feel that something was wrong, the combination of their Wills akin to a blood-stained sword aimed at their throats.
"As you all know, the Antarctica campaign will begin soon. My own sons and daughters will leave in less than a month to join the war effort."
She waved in their direction and almost smiled at their narrowed eyes. Could they guess already what she intended to do? She hoped not. It would be more amusing if they didn't.
"As good a job as they, and my own brother and knights, will surely do, we couldn't in good conscience stay idle," Anvil continued, every word sounding like a blade being unsheathed. "But two more Saints alone are not enough to tilt the balance in our favor."
Ki Song smiled sweetly and finally stopped constraining her own power.
The reaction was immediate.
Mundanes fell to their knees, heads low, their faces pale and eyes bloodshot, as though they were mere ants in the presence of a giant. The Awakened did little better, down on their knees but at least capable of looking at them in horror. Some of the Ascended remained standing while some didn't, but the sheer terror in their expressions was even more pronounced than in the Awakened. Finally came the Saints. They, too, were affected, their knees buckling under the pressure, but not a single one of them fell, though she did detect fear in them.
Most amusing of all was her heirs' reaction. They had done little more than flinch, and even now were watching her warily, as if ready to defend themselves in case of need. How adorable.
"Two Saints alone are not enough," she echoed, and her smile grew wider. "So why not take the next step? Your guesses are correct, dear guests. My old friend Anvil and I challenged the Fourth Nightmare and succeeded."
Gasps echoed around the hall, some from those who didn't know, others from those who did but didn't expect them to reveal such a secret in a manner like this.
Ki Song raised a glass toward Anvil, an action he mirrored soon after.
"And so we gathered you all to make a proclamation. The Spell can throw more challenges at us. The Nightmare Creatures attempt to drive us out of our own homes. The world itself might be devoured, but we and humanity as a whole won't go quietly into the night." She smiled then and added something she had been dying to say. "After all, if that is our will... then who dares stop us?"
Little Nephie's face was priceless.
The night passed in a blur after that. Congratulations, questions, offers of friendship and fealty rained down on her one after another, and she couldn't be happier.
It was everything she had ever wanted and more.
The future was uncertain. The Dream Spawn. Anvil. Her own heirs, whose decision would either propel her to new heights or force her to make a regrettable decision, and the soon-to-awaken threats Merias had warned about.
But the present?
Oh, the present was all hers.