Augustus Nicholson was young, barely out of his education, but he was the last heir of the de Lacy family, and the idea was to raid Nemsemet's bastion at the Museum of History, through the subway tunnels and try to find something that they could use to destroy the ancient tyrant. The plan was improvisational, and the holes in it had to do with what they didn't know about their foe, which was a lot. The ancient Egyptians, for some reason, saw fit to erase the name "Nemsemet" from everything.

Tony could take a stab at why; the old sorcerer was a fucking nightmare.

The raid was brave but foolhardy, impatient, and the sort of thing a young man might do; fight a melodramatic and romantic last stand to cast defiance in the teeth of something as a symbolic act, except the symbolism was lost on everyone who saw it happen-- Nemsemet, who killed off de Lacy's court with a ruthless and utterly terrifying efficiency and power in spellcasting, essentially disintegrated Nicholson in an inferno of his summoning; Nicholson and his followers had just breached a service corridor in the museum when Nemsemet summoned fire and turned the narrow hallway into an oven.

Nemsemet, too, understood the power of symbolism; he preferred his symbols crispy and well done on the inside.

There were those that argued against the attack, and they were vindicated, for all the good that did them.

The word of Augustus' demise reached Tony through Walton Moon, a member of the Moon family, who were fairly decent folk as the werewolves went -- they were dirt poor but they owed Tony some favors that he did to try and keep them from being completely swallowed up by poverty; they said that Nemsemet's soldiers, particularly the lycanthropes and vampires, were going to hit the hiding place next. And Tony knew where Augustus had been hiding before he launched the raid. Dumb kid; he sank his safe house and his allies with that forlorn hope bullshit.

That was the last favor; the Moons put themselves out to warn Tony, and there'd be no more help from his fellow werewolves, who were all pretty much on Nemsemet's side.

A toned, trim and well put together man with an afro, he'd looked on Augustus' demand of service due a Lord of the city with a benign sort of amusement reserved for teenagers that didn't understand the way the world worked. Nemsemet was an evil old muthafucka, but that didn't mean that Tony was about to hang his black ass out to dry for some entitled early-20's punk still wet behind the ears and demanding this and ordering that and not taking any advice.

He hadn't been the only one to advise calm and caution, but he'd been blown off like the others. The ones that went with Augustus were the juiced-in guys, the ones higher up the food chain. The Court's enforcers and various parasites and courtiers -- and they weren't ready for the sort of ugly direct combat and magic employed against them. Nemsemet rallied just about all the vampires and all the werecreatures onto his side, and as a lycanthrope himself, Tony could relate to why they did so. Most lycanthropes came from impoverished families and were given very little by the system while being used for the free labor afforded to those with any title at all in the Court. Caradoc de Lacy was something of an arrogant bastard, but he was one among many in various cities, and his court wasn't the worst...nor was it really the best.

Tony expected to be written off on his advice. The suspicion of decades ago clung to him in the eyes of Augustus, even though Tony had not joined Nemsemet like most of the others.

So Parael's place was warded up and rigged good, but apparently someone talked, and Tony found himself knocking frantically on Parael's door, not because he wanted shelter, but because that shelter was compromised, "C'mon man, open the hell up."

When someone finally did open it, he told them, somewhat out of breath, "Gotta get the hell out, Augustus and the entire raid got killed off and apparently someone talked."

Parael Magnus hovered in his bathroom before the mirror frowning at his own reflection. His hair was an absolute mess as the bangs wouldn't stay put where he wanted them. The lime green silk bathrobe he wore was likewise disheveled, and his fingers were looking woefully out of shape. He'd skipped his weekly mani-pedi to focus on warding his apartment and the place of business. He didn't have much of a choice though. When a hurricane struck, you had to skip going to the movies to see the latest blockbuster and focus on boarding up your house.

Nemsemet was a category 5 hurricane, following an 8.9 earthquake, following a volcanic eruption.

What scared the fuck out of Parael, though, was the fact that he had 0 info on the thing. As a Celestiel, he had the ins and outs on almost every historical figure to walk the Earth. Attila the Hun? Cross-eyed and afraid of frogs. Genghis Khan was into some freaky shit. And Ivan the Terrible was a mild sociopath but loved his pet bunny.

Problem was, Nemsemet went back. Far back. Ancient Egypt was hard enough to follow, but Parael had no idea who or what Nemsemet truly was. High Priest? Fine, they were looking at a powerful Magus. True Pharoah? A Demi-god with ancient knowledge; difficult but not unkillable. An Avatar of the Egyptian deities? Now they were in trouble.

"If I were a praying Celestiel," he said to the mirror, tweaking his eyelashes, "I'd be sending out requests for backup."

The pounding on his front door made him jump and mess up his right eyelash briefly. Parry frowned and looked up at the ceiling briefly. "I said if. Don't take that as a formal request." Parry left his face half made up- a crime in his eyes- and headed down to the main floor entrance.

The Little Angels center was full up with occupants. Fae, a few petty magi and witches, mostly vagrants who wanted a place to stay while the chaos at court was settled. Nobody knew what Parry was, but they knew the place was Warded to high heaven. A few had their kids with them, crowded in the nap rooms like so many people packed into tenements, but otherwise the center was closed for business; had been since the day the sarcophagus opened.

Parry opened the front door, greeting the Lycanthrope with an absurd sight- that strangely masculine body with a female face, long golden hair, in a slinky silk robe that only reached as low as Parry's knees. It was all a big joke- he wore boxers and a designer undershirt beneath it all.

"Well hello, beautiful," Parry said with a smile. Which promptly evaporated when he heard what Tony had to say. "Get in," he said, pulling Tony into the front door before slamming it shut and locking the deadbolts. "Details. Now. Skip nothing. Who talked and what'd they say?"

Oh man... The old Isis charm Parry gave the raid group was a long shot. Looooooong shot. And it wasn't like there were a ton of people who peddled in old Egyptian Magic. Still, they could maybe pin his support on someone else...

Well, he could have resisted, but he wasn't; he wanted in as bad as anyone else. He kept his voice low and calm, because the last thing he wanted to do was start a panic among the people taking shelter here. For that matter, he was a lycanthrope, some of these folks tended to view the breed with suspicion. Moon-mad and the ability to turn into psychotic raging man-beasts. It was actually understandable.

"Some Werewolves I know passed on the word as a last favor. Not saying who. Said Augustus and his entire raid force got rolled over bad as soon as they reached the museum and one of them lived long enough to talk. Or maybe he was dead when he got made to talk, who the fuck knows? We both know where they were hiding and it's a good bet Nemsemet got that out of the guy who snitched. That means that shit's gonna land here hard." He never lost the entire 'ebonic' accent, the African-Americanisms that identified his background, but he was also a guy that held a Master's from Tulane.

"I know you've got heavy defenses here, but Nemsemet's a nightmare, man. You might be able to hold this place for a little bit, but that needs to happen while the little ones are getting taken to safety." Tony wasn't willing to fight for Augustus Nicholson, but he'd spent decades trying to help turn around some of Camden's meanest ghettos. Parael was a known entity in the community insofar as that it was damn unlikely he'd just pick up sticks and leave the kids hanging and Tony already had problems looking himself in the eyes in the mirror many mornings. He wasn't about to do it either.

Parry stopped in place, chewing his thumbnail while the Lycanthrope gave him the latest and not-so-greatest on how badly they were fucked. Dammit all to the Pit, he shouldn't have given Augustus the help. Stupid stupid stupid! He had a soft spot for kids, part of his old job. For whatever reason, Augustus had hit him hard with the "Think of the children!" line and Parael had taken the bait. 'Of course I'll think of the children! Here, take this old thing- no, don't ask where I got it. It should work as proof against Egyptian Magi.' Should being the operative word there.

Now his place had a big fat target on it, and he was out his most powerful asset in the fight against Nemsemet.

Well, not his most powerful. He still had his old sword. But if he pulled that one out, they might as well drop a nuclear missile on the museum. It'd get the job done with far less of a mess.

"Well, if Nemsemet can make corpses talk, we're double boned. No helping there," he said, walking back to the main room of the Center. A few Fae were huddled in the corner sleeping, some lone-wolf shifters sleeping in a pile on the main carpet. A teenage pimple faced wizard was busy playing a game on a smart-phone, oblivious to their presence.

Hardly the makings of an army.

Parry slipped right past them and pulled a black designer diaper bag off the coat rack on the wall- All silver patterns and gold thread. Fancy stuff. It weighed a few pounds but opening it revealed nothing.

"Alright, do me a favor and hit the basement. There's two safes beneath the stairs. Code's 1-5-1 on both of them. Empty them both into here. And do NOT open the flasks in safe number two. I'll dispose of them later but Nemsemet cannot have them."

Packed in with all the industrial sized boxes of diapers, pull-ups, baby food and extra toys were a pair of electronic safes. Number one had all the cash Parael owed de Lacy for his tithes. Not collected since the court got nuked, so they'd have about three grand in cash for whatever they needed. de Lacy's real tribute was in safe number two, bottled up in a silver flask with a couple others that were empty, but likely had trace amounts of liquid in them. And Nemsemet could not get his grubby hands on Celestial blood under any circumstances.

"Alright," Parry said to his occupants, checking his watch. "Closing time folks! You don't have to go home but you can't stay here! Car keys are on the table and anyone without a car, the next city bus comes around in twelve minutes. I'm going upstairs to change. Anyone still here when I get back will not be happy with what I do to you!"

Rikive was stood still in a backroom of the daycare center, her head tilted to the side out of habit as she listened. The banging on the door had caught her attention and she tuned out the rest of the noise to focus on it. She wasn’t allowed to answer the door anymore because she tended to answer it with Winterthorn drawn and ready to fight. So she remained still and she listened to see who it was when Parael answered. To make sure they were friend not foe.

Her entire body grew stiff when she overheard the following conversation. “Son of a whore.” She whispered to herself, putting her hand on the hilt of her sword and running her other through her wavy chestnut hair. So their stronghold was now compromised and they must scatter to the four winds? How frustrating, damn that fool hardy lad. He had known nothing of proper battle tactics.

Now his foolish attempt to play hero had put them all in danger.

Shaking her head Rikive walked out of the backroom, the flowy hem of her red and gold dress and it’s sleeves annoying her simply because it wasn’t armor. She had been out in the city when she received Parael’s summons and thus woefully caught off guard. It didn’t matter, even if she had been given the proper time to prepare, she would still have no armor. Rather stupidly, she thought she wouldn’t need it when she came to Midgard.

Rikive emerged into the main room as Parael dished out his instructions then ran upstairs to change into sensible clothing. Grunting as the daycare center erupted into equally confused and terrified chatter she stepped into the fray to begin instructing people to leave before more chaos erupted.

Threatening to draw her sword seemed to do the trick well for those that became too rowdy.

Once she was sure people would actually be leaving she followed Parael's path up the stairs to talk to him. "Parael!" She called out, sticking her head into the apartment before entering and shutting the door behind her. "I heard everything, dear friend." She informed him, not one to 'beat around the bush' she believed the expression was. "What is thy plan?" She asked, crossing her arms and leaning back against the door of the apartment.

The chaos down below was a good cover for Parry to slip out and up the apartment stairs. The heavy THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of Rikive's boots following him up the steps was a good heads up about company coming to join him.

Parry didn't bother to close the apartment door to his bedroom behind him. He knew Rikive might have just walked right through it without opening the knob given the situation below. He ignored her presence at first, going straight into his clothing closet first and tossing out his designer clothes one at a time.

"Plan?" He yelled. "There's no plan, lovely. Plan's gone. The Isis charm was the only card I was holding against Nemsemet. I don't know if it worked or not, or if it's even in one piece still. But we need to get out of Dodge. Where are my Armani- ah, there we go! You're going to want to change, lovely."

Parry tossed out a few plastic shopping bags. Inside was a variety of women's clothes. He'd taken Rikive shopping more than once for modern clothes, but for whatever reason she preferred her 'Ye Olde Viking' garb. Parry shut the door to give her some privacy while he slid into his jeans, a smooth button up short-sleeve, and grabbed a spare set of both.

"We're going to be on the streets for a little while," he yelled through the door. Silver Fairy sword was tucked in the corner. Better take that, he thought, snatching it up and slipping it into his belt. "Tony may have a place we can crash. If the mummy comes himself we're screwed. But he'll probably send some lackeys for us instead. The Wards will go off when they get here and A.) toast them or B.) not, if Nemmy decides to throw some charms on them. And if he throws charms on them, we are double fucked, 'cause then he knows what I am."

The closet door opened up and Parry stood in the frame, modeling this way and that, preening for his audience as he did a 360 twirl about. Designer jeans, a nice Gucci t-shirt, the Fae sword at his hip, and his hair in a ponytail.

"What do you think? Too much? Or should I go do my lashes again?"

Flint took a swig from the bottle, the dark brown liquid was gulped down quickly and was followed by a sigh of boredom. The door he was watching didn’t give much entertainment, and the bare room he sat in had nothing but a few chairs and a lightbulb. The hideout wasn’t the best of places to live, his old home was better, but he knew that he couldn’t go back there. So the abandoned apartment complex would have to do, at least it had running water. The lack of electricity was a pain at times but didn’t bother him too much. Flint decided to go for a walk, to stretch his legs. He decided to survey the hideout. He scooped up the double barrel shotgun from his lap and began walking.

It wasn’t a large apartment complex, but it could comfortably fit forty people, sixty uncomfortably. He had set up one room with gas cookers and another filled with generators in case electricity needed to be used. Then he came to the only padlocked room in the place, he removed a key and opened up the door, revealing a couple of wooden chests. He checked that all the contents of the chests where still there then began the long walk back to reception.

He placed the shotgun back on his lap, it was an old firearm and looked like it had come straight from a western film. Flint began to watch the door again, hoping that maybe someone could decipher his posters. They were written as such:

“DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT THE MAN! THE MAGICIANS ARE LOOKING FOR NEW RECRUITS FOR THERE TUBULAR NEW BAND!”

Then the address of the hideout was written at the bottom. It was unnerving how many people had come looking to join the fake band, each one had been told that “you must have gotten the wrong address”.

Flint took another swig of his bottle, then tossed its empty husk into a pile of similar empty bottles. He had been sitting here for too long, he contemplated going to Parael's hide out. He shuddered at the thought, but then realised it was better than waiting around here for nothing, he dropped off his shotgun at the armoury.
Flint wrote a small note mentioning he was out for dinner, then hopped in his Bentley R Type and made his way to his 'lovely' friend Magnus. Knocking with his signature booming knock when he got there.

Rikive turned to face Parael when he emerged from his closet, pulling her hair out from the back of the dark brown leather motorcycle jacket. She grinned despite the grave situation, Parael always managed to get her to laugh with his antics. “Thou art...ridiculous.” She chuckled, tugging down the hem of the black tanktop she had put on. The smell of leather was a comforting one, though she knew that the jacket was no replacement for proper armor. At least she was wearing pants now, much more appropriate for fighting.

“We are at war, not going to one of those...places with the deafening music and wild humping of dancers.” She said, making a face at the thought of such places. “Why is it bad if he were to know what you are?” She asked, pulling her hair back from her face and running her fingers through it before starting to braid it.

“If you were to...come out of ‘retirement’ as you have called it, would you not be powerful enough to turn him to dust?” Her braid finished she tied it in place with a ribbon she got from one of the shirts Parael threw at her. Rikive placed her hands on her hips, a frown on her fair face.

In some ways it was frustrating that Parael refused to come to his full power as the ancient being he was. If he did this whole mess would be over and done with all the more sooner. Though she was the daughter of a Norse god and a Light Elf, she was still rather young and not nearly as powerful as either of her parents or Parael could potentially be.

Her attention shifted to the sound of someone banging upon the front door, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. Of course an enemy wouldn’t likely knock, but she was on edge and didn’t want to take chances. “I will answer it.” The conversation on the topic wasn’t over for her and when they were alone again she would bring it up.

Silver, it had to be silver. The cash got loaded into the bag easily enough; a lot of his own money was in the bank, but he'd have to run the risk of a withdrawal during business hours if it got that bad. In the meantime, he had several hundred dollars in a wallet; wearing a younger man's attire, track pants and a t-shirt, a pair of good hiking shoes and a hoodie, he looked nothing like the older but fit man that headed Horizon; there he wore reading glasses and combed his hair back and down. This was the sort of attire that weres wore when they were expecting trouble, clothing that they didn't mind losing in the throes of the change.

The afro and the young man's attire was the first part of the disguise; he was living in the old Dorset subway station, before the new lines got laid, rough. He'd put that safe house down after that asshole Flint did his inquisition jam in the 1980's at the behest of Count Caradoc.

He'd laid down enough stuff for him to live rough for a bit. With more than one it would give them a couple days to figure out what to do. He had the advantage down there, with his senses, though he would have preferred a place with tall grass or jungle, or at least a decent forest, if he was really going to have to hide. Hell, if he knew that they couldn't leave, he would have taken a trip to Tanzania, slipped into Serengeti National Park and hunt wildebeest and buffalo for a few seasons until this Nemsemet business blew over. He'd been planning that sort of vacation as a retirement gift to himself, but then this happened.

In any case, he used a diaper to grab the silver flasks; it wasn't like mere skin contact burned like the sun on vampiric skin, but it was uncomfortable to hold it. It's why he'd ask the cashiers to keep the change and pay it forward. Why he tipped to round up and avoid change. Luckily, silver wasn't really in a lot besides money and jewelry, so it wasn't so bad...but Nemsemet's troops probably were making sure they were outfitted with silver, expecting trouble from the lycanthropes that didn't fall in behind him; not that there were many. The weres liked the idea of being 'let off the leash' for the most part.

And a part of him liked it too. But it wasn't the part that remembered a red blur in 1968 and heard the legends later about the Maneater of the Mekong. That part didn't wonder how much of it was true and how much was made up, because it didn't remember a goddamn thing.

So he came up the stairs carrying a diaper bag and feeling a bit like an idiot, because he wasn't particularly paternal -- that same part of him didn't want to pass on the legacy -- but the feeling passed fast. They had shit to do. Then there was a knock, a cop-knock is how they'd describe it, because they tended to pound doors like they didn't care.

He froze.

"War is war, but we need to look good every now and then," Parry said. And by now and then, he meant all the time. The first time he took Rikive to a club, she'd been talk of the town for all the wrong reasons. Demanding a glass of mead, trying to do a courtly dance on the floor, and breaking the wrists of a human who tried to cop a feel (not that he disagreed with that one; a few free drinks had come floating their way). "And less is more in your case. Leather looks good but leave the miniskirt."

As for her follow up question of why he chose to remain Nephilim rather than taking up his Celestial mantle, he answered that one with silence, but did cast a glance at the floorboards near his bed. The Iron Sword was buried there. Useless to most magi. Even to Rikive. Drawing it was a no-no. Nemsemet might know what it was, but even he couldn't channel it.

No, Parry wouldn't be putting his wings back on. Not for himself and not for anyone in this city. Rikive could call him selfish if she wanted, but he liked his freedom too much to give it up. And he had no idea if he could beat Nemsemet. Really, he had no idea what the mummy actually was and couldn't accurately gauge his chances.

The pounding on the door made him follow behind Rikive, scooping up her spare clothes with his own. Tony was at the bottom of the stairs, his Prada diaper bag in arm and presumably loaded up, staring at the door.

"I'll take that," Parry said, sliding all the clothes into the main opening, disappearing inside it without any sign of adding weight or width. He slid the bag over one shoulder, hanging opposite the scabard on his hip. Most of the hangers-on had left out the back door by the time he got downstairs- even pimple-faced teenage wizard.

Peeking through the peephole, Parry saw his "good friend" Flint, standing on his doorstep and waiting. Oh good, contact made and backup plan established.

Parry waved his hand, sliding open the locks on the door and opening it enough for the hard-boiled wizard to slide in to safety.

"Hey Flinty-poo! Come inside! I'll take three boxes Thin Mints, one of Samoas and all the Peanut Butter ones you've got."

Flint was not one to make idle chit chat, he rolled his eyes at Parael and skimmed over his outfit. He didn’t understand the fashion of the modern world, anyone who had seen Flint before would know he always seemed to wear the same suit, the same hat and the same coat. Sometimes it was rumoured he only owned one of each and never changed. When asked he would just say that the outfit “is best for investigation purposes.” In the modern world however it just looked like he stepped out of a noir film.

“Im not here for a chat” Flint said, his voice sounding like he gargled gravel.

“Have you reconsidered my offer yet? Your people would be safer at my place”

Flint’s large hands searched his coat pocket, slipping out a packet of cigarettes. He carefully placed one into his mouth and clicked his fingers. A small flame burned in his grasp, he quickly wafted it away as he lit the cigarette. Breathing in the smoke then exhaling to the side, being sure to avoid breathing smoke into anyone’s face.

Flint took a step inside, spotting Rikive he nodded, then did his usual scour of the room, his eyes that of an eagle looking to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary.

Then he spotted an enemy.

In the blink of an eye Flints hand was at his gun, his hand pulling it from the shoulder holster and pointing it at the figure. The hammer clicked, locking the chamber in place on the large firearm.

“What are you doing here!” Demanded Flint to Antonio, standing at the other side of the room. Many lycans had joined Nemsemet and Flint had dealt with this one before. His finger was on the trigger, waiting for the monster to give him a reason to shoot.

"What does it look like, asshole?" he snarled. No love lost there, since Flint crawled up his ass in the 1980's trying to prove him guilty of a string of ugly murders that involved cannibalism, "Maybe you should ask the host instead of acting like this is your house and I broke in. Ever think of that or were you too busy whippin' it out to think it through, Whitey?" Just like last time, went the unspoken added comment.

He relished calling the man 'Whitey.' It was so appropriate. One letter changed the whole texture of the conversation.

But what Tony really wanted to do was just rip the man's head off, and it was hard to count more reasons off in his head than he had fingers. His nostrils flared and took in the tobacco smoke, which was offensive and harsh -- of course the guy would smoke something that smelled like a lit fart.

There were reasons, of course, not to start a fight in another being's home -- being a guest and behaving accordingly was a big deal with certain sets of supernatural. But then there were fuckers like Flint who didn't think they had to play along with the niceties, and perhaps that's why, unable to resist, Tony pointed out, "I can see why you'd be wary around werefolk, Whitey, I bet there's more than a few scores they want to settle, especially with the Court's cops. Guess that's karma comin' round real hard, looking for your ass. Shit, you protect anyone? Your place is the first place they're gonna tear up, boy. Right after this place," he added pointedly to Parael -- tick-tock.

At least getting that bit off his chest, smirking rather than snarling now, though suffused with malice that reached his eyes knowingly, seemed to stabilize his response a bit.

"Oh, Flinty-poo, it's so sweet of you to offer to put up the merry band of hangers-on." Parry stepped aside for Flint, letting the drab enforcer into his home. He'd always admired the old Noir look on the guy. Thankfully, he didn't stink like he would if it was the only set of clothing he owned. "Have you reconsidered my proposal for a wardrobe change. Leather dusters are-" Parry was cut off, waving the smoke cloud of cigarette smoke out of the air after Flint lit up. "Ah, there's no smoking in here. Kids and all that."

And I'm going to smell like tobacco for a couple hours too. Need to get some cologne on, fast!

But there were no kids present any more. Most of the place had been emptied out. It was Parry's not so subtle way of reminding Flint just whose house he was in.

And as he was getting ready to excuse himself to get some more pleasant odor applied to himself, like that, with the click of a hammer on the pistol, the temperature of the room dropped about a hundred degrees.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Parry said, resisting the urge to draw his silver Fairy Sword. "Guys, can we not murder each other while there's a fucking Egyption-god-mummy on his way to kill us all? Please? Guns down, claws retracted, and everyone take three deep breaths!"

Rikive jumped when things quickly turned for the worst once the lawman and the messenger saw one another. Obviously they knew one another and more apparent, there was quite a lot of bad blood between them. She remained still, not wanting to add to the tension by drawing her own weapon but when the messenger snapped back at the man it seemed the situation would only become worse.

Rikive gritted her teeth as Parael spoke and started to take off her jacket, her light hazel eyes flicking between the two of them with a scowl. “Parael is right. Cease thy squabbling! We hast a large enough axe hanging ov'r our heads without fighting amongst ourselves!” She said, gripping her jacket in hand tightly and holing it as though she was about to throw it.

“Or doth thou require time outs. I believe Parael has appropriate furniture for such occasions.” She finished, her gaze split between watching the man with the gun and the Berserker. At least she wasn’t the only one that wasn’t fond of Flint the lawman. She was still sore at him for arresting her after the incident with her duel with that obnoxious human.

The mortal had agreed to it, she still maintained she was well within her rights to have beaten him like she had.

Going into hiding had not been necessary in so long, Beth didn't consider slipping into the body of a mortal as a means of escape until days later. She scolded herself for the absent-mindedness, but once inside the body of one Jacob Schmidt, she didn't give it a second thought. She supposed Nemsemet's minions sensed the supernatural even within the shell of a mortal, and so moved quickly throughout the city. But whether or not they could sense the spiritual, she certainly could. Albeit a new talent, Beth grasped the ins and outs of it in quick time. For now it served as a spiritual navigation tool, highlighting the most infested areas of New Camden at any given moment and providing her with a safe escape route.

Why hadn't she ever gone into the business of private investigation?

She had to give up the body of Mr. Schmidt at some point, lest she want to drive him mad. On the outskirts of town, where the cityscape morphed into suburban neighbourhoods, she laid the mortal in a bush. The half empty bottle she shoved into his hand resulted in a few seconds of solid snickering: a relief in the endless intensity of Nemsemet's dominion.

Of all the houses, she chose the one with the neglected front lawn. She tried only to possess the bodies of those who might not be as missed as others when they lost their memories. The icy paresthesia that spread over her incorporeal form as she passed through the walls never became less uncomfortable. Beth made her irritation known as soon as she was inside, shuddering until picture frames trembled against the walls.

Left-to-rot pizza boxes covered the floor with such density they may as well have been a second carpet. Discarded clothes and beer cans gave Beth everything she needed to make her decision. She followed the sound of snoring to the master bedroom, where a middle-aged man in a suit slept in an armchair by the window. Beth stood in front of the chair and fell backwards. His heavy body might have been difficult to move when she was a young poltergeist, but now she mastered temporary bodies like an experienced puppeteer.

She headed for the daycare joint Parael had a hold on. He'd be able to explain some things for sure, and Beth figured the few good folks left would have gone there too.

Using her puppet's wallet, she paid for a cab to take her a few blocks from Parry's. Beth approached the building slowly, surveying the area for unfamiliar spiritual signatures. Finding none in the immediate vicinity, she knocked.

Flint slowly placed the hammer back to safe, slipping the handcannon back into its holster. He took one last drag of his smoke before putting his cigarette out onto his jacket collar and flicking the butt outside, grimacing at the wasted cigarette.

"I moved, I know my place is probably turned over by now so I found a nice little apartment complex, separate rooms and what not" Flint glanced around the room to the hostility towards him. He knew that he would have to be more careful, try not let his emotions run wild around these people.

Flint realised he was outnumbered and so sighed "so anyway... What's the plan?" He walked over to a chair and slumped into it, he removed a coin from his pocket and manipulated the air to have it spin on the tip of his finger.

The gun was back in its place, swords were being sheathed. Rikive threatend to put both Tony and Flint in the time-out corner and wouldn't that have been something to put on YouTube? All was right with the world again. Sort of. Maybe. Minus Nemsemet coming to kill them all.

That was when the KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK at the door came, and Parry drew his own sword in aggravation as he spun round and slid open the bolts on the heavy door, leveled the blade at heart's height, and-

"Oh good lords, Beth," he said, resheathing the blade as he exhaled. Too much adrenaline today= way too much. "You know what, we're all about to murder each other from panic anyway, so why not join the party. Actually, I'm sorry. That was in bad taste."

Parry stepped to the side, making room for Beth's newer and more rotund form in his foyer.

"How you been, Beth? I see you've gained a few pounds since the last body. That meth-head didn't suit you anyway. Teeth were beyond horrid Guys and gals, this is Beth. Beth, meet my merry band of sociopaths. We were all just getting ready to skip town before an evil God-Mummy destroys the place. I'm not sure if you're on the most wanted list yet, so feel free to join in or move on and say you never saw us if you want. Flint apparently has a setup for us. Unless you've got a plan, Tony?"

A clack echoed through the open halls of the court, the sound muffled by the large doors at the end. Pulled away as the sound approached, Arachne in her human form, entered. Stepping to the center her heels announced her presence. It was a very rare occasion that she would be summoned directly. No doubt this had to do with the recent development. The neighboring court of New Canden had gone silent. While humans were coming in and out and appeared to be unaffected, anyone or anything related to the supernatural would go in and never be seen or heard from again.

So was the case with the Queen's own spiders. None of the ones that were there or went in after were responding back. It was as if they just vanished. Even the human employees that were sent to investigate failed to report in. Only those completely unaware of anything going on returned. Any now she must admit to the court her findings.

A brief uproar was raised by the attending members. One of the most informed and far reaching agents available to them told them little more than they already knew. They were not interested in the minor details the spider was able to deduce. They wanted to know what was happening inside and how everything was cut off. Each passing hour the theories that flew about made listening to any of them fruitless.

An even more rare and almost unheard of event members from other courts began to arrive. This was no summons, it was an ultimatum. Arachne may have influence and blackmail over several of them, but with as many as were banding together she had little choice but to heed their words. She, among others, were tasked with going to New Camden personally to learn of what was happening and put an end to it. Failure to do so would be severely punished, secrets be damned. With the force on hand to make it happen she relented and was escorted to the safest known distance to New Camden. Calling on her spawn she entered the unknown.

Once inside she found that communication within the mysterious barrier still functioned. In the thick of it now she made no hesitation in arranging a place to stay and put every last spider to work collecting information. In the relatively short time that things have been cut off there was very little to go on. It seemed that most here had a spotty idea what truly happened. But what was most unsettling what that the court of New Camden had been completely wiped out.

Karram Sylian sat alone in his dingy one-bedroom apartment wondering how this could have happened. One day he was working his ass off in an attempt to make a name for himself with the courts and the next the supernatural world as he knew it went to shit. Nemsemet, some terrifying being from ancient times, had successfully killed the Count and his court members single-handed. Karram was there when it all happened, and he and Eromyr just barely escaped unscathed, albeit terribly shaken. The two of them had since been in hiding until Augustus Nicholson, last heir of the de Lacy family, decided to raid the Museum of History in some foolish attempt to defeat Nemsemet. Eromyr begged Karram to join the raid party, but he simply refused. The plan, if you could even call it that, was a suicide mission. So he let Eromyr face the dangers alone, and now he was dead along with every living (and unliving) soul that ventured into that museum...

Karram peered solemnly out his window for a glimpse of hope. Of course it was illogical to think simply looking outside would solve his problems or even offer him any solace, right? Then something caught his eye. Coincidental. Nevertheless, near his apartment complex was this sort of daycare owned by a fairly renowned and very flamboyant supernatural. The name Magnus came to mind; yes, Parael Magnus. Karram had only met him in passing a few times over the years. Honestly Karram knew more about him from the archives housed at the court than from actual interaction with him. Karram shook his head trying to stay focused.

It seemed a conglomerate of familiar entities were gathering in the daycare. First it was the lycanthrope Antonio, who looked panicked and fidgety as Magnus opened up and allowed him entry. Then Flint, whom Karram had met on several occasions in the courts, knocked loudly before Magnus rushed him in as well. And finally a strange individual in which Karram was entirely unfamiliar went in. What's going on over there? With his curiosity getting the better of him Karram quickly grabbed his sword and dagger, and hid them securely underneath a dark-colored trench coat. He briskly descended the stairs outside his apartment and made his way across the street to the daycare. Attempting to remain unseen and unheard, Karram stealthily approached the doorway and listened carefully with his eyes closed.

Albeit muffled, Karram could hear Parael's distinctive voice as he introduced someone named Beth and talked about "[skipping] town before an evil God-Mummy destroys the place." Karram's eyes shot open at hearing this; Nemsemet had this place in his sights? And so near to his own dwelling. It became clear that Karram would not be safe if this rumor were true... Hell, Nemsemet could probably sense other supernaturals from mile away! "Flint apparently has a setup for us. Unless you've got a plan, Tony?" Karram assumed "Tony" was Antonio. And he wondered if Antonio would respond with a differing plan to Flint's "setup." What say you, Antonio? Another few seconds passed and Karram sighed softly, shaking his head. I can't believe I forgot again... he thought to himself as he grimaced at his own mental shortcoming... Antonio could probably smell him.

"Well, I have a better plan than being in debt to the Court's Dirty Harry. I already have something worked out, but I don't think it's a good idea to take Whitey here and have most of the leeches and lycanthropes in the community on our ass because he's a goddamn magnet for more trouble. Like the dude hanging around already on the doorstep."

He pointed at the nose. He wasn't a werewolf, but he still had more acute senses than that. He could see better than he could smell, but his sense of smell was still better than a human's. He wasn't sure what to do, it might be someone here for Parael, who was apparently popular right now, or it might be something else. It wasn't really a pack of lycanthropes waiting for Flint White, Tony was just too happy to needle the old man's paranoia.

"Try not to pull that gun on him Whitey, I think I remember that smell."

There were too many people here.