15 Arevi-Yun, 1182 PCE

Ahriman's Estate, Sheol

---

When he was but an emberling, Ahriman couldn't picture this: Satin and silk sheets, brimstone countertops, ebonspires to pierce even into the brightest of days, ever-replenishing cellars, full entourages of loyal servants. It was odd to picture that the sprawling mega-complex Ahriman had called his estate was considered awfully modest by other lords of Sheol. Even with so infinitesimal of spaces to work with, Ahriman had prided himself on his heuristic approaches. It may have been crude, yes, but sometimes the simplest solutions were really the best. He may have been a lord of his soul and countless others, but Ahriman would be hard-pressed to confess that he, perhaps, preferred it more when he was but a humble landsman.

"His Highness, Lord Macharian has said-"

"That fool could nary navigate his own estate without the aid of his centurion of lapdogs."

"-your plans for Hyusis are - and I quote - 'foolish, overcocky blubmlings only a dilettante the likes of Ahriman could devise'."

The constant arguments were a nice touch. Especially with the likes of the Seven other lords of Sheol. Ahriman had prided himself on his status as their latest addition: His same pride was so equally wounded by his proclamation as to the position likewise of, "weakest".

"And I would trust that you have returned with my proposition, then?"

His mistress - one of countless - curled her lip in acknowledgement. By demonic measure, she was but a young thing, and by that same mortal metric, she was far older than any being had any right to be. They were confidants, Ahriman placed no doubt, but discrepancy was the crux of etiquette. For a demon, Ahriman possessed a sense of sentimentality that would have been considered odd by any manner of his station. Collection of the past always prepared for the present, he would tell.

She snapped her middle fingers, and with the puff of ebony smoke appeared a papyrus scroll - signed and sealed with the purplish-crimson of Lord Ahriman's seal. The Lord, in turn, gazed upon the state of his appraisal in scorn, and turned aside in scathing dismay.

"How fitting." he commented, "He'd barely read the thing before sealing it right back up. Typical." That would make the seventh presupposed rejection of his idea to date. Out of eight, of course - but Ahriman held little esteem for the most esteemed of the Demon Lords to view his proposal with any more enthusiasm than the others.

His servant and companion dithered in place slightly, modding over the scroll as she glared past it and unto the Lord.

"If I may, Lord-"

"You need not ask." he interrupted, curling his hand over in hurried display. Her query was, clearly, nothing short of unnecessary, given his harsh tone: And he believed by now that she should have well-learned he far preferred poignancy to etiquette.

"Out with it."

She paused. His mistress looked straightly back at him, a glint in her eye to remind Ahriman that she was capable to lie.

"Well?" He probed.

"Oh, forgive me." she apologized quickly, "It's nothing. Please - forget that I said anything."

Ahriman narrowed his eyes back at her. He knew something was beneath her - something within her. And, perhaps in reciprocation to such kindnesses he had bequeathed unto even the lowliest of his servants, she had come to the good senses not to return his kindred spirit with so uncouth an inquiry. Yet one did not rise to such prominence without good sense, and Ahriman had long acquired a knack for sensing out others. What he might perceive here was not perjury - at least, not immediately - but he knew she had something she had left unsaid. It may not have been a lie, he knew, but the thought plagued and picked at the back of his mind all the while.

"Is the banquet set?" He asked - if only to break his unsettled mind.

"Yes," she confirmed, "You called for them at eleven-"

"Fifteen." Ahriman completed. His mistress, keeping to her collective, simply nodded. She took but a moment to readjust herself to a more dispassionate disposition, returning to a more oft-a'gaze.

"Have you need more of me?"

"That will be all. You are dismissed." Ahriman ordered. He would have preferred to call his mistress by name. But, that would have been rather patronizing, wouldn't it? He'd need to attend to his group of his "favourites", he'd call each of them. Ahriman was sure it'd cause some manner of discontent in his circles...but all the better to encourage a bit more competition, wasn't it? In the meantime, he'd wait in his grand reception hall, the dining table set with all manner of exquisite feast and decor, and cling along his fingers to the rim-tim of a wine glass tap. He'd go over the rest of his findings with the group as they all made their way over - no use in reiterating what he himself had long known, of course. And from the distance did his mistress convene with the others in their gaggles, confabulating to each other in hushed whispers on things which no doubt had just recently transpired, and from the eminent hushes of giggles and laughter, Ahriman was no fool to discern that he was their subject of honor.

He'd forgotten - in all his splendor - that he'd told his band of "Heartbreakers" at eleven-fifty and not eleven-fifteen, but so he waited in gleeful misunderstanding to glass after glass of his finest reserve. Nothing but the best, for the best, after all, and so it was that Ahriman most merrily consumed his time away.

"Good food, kid, well done! Reminds me of what I remember of some of my own feasts back in the good old days. 'Cept the wine was better. Something about that cultivar of grapes being extinct all this time later? I think? Ah, I wouldn't remember."

If he had not seen her before, Lord Ahriman could not help now but notice the solitary figure that sat on the far side of the grand table helping herself to the feast arrayed before her. Clad in a red and white skirt-like garment, and a thin strapped top that did almost nothing to cover her body, what was more surprising than her informal dress was that the tall figure had managed to cram herself - and all nine tails - into the seat in the first place. "This is some very well made meat, though. Dire porcilla, if I'm not mistaken? Roasted with... allspice, cumin, chilies, nutmeg... clove? Is there clove in this? I think that's clove. A touch of fennel... very well done. Juicy. Falls right off the bone. I think it could have done with a few more onions." She lifted another fork full of the succulent, dripping meat to her mouth, biting into it without a care in the world. "Not bad at all!"

She looked up to him. "Been waiting an awful long while, though. What were you up to? Feeling up some succubus who thinks she can make it big with the newest bad guy on the block? For that matter - where is everyone else? Ten fifty we were supposed to be here - the host shows up almost half an hour late, and nobody else is anywhere to be seen!" She sighed, pushing her plate away as she wrestled herself free of the chair, standing to her full height as she strode towards Lord Ahriman. "I mean, really - you want to put together some crack team of badasses for this and we can't even show up at the same time? Hell I mostly came here for some free food and to see what gaggle of overambitious demons you managed to scrape together - but I was expecting them to at least be here!"

She took a bite of a mysterious purple and orange fruit she'd swiped from the table, an audible crunch ringing out as she ripped it open to reveal blood red flesh within. "And for that matter - these things are delicious. Where did you get them?"

"Ghuh...huff...huff...guh...oh man..." De'kae N'nm the druid huffed and puffed up the massive stairs that lead up to Lord Ahrimar's devil fortress. The heat was really blazing down on the cold-blooded creature who was used to more temperate climes. Her reptilian fingers wrapped tightly around her staff of branches and leaves, and she pulled herself up each step with less and less enthusiasm each time. A limp had made itself more and more pronounced, her right leg weaker than her left leg.

"This is it...I...I'm done for..." De'kae fell to her booted knees. "Owly...Owly...come closer." The owl that had nested itself in her large brimmed black hat fluttered dispassionately down onto the steps infront of her.

"Tell my mother...I fucking hate her." De'kae requested. The owl gave her a look.

"What? Oh, right." De'kae reached into her satchel and produced a rubbery clear 'canteen' with a top made of vegetation. Like some kind of hollowed out, clear fruit, full of glittering water. She put it too her non-existent lips and used her long tongue to guide the water down her throat. Wiping her mouth, her big yellow eyes considered the bird before her. Cool water flowed through her body and cooled down her veins and blood.

"Owly, do you think this is a good idea?" She asked the bird. "I mean, I don't like this invasive species of humans as much as the next girl but..." She squinted up at the fortress with her dual pair of eyelids. "This place is not friendly. My bad leg is killing me. I should have asked a giant eagle for help." De'kae N'nm yawned.

She sat on the staircase, pocketing the waterplant into her satchel. "I'm just gonna take a break here for a lil bit." She crawled up a few steps, putting in just a little more effort in order to get herself under the shade of one of many spiked perimeter walls. "Just a little breakey break."

"...Just a little- Zzzznnnn...zznnn..." Her head and eyelids drooped, the lizardfolk falling fast asleep from her trek into Ahriman's kingdom and up his many steps. Snoring softly she leaned up against the wall, her branch-like staff laid across her lap. . Rolling his eyes, the owl flew back up into of her hat and began picking at his feathers with his beak.

Deep within the Tomb of Chaos, the dark wizard Ophidias Seht observed his enemies remotely and unseen. He stood a stone subterranean chamber lit by baleful fires, as huge shards of obsidian glass drifted and floated about the room. Peering into each one gave him a glimpse of a distant land or a separate planar realm. These scrying glasses were fed information by his informants and spies in dozens of different realms and planes, be they baleful spirits, bound demons, or lesser warlocks. Seht studied the magical glass carefully, hoping to divine all he could from them before he made his move. Of particular interest to him were the insights into the dark realm of Sheol, fed to him by a variety of servants and slaves, many completely unaware that they served the will of the Black Dragon. This nascent Demon Lord, Ahriman, had reached out to Seht for his services in overthrowing the church, and while Seht had accepted the invitation, he immediately set about planting spies in Ahriman's palace and inner circle. Seht was many things, but he was nothing if not cautious.

He had been studying Ahriman and his fortress for weeks, looking through the eyes of demons and ghosts that roamed the halls. This was how he came to know of the others that had also been given the same task as him, and he watched some of them arrive ahead of their appointed time. Seht knew that he had been given the wrong time to arrive, and would still hold to the instructions he was given, so as to not give away the surveillance he had placed Ahriman under. Everything was proceeding according to his scenario, and soon he would wield this foolish Demon Lord's power for his own. Not yet though. That would come in time. Seht was a patient man.

The time grew close, and Seht broke away from his voyeuristic studies to prepare for his meeting with Ahriman. Seht assumed the form of the Magician of Black Chaos, and ensured that his many charms, wards, and other protective spells were in place, as though he was going into battle. He didn't know precisely what to expect, despite his extensive surveillance, and so prepared for as much as he could. He warped into his transdimensional travel chamber, a dedicated hub of portals into various realms and planes beyond the material, including Sheol. The time arrived, and Seht set forth into the dark realm.

In the great dining hall of Ahriman, a portal of darkness ripped its way into reality, before assuming the shape of a doorway. The creature that emerged was not Seht, but a hunched, diminutive figure. It wore greasy rags and was manacled in chains of arcane sealing. While its shape was humanoid, its flesh was oily black, and inhuman eyes swarmed and moved across its form, the largest in the direct center of its otherwise featureless head. This was an alchemical homunculus, Nigredo, and often served as Seht's envoy and servant.

"Proclaiming the arrival of the supreme master of dark arts," The homunculus gurgled, "The Master of Black Chaos, the Lord of Drakes and Father of Serpents, Ophidias Seht."

The portal widened, and Seht himself emerged in the whimsical jester-like guise of his Black Magician of Chaos form. The size of his headdress was practically the span of his arms, and he floated a few inches off of the floor rather than walk. Arcane light surged about him, and his long, black hair whipped in the aether floes. The portal snapped shut behind him, and Seht lowered to the floor, facing Ahriman. He held out his magic focus, the Leviathan Staff, in salute to the Demon Lord, before performing an ornate and theatrical bow. He wouldn't kneel though; Seht did not kneel to any spawn of Sheol.

"My lord Ahirman, Ophidias Seht has arrived as you commanded. I pledge my arcane erudition and my sorcerous power to your black will. May the world weep in terror from our union."

Trudging up the stairs toward Ahriman's dining hall came a figure who, at a glance, seemed very out of place in this demonic bastion. Indeed, with a glance at his quite plain shirt and trouse, his noblesque step and unmarred form, and the mixture of white and blue in his colour scheme, one might be inclined to believe this figure to be an angel - even his horns appeared coated with some form of magic that could potentially be divine in nature, if one did not stoop so low as to double check through magical means.

Behind him came two more obviously demonic figures. Brutish hulks, their bodies not entirely stable as parts of their form swelled and shrank at random, who may even be mistaken for bodyguards... which, in a sense, was true. Just not his. For him, they were more akin to thugs sent to take him to Ahriman, creatures intentionally bloated with power specifically for the task of ensuring their charge did not make a scene until he had taken up the offer most ceremoniously sent to him by one of the newest Lords of Sheol. Normally, he would not have done so... but with these things, puling entities he recognised as nominally his inferiors but for the excess of energy that even now ate at their insides, that could not be afforded.

Yet even they were better than the majority of mortal entities. Especially the one he and his "companions" had just encountered. Sleeping on Ahriman's staircase, in fact. It was a strangeness that mortal beings had to work with, losing consciousness for often upward of eight hours a day; so that it had chosen here of all places to take its appointed time of sleep was unconscionable. It showed the true weakness of mortals, of course... not that that mattered to the other two demons, or so it would appear, as one simply foisted it up in their arms and nodded for the troupe to proceed.

And proceed they did, reaching the hall at the appointed time of eleven of the clock and fifty minutes, the angelic figure entered through the great doors smoothly, as if he were not compelled to do so by two beings empowered beyond their means - said means quickly becoming clear as, the moment he stepped into Ahriman's sightline, the power audibly rushed from their frames and back to who knew where; a glance back revealed two creatures, just as skeletal and worthless as the mortal they had dropped on the floor so haphazardly, lacking in anything resembling obvious strength, let alone physical or magical potency, and plainly worse for wear for the clear overburdening they'd had put upon them for this task, their innate power withered, at least for the time.

One hard stare sent them scurrying away. He'd have to ensure he could track them later. A small gesticulation of hand set behind the door (to avoid prying eyes, of course), a divine-looking ritual circle forming about his wrist, and a moment of intense pain followed, leading to a minute creature emerging from his palm: a fairy of sorts, purplish-red in glow, which promptly followed after the two sub-beings as its creator turned back to the true intent of his mission here. Of course, he'd spent time scoping out Lord Ahriman's character for a while beforehand... which, given that the two perspectives he'd been receiving from this keep were no longer offering input of any sort, he suspected might be why he had been brought here. Foolish error on his part. He should have known better than to assume he'd be missed... sloppy work.

Still, here he was, in sight of the Demon Lord himself, and at least two other figures... ah, yes. Classically-potent individuals, with a great amount of lore behind them. Especially the one who had turned traitor not so long ago... the great and powerful Medai, now a lapdog all over again. And the self-proclaimed Master of Black Chaos, too! Pfeh. Powerful, admittedly; yet if it ever tried to challenge a Demon Lord in mortal combat, it'd crumble like a twig. And as for himself... tone neutral but polite, remain formal, ensure one does not make oneself overly interesting...

'Greetings, my esteemed Lord Ahriman. I am Daero'moroke, as I imagine you are aware. It is a pleasure to be invited into your company.' Daero'moroke bowed deeply to the Demon Lord, since of course that was what he expected of a... subordinate. Eugh. The idea that he'd be serving this being was beyond galling, but at the very least, it would not overtly affect his plans in the long term. And in any case... it did provide high-quality sustenance. If it had not already been devoured by these pigs, at least.

In one of the many rooms of the castle of the self-professed Lord Ahriman there was a human woman sprawled out on a bed with her back against the headboard and her ankles crossed as they stretched out in front of her. There was not much in the way of personalization in this room, but of course the occupant currently on the bed had only taken possession of the room a few days ago. There were several weapons scattered about and on the table besides the bed was a glass of water that had not been touch and would not be touched and a stack of books that also hadn’t been touch and would most likely be touched in the near future.

The woman had taken a few books for her host library to pursue at her leisure and was reading one now. They were all histories of various conflicts between Heroes and Demon Lords and she was finding them quite interesting. Do to her upbringing she knew most of these stories already, but reading them from the other side was proving enlightening. The most enlightening fact she got was that both sides of the conflicts were practice liars. Though knowing that the histories were full of lies meant, with a little bit of deduction she could figure out a possible truth. In short, the woman was enthralled and didn’t plan on ending her study anytime soon.

The door to the room was closed but the window was not. It was though this window that a hawk shaped creature flew in to perch on the back of a chair, “We are going to be late Katrina.”

Katrina flipped the page of her book without looking up, “So? What do I care? Ahriman certainly won’t. And if he does he’ll just kill me so whatever. I carry a death sentence anyways and I rather have a demon kill me than let the Valances have the satisfaction.”

The bird shaped thing mentally spoke again, “If you die you won’t be able to finish those books.”

Katrina paused her reading to look at the speaker. She wasn’t sure what Rolf was. He was shaped like a hawk but given his habits of making good points and asking annoying questions she couldn’t answer the human didn’t think that’s all there was too it. He might be a wizard’s familiar of some kind, but she had no magic so probably not. He might be an angel or divine messenger but given the fact that they were currently in Sheol that was also unlikely. He was most likely a minor demon and that should worry Katrina, but too be honest she didn’t care. She might also just be mad. She didn’t care about that either.

With a groan she pushed herself of the bed as she placed the book down, “Fine! Just how late are we going to be?”

Rolf sounded amused, “Well, it was supposed to start at 1150. It is 1215 now.”

Okay, they weren’t going to just be late. They were going to be extremely late. There was no way Katrina was going to go walking around in a Demon Lord’s Castle without being fully armed and she wasn’t going to rush either. As took her time to pull on her boots, fasten her breastplate and secure her hawking leathers. Then she double checked that every knife, all five of her swords, her whip, her battle fan, and all of her other countless weapons were precisely where they were supposed to be. She took more time doing that than she should have, but she didn’t care and Rolf didn’t rush her.

Finally, Katrina left the room, not by the door, but by the widow. Since the meeting room was below her resting room it was the only logical choice. Her knees bent to disperse the momentum of dropping three stories and her legs protested with waves of pain. Katrina didn’t even hiss as she ignored the pain as she began walking towards the meeting room. She did not slouch. For one thing being a practical walking armory didn’t allow for that and for another thing her childhood training prevented it. So, yes, the woman’s posture was perfect as she began her trip and Rolf flew down to rest on her shoulder. She still gave the impression of slouching as she moved. Maybe it was the hands in her pockets gripping the hilts of two throwing knifes. Maybe it was the blank look on her face. Or maybe it was just the disinterested air that completely surrounded her.

Katrina finally made it to the hall and slipped inside without announcing her presence to anyone or anything. Despite seeming uninterested she took in everything she could see with a quick glace as she hugged the wall to slip into a corner to remain unobserved. Surprisingly it wasn’t all demons. There were a more than a few mortals, a few dark magicians, and yes, a couple of demons. What the specifics of this particular collection were Katrina didn’t care. She knew that in general they were all hear to hear Ahriman’s crazy scheme on how to deal with the Heroes. Katrina had nothing personal against Heroes as a whole, but as people or persons she had a great deal against them. So, she would listen, for now.

She wasn’t going to eat or drink though. It all looked impressive and it was clear that several demons had already started feasting, but Katrina wasn’t a fool. She had heard stories of both Heroes and Companions being stuck in Sheol after eating something there. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure that was true and was willing to doubt it, but better safe than sorry. Right now, she just focused on the conversations. She was late and now needed to play catch up.

Sebastian Slithers

Despair descends at Lord Ahriman's place. It cast a tall shadow similar to a snake's head as it walks through the corridor halls.

A slender figure emerges from the entrance doors of the dining hall. It becomes more visible as it steps into the light. Shifting into something more human-like.

"Pardon my tardiness, my Lord. But I run into some trouble with my experiments." It spoke in its dull and monotone voice.

It was Sebastian, clad in his usual white surgeon coat with a black apron wrapped in front of it. As if he was running late and didn't have time to change his work attire for something more formal for the occasion. Nevertheless, He arrived to answer his Lord's call to a feast.

"It seems one of my specimens didn't want to cooperate. I have simply no choice but to dispose of it. Such an untidy work actually, Good test subjects are so hard to find these days." Sebastian nonchalantly said, continuing with his excuse while adjusting his latex gloves.

He sighed before making his way towards the banquet table.

As he marches with his staff aiding him, Sebastian briefly flicks his forked tongue to check and smell his surroundings, monitoring anything that isn't sanitary as his paranoia kicks in.

Surely, a massive gathering with all of the variety of demons, dark magicians, seasoned warriors, and other mythical creatures involved, these things would unintentionally invite what he hated and feared the most: germs.

Despite the number of guests. The gloom and doom theme Lord Ahriman's fortress has. The massive feast that would spell contamination if not prepared right. Sebastian was pleased to know that His Lord knew how to keep his place tidy and disinfected; As expected.

He then briefly curt a bow in front of Lord Ahriman, then proceeds to take his place at the massive table.

Sebastian remained seated, minding his manners. He did not touch nor taste the abundance of mouth-watering food and overflowing booze laid in front of him. It was tempting yet he refuse to indulge himself in pigging out at the table.

Not that he didn't like it. Oh no, It's just Sebastian thought to himself it's best to keep sober and attentive throughout the gathering.

This meeting is all about business and pressing matters, Right? Why else Lord Ahriman summons forth his finest A-team hell has to offer?

"This damnable city is a fucking labyrinth!"

After spending an entire week navigating the streets of this hellhole of a city Gale had only found Ahriman's castle less than an hour ago; and now found himself in the same hallway for the third time. Frankly, the former knight had been hesitant to even accept the Demon Lord's invitation in the first place even if it provided the perfect opportunity to strike at the very heart of the Church.

"As if agreeing to hear out the proposal of a creature I've spent more than half my life training to kill wasn't bad enough-- I have to undertake a one man expedition to even FIND the damn meeting!"

The mounting frustration of having to navigate days worth of winding passages of varying size and complexity finally surfaced in a string of curses as a raving Gale repeatedly kicked the nearest wall. By the time his nerves had calmed, the man had nearly split the toe of one of the boots he'd gotten just before braving the needlessly long trek through the endless complex of buildings and strongholds that demonkind called home. "Truly, only something so twisted as demons could design a city as torturous as this." Gale muttered to himself as he shook his head in frustration. At this rate, he was liable to miss the meeting entirely.

"Maybe I could--"

Before getting the chance to finish his thought out loud, a blur falling past a nearby window caught Gale's attention. The man's brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to determine what the hell he'd just witnessed. Did demons actually commit suicide? Or had a servant failed their lord for the last time and been simply tossed out the window?

Regardless of the cause-- whoever had just fallen out the side of the building may have been carrying a map of the place, and Gale had every intent to make use of it for himself. Upon glancing out the window to determine if the demon's corpse was somewhere he could get to, the former knight was pleasantly surprised to find that it was neither a corpse or a demon that had passed the window... The person he'd seen drop was nothing other than a fellow human!

Though Gale had no idea where the woman had jumped down from, the woman seemed like she'd taken quite the drop. Clearly she was in a rush to get somewhere fast. What were the odds she might be headed to the same meeting Gale was looking for? They were certainly better than him wandering aimlessly through these halls until he found the room he was looking for.

"Bah, to hell with it then!"

Prying open the window, Gale would follow the stranger's lead onto the balcony only a floor beneath him and tail her all the way to a lavish dining hall, stopping himself at the corner just before he'd enter the room. At long last he'd finally arrived at the meeting...

But first, Gale needed to do one more thing before making his own entrance.

---

In the doorway of the dining room; filled to the brim with fine foods and wine, the shadows seem to stir. Shapeless darkness became hardened edges, vague outlines focused into humanoid form, heavy steps echoed, the air grew heavy with cold, creeping dread.

The Black Knight stepped into the dining hall, closing his fist and folding a single arm across his chest in salute to Lord Ahriman as the colossus would respectfully bow his head. Without so much as a single word the Knight took his place behind one of the table's many seats, opting to instead stand for the remainder of this gathering.

Hideous, evil, straight-up maniacal laughter rung in the chambers. It was of such quality, that if one were forced to write it using onomatopoeia, it could only me rendered as "MWHAHAHAHAhahahahahahahahahaha!" with extra emphasis added on the first two syllables. Clearly, whoever had performed it, they put in a great deal of practice into the Art of Evil Laughter and most Demon Lords would no doubt weep with joy if they heard it. Then again, they would probably be much less joyful if they learned that a human was the one who produced such a hideously evil laughter. And as if to add insult to injury, a former hero, to boot! Seriously, why did those pricks always have to overshadow perfectly responsible and hard-working overlords?!

Regardless of their concerns, the voice continued.

"IT'S ALIVE! IT'S ALIIIIIIIIIVE!" These words were accompanied by dramatic thunder and wind, as demanded by the rules of villainy. Or perhaps because there were massive, metal boxes set up in the room, from which the sound of heavy rain and thunder came forth in an unusually life-like and loud fashion. Not that many would see them, because they were shrouded in almost total darkness, with only a few strategically placed lights so that the venue's contents would be cast in an sinister light, calculated to such precision, efficiency and Absolute Evilness (trademarked and copyrighted!) that the aforementioned Demon Lords would be forced to weep at seeing how much a former hero had outdone them in their area of expertise.

Then the lights came back on and the sounds stopped with an abrupt record needle scratch.

"No reaction in the subject," Ithel Jernigan summarised as he looked down at the - predictably - still dead mouse in front of him. Continuing from the perspective of our beloved - behated? - Demon Lords, they would have surely been confused and perhaps even enraged at the man's appearance, for he dared to defy the stereotypes of both heroes and villains. In fact, most inhabitants of this world would be hard-pressed to recognise his mode of dress, as they never heard of such things as white suits and blue ties. At least not yet if this blue-haired, turquise-eyed, sharp-faced, glasses-wearing man had anything to say about it.

And he did. Several of those words included phrases that only existed in his language and conveyed supreme dissatisfaction with the state of affairs, but he did have lots of things to say. Most of which would be probably not well received by anyone who was born in this world, which is why he chose not to share them with many others. By the way, this tangent is only here because the author felt like it and it may or may not have relevance in the future. The author has not decided yet, because there is no way they can foretell the future and they are unwilling to revise or read their writing again.

Moving on ever so swiftly, Ithel took out a thick notepad with more pages than it should have been possible for a notepad to have.

"Situation #13 is also ineffective, which suggests that the hypothesis is baseless. Therefore, the 'Investigation of Possibilities Regarding Villainous and Heroic Speeches' project is temporarily suspended. The project will only be resumed in circumstances that replicate the required variables perfectly," he spoke out loud, which, while unnecessary, made him look cool let his assistant know what he wrote down, as she watched his every step.



"I attempt to express my regret at the failure of your experiment and the fact that I suggested it," she spoke, her voice coming across as... not quite human. Not quite demonic either, nor evil minion, which surely went against the rules of evil. But at least they went against the rules of good taste as defined by the rules of evil. Hierarchy was complicated like that.

"You do not have to worry about it, Fourzero," he responded to her with a slight smile. "It was worth a try. Given the rules of this world, I would not have been surprised if it did end up working." Ithel spoke to her in a calm, reasonable manner; quite an unusual thing for a force of evil to do and lead to a perfectly reasonable question: was he truly evil? Incidentally, this question did have an answer in the form of a quite thick document written by the Church of Clionism.

"Now then, we really should get going. Let us not leave lord Ahriman waiting for us."

"In the case we evacuate our laboratory in the present, our arrival will be scheduled two mi... a little eary," Fourzero spoke as she followed Ithel to the reception room.

"That is most acceptable."

---

Not long afterwards, the doors to Lord Ahriman's definitely most evil, sinful and unforgivable chambers opened and in stepped the aforementioned two individuals: Ithel Jernigan and Fourzero. While they lacked in presence compared to some of the individuals within the room, the way they held themselves held some gravitas. Not gravity. That is a different thing. Gravitas is an air of importance, not a force of attraction, though if one stretched the definition far enough, they would no doubt find some sort of irrelevant similarity between the two words, which would inevitably force an investigation from the department of science or the department of literature, if such things existed.

There were no announcements of their presence, nor did they introduce themselves in a grandiose manner, for such things were deemed unnecessary. Rather, they made their way casually towards one of the many banquet tables, deliberately selecting one that was A.) Empty, B.) Suited for only two people, C.) Had a white tablecloth and most importantly, D.), had been specifically requested by Ithel to accommodate them. For this first foray into this world of villainy service to Lord Ahriman, he wished to put a little bit of distance between him and his fellow Heartbreakers, just in case.

De'kae cracked one eye open. An owl had been staring at Daero'moroke, and he fluttered off as the guards approached, finding some unseen portion of the castle to nuzzle up in. Owly would keep a wise distance away from his mortal companion, for now.

Rouse from her slumber, De'kae realised she was being carried. And also realised that she had fallen asleep. Her face went blank as an empty canvas. "Uhh...hi." She said so quietly no one could hear her.

Soon she was set down, a little roughly, though that may just be because she was fragile, on the floor. De'kae's yellow eyes widened as one by one, people teleported in, arrived dramatically, or talked and talked and talked. They were all taking seats. De'kae's heart rate picked up, and if she was capable, she would be sweating nervously. Her eyes scanned the buffet, recognizing every plant and animal that was used in the making of the meal. But De'kae couldn't eat in front of other people. That was so weird, right? It was weird to eat in front of other people. Lord Ahriman was here, and he looked really big.

De'kae reached up and patted her hat, finding Owly had deserted her.

Was it just her, or was she out of place? Everyone here looked really serious or powerful. Sure, she had some connections. But this seemed like a lot.

...The lizardfolk had no idea what to do now. Figuring these guards had set her down on this particularly spot for some particularly reason, De'kae laid back down on her back and stared up at the ceiling. Saying nothing and doing nothing. She held her staff up against her body and blinked, occasionally shifting her eyes to one spot or another, but without moving her head.