[b]Ven![/b] Your masters cannot exist in the world. If the General attempted to march out in his glory into the Flower Kingdoms, the world would reject him utterly. This is the secret of demonology, the reason that the great lords and ladies of Hell need you. Even a pact would not suffice for someone as great as he; the earth would burn him, the air deny him, the flows of essence divert themselves around him, and when he fell not even the mushroom would eat his wretched body. This is what it means to be a splinter of the Broken King. It means you can never go back. It means that your entire war is meaningless, but you’ll never admit it. But Kingeater Castle is a place where the world bleeds into Hell. It does not play by the same rules. You knew that when you took possession of it; it meant that you were at the peak of your power here, that you could call upon your masters’ legions and servants almost effortlessly. But it also means that the General (why did the bitter old bastard choose now? why [i]now?[/i]) can act here more directly. And he chooses to ruin everything. He takes Kingeater Castle by its foundations, by its walls and its parapets and its angles, and he [i]pulls.[/i] The sound of an entire castle being pulled into Hell is indescribable. If you were forced, you would say it was wet. Uncomfortably wet, hideously grating, and loud enough to make your ears ring— And it collapses all around you. You are swept on a wave of broken violence and the trash of death as towers crumble into the Wrack-waste, as your schemes crumble because of a monster with the patience of a child. And he’ll blame you for making him lash out. He’ll subject you to court-martial and punishment. You’ll have to hope that the Green Sun and Whirling-in-Rags care to save you from the same fate as all the priestesses you sent here, buried under the waste in their cells. A wave crests and sends you tumbling, tumbling, back down into Kalaya’s arms; you painfully end up in a trough in the sea, pinned underneath her, and she’s staring down at you, you, you warlock. Your eyes are hot pinpricks of pain. “Get! Off! Me!” You scream at her, even as the sea writhes beneath you, tries to pull you under; one of your feet is already caught under the crush. “You— you stupid [i]bitch![/i]” Why does she have to see you like this? Why couldn’t she just leave you alone? Why are you crying? Why do you hurt? Why do you hurt? Why do you hurt? You dig your nails into her arm, because you are sinking. You dig your nails into her arm, because you hate her. You dig your nails into her arm, because she’s in your way. You dig your nails into her arm, because she won’t let go of you. *** [b]Han![/b] Melody screams. It’s the kind of high terror that you’ve never heard from her before, and hopefully never will again. She screams as she runs, stumbling, frantic, across the thrashing waves of a sea of trash, trying not to be crushed by falling stone. And behind her, the ugliest demon you’ve ever seen swings its attention over to her. It’s the biggest fucking thing you’ve ever seen in your life, like a millipede that chews its way through mountains, draped in a patchwork soldier’s regalia with a thousand sleeves. It wears a serene white mask even larger than you, and thick hairy insect mouth parts are thrashing, just visible beneath it as he bellows in a chorus of voices: “Traitor! Collaborator! Revolutionary! [i]Blasphemer![/i]” A blue rope lashes out and catches Melody around her chest, knocking her on her cute little butt, and it begins dragging her back towards it over that terrible sea, tearing her blue silks as she sobs in terror. And you, in the air, in your element: you are resplendent. You do not know that it is impossible to win a battle against such a foe; and therefore, for you and you alone, it might not be. *** [b]Piripiri![/b] Uusha is a whirlwind of violence. All around you, on this sea which threatens to drag you under if you stay still, Wrack-dolls are bursting forth from the waves, shambling towards you, and all around you they find themselves flung aside, arms ruptured, legs severed. In one hand she has her great double-ended spear, which she treats as if it were as light as a ribboned wand; how strong she must be, how capable. In her other she has your umbrella, which she uses to fend off grasping hands with sickening cracks of their, for lack of a better term, exoskeletons. It is possible she could fight any of your teachers to a standstill; it is even possible that she could overcome them. This is very important, because it means you have your hands free to catch the snake falling from the sky: the daughter of the Laema, thrashing helplessly in her bondage, landing perfectly in your arms. Her hair clings to her skull, her scales slick and her chest heaving, as she looks around with panic and confusion. Apparently she wasn’t found after your escape. How lucky for her that the ropes suspending her were severed in the fall and she’s not being dragged down to the bottom of the waste! …you could easily hide that you collaborated with a demon to escape, you know. If you dropped her and let the Wrack-waste swallow her. There will be awkward questions from everyone: the witch, Uusha, Azazuka. And you don’t even know her name. The demoness, daughter of a power of Hell, born into a world that has no love for mortal kind, shivers just like a human in your arms, and nuzzles into you instinctively, like a submissive looking for reassurance from her mistress. *** [b]Giriel![/b] “GRAAAAAAAAAAH!” The noble girl breaks an already broken spear over the head of a Wrack-doll, sending it tumbling down a wave, but then the equal and opposite resistance sends her stumbling back, landing on her rump by your feet, and there’s still more wading through the Waste towards you. Well, here you are. Again. But this time, it’s in the flesh, which makes everything so much more dangerous. You didn’t have to worry about keeping your weight fleeting on the surface of this rubbish heap, or dodging falling rubble, or dealing with an army of angry dolls who want to drag you down beneath the waves. And you could run, you could dance your way across the silver waste for five days and find yourself back home, but Uusha and the Hymairean are nowhere to be seen in the chaos. This is the worst of your challenges yet: do you have the strength to face it? *** [b]Fengye![/b] You can see it all, even as the demon horse bucks beneath you, torn between its rider and the whistle of its owner, who will come to find the horse if it tarries. You can see the dragon, curling on herself in the sky; you can see the priestess, who panicked and ran when the sky opened up and began to rain down stone, now caught by the General; you can see the knight and the warlock, beginning to sink beneath the Wrack-waste; you can see others, too, catching snakes from the sky and fighting off the Wrack-dolls and dodging collapsing towers. You have the view of a commander, and you have the scepter. You may, in your role as the General’s aide-de-camp, give any order and it will be carried out by his host, so long as he does not countermand it. All the authority of the General is in your hands, so long as his suspicion is not aroused, and all power save that necessary to stop someone from being crushed by a collapsing castle turned inside-out. What do you do, Fengye, in this fleeting moment of power?