Actia.
Assassin understood, of course, that in this day and age fox spirits were accepted as a normal, if troublesome, aspect of daily life. He could not quite go that far. Their ceaseless ambition to climb the ladder of tails neatly mirrored the nine layers of Hell and that affinity had gone a long way towards this very ritual, where the souls of the damned had been plucked forth from eternal torment in order to do battle once more.
Of course, that left Assassin with something of a dilemma. To condemn the Actia and the ritual that had summoned him would imply that he, too, was amongst the damned. He was, of course, open to the idea that he was a base sinner like all of mankind, and he had certainly signed his name in blood during the course of his duties to France, but he simply had no memory of the afterlife. If he had died, then the Lord had passed judgement upon him, and his soul had not been destroyed or - indeed - marked in any way that he could discern. The pleasures of the vine were still open to him, he still could enjoy the taste of fresh air, still found the sun on his face pleasing and the quill in his hand as responsive as it had been in his prime. He had, in short, been the recipient of a miracle; had arisen like Lazarus from the dead, and the Lord had felt no further sign necessary.
In short, he could imagine himself as a damned soul, amnesiac and raving in service to a deviless, or he could imagine himself restored to Creation as he was so that he might continue exactly as he was. It was a simple decision because the fallegant's lash had never held much appeal for him, but it did rather undermine his ability to consider his Master a simple wicked spirit to be undone as soon as the opportunity arose.
Now would have been a good moment. She was standing before the throne of her subordinate, who was gloating in a state of undress and excess. She'd been going on for a while now and Actia was standing idle, eyes masked from him by the heavy set of her square glasses. He respected the patience; he had experienced many such meetings with the King, and the greatest response to silk had always been the cloth.
"That is to say," said Cyanis, arranging herself to present both her bosom and posterior at the same time, "I'm calling the shots now."
Actia stirred, as if from a deep reverie. "You are?"
"Of course I am," said Cyanis. "I have the greatest servant, I've found your stash, I have the allegiance of Berserker already - and if you're lucky I'll even let you keep your tails."
"You will?" asked Actia.
"Why not?" said Cyanis, smirking. "When I control the Holy Grail, I'll just wish for my fourth tail. And then we'll be even."
For as inconclusive as his opinion on Actia was thus far, Assassin felt a sense of profound kinship with someone who could hear that line and not let even a flicker of it display on her face.
"All right," said Actia.
"All right?" pouted Cyanis. "That's all you've got to say? I outschemed you - I outfoxed you - and all you've got to say is 'all right'?" she was working herself up into an outrage. "No yelping? No curses and promises of revenge? No grovelling and begging for mercy and flattery??"
"No," said Actia.
Cyanis sat up, folding her arms. "Well, maybe I will take your tail after all. I certainly will if I don't hear some begging in the next few seconds."
Actia took off her glasses, picked out a handkerchief from her pocket, and took a moment to clean them. Assassin thought she looked oddly vulnerable in that moment, more girl than spirit. Then she put them back on and everything was steel again.
"Are you done?" she said coldly.
"Oh!" said Cyanis, putting her hands on her hips. "Well, if that's how you're going to be - Archer!"
There was no response. "Archer!?" Cyanis called again. She looked at the door nervously.
"Do you think that your wounded, recovering servant was safe from Assassin?" said Cyanis.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Assassin murmured by reflex.
Actia looked at him witheringly. "Do you think I imagine you to be without initiative?" she said, which shut him up.
"Kat? Kat!?" Cyanis called, scrambling to the top of her throne and arching her back.
"Hello?" said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, walking out of the kitchen holding a bowl of cold rice and wearing a pig-themed bathrobe.
"Destroy this interloper!" screamed Cyanis.
Katherine looked at Actia and flinched. "Um. Hi Actia."
"Hello, Katherine," said Actia, not taking her eyes off Cyanis.
"Should I, um, destroy you - oh nevermind that's a stupid question I'm leaving now."
"Kat!" shrieked Cyanis.
"Cy, the only way I've figured out to stop Berserker from turning everything into castles is by feeding her, so I've kind of got to stay on top of that," said Katherine apologetically, inching out through the door. "Uh, let me know how your showdown with Actia goes."
"I - I -" Cyanis reeled. "I challenge you to a fox duel!"
"Assassin, get her off that chair," said Actia.
Assassin considered the situation, then went through a door. He came back a moment later holding a broom.
"NyO!" shrieked Cyanis as Assassin used it to shoo her off her throne. "Mean to me!!"
"This is the problem with three-tails," Actia said. "You got one tail by getting lucky, and a second tail by doubling down. But now you're swimming with the sharks and we can see through an empty bluff." She strode up to the steps, put her hand on the throne, and ripped the mana flowing into it out so violently that the stone cracked. Cyanis cowered.
"Get yourself together," said Actia. "I'm not going to punish you, I'm not a cop."
"Really?" Cyanis effused, relieved. "Because I've always said that you were the opposite of a cop, and your glasses are really striking, and black is such a lovely fur colour -"
Only Assassin noted the slight hesitation before Actia cut her off. It seemed even Actia was not immune to good girl. "Stop. I still have use for you. I have heard - concerning reports."
In the distance, thunder rumbled.