Lamia had lost interest in her toys a very long time ago. Of course she had, she was a young lady after all. She was the future wife of Dantalion and she just couldn't bear for him to view her as a child anymore. But, truth be told, Hell was awfully boring sometimes. It was especially boring now that Dantalion was in the human world most of the time. And so she had found the old chest that she had hid in the recesses of a closet somewhere and unearthed some of her favorite dolls.
The one she was playing with now looked like Dantalion, handsome and brave with a wonderful red cape. She made it bow to her and was just about to dance around the room with it when something caught her eye.
She could see a figure approaching from her place by the window. That was odd. She hadn't heard her mother was expecting any visitors today. She squinted to see the figure more clearly. Oh my, now this looked interesting. She doubted she would be bored for very much longer, so, locking the doll who liked like Dantalion away in the chest and kicking it under whatever bed or shelf it would fit, she hurried quickly to alert her mother of the imminent guest.
Astaroth had invited the sheep-butler in on false pretenses. Of course, the broken state of Baalberith's former candidate in the sheep's arms intrigued her, but more than that, it was not everyday she had a chance to obtain information from one so close to her rival.
"I take it this was Baalberith's doing." She pointed toward Sytry. My, he looked worse for wear. Much paler than he usually was, his clothing torn. Now, she was reminded of the demon's haughtiness towards her subordinates. If Dantalion was here, Astaroth thought, he would have had a good laugh and said something along the lines of "Not so high and mighty anymore, are we, Sytry?" Or maybe he wouldn't have. He had grown softer, spending so much time with the Elector. So much time in the human world. She was the tiniest bit jealous.
"Eligos, actually," the sheep replied. He shifted his arms. Sytry hadn't so much as moved since he'd come in, probably unconcious.
"My, I didn't know she was so strong," Astaroth commented. That wasn't exactly the truth. She had always known the demon was powerful, she just hadn't known she had the power to take on Sytry even. Now, it was starting to make sense. Baalberith was always searching for the next edge over them all and anyone stronger than Sytry would certainly do. But then Astaroth thought better of it. There had to be more to it than that. He was a sly one, after all.
"But what has this got to do with me? Why come here?" She feigned disinterest. It had always made Beelzebuth spill the especially juicy secrets.
"Lord Sytry is no longer safe in the West. I fear for his life now that Lord Baalberith has chosen Eligos. When I found him like this my only thought was to bring him here. To the South."
"And what makes you think he'll be so safe here?" She raised an eyebrow. Certainly, the sheep was smart enough to know that he and Baalberith's favorite, or rather, former favorite now, was no safer in enemy territory. With her.
"You know my master well, Lady Astaroth." He did not elaborate, but Astaroth thought she knew what he was getting at. Beelzebuth was still seething over Eligos betraying him and Samael, nobody ever knew what Samael was thinking. It seemed the sheep had viewed her as the lesser of three evils.
"Please, Lady Astaroth." The sheep bowed, balancing Sytry carefully in his arms. "Please take Lord Sytry under your protection."
She did feel pity for him, Baalberith's little, broken doll. This pity, this despicable human emotion, it was probably a remnant from being human.
"And what's in it for me?" Oh, she could name a hundred reasons why having a spy in Baalberith's castle would help her candidate win the election, but the situation was still very strange to her. Why abandon Sytry? Why now? Leonard was right when he had said she knew Baalberith well. There was something he was planning and Astaroth got the feeling this was only the beginning.
"I will kindly offer whatever services you require of me, but please be advised that Lord Baalberith is my master and I cannot do anything that would go against his orders." The sheep was still bowing his head.
Yes, this was exceptionally strange. Why had Baalberith let this servant run away with his nephew? Was this all some sort of trick? The questions buzzed around her head. Finally, she had to shut them out.
"I will invite him as a guest"—at this the butler looked up and smiled—"but I cannot offer him my protection. If Baalberith comes here looking for him, I will hand him over without a second thought."
"Thank you, Lady Astaroth."
She called to her servants to prepare a bedroom.
"Oh, and Lamia." The girl squeaked from her spot behind the door. "Not a word of this to anyone, even Dantalion. It seems that our guest will need his privacy."
"-try!"
Sytry's eyes fluttered open. Sunlight was shining through the window, a happy yellow beam that signaled the start of the day.
"Wake up!" Sytry's eyes shot to the owner of the voice. William was standing at his bedside in his school uniform, a look of perfect annoyance etched on his face. "If I have to say it again—"
"I'm up! I'm up!" He rushed out of bed. It felt like he had slept for a long, long time. That was strange, he thought. He usually didn't sleep in the human world. Whatever the case, he hurried to put on his school uniform, or at least he tried to. He couldn't seem to get it exactly right. The ribbon was being fussy, coming undone at the slightest touch.
"Never mind the ribbon. Let's go." William called and Sytry followed. They walked down the hall and Sytry kept his eyes on William's back. It seemed like he was forgetting something. Something very important. No, maybe that wasn't it. He felt perfectly fine, as he munched on the cookies that he had taken with him... from where?, he wondered. Had he grabbed them when William wasn't looking?
William walked and walked and walked, never turning around. Sytry wondered if he was still mad. But what had he been mad about, Sytry wondered. He was certainly forceful today.
"Where are we going?" Sytry asked. He felt like they had been walking forever.
William did not answer and kept walking.
"Sytryyyy!" A voice came from behind him and he turned.
Running toward him was Isaac. His face was red and puffy, like an imp, Sytry thought. The idea caused him to lose his concentration for a moment. He dropped the box of cookies, but strangely, he didn't hear it hit the ground.
"Sytry, where are you going?"
"Isn't it obvious? I'm following William." He turned around, but no one was behind him, just a long, endless hallway leading into darkness. Hadn't it been daytime?
"What is—" He looked around.
Uncle Baalberith was standing where Isaac had been. "Where are you going, my lovely doll?" He smiled. "You know you'll never get away."
Something clanged at his feet, a deep, ringing metallic sound. The box had finally hit the ground.
Sytry woke, tearing himself out of dreams and nightmares. The first thing he saw was a magnificent chandelier. He was in a room with red decor and stately and handsome furnishings. He was not in the human world, he was not in Uncle's castle—no, of course he wouldn't be there.
"So you're awake." His head was quick to turn toward the voice. The Grand Duchess of the South, Astaroth, sat at his bedside. "Would you like some tea?"
He hesitantly nodded, a million questions swimming through his head, but he didn't have the energy to ask any of them.
"Lamia."
Her daughter came in with a tray. Sytry moved to sit up and lurched back in pain. It hurt. His head, his back, his bones. Everything.
"Your sheep butler brought you here." Astaroth said, as if sensing his confusion. There was no pity in her voice, only pragmatic and detached observation. He wanted to thank her for that.
"Leonard? Where is he now?"
"Most likely back in King Baalberith's domain by now."
"I see." Sytry moved again to sit up. The pain was bearable this time. He was expecting it. Regardless, he winced when his back hit the pillows. "Uncle... he... I..." His mouth went dry just thinking about it. Thankfully, Lamia had started pouring the tea, its aroma curling around the room. She offered it to him.
"Thank you." He sipped. It was a red tea, delicate and sharp with a zesty, dry finish. He wished Lamia had brought along sugar cubes, but he didn't see any.
"He's abandoned me." He finally said, setting the tea down a little. The thought swept over him: he was defenseless. He couldn't stand it. This humility, this loneliness.
"It would seem that is the case," Astaroth commented. She was radiant as always, her dark hair forming a mane around her alluring face, eyes brighter than the chandelier. Golden and strong.
"I need to get back there. If I could just tell him to reconsider..." He started, but his mind flashed an image of an empty throne and he stopped.
"And what?" Astaroth continued for him. "The same thing will most likely happen to you—or worse."
Sytry sighed. The pain in his body was subsiding and a new pain was lodging in him. Defeat, an astringent taste, a hopeless weight.
"What should I do then?"
Astaroth sat there for a moment, stoic and quizzical. "If you want to take your position back, you'll have to take it by force." Sytry shot a look at her.
"Fight Eligos again?"
She shook her head. "Not Eligos."
He turned from her, looked up at the chandelier. Not Eligos but Baalberith. "But I couldn't..."
"You have armies, Sytry! You would be able to take on Baalberith, with aid of course." You could usurp him, even, Astaroth thought. Now is the perfect opportunity. She could picture it: Baalberith's armies crushed, his throne taken. It would be a severe blow to the Anti-Nephilim faction, to Anti-Nephilim sentiment. She allowed herself to smile. Old Baalberith defeated by his little nephew and the nephilim. She would personally relish the look on his face.
"Is that aid you're suggesting your own?" Sytry's voice brought her back. He looked better now; his cheeks a little more than pale, his eyes a little more sharp. She had never understood his appeal. Skinny, wan and way too proud. She remembered how Baalberith had insulted her by remarking on Beelzebuth's taste. Beelzebuth's taste? What of his taste? Oh yes, she had heard the rumors. She knew exactly what kind of taste Baalberith had.
"An enemy of an enemy is a friend, after all." Her eyes shined, warm and precious metal. If Sytry wasn't attractive to her, his armies certainly were. Hordes of demons at the beck and call of their master. Was Sytry a good commander? She hadn't heard much on his prowess on the battlefield. It mattered little, however, she would be the one leading the assault after all.
Sytry returned to his tea. The flavor was mellowing out. He recognized it now. Pomegranate. "I'll have to think about it." He took another sip. It was growing bitter.
"Of course, you're in no position to do anything now." She rose. "Rest, rest as much as you can. And then we'll talk."
Yes, rest, that sounded good. He set the tea aside as Astaroth and Lamia left. The room fell quiet with the last clinking of the tea cup.
Sytry didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't feel like having nightmares again. He didn't feel like gathering his armies and taking on his uncle.
He's abandoned me...
Saying it to Astaroth hadn't hit him as hard as it did now. His chest hurt, his body ached. And it wasn't merely the fact that he had been abandoned, thrown away, it was that his uncle didn't care anymore.
Something wet hit his hand. The tea? But he had placed it on the side.
No, these were...
These were...
Sytry's hands clenched the sheets. How could he? How could he? He threw off the blanket, he clambered off the bed, knocking over the tea.
It crashed to the ground in a splendid, dazzling red. Red carpet, red walls, red tea.
He's abandoned me...
His movements had signaled the pain to return and he sunk down to his knees. Nevermind it, he told himself, it will be gone soon. He clawed his way to his feet and trekked to the other side of the room, to where a floor length mirror stood.
So this was the noble demon, Sytry, he thought acridly. The reflection did not look like someone that could take on his uncle's armies. Instead, it looked defeated and wasted, torn from the only home it had known.
He winced at the pain coming from his back.
Eligos. His eyes sharpened at the name. He could imagine her, her tight body and zealous eyes, completely wrapped in his uncle's scent. How does it taste, Eligos? He wanted to ask her.How do you like it? Wouldn't you know, you'll never get it out of your mouth?
William's day had not been getting off to a good start. First, he had scolded Dantalion for telling lewd stories to Isaac, then, he hadn't had time to study for his Latin test and, finally, Sytry had been missing since last night. He stalked down the halls, intent on making sure he could circumvent any other problems before they escalated.
"Are you sure the last time you saw him was in his room?"
"Positive!" Isaac proclaimed, following his long strides. "Although, he did make one of those magic transportation circle things."
"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"
"I was sure you wouldn't believe me. You are a realist after all."
"No, this is completely different," William scolded him. Sure maybe he wouldn't have believed Isaac and a year ago or so, but now that Hell had shown up on his doorstep, he could allow for a few slips in the logic. He'd have to find a way to study magic transportation circles somehow. Surely, there was some theory out there that explained going through dimensions. But, for now, back to Isaac. "And you asked me if I wanted to hear my horoscope just this morning!"
Isaac held up the morning edition of the paper. "Leo will forge new alliances today, all of Scorpio's plans will follow through and Virgo, oh, it's not looking so good for Virgo."
William could feel a headache coming on. "I don't care about that. Now, if you see Sytry tell him to come see me immediately. I'll be studying for that Latin exam."
"Latin exam?"
"Yes, we have a Latin exam today."
"Oh, I forgot about that! Looks like it's not looking so good for me either." William made a mental note to confiscate the horoscope section of all of Isaac's newspapers. No, scratch that, confiscate all of Isaac's newspapers in general. Perhaps then the boy would study instead of filling his head with useless nonsense.
It was only after taking his Latin exam later that day that William found time to relax. In his room, he lounged on the chair by his desk and shut his eyes, hoping that his headache would subside. It would be of no use to anyone if the future prime minister fell victim to frequent headaches. Or did that come with the job? Either way, he'd have to think of a remedy for it. Perhaps counting sheep? No, that was something mothers told their little children to do when they tucked them into bed. He'd have to find if there was any evidence of that actually working. Not that he was planning on having kids any time soon, if ever.
Suddenly, he heard a knock at his door.
"Enter!"
"You wanted to see me?" Sytry stood in his doorway.
William stood up, shooting him a sharp look. "Where have you been?" He regretted asking immediately after he said. Of course, he'd say some fantastical thing about fighting demons and eating twelve-tier cakes.
Sytry's mouth opened to answer but he cut him off, "It doesn't matter. You've been out of school without leave for almost an entire day, not to mention last night."
"My apologies." He looked away.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" William crossed his arms.
"It won't happen again."
"Let's hope not." William paced the room. At least Sytry took punishment better than Dantalion, what, with all the shouting and trying to escape through the second story window. But there was also something a little off about scolding him, as if he was kicking a dog. William disliked the image, so he expunged it from his head. Speaking of his head, his headache was coming back with a greater force than before. He tried to think of the best way of ensuring it wouldn't happen again, both his headache and Sytry's absence.
"Detention," he prescribed. "You'll be scrubbing the dormitory's floors, upstairs and down."
Sytry was still looking away, his thoughts clearly in a different place.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, as you wish." Still looking away.
"You can start right now."
Sytry simply nodded.
"Dismissed!" Sytry finally looked at him, blinked and left.
"And don't make me catch you handing off your duties to your fan club. I'll be checking!" He called after him, poking his head out of the doorway. Sytry stopped, nodded, and kept walking without turning back.
William went back to his seat, completely satisfied on how he had handled the situation. No one was exempt from school rules, whether they were the princess of the school or a viscount of Hell. Still, it was odd. Sytry wasn't normally so gloomy. William massaged his temples. This headache was certainly a monster, one with eight arms and in every single on of them a hammer. He'd have to go through his list of solutions. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four sheep and Baphomet's cakes.
The water sloshed in Sytry's pail as he brought it down the stairs. He had returned to the school, to the human world and detention duty on Astartoh's advice.
"Do you think your life is in danger?" Astaroth had asked him. She had brought him new clothes and something to eat. He had put on the clothes and left the food on the table.
He couldn't find an answer for her, however. Yes seemed too paranoid, no too naïve.
"Better to not be out in the open," Astaroth warned, as if reading his mind. "The human world is probably the best place you can be right now."
"The human world?" Sytry though of the place but couldn't help but picture William, Isaac, Dantalion, and Camio. He couldn't figure out why he was thinking of them, especially since half of them didn't even belong to the human world. Whatever the case, those four were a comforting thought among the many other uneasy ones.
"And have you made your decision, Styry?" Astaroth could not wait.
He turned to her. His usual coyness was gone, replaced by a cold firmness.
"Yes."
He dipped the brush in the water, ice freezing his hand. The bristles of the brush scraped against the floorboards and he concentrated on making a rhythmic sound against the wood.
"He sees you as nothing more than a subordinate, something that can be ordered to do his whims no matter how menial or petty."
He scrubbed harder, making the brush bleed water, scratch against the floorboards, his hand cramping in protest.
"You'll just wear away the finish like that." That voice. His head shot up.
Dantalion stood before him, a brush in one hand and a bucket in the other. He was looking exceptionally pleasant today, his hair slicked back, a stupidly large grin on his face. "Not to mention, the skin on your hand."
"Tch," Sytry returned to scrubbing. "You would know."
Dantalion dropped his bucket right in front of him and got on his hands and knees. "You see," he dumped the brush in the water and placed it on the floor, "you need to be gentle but firm." He moved the brush with a steady hand, little bubbles foaming around the edges. "Like how you would treat a woman."
"Is that what you're here for?" He kept his voice haughty, surprising himself how convincing it was. "Got caught telling your perverted fantasies to Isaac?"
Dantalion gaped at him, dumbstruck. "How did you know?"
"Unlike you I use my head for more than passing balls around." Sytry said, his voice even, cutting above the sound of scrubbing.
Dantalion worked the brush with hardened ease. "To what do I owe your hospitable mood? Have you run out of your favorite sweets?"
"I haven't the slightest clue. I haven't eaten any sweets today." His voice was wispy, frank.
Dantalion stopped. "Has home frozen over?"
"Don't be silly." Sytry hunched over. He was determined to finish this section so that he could move in the opposite direction of the nephilim. He scrubbed, trying to put his back into it.
Still, he liked the familiar jabs of their conversation, the camaraderie of their antagonism. He was a noble, a prince, a candidate for king once again, if only in the moments he had derided Dantalion. Perhaps nephilim did have their purposes, their uses. Perhaps he didn't dislike talking to Dantalion at all. From the looks of it, Astaroth hadn't told the other demon a word of his disgrace, which meant he'd be able to enjoy Dantalion's disparaging remarks for at least a little longer. But, the fact remained that nobody had informed Dantalion on the matter. Now, that was something that Sytry did dislike.
"Speaking of home, what have you heard recently?" He asked it in the most unassuming tone he could muster, a ploy to gather information.
"Hmm? Now that you mention it, Lady Astaroth hasn't sent me any news lately. Mamon and Amon must be lazing around. Has your—"
"I've heard nothing either." He was quick to interrupt. "Don't you think it's strange?"
"Whatever. Doesn't concern me." Sytry sighed. He was thankful for Dantalion's stupidity and complete disregard for the world he would potentially rule. "The quieter, the better. No news is good news. And some other third trite phrase." Dantalion picked up his bucket and moved a few floorboards away. The water sloshed as Dantalion plunged the brush into it, falling over the sides of the bucket and onto the floor.
So this was one of the candidates to rule Hell. Dantalion certainly made a striking figure, hunched over the floor, furiously rubbing away at the dirt tracked in by grubby human children. He couldn't figure what Astaroth, or anyone for that matter, saw in him. Oh he was strong, but as for his ability to rule, to think—he hadn't even thought to keep his voice down when telling his obscene stories.
"So, had an enjoyable day skipping class?" Dantalion did not look up. His voice had become the slightest hint more serious.
"It's none of your concern."
"So defensive. It was just a question." Brush, brush, brush, splash.
"And the answer has nothing to do with you."
Dantalion finally looked up on him with a face that screamed nosiness. "And now I have to know how your day was."
"You're worse than Gilles de Rais!"
"Did someone say my name?" Of course, someone would materialize from between Dantalion's legs. Of course, it would be one of the last people Sytry wanted to see. He would never say that name again. That name was cursed.
"Rais? What now?" Dantalion had turned around, moving his open legs out of eyesight, and Sytry caught the slight tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks.
Meanwhile, Gilles de Rais towered over them both, standing on the floor they had just cleaned. His expression was dreadfully amused.
"Ah, so this is how our future interim leader and our former future interim leader spend their evenings." He glanced down at them both, his smile a malignant curve. "Of course, I always spend my evenings on my knees."
"Former?" Dantalion echoed. Sytry felt himself gasp.
"Shut up, Rais!" He yelled from his position on the floor.
"Ah, now that's a good pose for you, Sytry." Rais directed his attention at him. "I'd thought a fallen angel would have nowhere else to fall, but you've certainly proved me wrong."
"Shut up, Rais!" This time he didn't yell, the plosive bitterly vibrating on his lips.
Rais bent down, so that he was just inches from Sytry's face. "You know, I never asked because of Lord Baalberith, but I've always been curious: how good are you? Seeing as you've kept him busy for such a long time, your abilities must be exceptional. Mind if I get a peak?" He grabbed Sytry's ribbon. "You know, you're just my type." He loosened the ribbon, pulled it off completely and looked at the pale and exposed collarbone. "Broken."
Gilles de Rais' head hit the ground faster than Dantalion could blink. He heard it crack, a sickening, hideous noise that even he could barely stand. In another split second, Sytry was on him, mauling at his face, nails clawing whatever they could find.
"No! Stop!" Rais screamed and Dantalion was surprised he was still sentient after a fall like that.
"Stop! I beg of you!"
Dantalion wasn't sure how to react. He rose and stood there, watching as Sytry savagely beat the other. Questions ran through his head. He needed answers and it galled him that he hadn't been informed of what was very obviously going on in Hell.
I've heard nothing either. He heard Sytry's voice again play in his head. Such a liar. Such a splendid, little liar. And here Dantalion thought they were finally becoming...
What were they becoming?
The demon on top of Rais was definitely not something Dantalion wanted to become anything with.
"Sytry! Stop!" That was not Rais' voice.
Dantalion looked over. William stood at the top of the stairs, anger and annoyance perniciously skewing his features.
Sytry, meanwhile, had been forced off of Rais and now slumped against the wall. There was blood on his face, coming down his head and dripping from his mouth. Dantalion spared a curious look at Rais and then regretted it. Flesh hung in ways it shouldn't have and, before Rais covered his face, Dantalion caught a glimpse of fluid oozing from his eyes.
"I'll make you pay for this, you little bitch!" Rais roared as he picked himself off of the floor. There was a flash of light and then he was gone. All was quiet for a second, just Sytry's breathing and William's steps as he descended the stairs.
Dantalion watched as William tracked through the blood and knelt before Sytry.
"Is something wrong?" William's tone of voice shocked Dantalion. He had been to the point of rage only moments before, but this voice now, it was soft, it was benevolent, tender even. Like Solomon's.
"Please, Sytry, look at me." He started to move the bangs from Sytry's face, but his hand was quickly batted away.
"Sytry," William held his wrist instead. "I'm not commanding you, I'm asking you. Please look at me." The two seemed frozen for a moment and Dantalion watched, not sure how to feel. He felt like he was peering into a secret moment, a moment that only belonged to Sytry and William. It was strange, how much he wanted to be in Sytry's position and not be there all at the same time.
Finally, Sytry opened his eyes. Blue irises shined from their places encrusted in red.
"Now, could you tell me what's wrong?" William asked, gently still.
"I'm sorry, William." Sytry's voice trembled. "I can't tell you right now."
William sighed. "Alright then." He rose, letting go of Sytry. "Why don't you wash up then?" He fumbled in his coat pocket. "Take this key, it leads to my bedroom. You'll find a basin in there where you can wash in peace."
Sytry rose slowly, all the while looking like he could tip over at any moment. Hesitantly, he took the key and without another look, hurried up the stairs. Then, to Dantalion's surprise, William dropped to his knees, took a brush and started scrubbing away the blood.
"Hey, aren't you going to help?" It was not the same soft tone, but it was still not one he was expecting from William.
"It's just," Dantalion uttered, dropping to his knees and resuming his cleaning. "I'm not used to seeing you this way."
William scrubbed furiously at his last words. "You'd think me, the prefect of this dorm, would be caught dead with this much blood on the floor? They'd think I'd let a murder happen! My perfect future would be ruined!" Now this was the William he knew.
Dantalion smiled. He didn't know all the answers, but he was glad some things hadn't changed.
Extra
The bandages only barely clung to his face as Gilles de Rays entered the throne room.
"To what do we owe this newest fashion trend?" The King of the West asked, his voice sardonic and vapid.
"Your nephew did this to me," Gilles de Rais' anger filled the room, bouncing off the unforgiving shadows. "That son of a bitch!"
"Be careful who you insult, Gilles de Rais," Baalberith raised his hand. "That woman is still my sister."
"My apologies, my lord." Rais' anger subsided almost completely. It was a little disappointing, thought Eligos, perched at Baalberith's side. "I request that you punish him for abusing one of your subordinates."
Baalberith chuckled. "You needn't worry about Sytry. Now, then. Was our information correct? Was Dantalion still uninformed?"
"It seems that way, my lord. I could only infer so much before being so cruelly beaten."
"Very well. You are dismissed." Rais left, limping out of the throne room and into the darkness.
"Well now," a gloved hand brushed against her cheek. "You know where you come in, don't you?"
"Yes, your excellency."
"Go then, Eligos. And be sure to keep Dantalion out of the way." He pointed to something far off, some grand future that only he could see. "We can't have him sticking his nose into things it doesn't belong in."
In an instant she was gone, the gap between dimensions already rapidly closing.
Baalberith played idly with his gloved hands. He looked forward to holding that body when it finally returned. Whispering into its ear, telling it how much he had missed it. "The closest I have to—" He caught himself talking out loud. Oh no, there was only one that deserved to hear him say it. Only one. There would only ever be one.
TBC...?
