Sophia's Chronicles

Recap: In the Void, Sophia has helped organise the doppelgangers into a force that 'tries' to run the Omniverse, as well as guard themselves from any threat. One of them reports a strange noise which Sophia and Sixty-Six go to investigate. During this trip, they become accidentally trapped in an inescapable room full of creatures that put deities in a 'guilt trip' trance while sucking the life force out of them until they die. The thirty-six hour timepoint is also up, which means that the Void has shifted itself around so they aren't just trapped in a doorless room, but also in a different location of the Void altogether. Previously, Lucifer had interrupted a Javelin meeting to market himself as a new 'business opportunity', which certain pagan gods did not take well to, while Morrigan, Horus and Dragon King already had deals with him under pressure.


Chapter 81: The Glass Cliff

Hell – 6 months ago

Heat surged from the very depth of the palace to heat up the shallow streams of water. Thin clouds of steam formed pillars in the dimly-lit room, which only had a single chandelier on the ceiling to illuminate anything.

"Fighter," a demon hissed. Zara found Leyra's voice actually snake-like, and the more she heard the demon's voice the more compelling the vibrations in her head grew. She supposed it was the purpose of her being there that day. Leyra's hands, the fingers bony and strong, firmly clutched Zara's shoulders, directing her path. A wince escaped Zara's mouth. She had made the first step onto the hot pebbles that punctuated the steaming, shallow pool of water. Leyra's grasp reciprocated strength for the shudder in Zara's shoulders. It gave her some confidence to endure the searing heat at the soles of her feet.

"Warrior," another demon said, with a similar intonation. This one, Sitri, held onto her hands, kneading the back of Zara's palms with gentle strokes of her thumbs. This demon walked backwards with a rehearsed confidence, attention only centred on the human. Something about Sitri's touch got the blood pumping in Zara's veins. Her skin visibly glowed with a gentle blush as she stepped further onto the hot pebbles, dressed in nothing but an ancient cloth wrapped around her torso alone. It left her limbs, shoulders and head bare to feel the stinging embrace of the room in the basement. The most exposing part of her ensemble that day was not her skin but rather the variety of bruises and healing scars peppered on her body.

"Beast."

"Killer."

"You will take so many lives."

"You will bring us great victories."

The two demons chanted repeatedly as they guided her to the centre of the large room. When they stopped, Zara noticed the smooth, flat surface her feet rested on. It was hard to see, so she wouldn't have known until her soles became the primary source of perception. This, she realised, was also stone but deliberately crafted as some kind of pedestal. The demons gestured for her to kneel. She obliged. The volcanic heat now contacted her kneecaps and most of her calves.

"And so we're finally here," a deeper female voice announced. Leyra and Sitri stepped back and stood with their heads bowed to welcome the Knight and await the next order. Abaddon crossed her arms, keeping an authoritative position before the kneeling girl. "Guess I should say a few words, huh? Boss did say to keep it short and sweet. But just between us gal pals, the party bus will be here soon. Don't keep us waiting too long."

Zara knew the formalities of the ceremony, none of which Abaddon seemed to have observed – she wasn't in ceremonial clothing, forewent the traditional Hebrew opening and walked with shoes on the unperturbed, clean pebbles. There was no point in Zara questioning that, considering Abaddon would have to have known these things more intimately than her. Tradition would also state that the initiate not speak unless told to do so, but traditions were clearly being ignored here. "Isn't talk of celebration a little… premature? I feel like we should be getting me ready for the mission, not the afterparty," she questioned, albeit keeping her head bowed respectfully.

"Zara, Zara… Zara," Abaddon sighed. "Despite all your past hiccups, Lucifer still thinks you're a good investment. Who am I to doubt him? As much as I… don't get it, I need to have faith. And so do you." She made a vague gesture and Leyra emerged from the shadows to deliver a silver tray, which she placed right next to Zara. "Forget everything I said about you earlier. You need to win. Hell needs a win. That's all that matters now."

Sitri and Leyra began chanting again. The ritual began. Abaddon scattered some kind of mineral powder in a circle around Zara. The Knight then joined in the demons' chanting but her role required something additional. She raised a palm and with a mere thought and incantation, the powder swiftly arranged itself in a demonic talisman pattern beneath Zara. One more thought and it glowed a deep red. With all the steam, the powder acted like an incense, filling Zara's nostrils with an intoxicating aroma. Every inhale both focused her awareness and stole it at once. A distance formed between her mind and her soul.

"Heart of a predator," Abaddon unveiled a plate on the tray to reveal a gooey dark mass. It was fresh by the looks of it. Blood still dripped from the orifices of the heart. "Ether from the Lake of Fire," she uncapped an intricately-patterned vial and poured a glowing blue liquid onto the meat. From the pulsating glow, the heart seemed still alive. "You're up next."

She picked up the platinum box Zara was too familiar with and unclasped it impatiently. The clasp gave in with a noisy protest, almost cognizant of its unaccustomed user. Abaddon swirled the tip of her ring finger onto the black kohl and painted the lower waterline of Zara's subservient eyes. Power flowed naturally as she blinked, though she kept her head bowed. It was customary to keep one's attention limited to the ritual circle for the greatest benefit.

"A piece of the initiate," Abaddon gestured to the two demons. Sitri carefully bundled Zara's lengthy hair in her palms and held it up. She ran her palms along the length of the bundle a few times to gather all the stray hairs and eyeball a reasonable position at which the hair would be tightly held. When she was ready, Leyra brandished her knife. Zara said a mental goodbye. She felt like she should. Demonic strength allowed Leyra to make a single sweep of the knife to cut through the head of the bundle as determined by Sitri's grasp. Once released, Zara's head felt immediately lighter. The shorter hairs now brushed the nape of her neck.

Through some work of the demons behind her, the chopped hair now appeared on the tray, bound and secured on both ends with a tight braided twist that prevented hairs from being lost. Abaddon opened another vial of ether and doused the hair with it too.

"By the grace of Lucifer, you're ready," Abaddon held up the plate between them. She first hefted the juicy piece of meat in her palm before taking an audible bite. The ripping of flesh between the Knight's teeth left Zara yearning for more of its sound. Once the Knight had consumed the sacrifice, it was finally her turn. She received the heart in both her hands. "It's all for you."

Admittedly, Zara had been worried about the taste. Despite her desensitization to the deeply revolting, things that weren't palatable were also not easy to swallow, at least in the most fundamental nature – never mind the feeling of disgust that one was expected to have. Contrary to her expectations, it wasn't as easy to chew raw meat as Abaddon had made it out to be. But if being in Hell had taught her anything, it was to be a demon, even if not in the most literal sense of the term. If you can't do it like a demon, do it like a demon anyway – that was the prevailing principle.

With that in mind, she'd made it through. The last remnant glided down her oesophagus. The stinging metallic taste persisted long after the passage of the meat. The two servant demons remained to close the circle. Zara wasn't needed for that. Her mind had been elevated, her spirit focused and her powers heightened. Abaddon brought her down the hallway to the kennels. Heavy, damp breaths from the invisible creatures immediately brushed Zara's skin. Her heart thumped against her ribcage with the ferocity of a killer banging on a closed door. She had never needed to be around the Hellhounds, so that had alleviated some of the stress about whether she could get along with them. After all, they were known for tearing through human flesh on the regular.

That day, though, she could see them up close. Archangel vision allowed her to see them as they were – playing with each other in a manner that resembled wrestling more than not. Some were also resting, or eyeing their visitors with a keenness that betrayed a deeper intelligence than she'd have expected. The actively wrestling hounds paused their little tussle and neared the edge of their barely-sufficient compound. The metal fences were so low that any of them could easily jump over. Yet the hounds stuck to their enclosures, as if sufficed despite their long, hairy legs giving them greater command of the ground. Now straightening up to their full height, their stark black fur mane fanned out boldly. It was a stark contrast to the sharp teeth that would have appeared pearly white were it not for the blood stains peppering their corners. Zara found herself hypnotised by the ghastly red of their eyes, which lacked pupils. Just a sea of anger waiting to find a target to sink.

"Who wants a new toy?" Abaddon coddled the hounds as they neared, scratching them by the scruff of their necks. The hounds howled in a hoarse choir, sometimes peppering in low growls and grunts that Zara assumed to be their happy noises. The Knight then brandished Zara's chopped hair, which now that Zara looked at it in clear light, was fashioned into the shape of a dog toy. Abaddon dangled it above the hounds which now eagerly sought its smell. She let them get a good whiff of the piece while petting them and let it free in the kennel. "You like dogs?"

"Yeah, but these ain't like the dogs I've seen," Zara remarked.

"No, they're better," Abaddon stated. "They'll get accustomed to you. And they can help you out on your missions."

"But how… how will they understand me?" she asked, eyeing the passage of her hair through the compound. The hounds took to fighting with each other for a sniff in a boisterous enthusiasm, much in the same way she'd seen mobs ambush people on the news.

"Oh they'll understand you. It's just down to which one wants to be yours," Abaddon answered. Her eyes seemed to light up at the sight of their violent play. Then she noticed one hound, sat in the corner, which eyed the whole spectacle from afar. "Orias seems to like you."

Zara followed her gaze to find the Hellhound. "He seems to prefer his solitude," she said, worry creeping up her back. But if Abaddon thought so, she'd have to trust her. Zara approached the length of the fence right in front of Orias and slowly lowered herself to the ground. She held out a hand towards him. Orias' ears perked up, but his expression remained cold like an aloof lover. Slowly but surely, he advanced towards her. It felt to her like he knew what to do better than she did. Orias grazed her hand with his chin. Zara took this as a cue to scratch him there. He yielded and she continued. She couldn't help but enjoy it.

Now it was time.


The Void

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Metal assaulted the white walls. Every hope of a plan I had ended in its inception. All because of that noise.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

"Do you mind?" I asked pointedly of the being in my general vicinity.

"Yes, I do mind being stuck in a pointless room with no exit," Sixty-Six blandly answered, palm firmly gripping one of the sleek, black swords we'd stolen from our war with the Defenders. "I'd very much like to get out. So if you'll excuse me…"

Her arm swung a full circle about her shoulder. The sword battered the wall again. I watched the radius her arm formed. She sidestepped – a brief pause in her cycle – before resuming. Was she going to assault every inch of this looping wall for a minimum of fifty three times each? The same question seemed to exasperate her. There was a momentary interlude, just a brief second, as she stared at the wall. Madness contoured her eyebrows. And then it came to external fruition. Her movements this time were faster. Each 'clang' had a greater frequency. If there were air molecules here, they'd have a more vigorous crowding of energy about them. An intimidating amount, even.

"I think I got something," she puffed out, further increasing her speed. Sure enough, sharp wisps of friction sparked from every impact. Then she changed the axis of her attack. She began striking the wall with the sword moving sideways, but the obstinate aggression remained nonetheless.

I watched how her body moved flexibly, like the swinging of tree branches, and the way her nose crinkled as the efforts exhausted her spirit. Was that what Lucifer saw when I was angry? And he still loved it?

"Argh! It's not working!" she reprimanded the wall. Whatever dent she had made simply repaired itself when she stopped. In another gesture of self-exploration, I noticed her chin tighten as she ground her teeth against each other. Interesting. "Hey, this isn't the time to just sit around and look pretty."

She looked at me, expecting my enthusiastic rising from my spot on the floor. There were explanations I wished to convey, but without the knowledge of where to start, I could only stare back. "Do you think Lucifer – your Lucifer – could have been hiding something from you?" I cut to the point.

"What?" she spat out in caustic confusion.

"Is there something you're repressing? Or something you've chosen not to see?" I pursued. "I mean about what you told me before."

"This isn't the time for flashbacks," she stated. "That was a moment of weakness, alright? Never speak of it again."

"How could you have been surprised by the pregnancy? People like us only create when we intend to," I reasoned. "Unless you regret the decision. Or Lucifer wanted a child more than you did. And the timing of it all…"

"Don't-" she cut me off. To see her then, it was surreal. To say it was like looking into a mirror wouldn't do justice. It was more than that. I felt like if anyone should understand that pain, it was me. Her lower lip pressed up against her upper lip in a pout. "Don't speak that way about him. You can't know… We didn't know what we were doing, okay?"

She paced about, hand grabbing fistfuls of her own hair. I thought I heard muttered curses under her breath. "Did you ever speak to him about it? Try to understand how it happened?" I asked.

Her panting grew heavier. "We couldn't have known… We just… loved. We weren't ready!" her body jerked and she hurled the sword in some unplanned direction. "Ugh!"

I watched the obsidian weapon lodge itself into the corpse of a deity who did not seem to care very much. A spray of black slime burst forth from his new hole and decorated what was once the trajectory of the sword. Almost like an abstract painting had formed itself on the floor, I thought. "He didn't deserve that," I mentioned, though I didn't actually intend anything by it. For the first time in a while, I did get up if only to take notice of this new occurrence. I stood before the deity. Just like the others, tiny black tendrils innervated his skin, lips, eyes – a repugnant exclamation of the creature's possession, as if the large tentacles penetrating all of its victims in multiple arrangements wasn't enough. "Who were you?"

Though his body appeared bloated and drained of its energy, I could mentally reconstruct what he may have looked like. He had strong shoulders, the kind a warrior would have. His fingers appeared coarse and thick – he may not have found the need for gentleness. He was someone who knew his age. It was what I could tell from the lines on his face and neck. Perhaps a leader who people depended on. And now he was here, displayed like a trophy of Khaos' conquest.

"I'm sure he'd tell you if he could," Sixty-Six chimed in from next to me. "I don't even know why there are people in this place at all. I mean the Void, as a whole. What's the use of this place? As if the created realms weren't pain enough. I know Khaos wanted us here, but still… why? Why not some Michael, some Lucifer? Why us?"

"Why indeed…" I cursorily scanned his corpse. Something became apparent to me then. It was almost unnoticeable, under the fine lines of age. But there it was – a faint, sealed scar etched into his neck. And why else would a cosmic being be incised in that location… "This place has no shortage of mysteries."

"Well, buddy, I don't think you need that anymore," Sixty-Six said to the dead deity. She grabbed onto the handle of the blade, whose business end ensured a steady flow of ooze. As she yanked it out in a fluid motion, a little more than a flood of black slime ejected itself from the site of injury, namely bits of his body. A gaping hole had formed where the sword once was. "A few more minutes and that would've been us."

"Oddly enough, a sentiment that never gets old around here," I added. But once the gushing out of liquid slowed down, a more curious sight awaited us. I knelt to get a better look. "Hey, take a look at this."

When she obliged, my suspicions were confirmed. "Are you serious?" she huffed.

With a bit of coordination, she cut off the tentacles wrapping around him while I lugged his body to the ground. A wall of nothing but black tentacles writhed around, very much alive, where his body was once propped up. Save for the tentacles that had been amputated, the creature that had grown off of this dead deity had formed a bed of its own fleshy appendages. Unlike the tiny little masses that attacked us before, this creature had made full use of its food source and grown aplenty. As disgusting as the sight was, I couldn't help but be in awe. But more importantly, it was the possibilities this discovery entailed which we looked forward to. My doppelgänger made haste in chopping away these tentacles. I joined her.

We were positively covered in the slime. But enough effort had been used to yield an observable result. "Please tell me it is what it is," she begged.

"I think it is," I reassured her. "It's our way out."

What our incessant weeding process revealed was what appeared to be a shaft. Mentally preparing for the worst, I leaned into the opening. The green emanating from my eyes illuminated dim patches of what I now saw as a whole vent, practically formed by the interconnecting bodies of the creatures that attacked us. The long tentacles were like veins, pulsing and throbbing as they formed this structure by vertical and horizontal junctions. And among them, the oozing noises were much louder, like an industrial rumble. I looked up. A single slither of light penetrated the living wall. That could be a possible escape.

I reached a hand out to the far end of the shaft wall and grabbed one of the vertical tentacles like a rope. As it turned out, the wall grabbed me back. A thinner appendage sprung forth from the bulky structure and wrapped itself around my wrist. "Dammit!" I cussed. I jerked backwards, though still stuck in a struggle to free my wrist. Sixty-Six immediately grabbed my waist while I pulled on my forearm. With enough of a tug, the thinner string let go. We both lurched a step back before regaining our step. "Okay, climbing up isn't an option."

"Isn't it?" Sixty-Six mumbled. "It got all defensive because you tried to pull it. But what if… you didn't have to?"

"What are you suggesting?" I probed.

"If we're to get up there, it's without touching these things. What about… flying?" she posited. Then, bested by her own rationality, she produced another frown. "It's too narrow. We can't. Man, a ladder would be good right about now."

"A ladder…" I repeated. My eyes strayed to the only other object available to us. The dead, leaking corpse on the ground. Now that we'd taken him off life support, his eyes melted into a goo that dripped out of his sockets. But the rest of him was still intact.

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, eyes questioning me as much as her words.

I told her my idea. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

"People say I'm evil, and even I'm grossed out by this," she remarked. Just as I thought she would reject the plan, her lips curved into a thin smile. "I like it."

She did the knife-work. It was satisfying for her. I did the throwing. As I expected, our dead man's limbs stuck onto the living wall of the shaft like flies to a trap. I got in first, quickly scaling up the wall using the limbs as rungs. Once I reached where the light shone, I sliced off the tentacles which had enveloped an opening. I just about heaved a sigh of relief. Briefly glancing down to give the all-clear to my companion, I climbed out of the vent.

Freedom, at last. Kind of. I dusted myself off. A window depicting the picturesque cosmos of some unidentifiable universe greeted me – the source of light that had allowed our escape. Thank God for supernovas.

"Intruder," a masculine voice called out. I jerked to face the entity. "Death is given to you at no cost and you still reject it."

He had a glassy exterior, this entity. It was no wonder I didn't spot him at first. The longer I stared at him, his features became clearer. No eyes formed, but lips and a row of sharp teeth appeared. He probably didn't think it was necessary to show me his eyes. It would be easier to read his intentions if he did. I didn't see a point in asking him who he was. I didn't care. There were all manner of people here and it took too much to find out if they meant ill or good. Most of the time it was the former. And in this case, it seemed obvious.

"Bold of you to assume there are no costs to my death," I replied. "What is it that you want?"

"For things to go back the way they were. Everything was fine. Until you came along," he snarled. "Everything had its place. But you… you just had to ruin that, didn't you?"

"My place was to be a prisoner. So yes, I had to ruin that," I answered. His shoulders grew tense. I maintained a sense of caution. Where is she… I wondered. My snarky companion should have been out by now. I didn't dare to turn my back towards this stranger, though. I didn't know what to expect from him.

"There are rules to the way things are," the centre of his face strayed from me. If he had eyes, they'd be looking at the floor. He ruminated for a second, self-absorbed in anger. "My people depend on the rules. Existence cannot be without us. And we cannot be without the rules."

"If you can describe to me in a more tangible form what your grievance is, this exchange would be a lot easier," I stated, tired of it all. Everyone had a problem. All the time.

"The rules are failing. Things were always on the precipice of chaos, but now, they're going over the edge. Without Alpha in charge, nobody's keeping existence in check," he spat out, exasperated. "Don't you get what that means?"

I couldn't put it in words, but I understood. Something about how the core of my being clenched at the sound of him saying that told me I had some idea.

"Khaos knew how to keep things balanced. But you… you're just a child running around and pressing buttons where you shouldn't be," he pointedly said. "The scales are tipping as we speak, archangel. It's only a matter of time before darkness and light devour each other."

"You know, I'd be more than willing to help if you were nicer to me," I sighed. "And some hope would be great too."

"You want to help? Get the true ruler of the Void back in his seat. Stop fighting him," he suggested. "The longer you wait, the sooner the conflict zones erupt. Then there'll be no going back."

"What conflict zones?" I asked.

"The conflict zones. The Primordial Six," he said. His lips formed a tight line. Fingers twitching, his head craned back up to face me. "One of yours already stole a chip. And believe me, I have no faith that the fate of everything is safe with your kind."

"I think we deserve a little more credit than you give us," I folded my arms. "We're an army of cosmic beings, just like you. We're capable of anything. And besides, I may not know much about the Void, but I know someone who does."

That caught his attention. His head tilted ever so slightly, awaiting my next sentence.

"Omega."

He huffed.

"What?"

"You think Omega is going to solve this? He's trapped eternally. Alpha's already here. Looking for Omega is a waste of time," he challenged.

"Then I'm happy to waste my time," I insisted. "I would be at peace with anyone being in charge other than Alpha."

"You really think Omega is going to be any different from the Khaos you already know?" he yelled. "Do you know what kind of person it takes to balance chaos and order? Someone who isn't married to binaries. Someone who isn't afraid to do what's necessary, unbound by petty mores or grudges. Alpha is that person. Surrender to Him immediately."

"Or what?" I challenged back, annoyed.

That was the million-dollar question. Whoever this guy was, he was fast. I barely caught a glimpse of steel before I deflected. He came at me with such speed, I flew out of his trajectory instead of my usual side-step. The knife he held sliced the air as it sought me. I ducked. In that picosecond downtime, I gathered my strength and delivered a clenched fist to his abdomen. He fell back, but not for long. He pounced onto his feet again.

"Just. Give. In," he muttered through clenched teeth. "This will fix everything."

He lunged towards me. A gasp barely escaped me as I grabbed his forearms. He had one hand supporting the other, which held the knife in a deadly vertical. It took all my strength to keep his knife from plunging into my throat. A hoarse grunt left my throat. He seemed as strong as I, or perhaps much more. I wasn't sure how long I would be able to hold on. The image of everything I loved burned into me as I pushed against him with all I had.

"Hold still," he ordered. "It will be over soon."

As it turned out, it was over soon. There was a glimpse. A flash of movement. A black mass attached itself to the side of his face.

"No!" he yelled and fell away. As I regained my composure and stood over him, a feeling of calm washed over me to see him writhing in a struggle against the same creature that previously threatened to sap me of life. They both had that in common.

"You okay?" Sixty Six now stood next to me.

"It's about time you showed up," I remarked. Arms folded, we both just stared at the stranger until he gave into the creature's temptations. "How long were you planning to wait?"

"Until he either attacked or left. Always helps not to reveal all your cards," she answered.

"Fair enough," I shrugged. "Now that we're out of that room, we have to find some way to get back."

We both looked around ourselves, seeking something that could help us. "What do you think he was going on about?" she asked, as I surveyed the window. "Sounded like the ramblings of a madman to me."

"That may be true, at least partly. But he mentioned something about conflict zones. The Primordial Six," I recalled. It got me thinking. "What if it has to do with the Keys of Conflict Omega told me to find? There are six of those too."

"It's some kind of lead, I suppose. If this Omega fella really needed your help, He could've at least left clearer instructions," Sixty-Six said. "His ambiguity is just making this process longer. And you heard what that psycho said. The longer we take, the sooner the conflict zones… flare up or whatever. Whatever it means, it doesn't sound good. And that's coming from me. I love watching people fight."

"Your honesty's always appreciated," I told her. But it was curious indeed, what she'd said. "I wish I had the answers. But I don't and I can't let that bring me down. I need to do whatever it takes. I'll jump into a conflict zone headfirst, blindfolded, if that's what's gonna help me figure out all of this."

A silent understanding passed between us in the silence that ensued.


Somewhere on the outskirts of Varanasi, India – 6 months ago

Zara shivered every time a faint whispering of wind passed. She still wasn't used to not having her hair flowing down her back, trapping warmth. It certainly seemed easier to move about without that extra weight on her head but still, some extra incubation wouldn't have hurt in the misty mountains near Varanasi. It was strange to her to finally be in 'the homeland', as she'd been taught. Surrounded by people who spoke to each other in a language that had only been used to berate her as a child. The bad memories only made this more unpleasant. She rejoiced in part about that, because now she had another weapon. Deep disdain.

It would be a good complement to the actual weapon she had. Lucifer had finally deemed her worthy. Before she'd left on this expedition, she found the archangel sword carefully wrapped in velvet on her bed. With the enthusiasm of a child unwrapping a gift on Christmas morning, she was reunited with the celestial metal. She ran her fingers across its grind. A deep breath entered her lungs as she gripped the hilt. The hawk inside her connected instantly. The set was complete – vessel, weapon and instrument. "Thank you," she silently breathed, thinking about Lucifer. He would get the message.

This mission, however, tested more than just her ability to wield a weapon. "(Brother, I'd like a tea)," she asked. The man running the roadside tea shop nodded. The vapor erupting from the hot stove was so inviting that Zara wished she could crawl into it. She pulled her jacket closer to herself and sipped on her tea. They don't make 'em like this back home. She had to be careful though, in not moaning her approval of its taste. Being inconspicuous in a place like this was challenge enough – being someone who looked like she belonged here while not actually knowing how someone who belonged here would think or behave. At least she knew the language, which already made this better than Ukraine. Still, when she spoke it was difficult to match the locals' accent.

A bell chimed in the distance, signalling sunset. She was used to the sights and sounds now, having completed half the mission. She was close to the real goal. She could feel it. It all depended on how things would go down that night. The congregation approached the street she was in, their movement slow in the distance. Young children ran back into their mothers' arms. The women stood at the front door, confined to their houses but allowing themselves this little visit to the outside world for the procession that evening. People even stared out of their windows from higher floors in these communal living spaces.

India had no shortage of colours. Whether it was the pastel-coloured exteriors of these houses packed side-by-side or the local ethnic fashion that hung from laundry lines, no place was left dull. And when it came to the evenings, the colours of the moment were orange, denoting the garbs of monks, or yellow, for the sari the worshipping women wore. Their devotional mantras and songs, paired with the resonant tinkles of their little bells, reverberated all around the street. It was hypnotic, pulling everyone nearby into a religious mood. Some even seemed entranced, mouthing the same words and swaying about in meditative reverie.

None of that meant anything to Zara, of course. She wasn't here to 'find herself', like she'd been told growing up was what people did when they came to India. She was here to find a very specific person. Her eyes were peeled as the religious walked past. In the middle of the large crowd was a large statue of Rama, depicted as a blue-skinned man with large golden adornments, as well as his wife Sita. The monks carried the palanquin with the statues, as if to bring the deities on a tour to visit the people who came to see them.

What Zara couldn't have expected, however, was another set of eyes watching her. He watched her from one of those third-floor balconies. He was directly above her too. Jack smiled. She'd kick his ass if she knew he was watching her. She'd kick his ass if she knew him at all. He didn't make himself appear to anyone though – he wasn't here to attract attention. A tall man with hair almost half his height wasn't going to go unnoticed. He didn't expect to see her here at first. He was in town for business of his own. But once he caught a glimpse of her roaming around these parts, he couldn't help but investigate for himself. She wasn't the same girl he knew before though. She'd become smarter. She had weapons and accessories which could catch him in the act if he wasn't careful. So he was careful.

Where are you… Zara thought to herself, laboriously scanning everyone who walked past her. With all this noise and so many people around her, the task at hand was aggravating. She discreetly blinked to see through archangel eyes. Still, nothing of interest showed. More instruments blared in her ears as the statues approached. That's when a glimmer caught her eye. Hidden among the women, she walked. The Servant. She wasn't dressed in any distinguishable form – she appeared just like everyone else. Ugh, Zara thought. The idea of someone with such power as her target humbly blending among the mortal folk disgusted her. I bet she donates to charity too.

The Servant chanted and sang to herself, as did most people. With her archangel sight, Zara sought out her invisible companion. Watching from a dark alley, Orias stayed low, his predator eyes scanning the crowd. He let out a low, muttered growl that only Zara could hear. A maternal instinct flared up in her, as if responding to a child's cry of hunger. Just a little longer, my sweet child. Zara returned her finished glass to the tea maker and attempted to cross the street. She lightly pushed through the crowd, muttering 'excuse me's and 'Hail Rama's. When she reached the Servant, she went full-frontal in bumping into her.

"(Forgive me)," she muttered to the confused old lady, who merely stood agape for a moment. Before understanding could fully set in for the target, Zara rushed off past her. Thinking nothing of it, the Servant shrugged it off and continued with the procession. Zara briskly arrived at the alley. The shadows enveloped her, taking her away from the energy of the colourful procession. Orias immediately brushed against her legs, eager for what she held in her hands. Zara twitched a little, which would have been weird for anyone who may have noticed her. After all, the Hellhound was only visible to her. "Be patient, you adorable mutt."

Zara looked back at what she'd salvaged. A wrist band of prayer beads. It had been hanging off the target's hip, where the sari was tucked into the skirt underneath. Zara held it in front of Orias' nose. The Hellhound coarsely studied its scent, rubbing his snout all over her palm. Eventually he knocked it off her hand and she passively accepted it.

Hours later, when night had taken the skies, Zara and her canine companion headed out onto the streets again. This time it was Orias who led the way, with Zara following him on a rented bike. The Hellhound was fast. Once he got the scent, he was basically restless and she had to soothe him with some meat before he ran off in eagerness. How she got that meat was a question for law enforcement. Hood up, mask on, Lucifer's Trusted stared at the road ahead with vulture-like intensity.

Behind her, a shadow lurched through the roadside grass, keeping his cover. The archangel was fast enough that he could keep up on foot. Soon enough, the motorcycle came to a stop not far from a mountain-side settlement. There were small, quaint houses spread apart with enough distance for personal space but not so much as to exclude a sense of community. As Jack watched, Zara moved the bike away from the streetlights into the cover of a tree. She approached one of the houses, watching through the window first before entering from the back. Jack moved closer, then abruptly stopped in his tracks. The Hellhound was standing guard outside.

This is a job for Señor Adler, he thought, with dramatic flair even in his solitary mind. The lizard scurried around the pale, painted exterior of the house, unbeknownst to Orias. His little reptilian head bobbled about in surveillance before he made the jerky crawl into the house through a tiny hole in the wall. Zara hid behind a dusty cupboard. As the Servant she'd stalked left dinner to cook on the stove, offerings were prepared on the decently-sized wooden table. Some flowers, incense and vermillion, among other things, were packed into a silver offering basket. Zara waited till the woman was done.

The milk was being heated to pasteurisation on the stove. The old lady hummed a mantra as she went about her preparation for that night. "Sita Ram, Sita Ram, Sita Ram, Jai Sita Ram…" and so on she repeated. She opened the cupboard, picking out an orange silk reserved for special rituals. After all, the highest of worship required an exuberant presentation of the self to the deity. "Sita Ram, Sita Ram…" she closed the cupboard. "Sita Ram-"

She gasped, utterly stricken with horror.

"Jai Sita Ram," Zara completed. Before the woman could scream, she grabbed her by the throat and shoved her to the ground.

Jack flinched. The grass around him rustled a little, but not so much as to garner attention. He was at a safe distance from the scene anyway. He remained cross-legged in his spot, eyes rolled back – only the white sclerae of his eyeballs could be seen. Despite the unexpected aggression from the girl he knew well, he decided to continue watching. He knew what dangers revealing himself to her entailed, let alone the importance of discretion in understanding what exactly was going on. Which was why, in spite of the curdling feeling in his abdomen, he watched through Ser Adler's eyes as Zara plunged her archangel blade into the Servant. She then took the ritual clothes and adornments and changed into them.

Zara emerged from the house as a completely different person. One might have found her lovely with that pious, domesticated attire. But it was clear that the person underneath was the very destruction of that innocent, harmless symbol. As Zara crept through the night with the offering in her hand like a bride eloping with another man on her wedding night, the milk boiled over with no one to attend to its cry for attention.

"At least she remembers how to wear that damn thing," Jack whispered. He remembered when Zara had been curious about how women did that – wear a sari. He'd found a tutorial and helped her with it, for her momentary satisfaction. It was a one-time affair, during simpler times, when she'd had simpler interests. That was a whole decade earlier. A decade was practically nothing to him, which made this memory more staggering. "Things change in the blink of an eye…"

Zara hiked up the mountain where the trail naturally led her. This was it. Hidden in the high altitude, among the tall trees, a temple came into view. This was no ordinary temple. It was intricate beyond human imagination and hidden from plain sight. Only those who were chosen were allowed to be here, which meant that no one questioned Zara's presence there. If she knew about this place, she had to have been chosen. The decisions of the gods were no one's to question.

A crowd of worshippers – other Servants – had gathered at the entrance. Zara joined them. A coordinated effort to sing songs of worship began and one by one, they walked over a bed of flaming hot coals laid on the ground. She had certainly not expected that. It was the only way in through the large stone doors. It was said that those who were strong in their worship – and they had to be to get to this point – had faith so strong as to overcome extreme physical pain. Surely enough, the men and women took step after step without so much as a wince. It did come to their attention, however, that among the group of older, weathered Servants was a youthful woman they'd never seen before. It was strange to think that a woman her age would have the wisdom to be chosen for this service. They stood with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion across the bed of coals, to see how she would cross.

Zara wasn't unaware of their suspicions either. You call that pain? I'll show you pain. She stepped forward. Heat immediately shot through the sole of her foot. As the intensity of the feeling rose, she stifled every natural human instinct to react. By now, the only natural instinct she had was to oppose what had been given to her by evolution. Another foot onto the coals. The uneven surface of the bed was another source of discomfort. Give me strength for my trials, Sophia. Every brief interlude with the cold air was followed by an avalanche of searing flame testing her limits.

She made it. An older man gave her a short approving nod, before leading the group further in. Everyone seemed so focused on their purpose there, not even making small talk. They were so lost in purpose that they didn't notice the scaly reptile stalking them on the pillars. Among the large, gravel pillars and maze of rooms was the shrine sitting in the far end of the temple. Each avenue could be a mystery of its own, tempting those who wandered in these halls to explore the ancient structure. The shrine itself was inside a room sitting atop a small number of steps. The room had no doors. Just a frame embroidered with intricate Sanskrit carvings. The man from before collected all their offerings and placed it in orderly fashion inside the small room. He began the prayer, lighting up the incense and ringing the little hand-bell while the others muttered soft prayers under their breaths and clasped their hands. When the initial prayer was done, the man passed around the powdered vermillion so that the Servants could place the red dot on their foreheads.

Now it was time for the real matter that compelled Zara to find this place. Or so she thought. An hour passed. An hour of prayer, of repeating the same mantras over and over again. It was draining her of all willpower. If that was any kind of defence from her, it was working. But she endured it all. She had no idea how these people were doing it for so long. Sitting in the same place, verbally chanting, with barely a break for rest. She watched some of them drift into a trance, wailing and moaning as a combination of hunger, thirst and sleep deprivation debased their souls to the point of a spiritual awakening. On some level, Zara understood that.

The first rays of sunlight cut through the trees. Even Jack had noticed, with his position on a branch atop a hardy, welcoming tree. He'd been watching the whole ritual from above from a good vantage point that allowed him to see the whole village around him for miles. The temple also had no roof down its centre, which offered a view of the scene below. He saw it all with a stoic, expressionless interest.

Somehow, that single ray of light hit a small jewel embedded on the triangular canopy of the temple revealing the mathematical precision with which this sanctuary was constructed. The jewel lit up with an incandescent glow. Below, the chanting grew. Uncoordinated mumblings now resonated through the walls, with each individual taking their own liberties in calling for blessings. Zara had stopped in quiet observation and no one had even noticed. Then, she felt it.

The stone torches all lit up, flames soaring in arrival. It started with those closer to the entrance until the wall-bound torches near the shrine were touched by fire. The Servants were barely conscious but still sitting upright in anticipation. When the fires subsided to a mellow hum, Zara blinked. And there she appeared. The lady of the dawn herself. Sita.

A divine glow radiated from her. The goddess was neatly tucked in a pristine rose-coloured sari, tightened around the waist with a gold belt. Other gold ornaments had their place on her sacred visage – arm bands, bangles, necklaces and so much more. She looked upon the worshippers with a loving gaze. Nothing but warmth could be seen in her dark, doe eyes. "(The earth is your treasure, and I am the key)," she announced. "(The earth opens itself to you, and so will the heavens)."

She walked down the steps, each footstep of hers resounding with a jingle of her anklets. She made her way down the aisle, touching each Servant on the forehead and imbuing them with a spirit of her own breath. With every touch, each Servant smiled in blissful stupor, eyes closed to fully embrace the experience. Sita's lips curved upwards in a reciprocal joy.

And finally, the goddess came upon Zara. Upon meeting her attentive eyes, Sita froze. A cold spear-like intensity pierced her chest. Zara said nothing, merely staring. Something about her startled the goddess. It could have been anything from the tainted aura her soul gave off – unusual of this place – to the malicious intent in her eyes. Or it could be the sounds of a low huffing and growling that made itself aware to Sita.

Zara smiled too, in a one-sided smirk that betrayed her plans. The deep growling grew closer. Sita saw the Hellhound cozy up to Zara from behind.

"(Mother Sita, I crave your guidance. Show me what a real woman should be like)," Zara said, with faux imploring in a kind of serpentine, seductive way.

"(W- Who are you?)" Sita stepped back.

"(I am lost. You must help me)," Zara continued without so much as a blink of the eye. Her heartbeat rose in observation of Sita's apparent discomfort. She stood up. Sita took another step back. "(You must come with me. Come to my home and make me a woman. Help me be as pure as you.)"

"(Pure?)" Sita spat back, brows furrowing in fury. "(There isn't a pure bone in your body. What has done this to you, child?)"

"Hm." Zara paused for a moment, taking in the grimace on Sita's face. It seemed almost like disgust. Some kind of self-consciousness passed over Zara. She thought of it as something to be proud of, like a mark left on her by Hell. "(Strength.)"

"(Strength doesn't corrupt. It molds us into something brighter than we were before)," Sita argued. "(Who sent you and what do you want?)"

"(Your questions will be answered soon)," Zara said in turn. "(I need you to come with me)."

"(You're very young. Who's making you do this? What are they doing to you? You can tell me)," Sita probed. "(I'm here to help. I can make them go away. I can show you true happiness.)"

Zara rolled her about what she said made rage shoot through her from feet to head like a volcanic eruption. Orias was sensitive to her emotions. He drew closer to Sita with slow steps, bowing his head lower and releasing a rougher growl. Sita trembled at the sight of the monstrous dog at Zara's side. "(No, you can't)," Zara snarled. "(There is someone who can, and you will meet him. Surrender now.)"

She brandished a pair of cuffs from underneath her garb, stolen from the British Men of Letters when Lucifer freed her. Sita grew alarmed at the sight of that. "(I will do no such thing, little girl)," Sita stayed defiant. "(And you should repent for your behaviour. I fear for your soul.)"

"(My soul is in good hands)," Zara countered. "(You don't have to make this difficult. Come with me and no blood will be shed. Unless, that's what you want.)" Orias circled a worshipper, sniffing his neck. The worshippers, by this point, were all catatonic, taking no notice of what was happening right before them. The Hellhound looked back at Sita once, cognisant of the terror his scarlet eyes could invoke. "(Orias is very hungry.)"

Sita's eyes widened at the implication. "(Violence is unholy!)" she bellowed. "(Stop this now!)"

Watching through Ser Adler's eyes, Jack was riveted to what was going on below him. "This one's gonna be a doozy, Ser Adler," Jack muttered to the lizard through their telepathic link. He let out a sigh. He realised it wasn't going to end well. He paid attention to the cues, hoping nothing would force his hand. As he watched, a distant screaming rang through the air. His sclerae rolled back into their normal positions, returning his hazel irises. His head jerked towards the direction of the sound. It was the village. It was on fire. There was fire spreading across the garden beds and the many houses. And there was a lot of fire from one very particular house. "Dammit, Zara. Don't tell me you left the stove on…"

"(I can stop him if you want. How badly do you want me to?)" Zara challenged, cool as the wind that blew in these parts. She spun the cuffs around her index finger. Hesitation gripped the goddess who only gulped and trembled. Without warning, Orias pounced onto one of the entranced Servants and clawed his torso open. Sita flinched, arms frozen in utter helplessness as the mutt feasted on the innards. "(He's not going to stop.)"

"(You shed blood in my home?)" Sita roared. "(You just crossed a line.)"

"(Just?)" Zara huffed. She almost laughed.

Sita shut her eyes, now using a power she hadn't used in ages. Eyes glowing, her thoughts reached into the pillars and awakened something in them. At first, there was just a faint rumbling. Then the ground shook. A hand pushed its way out of the pillar. Then a shoulder emerged. A whole torso. A whole person. Each pillar spawned one of them. Guards.

Jack snapped to attention at the sight. "Uh oh," he worried. He looked back at the village. The fire had become worse. Way worse. There were villagers running about, grabbing inconsequential volumes of water to put out the flames. Imagine the people who are still asleep, a voice told him. He looked back down. Zara was already engaging in combat, swinging that dastardly archangel blade around. Orias was at her side, taking down the stone soldiers. Ah shit, he cursed. He needed to make a quick decision.

Adler, keep an eye on her. Jack flew down to the centre of the flames. He aimed a palm at a burning bush, directing wind towards it. The flames danced but didn't shrink. Am I gonna do it? It's been a while… A sense of obligation compelled him. A sense of caution made his movements reluctant. He held out his arms and looked up at the dark sky. A ray of orange had painted itself across the horizon, but it was still pitch black when he looked straight up. Come on… a tiny drop of rain plopped onto his cheek. He concentrated again, looking into himself.

You're the Stormbringer. You should be able to do this. But when he tried to find the storm, a flash of images ambushed him. Death. War. Bodies piling up. Jack shut his eyes tightly, letting out a stifled groan. His breathing grew heavy. "This isn't the time to wimp out," he told himself. He looked up again and extended his awareness, trying to feel the atmosphere. As soon as he let go of himself and felt his spirit pull on the humidity in the air, the flashbacks hit again.

"Flood us with rain, Stormbringer!" they cried out – the voices in his memory. "Wash us free of sin! Drown us!"

It was like being punched in the gut. Jack doubled over. The breath flew right out of him, as if bringing a cool breeze meant a sacrifice of his own respiratory pathway. The voices, the images never ended. A new screaming replaced them, however. He looked up to see a child standing on the minimalistic mud road. The child's face was damp with tears. The child was alone. Their eyes met across the blazing distance. Jack's gaze hardened. He stood back up, held his arms up again and looked to the sky. He kept the image of that lonely child in his mind and pulled the humid air together. Winds formed first, then clouds. Finally, thunder clapped and rain fell, quenching the fire.

Jack heaved a sigh of relief. He remained in that posture, now relishing the feeling of precipitation showering his human vehicle. Water drenched his hair and clothes, inviting him into its enveloping embrace. Once he was certain the fire was gone, he dashed straight through the temple doors this time, albeit staying invisible. He first took cover behind a pillar to assess the situation. Zara seemed to have held up her own so far.

One of the spawned guards rushed toward her. She sidestepped and plunged the blade into him. The steel was so strong that it penetrated him and formed cracks. With a few punches, the guard fell apart at her feet. Just like that, Orias and Zara took down Sita's only defence, while the goddess backed away towards the wall. As the last guard went down, however, Jack saw something Zara didn't. A sleight of hand revealed Sita's intention. He knew, a second early, what Sita meant to do with the torch she was reaching for.

Sita swung her arm. The torch flew across the room towards Zara. Jack's palm immediately shot up, almost reflexively, directing a strong blast of wind through the temple. The wind knocked the torch off its trajectory and put out the resilient flame at once. Sita simply stared, jaw agape. The torch echoed on the gravel as it fell. That finally caught Zara's attention.

"(You shouldn't have done that)." Zara's lips tightened. She didn't frown. Instead, a darkness seemed to eclipse her as she maintained unbroken eye contact with the goddess.

Orias took the cue. He scrambled towards the Servants, ripping and tearing as he pleased. They screamed in pain and writhed about, but were ultimately helpless in face of the creature. Pieces of their bodies flew about as the Hellhound feasted messily and noisily.

Seeing that, Sita bawled. Her knees grew weak and she sank slowly to the ground. She couldn't stop staring at all the crimson that gushed out of their fragile bodies. The ruthlessness of the beast gripped her so fiercely she was utterly paralysed by her own helplessness. It was only when Zara's growing shadow fell on her cowering form that Sita looked back at her. With nothing left to do, Sita offered her wrists.

"(It's just like in the story)," Zara remarked. "(Ravana appeared to you as a devotee before he kidnapped you. Must be funny to experience the same thing again.)"

"(If you knew the story at all, you'd know the ending didn't favour him)," Sita summoned her last bit of courage before giving in to her captor. "(This is the path to chaos. You will be ruined.)"