The Pandemonium Moment

By Prinder

This chapter is dedicated to Gabriel C. Hajicek, the son of a close friend of my family who died a few days ago. He was only a year old, and Catholic. May God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, along with the Virgin Mary, watch over his soul.

Rated: R for violence, death, Religious warping, and questionable topics.

Summary: Can a Devil, a Sinner, actually be the son of god? Plots and plans unfold and Yashua's limits are tested. What kind of future is at hand and what sort of deeds are afoot?

Disclaimer: Chrono Crusade does not belong to me.

Legend: "talking"

'thinking'

reading

written

"Talk Electronically sent somehow"

Chapter 9: Entwined

"But—you know me so well, Jehovah—I have something else in mind." The words of Satan pushed themselves back into the front of Jehovah's mind as he passed through the gates the gothic convent. The towering sentinel of the main building's steeple cast a chill shadow over the heads of many who bustled into the chapel's open doors; welcoming them in from in the brisk autumn air, as copper-colored leaves tumbled along the ground, for service.

"Lucifer is so funny, Adonai! Can you believe that he thought he was going to -make- the Sins? Just the same way he thought he could -make- a Holy Woman, and make himself into the Savior. Doesn't it just make you tremble with excitement?"

Church, however, and prayer service, was not what brought the esteemed Creator of Man to the sacred, yet downtrodden, paths in the valley of his people.

"His greatest mistake was choosing Emanuel to be Greed. Oh, certainly, he has all of the qualifications, but, you can't make the sins anymore than you could make the Apostles. Not unless you are Pandemonium or God; Oh, but I believe that was intent."

Jehovah's eyes narrowed, swearing once again to himself that, had he known what would have been made when he made Pandemonium, he never would have attempted in the first place—if only on the grounds that Satan was the longest winded devil that was ever damned. God discovered that he, too, would use his own name in vain to curse out something as abominable as the King of Hell. Glancing around him as he removed his had, he spotted one of the sisters.

"Here you go," She said sweetly, her disposition calm and serene as she handed out pamphlets for the Thanks-giving service; her straight brown bangs just peaking out from around her habit, obscuring her eyes as she bent herself over slightly to help an elderly woman to a seat in the front. "Let me help you, madam. This way, please."

Feeling a light tap on his shoulder, Jehovah turned quickly in surprise, taking notice of the young woman behind him. Her eyes were a soft rose color, and her hair was a fine, pale, lavender. 'Charity,' he thought, as he took in the image of Sister Azmaria.

"Excuse me, but wouldn't you like to sit down? I can help you find a seat." She offered, apologizing for startling him, her cheeks blushing a soft pink. God chuckled lightly, patting her hand in a comforting gesture.

"No, not at all, dear. I was looking for the confessional, actually." He replied, not at all surprised when she seemed to brighten with the prospect of still being able to assist him.

"I could take you there, if you would like!"

"That would be kind of you." He assented, taking her arm and allowing her to guide him back out side, along the windswept walkways to a sheltered, small hut, reclusively located among a grouping of trees. While dwarfed against the trees, the structure gave off an imposing air; why this was, it could have been many things, from the ornate carvings and stained glass windows, or maybe it was the feelings of others who had come to it before and professed sins of innumerable magnitude, it could have also been that it was a strong symbol of Catholicism—whatever the reason for it's intimidating aura, Jehovah was unfazed, and so he thanked the benevolent sister and sent her back to the church while he walked into the small enclosure.

Hearing the door open, Edward, on the other side of a screened wall—made to give those confessing a sense of anonymity—quickly tossed the magazine he was reading under his chair, and prepped himself for another one of his brilliant performances as the other man seated himself in a worn wooden chair next to the wall that separated them.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Said the voice was of an older man, though hardly older than Edward. Nodding to himself, the Elder spoke in the most somber voice he could muster.

"When was the last time you have been to confession?" Edward asked the other man.

"Never… I have never been."

'Well that explains the overused line…' Edward thought stoically before saying, "What is your sin, my son?" As much as he never enjoyed hearing about others exploits—Edward deemed God to be entirely too unfair, and sadistic, if he set it up for things to happen this way—it was the Elder's cover, and only the other nuns knew his true colors, so this was just something he would have to do. It wasn't too bad, truthfully, not many people went to the confessional, and in between visitors, he could catch up on the center-fold in the magazines that he hid in there with him. Sighing inwardly, Edward rolled his head and eyes dramatically as the other man prattled on; these days, Edward never even bothered to listen to half of what was said by the people who sat in the other half of the room. 'Just let them babble themselves out, absolve their sins, and send them on their marry way. Not so hard…' he thought, fighting to stay calm, 'Doesn't this fool know when to shut up?'

"I doubt that she will forgive me, now that she is… gone…" the man said with a sigh, finally seeming to be finished with his speech.

Elder nodded to himself, his expression perfectly obscured by the wall that divided the rooms, humming thoughtfully before opening his mouth to speak, "Well, my son, it is true that you have committed some horrendous crimes, and have been bickering with your wife for so many years—I think that she knew all along that you never intended to hurt her with your actions, and the fact that she continued to stay, despite your actions, clearly shows that, while she may not have forgiven you… she did love you. But, now, your forgiveness does not lie in her, it is up to God to say if you are to be redeemed. I will absolve part of your sins, the ones committed by you and done to others…" he trailed off, quickly raising his voice to make sure he had the other man's attention, "HOWEVER, the sins you committed against your late wife, you must pray to God to find peace."

Jehovah stood up slowly from the chair, sensing that the other man was finished and moved to open the door to leave. "Thank you, Father, I shall do that." He said, exiting the small structure and slowly making his way off of the convent grounds.

Edward chuckled with barely suppressed glee, 'The fool didn't even realize I wasn't listening!' he thought, ducking his head out of the other door to look around. Seeing Sister Anna waving him the all-clear, he reached back under his chair and grabbed his magazine before heading back to his workshop. The spunky redhead kept pace with him, being very interested in what had him so amused, and why it took the confession so long. Edward, being a bit of a gossip in his own right, wasn't about to disappoint her—at least, not without a through pounding (which she was apt to do anyway, since he fully intended to take advantage of the situation for his own personal enjoyment).

Anna tapped her boot on the dusty wooden floor, impatiently. "Well," she demanded, her voice raising higher than usual, to indicate further how she disliked being kept in the dark, "What took you so long! I'd been waiting outside for you for fifteen minutes!"

"Yeeesh! Kids these days, I haven't even sat down yet!" the old man snapped, "At least let me get comfortable first." He said, pulling himself into a chair next to his workbench, propping his elbows onto the table as he heaved a sigh of relief. 'I almost thought I wouldn't make it this time.' He thought, as he moved his hands to rest on his ever-weakening knees.

Obviously, having lived as long as he has, he wasn't quite as young as he used to be. At one time in his life, he would have gladly climbed the three flights of stairs that lead into the women's quarters and raid their stash of bloomers, or chance a peak into the bathroom, but, sadly, now he could barely make it up the stairs into the room they had arranged for Yashua to stay in while he was with the old man. Originally, that room had actually belonged to the Elder, but, as his health and vitality began to fade, he opted to move his things to the first floor. The room he slept in now may have been smaller, and actually still had the specialized barrier crucifixes imbedded into the walls at all corners—because he was too old and too lazy to remove them himself—(as it used to be Chrono's room, and before him, a storage closet for keeping especially vibrant devils locked away in equally customized containers, which were moved to the training room later) it had the bonus of not needing to climb stairs; which, as much as he hated to admit, was starting to become a problem.

"Elder? Hello? Are you in there, old man?" Anna asked, a vain in the side of her head pulsated with annoyance, "Are you going to tell me or not!"

Sighing internally, Reverend Doctor Edward Hamilton decided that he wasn't in the mood for it, and actually had the desire to get some rest (something that was also becoming more difficult these days) before putting himself back to work on perfecting his newest creation—The Hymnal Bullets. Stretching his aging lips into a lecherous grin, he held up his hands and wiggled his fingers at the young Sister. "Sure… If you let me fondle your luscious titties."

Thankfully, Anna was in a benevolent mood, and only settled for screaming at him until his ears buzzed before storming out. Edward ambled himself over to his bed, sagging ungracefully onto its tired springs. "Ugh… Old age won't get me, those girls will!" He announced, vaguely wondering why he chose to take such drastic approaches to have an excuse to escape, sweating at his good fortune for once, as he laid down and pulled the covers over is form.

Edward Hamilton thought that his demise would be set in stone, maimed for being the world's oldest pervert. The heart attack he suffered from having high cholesterol, said otherwise.

The following afternoon, Sister Kate made three phone calls:

One to Edward's great-grand niece, one to the Order's Main Branch, and one to Sisters Mary and Claire.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll let them know… We're sorry. Thank you, ma'am." Claire spoke softly into the phone before returning it to its cradle. Because of the time difference, they were in the middle of dinner when the ringing of the phone on their utility box inturrupted them. Now, as she turned to look at the others, having heard the news, she found that she had lost her appetite.

Mary, who knew the second she put down the phone that something was wrong, hastily dropped her spoon into her soup and causing it to splatter onto the table, jumped up and embraced her partner. "What—"

"He's dead." Yashua spoke, cutting her off, being able to hear the whole phone conversation with his sensitive ears. He fisted his small hands as he trembled, seeming barely able to suppress the feelings that cracked and sizzled in the air in the form of pure devil energy. Clamping his eyes shut, he surged to his feet and ran out of the room. "I'm sorry."

"H-hey! Awwah," Mary exclaimed, as she ran after him, "Yashua, wait!" but the devil boy was not in a mental state to listen or understand her pleas. Claire, snapping out of her daze, moved to follow them before Duffau, who had been watching the whole scene in silence, spoke.

"Let them go." He said, eating his soup as though nothing had actually happened.

Claire stopped just shy of reaching the open door before hearing him and she turned to look over her shoulder at the duke. The light from the late evening sun that filtered in through the large windows did nothing to soften his dark and imposing visage, in fact, it seemed to only serve as a reminder just how much of an opposite to the light he was. Inwardly, Sister Claire repeated the parting words that Sister Kate had given them before they left the Order. Though she made great efforts to hide it; she was terrified of one of the highest ranked devils to ever live on earth. She couldn't tell if Mary was just as frightened as she was, but she did know that her fears were not completely irrational.

"The old man was close to him, was he?" Duffau asked, pausing to sip the cream of broccoli soup from his spoon and making eye contact with her. Obsidian black meeting dry-moss green in a silent battle to see who would crumble first under the other's stare.

"The Elder looked after him when he first came to New York. Yashua didn't want to leave him but the Elder promised that he would still be there to welcome him back." Claire explained calmly, not taking her eyes off of the older devil.

Duffau pushed his bowl away slowly, once the contents of it had been removed, and removed the napkin from his lap. "Did he?" he queried, his voice toneless.

"It wasn't in so many words, but that was what he meant."

"A pity that God didn't seem to agree." The devil duke commented as he stood up, pushing his chair away from the table.

Claire followed his path as he walked around the table and over to the door where Mary and Yashua had fled the room from. "Sir, Yashua was abandoned, from what I've heard from the other sisters, and the thought of others leaving… frightens him." She reiterated, "Sister Azmaria said that he told her that he was told that he made his father die, and he asked why a monster gets to live, and not his father, instead. This is a hard blow for him."

"If his glamour had been perfect, many of the things he experienced in the past may not have happened. Why he was born without it in place is unknown, but it is clear that he is not like normal devils."

"What do you mean, sir?" Sister Claire asked, curious.

"His glamour is in place due to conscious effort, if someone were to break that concentration, it would easily come off. For normal devils, the glamour is something as natural as breathing." Duffau replied, continuing down the hall, tracking Yashua's scent to where the boy and Sister Mary had gone. Claire followed close behind him, sorting the information away to tell Mary later.

"Sister Kate asked us to come back to New York for a short time to attend the funeral." She said. "I don't think it would be problem if we took a break from your training." She added hesitantly, unsure of how the devil would react.

"That is unnecessary, I can continue to instruct him where ever he goes. I will come with you to New York." Duffau replied, his eyes narrowed, as though daring her to protest. Claire shrank back slightly, but nodded her assent.

"You will have to stay out of the Magdalene grounds," She said, but Duffau gave her no indication that he had heard her as they came to a stop outside of the young devil's room, the door still open from when Mary must have barged in after him. Claire peered around the devil in front of her to see into the room. Mary and Yashua were both sitting on his bed, or, rather, Mary was sitting on the bed and Yashua was laying in a semi-curled up ball with his face on the blonde's knee. Claire fought down the urge to blush at the image, reminding herself that he was just turned three years old a few months ago; and was still to innocent to mean anything more by it than just needing motherly comfort. Mary, for her part, seemed to be handling the situation well, patting the boy on his back, between his shoulder blades, while she mumbled soothing words to him.

Seeing the shadows in the doorway, Mary paused her motions and looked up at them, smiling in a bright, yet somehow strained, sort of way, before lifting her other free hand to her lips in a gesture for them to be silent.

Yashua, hearing their footsteps come into the room, bit his lip and forced himself to be quiet for a moment before lifting his head from the Sister's lap, turning it slightly to regard them, the blood-drop gems on his forehead gleaming with something that Claire could not describe. Opening his mouth, his vocal chords screeched against themselves like broken glass as he bid himself to ask, "When can we go?" his tone pulling at Claire's heart. Duffau remained motionless, completely unfazed.

Claire swallowed the small lump that formed in her throat, "Sister Kate said that she would wire the money to us. Once we have it, we will buy our tickets and we'll take the train back." Pausing, she smiled, "Now that you can disguise yourself, we won't have a problem riding with other people."

"Yeah!" Marry chirped, shaking the young devil's shoulder encouragingly, "I bet the Elder's looking down at you from heaven right now! You know he's always wanted you to learn how to do that!" she said, thinking it would cheer him up. Yashua turned his tearstained face to look at the blonde Sister, his expression telling her without words that he felt responsible, effectively silencing the woman, and sending the mood in the room spiraling down into an uncomfortable quiet.

Back in New York, Sister Kate did not have the slightest idea what was happening to her out-of-state subordinates. Though, normally, she would have found it comforting to dwell on thoughts of those far away, as soon as she returned her phone to its bed it rang. She answered on the second ring, "This is Sister Kate."

"Sister Kate, this is Minister Decard," a bitterly familiar, male, voice said on the other end of the line, not pausing for acknowledgment, he said, "I heard about the -unfortunate- news. You must be devastated!"

Kate fought the urge to growl. Decard was from the Florida Branch and was constantly plotting for ways to abscond with what he considered a cushy position in New York. It was a known fact that the New York Branch housed the very best exorcists around, even the Students there were considered to be leagues ahead of the other branches. It was also a well known fact that Decard thought it was only luck and good fortune that landed Kate, his rival since their Novice days, the position when Reverend Hamilton stepped down.

Sister Kate scowled at the receiver, as though it would transmit her displeasure to the man on the other end. 'That miserable, scheming, bastard! He's going to try to use this as an excuse to get me moved to another branch!'

As though oblivious to Kate's hunch, Decard continued to ramble on the other end of the line, "It must be a very emotional time for you, I understand. Which is why I asked the Main Branch—"

'Ohohhhh No, no! No you don't.' She thought, before cutting him off, already two steps ahead as she said, in an altogether too cheerful tone, "That's so GENEROUS! Come to think of it, I had been wondering what I was going to do. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I was thinking about what would happen when I would retire. Now that Edward Hamilton is gone, there is a space open for someone to take his place as our researcher, and I'm confident that I could fill those shoes."

On the other end, Kate could almost hear the gears in Decard's thick head grinding. Inwardly, she suppressed a chortle, 'Thought you had it all figured out, didn't you, bimbo? I let you have unsupervised control once, I'm not going to be so lenient this time.' She could just picture his blonde hairpiece slipping off of the top of his cranium as he would lurch forward in his chair, his face screwed up tightly with surprise and confusion.

As though she were capable of seeing visions, Decard positioned himself in the same manner that she had in her mind. 'She is making this far too easy. Last time it took an unanimous order from the Chairmen before she even relinquished her position TEMPORARY, why isn't she putting up a fight now?' his mind reeled. He had been expecting a battle of epic proportions from the raven-haired Reverend Mother, not this near open invitation to her doorstep. "W-Well! That's very… M-m-mature of you," he stammered.

"When should I be expecting your arrival?" her voice asked, calmly, on the other end of the line as he struggled to right his hairpiece; he quickly glanced out the window to see if any of his exorcists had seen, fearing that if they did, he would be made into a laughing stock. Realizing that he had been silent too long, Decard cleared his throat.

"I suspect that I will be there in time for the funeral, I have to pay my respects to the good man, after all." He answered. Kate, on the other end, bit back a snort.

'Please…Elder hated you, and you would only go to his funeral to make sure that he was actually dead.' She thought, recalling more than one occasion in her youth where the Elder had gone out of his way to make Decard's life difficult for her benefit; she never had to ask, she knew that the Elder had the same opinion for Decard as Decard had for him. "I guess even you can respect him, Decard." She commented offhandedly, sidestepping the path the conversation was about to take.

"Now that things are settled, I expect my room to be ready when I get there. Good day!" He announced, abruptly hanging up before she could reply.

Kate growled at the mouthpiece on the phone before slamming it back down onto it's hook. "WHY THAT LITTLE—!" She screamed, unleashing her rage on the empty office. 'He only said that to get under my skin!' her mind bellowed as she glared holes into the door at the other end of the room, 'His room, INDEED! The HEADMASTER'S bedroom, he means!' Sighing, she picked up her pen and returned to marking up reports, saying unto the empty air, "I will have to encourage the other sisters to finish packing up Edward's belongings ahead of schedule, so we can move my things into his place. It won't be easy, the death was hard on them, but we have little choice now." Hearing a knock on the door, she looked up, "Enter."

Sisters Azmaria and Anna walked into the room, the later of the two bore slightly red and puffy eyes and nose; showing that she had been crying. The other, Anna, who had been the last to see him alive, looked little better, but was actually doing worse than her partner; Sister Kate knew this because she had received a report from Father Raphael, the head doctor, that mentioned Anna's breakdown earlier that day, though it did not give many details.

"How is the progress?" Kate asked carefully, weary that any wrong move at this time could cause them to fall apart.

Azmaria, wiping her nose with a handkerchief, answered, "The Embalmers have removed his body."

Anna nodded quickly before raising her own voice to add, "I just finished telling all of the other exorcists and Brother Michael has agreed to help organize the packing and delivering of his things to his great-grand niece," before having to stop, as her voice cracked painfully and she had to cover her mouth. Azmaria patted her friend's shoulders with her hands before finishing the speech for her.

"Father Gabriel said that he would catalogue all of his experiments and try to see if the Elder left any notes or a log of some sort to explain his progress." She said, her ruby eyes dull and lacking their usual luster. Sister Kate shook her head inwardly, had she known that this would happen, she would not have sent them out on late-night patrol, as it was very clear that not only were they still grieving, but they were nearly dead on their feet.

Closing her eyes briefly in thought, Kate nodded to herself before looking at them again, saying sternly, "Go get some rest. You are dismissed."

Curtsying politely in turn, both nuns turned and left with barely a murmur of thanks to their leader. Once the door had closed gently behind them, Kate reached up and removed her glasses to rub her eyes, trying to convince herself that she had simply strained them with her work that made them water up.

'It's only the work. Yes, that has to be it.' One part of her mind said, while the other part quickly said a small prayer, asking for forgiveness for lying to herself before completely giving in to the loss.

Sitting on a green bench in Central Park, God quirked his lips up slightly as he amused himself by feeding the birds bread crumbs as he contemplated Lucifer's next move. 'So he will attempt to make the same mistakes again. Satan must have a very good reason for not telling Lucifer that he can trigger Magdalene to recall herself without the ritual of atonement—a rite, when used, that causes serious repercussions. Those were the reasons why I let her soul keep the stigmata, to serve as a deterrent.'

Lifting his face so that the sun slipped under the brim of his hat, the pigeons scattered and took flight around him. 'But that only means that he needs the girl's causality to spiral out of control, but for what reason…'

"To give her perversion the upper-hand."

Adonai's eyes narrowed in the glaring sunlight, his lip quirked up with bemused irony; the maker of light, shielding himself from the light, afraid of his own shadow. Closing his eyes, he allowed his essence to be carried to the celestial voice that beckoned him. "Pandemonium, why are you helping me? I thought you agreed with Satan…"

In the darkness, her skin glowed pale, silver, light. Though he was still in the land of the living, God had no boundaries, no living flesh to hold him down, and he traveled through over-lapping spaces that made Heaven and Hell in the same way that one would fall into dreams. Slowly, Pandemonium turned her head to regard the creator, her eyes lipid pools of blood shook with underlying torment and distrust.

"It was because of her first instability that Satan was able to leave Hell. The same way you used her when she became tainted to leave Heaven; you made her into a temporary perversion to allow you passage." She said, her lips unmoving. God flinched inwardly, knowing that it was his fault alone that made her look at him in such a way. Power-hungry, he could accept that was one of his faults, but if God had one thing besides having a jealous bone, it was the unwavering compassion he held for beings that he created; regardless of whether they were human, angel, devil, or even the potent woman before him now.

"It needed to be done. It was only a spit second that was needed for us to cross onto Earth, the perfect openings were made by Lucifer." He responded with a sigh. It seemed, that even though he made everything around them, he had little control over anything. Certainly, just as things are made, they can be unmade, but that was the sum total and full scope of his abilities without Pandemonium. The bitter fact was, without her power, her astral, all he could do was make and destroy things, and in a situation that involved Satan and Lucifer, he needed skills that he did not have on his own to face them directly.

"But you both lack power. So it will be a race between the both of you, if Lucifer performs the Ritual of Atonement, to make it to me before the other." She spoke, seeming to drive the all too obvious point he had made within himself, home. Thought marred Adonai's aged features.

"So he intends to use Magdalene's causality to open the gates to the other worlds. Which will be how Lucifer will brake into my domain…" God mused, "How very cunning. While my angels and I are busy trying to deal with your son, Satan would be making his way to you, presumably with me completely unaware of his scheme."

"Yes…" she nodded, returning him to his place in the park, "You must not let him, Jehovah, if you do, he will destroy everything."

Opening his eyes to the physical world, looking up to the sky, he murmured, "Not just destroy, dear Pandemonium, it is worse than that. If it were destruction, I would have no trouble at all in stopping him, no, his goal isn't to annihilate the human race, but to twist and reshape the structured fabric of space and time itself and the roles of all who encompass it." He glared at the glowing orb that threatened to blind him, conjuring a cold-front to make clouds to blot out it's face. "Already he has set Heaven and Hell into a state of flux. It will only be a matter of time before they solidify into reversed perversions."

Standing slowly, his joints groaning with mild complaint, he adjusted his coat to block out the chill air and ambled down the leaf-crowded sidewalk. 'Heaven will be full of darkness, and Hell will be full of light. Devils shall become like man, and man like devils, and angels shall fall from grace and the worlds will collide. That is Apocalypse, the perversion of Rapture, Satan's great plan, formed on the back of that ignorant Lucifer!'

Satan chuckled dryly, humoring his "Nephew," as he, once again, boasted his brilliant scheme. 'There is no mistaking it, it IS brilliant…But then again—'

"Once we have the 11 Legion in our possession, and the Sins have awakened with their seeds, we can finally set the wheels into motion." Aion announced, turning in place, his arms held wide in a flourish. Satan chuckled again and sipped his wine, seeming to not mind that the silver headed devil had interrupted his thoughts.

"And what do you suppose their seeds will be? They must be attached to strong emotions, a powerful event, for it to act as a trigger." Satan asked, leaning his back firmly into the reclined, padded, lawn chair. It was a rare occasion where they both had the urge to sit out on the porch, three floors above the room where most of their works were kept safely locked away, and Satan, for one, was not going to miss out on the chance to enjoy himself, even if it was a little too bright out for his tastes.

Aion sighed, his smile falling away and his brows drooping, showing Satan a glimpse at how worn the sinner had become, despite his attempts to put on a good show of someone who was completely and utterly confidant. "You haven't an idea what those could be, either, then…" Aion said, falling into the chair next to his mentor with a soft thump, the white trench coat hanging limply off of its sides stopping just before it touched the floor.

"I wasn't inclined to notice their interests at the time, I had my own things to take care of, you realize." Satan said snappishly, before raising a hand to silence the other's reply before continuing to say, "Still, it would be good for you to know that a seed is not limited to being only objects, living things can be a source for a seeded memory."

"Well that tells me what Rizel's seed will be." Aion muttered, causing Satan to chuckle at him once again. Silence falling upon them as Aion turned his face to watch the sunset through the white rail-posts that made the framed porch, which overlooked the Arizona desert, tan sandstone rock turning deep orange and red in the fading light. 'At least it is no longer so hot as it was in the Summer. 120 degrees in the shade, on the "cool" days was not pleasant, not even Pandemonium got to be so sweltering. It isn't so bad here, when it is almost Winter.' He thought, his mind drifting.

"Well, Lucifer, how many of the Legion do we have now?" Satan asked, returning the violet eyed devil to the subject at hand, speaking as though he were only commenting on the weather.

Squaring his shoulders to remove his back from the slouch he had, unintentionally, placed it, Aion answered, "Two. But Ewen does not realize it yet."

"Oh so you will make the Legion, then, is it? That's rather risky, considering what happened the last time you made another take on a role that was not theirs." The spiky-haired blonde commented, not failing to notice the ever-so-slight wince made by his relative.

"I was so sure that Chrono was the one. We actually grew up together, born in the same nest." Aion said, tossing his hands up into the air and shaking his head, incredulous, "He had all of the signs of being Greed! The possessiveness, the want… It fit him to a T! Who would have been able to guess that he could have been Emanuel? There is not a single holy book from any religion that suggests that a 'Son of God' was a Devil."

"That's because they were written by man, Lucifer. The men that served him, actually, were the only ones to survive him, and did not know or realize his… Hellish constructs." The King of Hell said, "And, for a fact, he takes after your father, Shekanyah, that way, who is just as greedy, if not more so, than his human counterparts." Satan chuckled, seeming amused by something, "Come to think of it," he added, "So did you."

Aion snorted and gave him a dry look over the brim of his glasses. He still did not fully buy into Satan's belief that he was, and is, the fabled Fallen Angel Lucifer, nor did he still completely accept that his "sword," Chrono, was Jesus (or, rather, Emanuel, as Satan seemed to be fond of calling him, though the names were interchangeable). The fact that the King of Hell, as he deemed himself, was willing to assist the devil who destroyed Pandemonium, did not slip past Aion's eyesight without intense scrutiny. 'It would be an immense understatement to say that I don't trust him.'

"Well, but that was a long time ago…" Satan said, as though he noticed the tenseness in the air, turning the subject away from the path it was headed. "But the question now, is, what course will you—" Satan paused, looking over his shoulder, "Come on out, Holy." He said in a clear voice, looking at the door leading into the house that was slightly ajar.

Aion, feigning indifference, leaned back in his chair and stared up at the wood paneling on the over-hang of the porch. It was slightly weathered, gray, but if he concentrated, sometimes he could make out shapes in the grain still; a task he busied himself with as the woman in question pulled the door inward until there was a large enough gap for her to slip through, not bothering to shut it behind her.

"Master," She spoke tonelessly to Satan, who lifted a graceful eyebrow at her greeting, "I came to alert you to when he had fallen asleep, as you asked me." More than her voice was dull and dead, Aion noted as he watched them from the corner of his eyes, her eyes also lacked that tell-tale luster one associates with the living, and her skin was slightly ashen in color.

Had he not known better, he would have believed her to just be an undead shell, like he had made with the Jewel Witch at one time, but it was actually more that Satan had complete and total control over her mind and body. Aion's right eyebrow twitched slightly as he contemplated the situation. 'With this power, even if I desired to deviate from my current plans, I suspect that he would not let me.' Sensing the need for a backup plan, as he was starting to feel no better than a pawn (oh how he despised that feeling. He HATED to be controlled; it was the reason he rebelled against Pandemonium in the first place, and he was not pleased with the feelings of Déjá Vu these events were making), he stood up slowly from where he had been lounging.

"Then Ewen is ready. You have seen to the preparations?" Satan questioned his puppet.

"Yes, Master."

"How delightful."

Aion cleared his throat, informing the senior devil that he had another announcement to make. Satan craned his head around, the bones shifting and cracking in his neck as he did so, to give white-clad devil his attention. "Yes?" Satan asked, prodding him to speak.

"I have an appointment to keep." Aion said cryptically.

"How tragic." Satan answered, seeming only mildly disappointed, "Shall we wait until you come back?"

"By all means, no," the reincarnated Lucifer replied, turning to walk down the stairs, his coat tails flaring out behind him as he made his descent. "Have your fun for now, and when I come back, I may have more news."

"How pleasant."

Chapter Nine End

Well, I tried to make it longer, because, when put onto a web page the word wrap is different so it ends up looking much shorter than my chapters actually are (on average, they are about 12 pages long in Word, this chapter, however, is sporting a whopping 14 pages).

It starting to get a little more warped now, isn't it? No one can trust anyone now, it seems. Oh, and before all of you start wanting to hurt me for killing off Edward, let me just say: It was a long time coming. The dude was pushing 90, for Pete's sake! Have some mercy!

Peace!

Prinder