Author's Note: Yo. Chapter 4 here.

The poll is in and I am proud to announce that the winning Authority is…Bannière de la Pucelle d'Orléans! Yeah, I thought it would be the winner, but I am surprised that Scaffold of Pyre had so many votes!

Anyway, this is more a transition chapter than anything else.

Sorry about that. Next one will be better, I promise.

Read, Review and check out my other stories!

Disclaimer: I do not own Campione!

"Godō" - Regular Speech

'My Everyday life!' - Thoughts

"God Slayer!" - Heretic God/Powered Up Campione speech

"Fire!" - Magic/Authority Use

Chapter 4: The Greenwich Witenagemot

The Next Day

King's Cross Station

"I hate all-day train journeys." Jean grumbled as she dismounted from the train, swiftly followed by Rebecca.

"With you there." the witch said with a wince as she stretched her legs, "Beats a car trip though."

Jean snorted in agreement. They had stayed the night at a Witenagemot safe house in Edinburgh. Sparsely furnished and dusty as all get out, it had nevertheless been a pleasant change from the Hostel bed she had slept in after her Aunt had been committed to hospital.

Taking the train from Edinburgh to London had been long, boring and made her wish for an attack by those Tritons, just to get away from fat old men who ate egg mayonnaise sandwiches and farted afterwards!

"Well, this is your home, Rebecca." Jean told her…friend? Hostage? Whatever the hell she was, she was confusing the heck out of Jean. Shaking her head, she continued, "Lead on, McDuff."

"That hoary old chestnut!" Rebecca shook her head in mock horror, "We are so buying you a thesaurus, Your Majesty."

"Will you give the royal epaulets a rest already?" Jean huffed as she carried her bag towards the ticket barriers. The Hearth Witch had been twitting her with the 'Your Majesty' quotes all day and Jean couldn't help notice the amusement in her eyes as she did so.

Friends. Urgh.

"My apologies, Your Majesty." Rebecca drawled, making the Scottish Campione sigh in exasperation.

The two girls stepped outside King's Cross onto Euston Road and started walking.

"So where are we going?" Jean asked.

"Home." Rebecca's voice was full of longing.

"Which is where exactly?" Jean probed.

"Hampstead, a two minute walk away from Hampstead Heath." Rebecca replied dreamily.

"Hampstead is one of the most expensive places to live in all of London." Jean caught up with her friend as she spoke, "You a millionaire or something?"

"Or something." Rebecca replied as they headed towards a bus stop, "My family were old nobility, very minor, but still well respected. We were one of the founding members of the Witenagemot and one of the first things we pushed through was that the main houses of the founding members were owned by the Witenagemot as a whole, with the families being the custodians of them as long as their line remains undisturbed."

"Wait, the Witenagemot was founded about a hundred and fifty years ago, in Victorian times." Jean frowned, "Nobility were almost obsolescent by that time. Was founding the Witenagemot a way to keep some of your power and prestige?"

"In a nutshell, yes." Rebecca sighed as she sat down at the bus stop, "The name I have now, Piper, isn't my real name but we buried our original name generations ago and assumed the name Piper about fifty years ago. I don't even know what my family's original name was; it's been buried so well."

"I see…and we're taking the bus why?" Jean asked with a moue of distaste.

"You really hate public transport." Rebecca observed.

"I get car sick on buses." Jean shuddered, "Never cars, just buses."

"A little warning next time?" Rebecca sighed before standing up, striding along the pavement and yelling, "TAXI!"

Ten Minutes Later…

Rebecca's House

"That has to be one of the most expensive houses I've ever seen." Jean remarked as she gaped at the house in question.

It wasn't actually any different from the other houses along the row, which was to say it was still far more upper-class than she had ever seen in her entire life. The garden was amazingly well done, very much an art form of gardening, with none of those silly garden gnomes dotting the place.

"Remind me to hire you to do my garden." she said to Rebecca, who was looking both happy to be home and nervous as to what Jean thought of her home.

"It would be my pleasure." the Hearth Witch said with a grin, "Now, lets get inside my house so we can unwind for a couple of hours before we go and visit Hell…in other words the Bureaucratic nightmare that is the Greenwich Witenagemot."

Walking towards the front gate, Rebecca touched the left-hand pillar for a moment before nodding. "The wards are still up, so Lord Alec hasn't been here."

"Huh?" Jean was confused here.

"Remember how Campione are immune to magic? That applies to wards as well. Salvatore Doni waltzed through an impressive set of wards just before he destroyed the Herarion." Rebecca explained as she opened the gate, "He destroyed them just by focussing on walking through them. All Campione can do it, no matter how powerful the wards…unless a god or Campione created them. Then it takes more than a little effort to break them."

"Go figure." Jean said with a shake of her head, "That must be one reason why Campione scare the crap out of regular magic users; we can get past the best wards and spells any mage or group thereof can think up without any effort."

"That and you guys can smash us to pieces once you get through aforementioned wards and defences." Rebecca pointed out mildly as they walked up to her front door, pulling a key out as she spoke, "The former is a nuisance, the latter is far more deadly than that and one we avidly try to avoid at all costs."

She put the key in the lock, twisted it left and right before with drawing it from the lock and opening the door and beckoning Jean in.

"Enter my home as my honoured guest, bound by nothing, oh Campione." she said formally, and the Scottish girl could almost see the hundred year old wards parting to admit her into the house.

"My thanks." she replied and stepped inside the house, the wards sealing themselves shut behind her.

"Sorry for the ceremony, but otherwise you would have shattered the wards and Mother would be most upset by that." Rebecca apologised, "Still, now you're here. Let's relax."

Jean didn't day anything as she was busy being struck dumb by the amount of power Rebecca was emanating now. She had been -for the sake of comparison- a campfire, magic-wise, before stepping into the house. Potent and directed, yes, but not all that powerful.

Now? Now Rebecca was a furnace. Powerful and emanating age like the swords that Poseidon had given them. She hadn't been joking when she said that most of her power was tied up in her Hearth. She must have been running on maybe ten, maybe fifteen percent of her total reserves until setting foot back here.

"Now that's a transformation." she remarked to her host, "You weren't kidding about how much stronger you are here."

Rebecca grinned, "Yep. Right now, I could hold off a Great Knight…if I'm lucky. Now, I feel like a pot of tea…"

Ten minutes later and the two women were sitting down in the living room (one of them anyway), munching on a tray of hot scones with liberal amounts of strawberry jam and butter smeared on top of them, accompanied by a pot of Earl Grey tea, the real stuff, not the cheap crap you buy in the supermarkets.

"I usually don't drink tea, but this is some good stuff." Jean remarked.

"One of the advantages of being a member of the Witenagemot is that we have access to some of the finest foods and drinks in the former British Empire. Considering that used to be a third of the globe, it is a considerable perk." Rebecca replied.

"I'm sure." Jean said wryly, "Now…who is it we have to talk to here?"

"In London? If we want to, we could trawl through the proper channels, but I hate all the paperwork, so we'll go for Plan B." Rebecca replied with a wicked grin, "We go straight to the person who sent me on the mission and explain things to her…Princess Alice, the Speaker of the Witenagemot."

"The precog." Jean nodded before adding, "The way you're ginning like a schoolgirl ready to unleash a prank of epic proportions on a rather strict schoolmistress leads me to believe you are plotting something, Rebecca."

"How intuitive of you." Rebecca smirked, "I need you to Campione yourself to the hilt with Princess Alice's guardian/taskmistress, Miss Ericson. She is a redoubtable woman who is disliked by more than a few members of the Witenagemot because of the airs she puts on about herself due to her status as Princess Alice's guardian."

"Tin God persona?" Jean asked and received a nod, "Good. I know how to handle her sort. Flights?"

"I'd like to stay at least one day here to make sure that the wards on the house are up to scratch." Rebecca replied, "After that…flights to France are fairly quick and common, especially in summer. I doubt it will be a challenge to arrange seats in first class at some point."

"Good." Jean looked down at her clothes. Comfortable and subdued, they were not the kind of thing that was designed to impress people. "Shopping first? If I'm going to Campione this woman, a good first impression seems the ticket."

"Girl, London has more clothes shops than you can shake a stick at." Rebecca laughed, "If you really want to impress people though, look no further than my family's magically expanded walk-in wardrobe. We haven't thrown something out in centuries, just in case it might be useful down the line. I'm fairly sure we have something that can be thrown together that would be suitable for a King of Kings."

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Two Hours Later

Princess Alice's Residence, Greenwich, London

"That is one powerful magic barrier." Jean said mildly. She and Rebecca stood before the barrier surrounding Princess Alice's home and were rather impressed by the complexity and power of the barrier. It could certainly stop an army of mages from breeching it for quite some time.

"It is." Rebecca agreed. She was dressed in a plain back dress and solid, sensible black shoes with no heels. In one hand, she carried her wand, a breech of the etiquette of the Witenagemot to carry it bared on their property or so she had told Jean, "I believe that the barrier is even stronger than it was last time I was here. Looks like Lord Alec dropped by. Miss Ericson always powers up the barrier to an even higher level of strength after one of his visits, for all the use it does."

"Stubborn woman." Jean remarked, "Well, time to play my part."

She held out her hand and intoned, "Oh Weapon of mine, golden and invincible. Come forth, so we may do battle with our foes!"

The golden trident shimmered into existence in midair, slowly gravitating to Jean's hand. She grasped it as if she had been born to wield it, the power of the [Tríaina] Authority thrumming through her body.

This second incantation (or 'aria' as Rebecca had told her the Witenagemot called the words of power needed to use Divine Authorities) summoned the full power of the Tríaina Authority, rather than using it as a conduit for one of the other Authorities. In this form, she had enhanced speed, strength, endurance, agility and reactions, as well as having every Ancient Greek trident fighting style available to her.

The best part of this version of the Tríaina was that it wasn't limited to twice a day use like it was for all the other Authorities, not including whatever passive use she got out of the bonus abilities that the Authorities granted her.

Twice a day wasn't too bad by the standards of Campione Authorities, Rebecca had informed her. Several Authorities that were possessed by Campione could only be used once per day, sometimes in conjunction with several other restrictions, like specific lunar cycles or a sacrifice of blood or something.

Jean was just glad she had an Authority that she could call upon whenever she wanted, even although it screamed the identity of the god she had slain to all and sundry.

"Now then…let's see how tough this barrier really is." she smirked before spinning the trident one-handedly, then slamming the triple-pointed spear head-on into the barrier in an exact re-enactment of Poseidon's attack on Rebecca's {Shield of Hephaestus} only a couple of days ago.

The barrier shattered as easily as thin glass being struck by a rock, the sound of a shriek of shock and pain coming from inside the house, making Jean look startled.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Miss Ericson." Rebecca replied with a frown, "She must have been trying to actively add her own magic to the barrier in order to prevent you from breaking through, and suffered a magical backlash from being connected directly to the barrier."

Jean dismissed her trident and started to walk towards the house. "Well then, let's go and render some aid to her then."

Rebecca followed Jean and eyed the clothes she wore critically. Three-inch black heels, black skin-tight trousers, a white shirt and a black trench coat were what they had decided upon. Black was a powerful colour and was intimidating on a Campione, as proven by both John Pluto Smith and Marquis Voban.

Being a Hearth Witch, she was more than up to the task of altering the clothes to fit Jean in less than five minutes per article of clothing. The shoes fit her like a glove, so those were alright to be left alone.

Hearth Witches were, put simply, like the Wicked Witch from Hansel and Gretel. They had power over the house and home and all the things that went with it. Cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, gardening…her main spells were designed to work through those actions, empowering them and adding effects to them.

The clothes that she had altered for Jean, just to give an example, were now far tougher and more resilient than they first appeared to be, approximating the toughness of the best leather armour in existence, whilst maintaining the flexibility and texture of the original material.

Jean reached the door and looked at Rebecca for guidance. The Witch just gestured for her to go in. With a shrug, Jean grabbed the door knob and opened the door, stopping at the sight she beheld in the foyer.

A tall woman with dirty blond hair done up into a tight chignon bun and wearing a dark turquoise dress was sprawled out on the floor, gulping in air like she had just run a marathon. By the looks of it, she wasn't going anywhere fast.

"Hello there. Miss Ericson, isn't it?" Jean greeted her cheerfully, "I'm Jean Campbell, the Eighth Campione. Sorry for bringing down your barrier like that, but it didn't seem like you'd be willing to let me through, so I let myself in."

"Y-You…what do you want with Princess Alice?!" the woman rasped.

"I need to have a little chat with her." Jean replied with an airy wave of her hand, "I know she has responsibilities, but this isn't a request. Surely you understand that about Campione by now?"

Judging from the sour expression on her face, the woman knew that very well.

"Now, I'm sorry to leave you like this, but you are old enough to not need assistance in getting up…once you recover anyway." Jean smiled cheerfully, "Come along Rebecca. We're off to see the Princess."

"As you command, Your Majesty." Rebecca replied demurely as she followed her into the house.

"Rebecca Piper! What is the meaning of this?!" Miss Ericson spluttered.

"Don't answer that." Jean ordered shortly before turning back to Miss Ericson. "Look, I'm still not used to this whole 'Campione' thing, but you are starting to irk me. I'd suggest keeping quiet until I leave. Understood?"

Miss Ericson evidently did, because she glared at her once more before turning her head away in distaste.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Jean smiled, "Rebecca, lead the way."

The two women left the foyer and Rebecca led Jean to a room on the second floor. This door was the same as any of the others, but the Hearth Witch strode towards it like it was lit up with neon lights.

Knocking on the door, Rebecca called out, "Lady Alice? It's Rebecca Piper. I have brought the Eighth Campione to see you."

A cheerful voice called back, "Come on in Rebecca."

Opening the door, Rebecca then stood to one side and bowed Jean in.

"Rebecca, I will get back at you for every time you twit me with royal etiquette. I hope you know that." Jean told her calmly as she entered what looked like a parlour. It was very…cute. The room was coloured in shades of white, cream and pink, with hand-carved dressers and bookshelves around the room.

In the centre of the room was a circular table, at which was sat a young woman who, Jean could tell, was not actually there.

"Princess Alice, I presume." Jean said with a small smile, "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"Jean Campbell, Eighth Devil King." Alice bowed slightly, "I bid you welcome to my home. My apologies for Miss Ericson's…rudeness, but she has issues with Campione because Alec continually barges in all the time."

"The thief seems fond of violating other people's homes." Jean observed, "Although right now, I cannot very well have any moral superiority as I have just done the same."

"I would have invited you in, had Miss Ericson not activated that barrier to keep my Ectoplasmal Body Projection contained to within this house." Alice waved dismissively, "Think nothing of it. Now, Rebecca. You succeeded in your mission, just as I foresaw you doing."

"Th-thank you, my Lady." Rebecca flushed as she dipped a curtsey, "It was Jean's plan that carried the day however."

"I would have died had you not been there to help me, Rebecca." Jean interjected quietly, "Don't sell yourself short. You may not be a Knight, but you fought well."

"Exactly." Alice nodded, "When I Saw the battle that took place, it was terrifying for me to watch, yet you, who was right there at Ground Zero, managed to maintain your composure in the face of an almost full-power Heretic God. You should be proud of yourself; many veteran Knights have not managed to do so."

"A-anyway…" Rebecca was not accustomed to so much praise, especially from one of the two most powerful witches of modern times, so she decided to strategically move on, "Jean, shouldn't you tell Lady Alice about Lady Pandora's instructions?"

"Fine." Jean gave Rebecca a knowing look before turning to Alice, "My adoptive mother Pandora has directed that I go to France in order to deal with a Heretic God that is due to rise there imminently."

"So Alec was telling the truth." Alice said, a look of curiosity in her voice and expression, "You can remember the time you spend in the Netherworld."

"As I told Rebecca, the reason Campione cannot recall their time in the Netherworld is because they deny their relationship with Mother Pandora." Jean shrugged, "She is our link to and from the Netherworld and our relationship with her determines the strength of that link. I have the best relationship with her, so I can remember most of what occurs there."

"Fascinating." Alice remarked, "Anyway, do you have any idea what the Heretic God in France might be?"

"None, just that it is one who I am 'the best person to face it.'" Jean replied, "That leads me to believe that it is either another Sea God or a Fire God."

"Makes sense." Alice nodded, "It could be a God of Steel though."

"A what now?" Jean asked.

"Gods of Steel are Heretic Gods who embody the sword, who step out of myths to do with forging and tempering swords or else wielding them." Alice explained, "Gods of the Forge, Gods of War, Gods of Battle, Gods of the Military…all who are born to create or wield swords and use them in battle are Gods of Steel. Tell me, who in France's history and legend would best fit that category?"

"Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orléans." Jean replied immediately, "She is one of the best known women in the world. However…she was a mortal woman who was martyred after her execution by the Church. I thought we were talking about Heretic Gods?"

"Myth and Legend extend beyond deities Jean." Rebecca told her, "Lord Alec has an Authority from the Fallen Angel Ramiel, as well as from the three Furies and the Behemoth. None of them are gods, merely creatures and beings of legend. Christian Saints, like Joan of Arc, can materialise as Heretic Gods."

"Well hell." Jean sighed, "So not only do I have to keep an eye out for the gods of old walking about, I have to watch out for ancient beasts and people of folklore wandering about as well. Who next? Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf?"

"That would be amusing to see!" Alice chortled, "The Authorities you would gain would be rather interesting."

"…Let's hope that the ones from the Brothers Grimm don't come to life." Jean said with a sigh, "Now, that leads on to my next request…I'd like to keep the identity of the god I slew as much a secret as I can, so Rebecca will be coming with me on my trip to France."

"That seems a fairly easy request to fulfil." Alice nodded, "I already stonewalled Alec when he demanded to know who you slew. Your confidence unnerved him somewhat."

"That was my intent." Jean replied as she clenched and unclenched her fists, "He had the gall to break into my home and make demands of me. The nerve of the man…"

"He does that to everyone." Alice laughed, "Especially me. He really irritates Miss Ericson. Anyway, by all means take Rebecca with you. She is one of the most capable members of the Witenagemot and will surely be of great assistance to you. I'll explain the circumstances to the rest of the Witenagemot myself."

"My thanks." Jean inclined her head at the woman in gratitude, "Might I ask why you feel…odd? It's been bugging me since I first saw you."

"Ah. That's because this is an ectoplasmal clone body that I have used Astral Projection to possess." Alice explained, "My body is very weak because of my magic's strength, so I use this method to attend meetings and the like."

"Ouch. That has to suck." Jean had to wince at that. She liked being active and the thought of having such a weak body was horrifying to her.

"I'm used to it." Alice replied with a shrug, "My power helps so many people, so being physically weak is a minor inconvenience compare to the good I can accomplish with my powers…such as ensuring that you and three Campione aren't killed by the Sea God for example."

"Many thanks for that by the way." Jean said dryly, "Might I ask why you chose Rebecca? I am grateful that she came to my aid of course, but sending a Hearth Witch to fight a Heretic God is a little…reckless, don't you think?"

"I fully agree, but I Saw, using my precognition ability, that sending anyone other than Rebecca would result in them arriving too late to be of much good." Alice replied, "They would have dawdled on the way, treating it as a holiday rather than a serious mission. By the time they arrived on Iona, Poseidon would have manifested, crushed you to death in your house and reclaimed his Authorities. Alec, Doni and Voban would have died also, not to mention countless other innocent lives lost."

"My God." Rebecca said shakily.

"That is my burden; to know the most likely outcome of the future if a certain action is taken." Alice sighed, "Fortunately for all of us, Rebecca was amenable to go on the mission I gave her, so everything turned out as it should."

The ectoplasmal clone shook her head as if to dispel the gloomy atmosphere. "Now then, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" she asked with a cheerful smile, "I would like to hear your tale in your own words. Visions do not give full justice to events, even ones as clear as mine."

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The Next Day

Heathrow Airport, London

Jean was more than slightly pleased by how things were going. She had Princess Alice's support, as well as Rebecca's company. She was a King of the World, bound by nobody.

Except these damn customs officials.

"How long are they going to take!?" she hissed to Rebecca as they stood in line as the people were sent one by one through full body scanners to check for concealed items. This was the answer to those people who had objected to body searches, but it was slow as hell.

"Easy does it Jean." Rebecca said soothingly, "We're just five minutes away from boarding the plane. Keep calm. The last thing we need is for you to have Airport Rage."

The Scottish girl huffed and distracted herself with remembering the squawks of protest from Miss Ericson as they had left Princess Alice's residence. The staid woman still hadn't recovered from the backlash of the barrier collapse an hour after Jean entered the house, which Rebecca had found rather amusing.

"We're through!" Rebecca muttered to Jean, who realised that while she had been in la-la land, they had walked through the damn scanners.

"Finally!" Jean said with a huff and a small smile, "Next stop, Nice Côte d'Azur Airport Cannes, France!"

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Next Chapter: Knights and the Surging Sea

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