Chapter 26: Let That One Marinate

Striding through a wasteland, lightning crashing down around them from an overcast sky despite there being no rain, Trent and Luquier approached a stereotypical demon lord's castle. Despite the fact that the Shadow Paladins as well as the retinue that was accompanying the Яogue were following the two of them in the distance, the Trent couldn't help but feel that they were entirely underwhelmed by the appearance of the castle.

"So…it was designed to be stereotypical, right? There was no way that he didn't know what he was doing," Trent asked, his expression pulled into a grimace as he studied the building.

The elf just shrugged, an air of disinterest painting her features. "Dunno, most people are either too scared to ask or just figured that there was no point in asking about his hobby."

"I thought his hobby was jerking around the people who try to kill him, like Marchosias," was Trent's response as he puzzled over just what might have inspired such a building.

Luquier looked at him in puzzlement, not knowing how to parse what he just said as she replied, "Whilst that doesn't seem out of character, he's not done that to my knowledge." It went unsaid between the two of them that her knowledge of Dark Zone Politics... Though not complete, was easily within the top five most complete.

"Wait, are the Fixers a future thing? They might be a future thing, sorry about that, didn't mean to burden you with knowledge of the future." The Cyberoid scratched at his chin as he said that, trying to figure out if he'd spilled beans he wasn't supposed to.

The assassin grimaced and seemed about ready to slap him upside the back of his head but refrained in favour of remarking, "You should really decide on whether or not you're going to do your best to keep me out of the loop or bring me totally in."

"I will, at some point. Probably. Anyway, what are the chances that he'll have any back up with him?" Kicking a small pebble across the ground, Trent couldn't help but worry about how things would go once they actually got to their destination. While he could chip away at Amon and what he was about, avoiding the demon would be a lot harder if he had any sort of assistance.

Shaking her head, Luquier couldn't keep from groaning as she kept up her brisk clip. "Of course he will, though how many will actually attend him in his meeting room will be the question." Then she looked over at Trent and laughed. "Oh worry a bit more, I don't think they can see you in the United Sanctuary. They won't advance on you until Amon gives the word. And Amon will at the least hear what you have to say first. After all, you represent Link Joker."

"Woman, you might be used to risking your life, but I'm not," the Canuck grunted, his shoulders hunched as they crept ever closer to the castle. "Hell, I'm also technically in charge of your life too, which is even more terrifying. This is why I hate leadership positions, too much pressure."

"Unfortunately for you, you've been thrust into the role of ringmaster, so you're just going to have to learn to deal with it like the rest of us," the elf answered, keeping up her usual swagger despite her words. "We're at war, and despite your own desires, you've become a crucial part of it." One of her gloved hands came up and smacked Trent strongly on the back, sending him staggering forward.

Catching himself, the Cyberoid sent her a glare. "Ringmaster, leader, lord. All titles, and all… things that I'm unsuited for." Patting his coat down, he added, "I'll leave those to the proper leader for the Craian Link Joker, to Messiah, who'll be the one to take the reins properly. I'm all too happy to be the one to kickstart this, but not be the one at the head."

"I never took you for the religious type." Luquier's eyes widened for a moment at the name that Trent had just spoken before hardening and her face settling into a scowl. "It rather doesn't matter if you intend for Messiah to take lead, figuratively or literally later on. Unless he appears before us during this campaign, the fact of the matter is that you are the one who leads. If not… You really don't understand what it means to be Clan, do you?" she asked, her voice actually slightly softening.

"No, I don't! Not the Craian meaning of it, at least!" Trent exclaimed, throwing his arms into the sky. "A family, that's what I understand clan to be, with it encircling extended family. A traceable thing." Clawing his hands, he scrubbed one through his hair.

"Well, you can trace Craian Clans," Luquier sighed. "They are a group bound by magic and laws and traditions for a common goal. But it is they who lead the clan that decides how that goal is to be met. The Head is the focal point of the magic pulling us together. Without one, we are in disarray, our own strength a pittance and what's more so very easily influenced. It's a danger that cannot be understated. But for that, the Clan Leader is also the focus and conduit of those below him or her. They are made Clan Leader not because they are powerful. They become powerful because they are Clan Leader."

She took another breath. "It's… Not something I can explain fully. Not now, some of the things I need to say… I learned them so long ago… I've forgotten the words to explain what I know."

"That's some horse shit right there," the Яogue declared, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So, you're saying that just because the one who's supposed to be the Lord isn't here, I have to take up the mantle?"

"You're the only one who can be," She replied. "The former Яeversed, including myself, belonged to another Clan first. We cannot lead this one while remaining in our original. And to do that… It would be like carving up your own soul. We are grateful, but there is a limit to what we can do. Which leaves three. The Dragon is bound to you by Geasa. And the fairy already follows you. Thus, there is One."

Trent's face twisted in annoyance. "Great, so the position is mine by default. I hate it. I hate it, I hate it. I don't want that responsibility."

"It's too late for that, dear," Luquier remarked, conversationally switching to a much more affectionate term for the man. "You've already received three different symbols of your station. The Loyalty of the Eradicator. The Revenge of the Revenger. My own Eye. And all not by some cosmic decree, but your own actions. If you didn't want to become a focal point, silly boy… You probably shouldn't have been acting like one."

The Canadian cried, crocodile tears shining in his eyes. "I wasn't though!"

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Staring up at the overly ominous, hilariously over-designed, stereotypically evil-looking citadel, Trent put his hands on his waist. Really, it was a wonder there wasn't pipe organ music.

Sighing through his nose, he let his hair hang over his face as he hung his head. "I'm not a religious man, but God above, I swear that this feels like something out of Final Fantasy." He paused, a finger coming up as he added, "One of the earlier ones, before they went into the magic-punk stuff. Like, seriously, this just makes me think of Exdeath's lair or some shit."

"Now, now, none of that," Luquier stated, adjusting her hair so that it sat in a manner she decided was tasteful and alluring. "It's meant to be over-the-top. It draws the eye, forces the attention, and leaves the recipients far more distracted and in many cases submissive than they would otherwise be. And for those who don't become submissive, cocky and overconfident."

"I mean, wouldn't it just make people think that whoever designed it had their head up their ass?" the Яogue asked, bringing his hand up to the bridge of his nose as he massaged it. "Seriously, there's gaudy, and there's this shithole."

Luquier smiled at him knowingly, and said, "Best face now. The gatekeeper is just beyond here. You might be Link Joker, but if you can't convince the doorman, we will never see Amon."

"Sorry, left that in Canada," Trent declared, schooling his features into a careful state of blankness. It was honestly something of a blessing that he had so much practice, given his usual case of resting bitchface.

Striding forward with Luquier following behind him, acting submissive to him for the show. If only. Walking up to the gates, the Яogue eyed the guard, an armoured figure wielding a pair of glaives. Watching him for a moment, Trent declared, "Open the gates. The Star-vaders have need of Amon."

A blade swept out and stopped in front of the Canadian's throat, the man's eyes narrowing behind his helm. "Perhaps that could be arranged once the fools of United Sanctuary are thrown from our lands. The push has given them and those who oppose the invasion hope. If you were capable of what you promised, then you would not come here groveling for protection."

"Organic foolishness. This matter is completely removed from that," the Яogue replied, carefully keeping his expression clear of any emotion. "We have other uses for Amon. His protection is unnecessary for us, when we can have him accomplish other objectives."

The guardsman did not immediately remove the blade from the now-Cyberoid's throat, instead slightly digging it in and cutting the synthetic flesh. Looking for a suppressed tremor or flinch.

Turning to look at the guard, Trent remarked, "The Star-vaders have no use for units that cannot follow orders. You are obsolete." As he spoke, Luquier's whip had seemingly teleported into her hand, her expression twisted into a bloodthirsty grin. Before Trent or the guard could comprehend what she was doing there was a crack and the man's head popped, as if a melon struck by a high caliber bullet.

Keeping his face as still as he could, Trent mentally counted to ten. At nine the gate began to open and a vampire in a butler's uniform bowed to the both of them. "Star-vader, Lord Amon welcomes you."

"Lead us to him, enough time was wasted," the Яogue answered, his gaze shifting to the butler. He really hoped that they wouldn't have to kill anyone else on their way to the demon.

The vampire bowed again, his professional smile not even slightly strained. "Of course, Star-vader. Shall I have a servant guide Luquier to a sitting room while you speak with Lord Amon?"

"No, her presence is required," Trent declared, now looking past the butler that he had idly named Vincent in his head.

There was a pause as the vampire straightened up, the corners of his mouth shifting as he considered his words. Scarcely a moment later, he remarked, "While it is not my place to question you, Star-vader, I would recommend against that. Since agreeing to work with your people, Lord Amon's mood has been… mercurial, of late."

Trent gave no visible sign of hearing the servant's words and continued to walk towards the audience chamber. He also made no signs of dismissing the Pale Moon assassin. He spoke clearly, enunciating every syllable, "Enough time has been wasted."

"Of course," the butler demurred.

Every step he and Luquier took echoed loudly, various servitors and ghouls watching from the sides of the hall. The Canadian ignored the feeling of the gore dripping down his face and clothing, knowing that any sort of reaction to it would spell disaster.

Finally they were led to a pair of doors made of gold with reliefs of Demons and creatures of the night bowed in supplication.

Actually unimpressed, Trent channeled that into his performance as he stared dead ahead, ignoring the sheer amount of fanfare that was going into this whole performance.

The doors cracked open, the reliefs giving way to a hall filled with beings of every sort, kneeling at the feet of their king and his throne. The walls were a much more ghastly sight, lined with Locks that presumably contained those who displeased Amon.

The Demon Lord himself sat upon a massive throne, unmoving. His skin had dulled from turquoise to a muddy brown, the texture becoming gnarled like bark. Rings of void energy crackled around his wrists, clear indications of where his loyalties lay. Only the slightest movement of his barrel chest betrayed the fact that he was alive.

Stepping into the hall, Trent did what he could to steel himself as he prepared for the inevitable battle.

Silence reigned over the hall, and before the Яogue could speak, Amon's voice rumbled through it like an earthquake.

"Star-vader. Whatever business you have with me will be dealt with when I decide to deal with it. Deliver that message to your Clown."

Trent was glad that he was consciously not nodding along with that as he might have wished to. Instead, he mentally remarked, 'He might be acquainted with the Clown, but I'm a whole goddamn circus.'

The man gave up at that point, no reason to keep up the charade they had planned. It had been based on the idea that Amon was taking orders from Nebula, not Chaos Breaker. More than that, it assumed that he would work for any Link Joker who stood before him and attempted to give him orders. Beside him, Luquier's cheek-splitting smile dimmed slightly, having realized that things weren't going to go as planned for them.

Trent swept his arms out, a familiar smile crawling across his face as he declared, "Well, that's too bad, Treebeard. You're stuck with me until we finish routing Nebula Lord's forces from the area." With an exaggerated move, he wiped the blood off his face and smeared it down the side of a supplicant. "Think you can carve some TP off yourself? Your guards do not clean up after themselves."