26. Tidying Up

From a certain perspective, Hikari Horaki was a very fortunate person.

She was a daemon princess, most favoured of the gods and resurrected by their benevolence. She had a prestigious job as their personal advisor and liaison with the human population, and a literally superhuman husband whose love and kindness she still wasn't entirely sure she was worthy of. All told, an unfamiliar observer might have wondered why she wasn't happier with her lot in life.

An unfamiliar observer, of course, would have missed a few salient points.

First off, said husband had spent the entirety of the past few months on a forsaken dirt-ball in the middle of nowhere along with enough firepower to crush planets... and she had no idea why. Toji had tried to stay cheerful whenever they could both spare the time for a meeting (not often), but she had seen the haunted look in his eyes. Whatever was happening on Bloodhaven was not pleasant at all.

Second, her job of late had been less about ensuring the wellbeing of their citizens, and more about coming up with excuses for why their nice, laissez-faire society was rapidly going to hell in a handbasket. The solar system was in disarray, more in the Warp than not. Unnatural storms crackled across the Earth's surface, as likely to rain blood as water, as likely to dispense hordes of screeching, amorphous flyers as lightning bolts. Eight orbital facilities had been declared off-limits to human personnel, and were gorging themselves on a steady diet of clones and daemons. It was within Hikari's power to discover where they had all gone, but after investigating the first one, she had decided she didn't want to know.

The threats were not purely external, either. With the gods' eyes elsewhere, the Earth's population had discovered just how sustainable their current lifestyle was without divine intervention, and the answer was 'not very'. Food riots had broken out, careful pruning of undesirables had been replaced with makeshift vigilante justice, and even the occasional pocket of organised resistance had begun to pop up here and there in response to the increasingly brutal measures the government (such as it was) was required to take to ensure stability.

Hikari had tried her best, she really had, but things just kept spiralling out of her control. Their latest attempts to artificially accelerate crop growth using the power of the Warp had created twisted abominations that no sane person would go near, let alone eat, and she had been forced to dial back the daemonic ground presence normally employed for law-enforcement as the creatures became increasingly violent and unpredictable (one city-centre massacre over a purse-snatching had been quite enough), only to have to bring them back in as the situation had worsened. In desperation, she had sent out a call for volunteers to help out and had been met with a gratifying number of responses, but building a functioning governmental infrastructure almost from scratch was far from an easy task at the best of times, let alone when it had started snowing frozen cough syrup.

Finally, there were the gods.

There were three of them in the Eye at present, all wearing their human forms, and Hikari wasn't sure whether the sight of her old friends' faces was supposed to reassure her or taunt her with what she'd lost. She wasn't sure of much at all, these days. Mislaato was absent; probably back in her lair indulging herself again, much to the daemon's relief – at least it had nothing to do with her this time.

It had seemed such a small request, that one Tzintchi had given her a week ago. He hadn't seen his third wife for a while, and he was starting to get worried. So I was wondering, Hikari. Could you pop in to check on her? Shouldn't take more than a few minutes – I'm sure it's nothing, really. Just for my peace of mind, you understand. Thanks – you're a lifesaver.

That hadn't been much comfort, though, once she realised that she was lost in the maze of flesh-walled tunnels branching off the side of the Geofront. It had been even less so when the creature that had once been a woman called Misato Katsuragi came slithering down out of the darkness.

Hikari had missed a not-insignificant part of the war with the Angels on account of being dead at the time, but she still remembered how Misato had been back then – slobbish, frequently drunk, and hopelessly ill-suited to anything approaching parenthood, but a genuinely decent person underneath it all. Under her cheerfully haphazard supervision, the residents of her house had been nobody's vision of an ideal family unit, but nevertheless happy with and remarkably loyal to each other. It had been a home, and she had been largely responsible. When she had come back after the others' ascension, she had been... pretty much the same, really, if engaged in a relationship with her three former charges that Hikari could never quite bring herself to approve of.

The being that she had found herself alone in the dark with for those long, terrible hours had borne no resemblance to that person. It had been a creature of insatiable hunger, of pain, pleasure, and the desire to spread both even-handedly. Only after it was done had she seen something else, when it wept and pleaded with her not to tell anyone else. She had honoured its request, telling the leader of the gods that his wife was indisposed at present but on her way to a swift recovery, and she had made absolutely sure that she never had to visit that place ever again.

"Hey there, Hikari," Asukhon said cheerily as the gods registered her presence. "What's the word on Phase One?"

The daemon blinked, embarrassed at being distracted by her reverie and relieved to be free of it. "Most of the primary objectives were completed – all three target universes had their political and military elements disrupted or crippled, as well as losing a great deal of their transport capabilities. Industrial sabotage was less successful, but still enough to cause a significant slowdown. In addition, the latest updates from the Suzumiyaverse indicate that Phase Two is just about ready to go, discounting the odd minor setback."

"I'm sensing a 'but' here," Tzintchi commented.

Hikari winced, bracing herself against what she knew was coming. "Reports from the attack on TSAB space have started coming back, and... there were civilian casualties. Lots of them."

"Children?" Reigle asked in her usual deadpan.

"Many of them, yes. I'm sorry, but... it wasn't even a case of a few getting caught in the crossfire. Quite a few of our troops were specifically targeting them." Especially the crafted daemons. You know, the ones who are supposed to be extensions of your will. The ones who have started tearing apart your own worshippers of late. Did you know about this, my lord and ladies?

Their reactions were enough to answer that question.

"You WHAT?" Asukhon stood up, her face suffused with rage.

"This was not an unforeseen outcome," Reigle pointed out calmly. "As noted in my report on the increasing instabilities in-"

"Oh, shut it, Wondergirl," the Goddess of War snarled, her eyes widening as she realised what she'd said. She hadn't used that insult in eighteen years. Whether it was a source of shame or nostalgia, Hikari couldn't tell.

"Remind me, Hikari," Tzintchi said in a level, deadly calm voice, "who was responsible for supervising the Hellhound project again?"

"That'd be Fleshcrafter Allard, but-"

"Good," he replied smoothly. "Have him sent to the Hall of Torments. All the trimmings."

"For what?" someone asked. "For creating them according to your specifications? For warning you that they might be difficult to control, and being ignored? For having them do no worse than your own crafted daemons? Which one was it, then? I'd just love to know the answer."

There was silence in the Eye for a few moments, and then everyone stared at Hikari. With a nightmarish sinking feeling, she realised that she had been the one who had spoken.

Tzintchi was in front of her, smiling a mild, friendly smile, brief flickers of unnatural movement passing across his face. He really wasn't that much taller than her in his human form, but the extra inch or two suddenly made a great deal of difference.

"Funny story, Horaki," he said lightly. "A moment ago, I thought I heard a daemon mouthing off to the guy who got her ascended – and, I might add, brought her back to life – on behalf of a worthless little labcoat whose pet monsters were only recently responsible for mass murder. Now, that couldn't have been right, could it? There's no way I heard that. Silly me, must be imagining things."

Of course you bloody well heard it! For pity's sake, you're condemning an innocent (well, mostly-innocent) man to a fate worse than death! And what's with this 'Horaki' business all of a sudden? I was your class representative back in school for crying out loud, you stuck-up, ungrateful... was exactly what she didn't say, though in other circumstances she might have.

If, for instance, she had still been sure that she was talking to Shinji Ikari.

"Y-you're right, my Lord," was what came out instead. "That didn't happen."

A bright, happy grin. "Good! Belay that last order, incidentally – I'm feeling merciful. Have him turned into a daemon instead. The semi-sentient kind. Oh, and I assume something like this won't happen again? It can be very distressing, hallucinating like that."

"Of course, Lord Tzintchi."

He had already forgotten her, though, instead turning back to the two goddesses. She briefly considered sneaking out, but decided against it. Quite apart from the patent foolishness of trying to evade a deity, it was her duty to wait on them in case they had further requests. Hikari had always put a great deal of stock in duty.

"Right then, new plan. Rei, the trackers on the Hellhounds and Divines still work, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Excellent. Asuka, dear, you'll be dealing with the cyborgs. Crafted daemons only – let's keep this an in-house affair, hmm? You can bring back their heads if you really want, but it's hardly mandatory."

Asukhon smiled. "It's true – you really do know how to treat a lady. I take it you'll get the assassins, then?"

"Bingo. Whatever happened down there, they're the ones who need to answer for it. Let's go, people – time's a-wasting."

He discorporated, followed shortly by Reigle. Hikari didn't realise she was shaking – didn't even realise that her inhuman body had the capacity – until the last of the three gods walked up and put an arm around her shoulder.

"Hey," Asukhon said gently. "You all right?"

It took a considerable effort to gain any semblance of a grip on herself. "I... I can't think of anything you should concern yourself with, Lady Asukhon."

"Oh, cut that crap," the goddess said tiredly. "You're a friend, Hikari – even if the others have forgotten that, I haven't. Now, I can't say that I agree with you on the whole Allard business, but that shit Shinji pulled was way out of line. Rest assured, we'll be having a long talk about it later, and if someone tries to put that kind of pressure on you again, you know where to find me." She grinned. "Consider it payback for all those lunches you made me, eh?"

Hikari managed a tentative smile. "Thanks, Asuka."

"Hey, no big." The goddess disengaged herself and started to walk away. "Incidentally, I can't help noticing that you've been away from that stooge Toji for longer than usual – I'll see what I can do about that. Need to keep up the morale of our employees, right? In the meantime, though, I've got a few childkillers to butcher. A deity's work is never done..."

As her old friend left, Hikari realised she was still smiling. She let it linger a while, savouring the sensation and reminding herself of how it felt. Then she accessed the latest reports from the surface, the dry, clinical pre-mortem analysis of a slowly dying civilisation, and the smile vanished.

Work never done? Tell me about it...


All told, Nadezhda Niva had had quite enough of living legends for one week.

Captain Takamachi's visit a few days ago had been... a disappointment; there was really no other word for it. Not just in her former protégé, but in herself. Any other person, she was quite convinced, would have been sprawled out unconscious halfway through that disaster of an interview, but she had held her fire, hoping that Nanoha wouldn't go any further, that she knew what she was doing, and there was no telling what damage might have been caused as a result. Now she had another one sitting across from her, and suspected that he could have given certain parasitic worms lessons in getting under her skin.

Inspector Verossa Acous smiled, entirely oblivious to the effect he was having, and conjured a large, gift-wrapped box out of thin air. "Cake?"

The Inspector was one of Bureau Intelligence's best-kept secrets. His personal life was a complete mystery, the extent of his considerable powers an enigma. Even his waist-length green hair (which he swore blind was his natural colour) defied rational explanation – and on a planet like Mid-Childa, there were a lot of potential explanations for such things. Legends still circulated about the brave clerk who had tried to look him up in the Infinite Library, their lurid vagueness and mass of mutual contradictions making it quite clear that no-one had the faintest idea what had happened to the poor man.

Three things were known, though. First, he could read minds with perfect accuracy, a rare and valuable talent that alone managed to justify his continued employment. Second, he had been directly or indirectly involved in every major crisis facing the Bureau in the past ten years. Third, he really, really liked cakes.

"Umm... no thanks," she said at last, wishing fervently that he would stop smiling like that. "My mother always told me not to accept gifts from Intelligence operatives. You never know where they've been."

"Ah? You're sure? It's lemon drizzle. Very good." He lifted the lid and picked out a slice, nibbling it delicately.

"Quite sure, thank you," she said firmly. "Now, you were going to tell me why you're here?"

He chuckled, a light, cheerful sound that set Niva's teeth on edge. "Sorry, didn't I say earlier? It's the assassin you've got cooped up here. Command wanted me to have a little chat with her."

What, again? "I should warn you, Inspector, she's not in a good way. As the person currently legally responsible for her, I'd advise caution."

The smile did not waver. "Relax, major. I've dealt with traumatised or otherwise incapacitated subjects before. So long as she's alive, it won't affect my abilities. In fact, it might make things a little easier."

Niva was about to reply that (a) that was not what she had meant, and (b) she preferred to be addressed as 'warder' rather than by her military rank, when seemingly every single alarm in her office went off at once.

Since Nanoha's visit, security around the POW blocks had been considerably upgraded. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to provide a clearer picture of what was coming on account of not actually knowing, so Niva had gone for a little bit of everything. Cell doors were reinforced, sophisticated, multi-layered alarm systems were installed, and every square metre of ceiling their budget would allow was lined with compact anti-magic fields and pop-up turrets. All in all, she had been quite sure that they could now withstand any conceivable assault.

There was nothing like half the cell monitors there blinking off in rapid succession to prove one wrong. Especially when they were shortly followed by the other half.

Inspector Acous was already on his feet, brushing crumbs off his immaculate white suit. "I presume that sound's not a standard occurrence around here, major?"

Niva stood up and popped her Barrier Jacket, too worried to be annoyed. "Definitely not. Looks like a simultaneous attack on all our prisoners affiliated with Chaos. If you're willing, we could really use some help."

"Understood." He cocked his head to one side. "Let's see, if those blocks are over there, and we're over here... I apologise for the imposition, major."

He grabbed her by the arm, and she felt the nauseating lurch of an impending teleport just before her office disappeared around her.

Bereft of its master, the cake-box hovered in place for a few moments before lowering itself onto the nearest table. It could wait.


The new bed, against all expectations, had actually proven to be rather comfortable. A shame, the assassin thought, that I didn't have longer to appreciate it.

OK, tactical appraisal time. I'm strapped to a (admittedly very nice) bed, there's a daemon in the room who's out to claim my soul, I can't transform worth a damn, and my genius idea of starving and dehydrating myself for the past few days has left me as weak as the proverbial kitten. Yay. There was a perverse sense of accomplishment in encountering a situation that even her extensive training had not explicitly prepared her for.

At least the nature of said daemon gave her some hope. Yes, it was big, yes, it was scary, and yes, the way it had breezed through the block's anti-magic fields to materialise inside her cell before wreaking havoc on its defences had been very impressive, but it was still a Black Pharaoh, one of Tzintchi's crafted daemons, and that meant she had options.

Whereas the once-human ascended mostly retained their own personalities after being given daemonhood (with intellect being directly proportional to power granted), the crafted, the beings formed wholly from the gods' own essence, were simple reflections of their parents. On the one hand, servants who acted as an extension of your will without much in the way of independent thought were always useful in their own manner. On the other, this meant that they had all their patron god's personality flaws and half their brains.

Not long ago, the assassin would have considered the idea of the gods being flawed the gravest of heresies, but when she looked through her memories anew such things became depressingly apparent. Tzintchi, for instance, had an ego the size of a small planet and, consequently, an insatiable desire to show everyone else how clever he was. In short, he gloated. When one coupled this with his status as the god of hope, the more desperate the better... well, here goes nothing.

The last of the four turrets spat a burst of high-calibre bullets at the daemon, its magical weaponry rendered useless by the same field that was supposed to be weakening the creature. It dropped to the floor, sliding under the machine's arc of fire and disabling it with a swift jab from its energy-cased staff. Despite herself, the assassin was impressed. Even had the daemon's unusual size and resistance to the AMF not already given it away, that little stunt would have surely marked it as a veteran.

Threat eliminated, the Pharaoh sauntered over to the side of her bed. If it had had anything other than a featureless black void for a face, she knew it would have been smirking.

"Afternoon, Number Seventy-Six. Terribly sorry, but I'm going to have to borrow one of your tricks here."

It raised a hand, which promptly turned into a slim, razor-sharp blade. Like its staff, the new weapon was shrouded in the dark energy of the warp. It brought it down in a long, careful slice, cutting through the bed's restraints one at a time. The blade became a hand again, which it politely offered to said bed's occupant.

"Time to head off, Seventy-Six. Don't want to keep the gods waiting, do we?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, an act of childish defiance. "I'm not going. What they're going to do to me... I don't deserve it."

The void expanded, presumably the daemon's equivalent of raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And how do you figure that, then? You were a ground commander during the invasion, after all."

"I was trained to infiltrate, to gather intelligence. So I decided to do my job. Dusted Takamachi with warp-infused nanites during her little spot of prisoner intimidation, piggybacked over to her HQ, and took a look inside their files." She grinned. "Love those little guys. Lady Reigle's best invention."

"Takamachi?" The other thing Tzintchi was the god of, of course, was knowledge. The I-know-something-you-don't-know tactic was catnip to his followers, and both of them knew that this was the only chance for the daemon to get it first-hand. Psychic dissemination just wasn't the same.

"Self-righteous, overly-violent ideologue. You'd like her. Anyway, I flicked through their AARs, and I must say they were quite the interesting read. Seems she was right – it wasn't just my troops that went loco. We're talking a comprehensive breakdown of discipline, way more than any field commander could handle. The devil was in the planning, not the execution."

"So you're saying it was the gods who screwed up?" the Pharaoh asked, its whispery voice taking on a keep-digging tone.

"No, I'm saying the whole mess was intentional. Our daemonic support was crafted-only, for a start, just like you. Crafted don't go berserk like that without orders. They just don't. Somebody changed the mission parameters without informing us. That's the real reason they sent you and your buddies after us, isn't it? To keep the whole thing quiet, just in case someone was paying attention like I did. One question, though – how far are the gods involved? Do they know what's stirring in their ranks?"

A ghostly chuckle. "Bits of them do, yes. Maybe more in the future. I'm impressed, Seventy-Six. Nice deductive reasoning there. Not that it changes matters, though." It reached forward again, fingers stretching into taloned, birdlike claws.

"Actually, it does." The talons paused, a few inches away from her face. "I want in."

"Go on."

Her next words were chosen very carefully indeed – getting big pointy things shoved at one concentrated one's mind wonderfully. "I trust the gods – I'd be a fool not to. They haven't led us wrong in two decades. So what could drive them to violate their own taboos and betray their own people on such a colossal scale? Answer – something big. Bigger than just wiping out the C'tan. Something..." she smiled, "magnificent. I want to be there, daemon. I want to see the gods' final victory. In return, you get to keep a fully-functional Callidus-pattern Divine Assassin on your side. I'll admit I'm not in the best state at the moment, but rest assured that nothing's been permanently damaged."

"You're right, Seventy-Six," the daemon said reverently. "It is indeed magnificent. More so than even you know. We will, of course, require some proof of your continued loyalty...?"

By now, it was leaning on its staff, completely relaxed, and the assassin knew it was enjoying every minute of this little charade. First you build up their hopes, then you tear them down, right? A memory surfaced from the recesses of her mind – an old one, a relic of her life before her training that the wipes had somehow missed. Oh please Brer Fox, whatever you do, please don't throw me into the briar patch...

She grinned confidently, though not for the reason immediately apparent. "Thought you might say that. Those reports weren't the only thing I filched from their network. Got fully up-to-date information on their casualty rate, their adapted defence plans for this station and their capital, plus tactical evaluations of the Integrated Data Entity's Humanoid Interfaces rattling around in my head. I'd be happy to hand 'em over to the brass – should be very useful for Phase Two."

The daemon pretended to consider this for a moment. "Hrm – seems a good idea."

Its claws shot out and grabbed her by the throat, dragging her out of bed and slamming her against the wall like a rag doll.

"Or," it continued in the exact same conversational tone, "I could drag you back to the Hall of Torments and have the good folks there pull out those tasty little secrets you've got stored in your noggin. Seriously, just how stupid do you think I am?"

Grabbing up the tar-covered rabbit, Brer Fox swung him around and around and then flung him head over heels into the briar patch. Brer Rabbit let out such a scream as he fell that all of Brer Fox's fur stood straight up. Brer Rabbit fell into the briar bushes with a crash and a mighty thump. Then there was silence...

"Real shame you figured so much out, mind," the daemon added, not sounding sorry at all. "Guess I'll have to break you a little before they get a go. Can't have you blabbing to those brats playing at being gods back home, not until they're a little further down the road. Must say, though, the Old Firm really knows how to pick 'em – so many exploitable issues, I wouldn't know where to start. Seriously, have you seen the Oedipus complex that Shinji kid's lugging around? The mind boggles. Anyway, back to work. Here's a little taster – a sneak preview, if you will."

The void expanded once more, and she... saw things in it. She would have screamed if she could have found the air to do so, and every muscle in her body went slack at once with predictable results. She couldn't close her eyes, she couldn't turn away, her mind felt like it was being slowly flayed... and she resisted.

The memories of her time with the Keeper of Secrets that she had tried to suppress for so long became her lifeline, a guiding light through the pain, the stench, and the brain-searing visions. I have survived worse. Pain becomes strength, if it does not break you. And I cannot break. I will not break.

"But... you're crafted," she wheezed. "Don't you..."

"...Serve Lord Tzintchi?" the Pharaoh finished for her. "Oh yes. Real honour it is, too. Not my fault you've got such a narrow definition of what He is."

The visions intensified, and soon it was all she could do to hold on to her tenuous sanity as she felt it slowly crumbling around her.

It was then that the cell door finally burst open.

Three spectral hounds rammed into the daemon, bearing it to the ground and savaging it viciously. She fell with it, watching, dazed, as it tried to fight back, only for cords of turquoise energy to clamp around it and render it immobile. A short, squat figure darted forward, slamming a gleaming mace into the creature over and over again until it simply shattered in a blast of polychromatic light.

Took your time, didn't you?

"I was bred and born in the briar patch, Brer Fox," she croaked as she gazed at the pile of smoking, amorphous gunk that had once been a Black Pharaoh. "Born... and... bred..."

She tried to laugh, but it turned all too soon into gulping, ragged sobs. Strong, gentle arms encircled her, and a soothing blue-green light shone before her eyes as she lost consciousness.


Nadezhda Niva was very, very angry. It had been difficult to see what had happened in most of the Hellhound cells thanks to the red smears that coated the windows on the doors, but the few ones she had seen convinced her that this was a mercy. She had called for medical backup, not in hopes of saving anyone's life (there was a difference between being a natural optimist and being hopelessly deluded), but to get some idea of just what in the name of hell had happened. To Niva, it was a gravely personal insult. They had broken into her prison, slaughtered her inmates... not even beating the living tar out of the overgrown freak they had found in the assassin's room had provided a sufficient catharsis factor.

With all this in mind, it should have been easy for her to hate Inspector Acous as she saw him access the poor girl's memories, the energy from his hand playing across her scalp.

She couldn't do it, though.

He spoke quiet reassurances to her in a calm, steady voice, stroking her hair as one would with a frightened child. Once he was done, he lifted her small, skinny body in his arms, placing her back on her bed and tucking in the sheets around her.

He turned back to the warder, and she saw that the omnipresent smile had vanished. In fact, he looked positively scared.

"Major," he said tightly, "we need to find a Humanoid Interface. Now."

She blinked. "Why? What did you find?"

He looked at her levelly, his eyes hollow. "Phase Two."


Author's Notes: Well, if you were waiting for the other shoe to drop re: the gods reaction, so it has. Not that that's going to stop me reeling off cliff-hangers like they're going out of fashion. Authorial mandate, you understand.

Incidentally, I spent the entirety of StrikerS waiting for Inspector Acous to turn on the good guys. True story.

As ever, reviews most welcome. Always nice to know how I'm doing.

See you next week!