Interlude II
March of the Kings
Dulio considered himself a blessed man.
Over the course of his life, short as it might be, the young man had been the receiver of countless fortunes. With loving parents and community, a sense of purpose driven by a righteousness that few could match, and the support of countless people wiser and greater than he could ever hope to reach.
Above all else, he had been blessed with power.
A heaven gifted power that allowed him, a simple man born to simple people, to tread where none could, say what needed to be said, and stand his ground when he felt was needed.
That was power.
The power granted to him at birth by God.
'But with power there must be an equal sense of control.' At his fingertips, the sky itself was a weapon which could be used to rain damnation down upon his enemies, turning the bright cerulean that he loved as a child into the dark grey that heralded disaster.
Yes, temperance was important.
As was humility.
Arrogance was unbefitting of a blessed man and Dulio had always strived to maintain a clear image of himself, his weaknesses and his strengths. His flaws and his virtues. No man was perfect, and he endeavored to remind himself of this fact for every triumph and victory.
God laid down trials for all of them.
"And that would be mine, right around the corner."
He could hear it approaching.
The storm.
A crack of thunder in broad daylight with nary a cloud in sight, and yet the heavens roared in warning as the cool winds of the Balkans whistled shrilly, cracking whips against his form as the blonde exorcist floated over the apex of the Musala Peak. The highest mountain of the Balkans named as 'Closest to God' felt like a fitting stage for what was about to happen.
It was also a known route for Dulio's guest.
Heralded by pitch black clouds on the horizon, in the echoes of lightning fangs and howls that shook the mountain beneath him, the exorcist took a deep breath as a stifling pressure grew closer.
In the Vatican this was what was commonly referred to as 'the Demon King's presence'.
As if the atmosphere itself had taken a hold of him, Dulio felt his ears pop as the pressure he normally would be unbothered with made itself known with a vengeance, the wrathful hand of his opponent contesting him for control over the skies as the roiling clouds approached like an army.
Or rather, it was the shadow of a man who lazily approached the peak of Musala, having finally noticed his presence.
"As striking an arrival as always, Marquis."
He greeted the man as was right and proper. Enemy or not, the man before him was first and foremost a human, and as a human was worthy of the pleasantries afforded to a diplomat.
Even if said diplomat arrived with a thunderstorm and an army of wolves snarling and snapping at his heels.
"Gesualdo, was it?"
The man's clear voice wasn't angry, for anger was beneath him. No, the cool acceptance and acknowledgement that came from a being who understood power when he saw it, and simply returned his greeting with one of his own.
Dressed sharply with a suit beneath a long coat and high collar, the older man wouldn't look out of place lecturing at a university. With an air of reserved stoicism refined by a self assuredness granted only through experience and age.
Yes, Marquis Voban, eldest of this generation's Campione, had both to spare.
"Out for a walk, today?"
"I have business to attend to."
"I'm sure that matters are well in hand, Marquis. No need to waste your time on a fruitless trip." Hopefully Doni would defeat whatever spawned in the Mediterranean soon and they could avoid a confrontation between him and the Marquis.
Two Campione meeting was just asking for trouble.
"Move aside, brat."
Unaffected by his attempt at small talk, Dulio felt the man's stare on him for a moment before his aura banished it. The Demon King had just attempted to use his Authority on him, out of habit no doubt, but when one became powerful enough, it became possible to resist and dispel the curse before it took hold.
Many brave exorcists had been returned to them as statues of salt by the Marquis over the years, to the point that only the select few were allowed to enter his territory or entreat with the man.
Master Ewald.
The Legendary Vasco Strada.
Sister Griselda.
'And with me that makes four.' Of course, he was the only one with the needed mobility to keep up with the Marquis. Anyone else would have been too slow or unable to reach him at such heights.
Their powers were just too good of a match.
"Afraid I can't do that. But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"You've gotten clever, brat. Or maybe I've just become old." The older man abandoned his glare, opting instead for a wry smile. The kind one might use when caught in a playful bluff, as if trying to turn someone else into a statue was just an inside joke between them. The Marquis would never waste his time hunting someone weak enough to drop dead at a glance.
This was just another one of the old man's tests.
'Life and death are just a game to him.'
And for that same reason, he couldn't allow this wolf wearing men's clothing to pass through him. To fail here would be to insult the memory of his comrades.
"Very well, then. I shall allow you to entertain me then. Consider it a rare treat, the undivided attention of this Voban is not something most can brag of earning." Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the elder Campione as fangs peeked through his lips and eyes glimmered with foul light.
Dulio sighed, gathering his own power with a short prayer.
Zenith Tempest answered, powerful currents whipping at Dulio's back, clashing with the gale force winds summoned by the Marquis with a screech similar to that of two blade edges being dragged over one another, overshadowing the howling wolves in the distance as the Demon King before him dispensed with any semblance of humanity.
A sharp smile, full of teeth, graced his maw.
"I call the wind, subdue the rain, and gather the lightning. Know that both the scorching gust and the freezing squall are mine to command. I shall bring──the fury of storm and raging waves to this land!"
The storm clouds gathering overhead spread over the sky like a welcome mat, darkness overshadowing the azure sky for miles on end as lightning flashed once again in the distance and the air vibrated between them.
[Sturm und Drang]
The Authority gained by Voban after slaying a trio of Chinese weather gods. A rarity even in the world of Campione. Granted it wasn't a name devised by the Marquis himself. The man never named his powers, leaving it to mage associations and historians to put labels to all the terrible ways the Campione could visit devastation upon the land.
It was, perhaps, one of the most powerful authorities on record.
Fortunately, he just happened to be the rare exception when it came to dealing with it. The one reason the Church felt confident in sending a single man to face the Marquis.
'There are few things that can match a longinus." At Dulio's back, a typhoon formed, warping the black clouds above, blowing a whole through the darkness and revealing a window of perfect clean skies above the exorcist.
Their battle had just begun.
True Son of Epimetheus
What a pleasant afternoon.
The sun was shining, leaving glittering sparkles on the surface of the ocean as seagulls cawed in the distance as a soft breeze rustled the leaves of the palm trees. The feeling of foam and sand tickling his feet as a young man laid comfortably under the warm light.
Truly this was paradise.
No problems, no responsibilities.
'Hakuna Matata.'
Even so, a few things were missing. He was thirsty for one and would love nothing more than some limoncello. Maybe some crab puffs too, or the familiar scent of charcoal and grilled meat.
That would have made this perfect.
'Still, aren't I forgetting something.' Straining his mind, the young man tried to think back. He'd been trying to do something. Or rather, he'd been asked to do something but his waterlogged brain still hadn't fully woken up from the power nap he indulged in.
"Well, it's probably nothing."
As if summoned by his voice, the universe answered.
RING!
RING!
RING!
A shrill noise snapping him out of the pleasant mood, the young man grouched as he pawed around his clothes in search of the offending phone, flipping it open with a less than gentle snap.
"Pronto." He groaned, put upon.
"Where are you, Salvatore?"
Oh! Now he knew what was missing!
Or rather, who was missing.
"Hey there, Andrea. Good morning! Or is it afternoon by now?" The sun should be just about to reach the apex any time now.
"Where. Are. You?"
The voice on the other end ignored his cordial greeting, instead repeating a question Doni had no way of answering. Really, did the guy think Doni actually intended to be stranded at an island like this, or did he just assume he did something to deserve it?
He could never tell.
Doni opted for honesty, the best policy!
"I dunno."
"What do you mean, you don't know?!"
"I dunno. It's an island I guess. There's seagulls, there's palm trees, there are a couple of crabs over there and I think I saw a turtle earlier. Hey, did you know that sailors used to eat Dodos in the past?"
There was a strange garbled sound from the other end of the line.
Was he going through a tunnel or something, like muffled screams in the distance. It was only there for half a minute before the call seemed to connect again and his loyal assistant picked back up from where he left.
"What of the Heretic God, Lord Salvatore?"
Oh, right.
That.
"Oh, he's dead." It was such a good fight too! He'd never fought a giant before and the guy was really strong. Maybe not as skilled as Nuada or as durable as Siegfried, but he definitely was a tougher cookie than Dionysus and that stick in the mud Vulcan had been.
"I explicitly requested that you wait until Mrs. Zola finished divining the identity of the Heretic." The man spoke tightly.
"Well, that got boring. And you guys said he was coming my way, so I decided to see what he wanted. Who was the guy, by the way? I tried talking to him but the storm was kinda loud and I think he might have given me a concussion."
"Melqart, Lord Salvatore. He was Melqart."
Doni whistled.
Man, so that's who that guy was!
No wonder he was such a tough guy, between all the mixing around of legends the guy probably had Heracles or even Beelzebub mixed into his legend. Which might explain the storming, the super strength, the clubs and the kinda plague he was threatening to swallow the world with.
That last part had been a bummer.
Why involve a buncha others into their duel? Some gods just didn't have any manners.
"Guess there shouldn't be any problem now, then. He's gone." Unless the guy had any legends about coming back to life after being cut in half. You never knew what kinda tricks a heretic picked up when they manifested.
"Yes, I supposed we shouldn't look a gift mule in the mouth."
Wasn't it supposed to be a horse?
Then who was the mule?
"And I would like to confirm once again that you indeed have no idea of where you are?"
Doni sighed. Again with the repeat questions.
This was turning out to be a boring conversation.
"Not the foggiest. I just know there was this big explosion after I cut the guy. I hit the water a couple times and when I came to? Here I was! Tropical island vacation with everything paid! There's no room service though. No hotel either, really. Think you could bring some limoncello when you come to pick me up?"
There was a pause on the other side.
"I will make the arrangements. As soon as my aides finish the tracking array. Please remain put and on call."
Sure, not like he had anything else to do.
"Lord Salvatore?"
"Yes, Rivera?"
"Why are you in the caribbean?"
Caribbean? As in the place across the ocean? The one with the pirate movies? Man, Melqart must have hit him hard on that last attack if it sent him flying all the way across the ocean and into another continent, huh? With how things were looking he would have guessed Madagascar but even his sense of direction was probably shot.
"I keep telling you I dunno. That last part of the fight was really confusing and then I passed out. But hey, at least the guy went down fighting. Just my kinda opponent!"
There was a sigh from the other side of the line.
"And you are absolutely sure that he is dead? Because I had to pull some heavy favors to keep Lord Voban from interfering and the Church will be rather cross with me if I put them through that stress over a half finished job."
Doni smiled at the sun.
"Yup. Guy's done for. Ten count. Elimination. Done for."
"That is reassuring to hear. I will be sure to pass along the message to my contacts."
But man, if the Church was trying to stop that old vulture from interrupting his fight… that meant they probably sent one of the big hitters to grab his attention. They could be fighting it out even now, since Rivera said he'd need to warn them about Melqart.
Which meant… he still had a chance to crash the party!
"Rivera, change of plans!"
"What?"
"I'm headed back. No need for a pick up."
"What? How?!"
Ye of little faith. Didn't he know that Salvatore Doni was a man who would never miss a fight? There was no way he was gonna miss a Triple Threat match with the old man and a church big shot. Hell, maybe they even sent Signore Strada! That would be just the best!
"Doni, no!"
And hey, this would give him the perfect opportunity to try out the fancy new toy he got from Melqart. Oh he could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces when he showed up.
"Sorry, Rivera. I think the signal is cutting."
"Don't pull that on me! I had that phone reinforced for this exact reason. Don't you dare." Getting up, Doni ignored the call as he reached for a nearby pile of sand, retrieving a branch of dry wood he'd left half buried in it earlier.
'When will he learn… there's nothing in this world I cannot cut."
For a moment there was nothing and then, with a flash of silver the call cut off.
Shadow of Los Angeles
Café Ahnenerbe was, like many other magical businesses in Los Angeles, a place of ill repute.
First developed as a hangout for runaway mages during the Prohibition Era, the business was turned into a launching point for various unscrupulous fellows who attempted to take advantage of the turmoil in the 1940's to push their own schemes and agendas.
At one point it had become a hiding place for european occultists. Being the 40's one could guess where the majority of those runaways came from.
Jack Milburn understood that as far as investigators like him were concerned, this was enemy ground. The sort of place that bred discontent and stewed in past grudges, nay, indulged in the past like one would indulge in narcotics.
Already, the investigator could feel the gaze of the patrons on his back.
Watching.
No, waiting for a chance to strike at him.
'That guy really has no sense of danger, does he?' To come here, to one of the biggest remnants of the [Old World] loyalists and then ask one of the biggest thorns in their side to join him for a spot of tea was like dangling a juicy piece of steak in front of a ravenous pack of wolves.
Although none of them would dare act now.
Not while that man sat at the corner, nursing a cup of joe while reading the morning papers. The entire atmosphere lended itself to what might appear to be a detective movie, tobacco smoke flitting like mist through the air of the dimly lit establishment.
Of course, the man in question completely ruined the mood, dressed as he was.
Like a stage magician mixed with a superhero from Jack's youth, the one known as John Pluto Smith was an enigmatic fellow whose arrival completely broke the stalemate American wizards had been experiencing for centuries. A powerful individual whose very presence brought sworn enemies to heel and maintained a sense of tense peace.
Of course, this man who wielded the power of slain gods also happened to be a weirdo of the highest order.
"Ah, Detective Milburn. Thank you for coming so promptly."
A jovial tone echoed through the café, at complete odds with the atmosphere.
This man really had very little sense when it came to reading a room.
Dressed up in an expensive suit and a long cape, this masked fellow's head was framed by the comically high collar. If not for the insect-like futuristic helmet he wore, Jack would have thought the man was getting ready to go trick or treating as a cheap vampire imitation.
Of course, said thoughts would go unheard.
Eccentric or not, this man was still a Campione.
"I would have been faster if you had sent your message by spell. Why go through all the trouble of contacting my office through the phone?" Taking a seat across from the man, Jack leafed through the menu. Not that he had any luck, none of it was written in english.
Because of course the owners couldn't make things easy.
The masked man chuckled good naturedly.
"Come now, Jack. You know these things must be done in a certain order. Though there are few who could boast of the ability to eavesdrop on my spells, contacting you through the line also lets me warn your superiors. I'm sure they got in contact with you soon after, correct? That was just to get the… formalities of our meeting out of the way."
Jack grimaced in distaste.
What they referred to as safety measures and protocols, this daredevil called 'formalities'. The calls he got after the Campione's involved multiple association heads as well as a polite call from the White House.
The detective couldn't blame them.
This was John Pluto Smith, the man who in the past decade had slain multiple calamities known as Heretic Gods. From the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis, to the King of Fairies, Oberon.
And if he was contacting him now…
"What kind of calamity are you headed towards now, Pluto?"
The man tilted his head, mouthpiece opening ever so slightly as the man took a long sip from his coffee. The tense silence was something of a specialty when it came to this superhero wannabe, who delighted in his theatrics.
"What do you know of an association by the name of [King of the Flies], Detective?"
The question brought him up short, before his brain caught onto the name.
"Devil contractors. Very much illegal. Known for participating in outlawed human sacrifice. Very little is known about their current leadership. The group was thought to have disbanded after you…"
He stopped short, grimacing.
"After you eliminated Count Bifrons."
That had been a diplomatic incident of spectacular proportions. To think that a member of the 72 Pillars would be hiding in the human world, leading a cabal of followers for some nefarious purpose? Their liaison with the Underworld was very cross with them for allowing Pluto Smith to kill the ancient devil, as opposed to holding him as a prisoner.
As if they had any choice in the matter.
Bifrons was dead before they ever got to the crime scene.
"Yes, I too expected the organization to fizzle out without his support. However, one of my contacts has informed me of the contrary. Rather, the group appears to be reorganizing itself at a remarkable pace."
Jack leaned forward.
This was… important news. He'd have to report them as soon as he left.
"You believe they might be under new management? Perhaps one of the senior mages?"
The Campione scoffed.
"Those sycophants aren't fit to lead themselves out of a paper bag. Their absolute devotion, no, the depths of their obsession with Devils and their power inspired in them a madness that doesn't make for effective leadership. Rather, they would only accept serving someone of equal status to Bifrons'."
The detective sighed, desperately yearning for something stronger than coffee.
Another devil? Or something strong enough for those cultists to worship as fervently as they did the last one.
"You don't have any other leads? Anything I could send to my own contacts?" While the Underworld and the Government were nominally neutral towards one another, that didn't mean there weren't groups chomping at the bit to satisfy grudges against the devils.
The Holy Church also had many allies he would try and pump for information.
The masked hero shook his head.
"King of Flies has gone to ground, making it difficult to track their movements or obtain more information about their new leader. I imagine that they will be quiet for the next few months while the power vacuum is filled. Unfortunately my network of collaborators doesn't reach all the way to the Underworld so new information will be hard to come by."
As it very well should.
The 72 Pillars weren't fond of John Pluto Smith, or of Campione in general. After losing three families to a massacre around a century ago, losing the last scion of another noble family probably made them even more incensed towards the masked hero.
"If you're having problems, I don't know how I'm supposed to help you."
The godslayer leaned back, crossing his arms with a mischievous chuckle.
"Oh but it's elementary my dear Watson…"
Jack cringed at the reference. He'd walked right into that one and the hero wannabe leapt at the chance to be even more dramatic than before. Like a theater kid on improvisation night.
"While it is indeed impossible for John Pluto Smith to investigate the matter, it would be much easier for a fresh face, one not associated with me to perform the task. As such I would like you to serve as a contact for this new hire of mine."
A new hire?
It made sense to try and improve their odds by bringing in a fresh face and pair of eyes, but to then ask Jack, a known associate of the Campione, to serve as this person's contact?
Wouldn't it cast doubt on them should it be found out? Or perhaps he was creating a weak link in their group? The Campione's strength might keep them at bay, but a supposed chink in the armor would draw their attention.
This was bait. And this guy was entrusting him with making sure this new person was safe.
"I see, that makes sense. King of Flies is likely to act if you appear to be absent. And this other person will instead be the focus. A virtual unknown will gather their curiosity rather than hostility. That's how you plan to find out more about their movements."
John Pluto Smith nodded, seemingly pleased.
"As expected of Sacrilege Investigation's top earner. Your reputation is earned."
'Even his praise feels like it belongs on some fancy trophy.' Jack sighed.
"Still, you never told me who this new is. I can't work without information, Pluto."
Resting his armored face on the palm of his gloved hand, the Campione paused again for dramatic effect, as if arguing with himself about something before coming to a conclusion.
"You'll be working alongside one of Professor West's pupils. The man is a trusted ally of mine, but his student is a new face. I am sure that the two of you will get along swimmingly."
"Their name?"
"She is called Annie Charlton."