Most of the churchgoers looked over their shoulders, startled, as the doors burst open and a
thin man wearing loose-fitting black clothing and carrying a sword swept into the cathedral. 
His pale skin glistened with sweat and his long black hair was pulled back, although a few 
strands had fallen loose and hung around his irritated expression.  His footsteps echoed as he 
strode down the aisle toward a single man, bowed in prayer.  Behind him scurried a worried-
looking man, well-built but nonetheless obviously wanting to keep his distance from the thin 
man and his target.

"You!" hissed Laurence as he pulled even with the kneeling man's row and started making his way 
between the pews.  "I'm lucky my servitor was paying attention today.  Why do you defile this 
place of worship with your presence?"  His voice was nearly a whisper; even so, a nearby family 
decided to move.

The kneeling man ignored him.  In a nearly-silent moment, Laurence could barely make out the 
words of the Lord's Prayer, and his face purpled.  "You make a mockery of all that I hold dear, 
scoundrel," he said, hand now on the hilt of his sword.  "I demand that you desist and leave 
this place so that I might not despoil it with your ichor."

The kneeling man continued to ignore him, finishing the prayer and starting anew at the first 
line.

An acolyte had come up behind Laurence and tapped him gently on the shoulder.  "Sir," he said, 
"I understand that the light of Heaven inspires strange and drastic feelings in all of us, but 
you are disturbing the others."

Laurence nearly laughed.  "My good man," he whispered, "this is nothing more than one of the 
foulest creatures in our Lord's Creation, and it defiles our place of worship -"

The acolyte nodded.  "Sir, I respect your beliefs, but I must ask that you respect his as well.  
He has done nothing that I can see.  His skin might be scarred, but his demeanor is not 
offensive."  In the background, the kneeling figure started his prayer again.

Laurence was speechless for a moment - then caught his servitor's eye. /Softly, my lord,/ the 
Saint thought, and Laurence nodded.  "I will keep my peace," he said finally, and knelt not a 
yard from the other man, asking God's forgiveness for disturbing His temple.  The acolyte 
nodded as well and backed away, but continued to keep an eye on the two.

Finally, the kneeling man finished his prayer, crossed himself, and stood, revealing himself: a 
tall man, bald, with tattoos and piercings and ritual scars covering his skin.  Laurence was 
used to seeing a maddened gleam in this man's eye, but today they were a crystal blue, 
sparkling with a sane intelligence that Laurence had rarely seen of the spawn of Hell.

"Lord Laurence," whispered Vapula, Prince of Technology, "I had thought that you might be here 
today.  Why did you interrupt me?"

Laurence wrinkled his nose.  "You disgrace this temple by your mere presence, demon," he 
murmured.  "Your kind has no place here."

The Demon Prince smiled sadly.  "Is it not a tenet of our faith that one must love his neighbor 
as himself?  I certainly do not hold your grudge against you; why do you insist on attacking me 
in this, the most holy of places?"

The Archangel of the Sword nearly choked.  "You profess to believe the same faith that I do?  
Nonsense, Prince Vapula.  Your lies betray your Infernal origins.  Now step outside so that I 
might flay the tattoos from your flesh without defiling these pews further.

Vapula pulled on a black double-shouldered rain cloak and picked up a wide-brimmed hat from the 
seat beside him.  "You honestly cannot believe me?  That pains me, brother Archangel."  He 
sighed and sat down again.  "I think you might not understand my predicament.  Sit.  I will 
explain.

"You know as well as I that I am Hell's only Punishing Prince.  On most days, that is true; if 
only Dominic or your elder brother Michael were here to verify that.  Today, however..." Vapula 
smiled grimly.  "I know that I am a demon, Lord Laurence.  I know that I serve the cause of 
Hell.  I know that when Lucifer compels me, there is little compulsion involved.  But only 
today, and only here.  When I leave this place - when I return to the sunlight outside, or to 
my castle in Hell - then I will be an angel again, serving God in the Inferno, where he placed 
me.  Then I will struggle under Lucifer's yoke, and believe that I work in God's name, and 
scream blasphemy at the skies.

"My madness does not extend to God's protected places, however.  On a Day of Rest, if I happen 
to be in a holy place, my veil is lifted.  I see the curse that I am under... and I repent.  
Today I had been four hundred and seventy-seven days without seeing the light of God.

"Brother Laurence, do you know what it is like to kneel before an altar and realize that you 
have spent the last year and a half committing unspeakable atrocities and have yet not once 
asked forgiveness for them?"

Laurence's jaw was hanging loosely now; he wasn't even sure he'd be able to speak if he knew 
the words to say.

"I know I can't just say a few words and convince you of my faith," said the Prince, "but if 
you have doubts, ask the acolyte who restrained you to tell you how long I have been kneeling 
here."

Prince Vapula stood, gathering his cloak about him.  "Vapula," said Laurence, standing with 
him, "why do you not ask for true forgiveness?  Why do you not ask me to help you see the light 
of God in all its glory?"

The Prince of Technology laughed softly.  "My beloved brother," he said, smiling even as a tear 
ran down his savaged cheek, "I will think I'm an angel no matter what way I leave this 
cathedral.  How do I know that I won't be hurting you worse by deceiving the both of us?  At 
least this way, we both know the rules of the game."  He looked straight at Laurence.  
"Remember my eyes, Laurence.  Know that what I tell you is true, and remember when you kill me, 
whenever that might be, that there is a soul inside that yearns for our Lord and His mercy."

Before Laurence could respond, Vapula had turned, stalking out.  Laurence followed at a 
respectful distance, and as the Prince donned his hat and stepped out into the sunlight, the 
Archangel breathed a heavy sigh.  "My lord?" asked the Saint, mere feet behind.

"No more practice today," said Laurence as the Prince buried himself in the crowd outside.  
"Not on a day of rest."

--

Belial took a moment to think, his Marlboro almost forgotten at the corner of his mouth.  
"So..." he said, finally, slowly, "what you've spent the last twenty minutes telling me boils 
down to: Leopold asked you to take care of some business for him, you got caught on the scene 
with a gas can and a pack of matches from Leopold's place, and now you've been arrested and 
imprisoned by the State of Illinois for attempted arson."

Haribold nodded silently.  The shadowy figure between him and Belial in the circular booth 
laughed under its breath, and Haribold shivered a little.  These meetings were always 
unnerving.  If Belial needed a bodyguard...

The Prince puffed absently at his cigarette.  "And now you want me to do what - bail you out?  
Looks like you've got that one pretty much under control.  Punish Leopold?  For what, hiring 
someone as dumb as you?  Help you finish the job?  Not so long as Chicago's finest are watching 
the place."

Haribold looked around.  "A-actual-lly," he said, his Discord flaring, "I w-was h-hoping y-you 
c-c-could h-help m-m-me g-get away."

Belial laughed and leaned back in the plush booth.  "So the cops already know you're out, 
huh?"  Haribold flushed.  "Listen, kid, you've been good in the past, and haven't I always been 
good to you?  Tell you the truth, I had no idea Leopold was planning this kind of stunt.  If I 
had, I would've pulled you off it.  So I'm gonna help you out, just this once - but you're 
gonna owe me big for it."

Haribold nodded eagerly.  "You remember the last time we met?  Lady in red, big hair, center of 
attention?"  The nodding continued.  "When you wake up, you're gonna see her.  On stage.  
You're a member of the band - you play the trumpet, don't you?  You'll know the songs.  Once 
the set's done, she gets you out in her van.  I think you'll recognize the spot."  The Prince 
of Fire scowled.  "Now get outta my sight."

Haribold got halfway through his next nod before the vessel collapsed face-down on the table.  
Belial waved for a waiter, and then turned to the shadowy form in the center seat.  "Your 
boys," he remarked, "they sure know how to get themselves in trouble, don't they?"

A thin smile gleamed in the darkness.  "If only yours didn't keep tempting them, my friend," it 
said, the voice unnaturally smooth.

"Hey, it's not my fault the Bitch keeps throwing Lilim at me," the Prince complained.  "Day in, 
day out, 'Belial, do be a dear and take Ihuin under your wing, she needs a little toughening 
up,' and she thinks she's doing me favors!"  His impression of Lilith was wicked, and the 
shadow-figure's smile widened.  "I gotta say, though, I'm waiting for the day she thinks she's 
gonna collect.  'Oh, Belial, about those forty billion Lilim I loaned you,' like she even has a 
hook in me for that!"

The shadowy figure leaned forward into the light of the two non-exhausted bulbs.  Her face was 
lean, her jet-black hair long but well-groomed.  "You know," she said, "Lilith is only a human.  
Why do you let her vex you so much?"  The summoned waiter appeared and nodded to the woman, 
then lifted Haribold's body over her shoulders and carried it back toward the incinerator.

"'Only a human'?  God, you're twisted," Belial replied, taking the last inch of his Marlboro in 
a single pull and then stubbing it out in the ashtray.  Another appeared in his hand as soon as 
the first was out, and he stuck it in his mouth and began feeling around for his lighter as he 
continued.  "You know why she annoys me?  It's because - nah, she doesn't think she's as good 
as we are.  It's because she's the only reason we're allowed our little playground, and she 
knows it.  I mean, she's a Princess, she's the only one who knows how to make those damned 
Daughters of hers, and we all still owe her the biggest favor in Creation.  Now, you know, 
there are a few of us - Kronos is a gimme - who hate leavin' the Lower Realms, and maybe them 
she doesn't have a hook in.  But the rest of us - hell, we're screwed."  He found his lighter, 
in one of his pants pockets, and flicked it a couple times until it ignited.

She laughed.  "You haven't taken it the step further.  You're a bright guy, Belial, I know you 
can figure this out.  If you owe Lilith a big favor for setting you free - even after all of 
these thousands of years - then how big a favor do you owe God for creating her so that she 
could set you free?"

Belial had almost gotten his cigarette lit when he heard those words, and he let the lighter 
flicker out.  "Heh," he said, the Marlboro sticking to his lip, "never thought about that.  All 
this time we've been fighting against God, and he's the one who got us sprung.  How the hell do 
you do that, anyway?"

She spread her hands, a modest grin on her face.  "What can I say?  It's a gift."

Belial guffawed and lit his Marlboro.  "You got that right.  Listen, I gotta run - hate crime 
in Georgia, Vim thinks I oughtta show up and see what he's been cooking up the last couple 
months.  You take care, okay?  Don't let Eyes mess you up too much, you hear?"

"Hang on," she said, her green irises expanding so that her pupils were mere pinpricks, a gleam 
running across her bared teeth, her hair falling suddenly ragged around her cheeks.  "Do I have 
my mad face on right?

"Yeah, babe, just like always."  Belial stood up and straighened his suit.  "See you in a 
month, Gabe."

Gabriel winked.  "Later, Bee."

--

Marc stood, hands in his pockets, facing the Pacific as he listened to Lilith rant.  It had 
been scant hours since the disaster that rocked the world, and Lilith had yet to recover from 
an adrenaline rush.  "I had contacts there!  Thousands upon thousands of people played out 
their lives at my whims - and he sent it all crashing away!"

"Now, Lilith," began Marc, as he had twenty-three times in the last four hours.

"Don't you start," she snapped back, as she had twenty-three times before.  "I don't care what 
reason he had - it wasn't good enough to justify slaughtering thousands of my people.  I mean, 
Jesus, Marc, I had seventy of my own demons there, not to mention my daughters serving other 
Princes!"  She paused for a minute as Marc's face - almost imperceptibly - twitched.  "I'm 
sorry.  I forgot.  Today's been a little stressful."  And like that, she was calm and 
collected.

"Lil," Marc said softly, "he didn't do it to get at you.  We all got hurt when it happened.  
Every single Archangel.  Every single Prince.  Hell, he didn't even pull his own people out."  
He laughed.  "Maybe it was Milton Berle - who managed to pull most of America together in the 
Forties - that sent him over the edge.  Maybe he liked Billy Wilder's films.  Or maybe he just 
thought it was time.  But he wasn't trying to get at you."  He reached over and took the 
Princess's hand without looking over, squeezed gently.  "Lilith... go home.  Tend to your 
beloved Daughters, who need you now more than ever."

Lilith squeezed back.  "You're right.  You always are, damn you."

"Not yet," he said as she vanished.

Marc remained in the same spot, standing on a remote peak in the Sierra Madre overlooking the 
ocean, as a wet, bedraggled form in a suit climbed up the shallow slope ahead of him.  "Take 
your time," he said loudly.

The figure laughed.  "Be with ya in a New York minute," he said, and coughed.  "Sea water's no 
good for the voice, you know."

"I know," said Marc.  "But then, I'm not an actor."

Nybbas grinned despite his obvious discomfort as he climbed up onto Marc's ledge.  His shock of 
red hair was mussed, his suit was soaked to the core, one of his shoes was missing, and he was 
shivering - but most disorienting was that his glasses, which some had presumed glued to his 
head, were gone entirely.  "Hell of an exit," he said.  Behind the two of them, a hiker - who 
looked like he was taking time off from being a beach bum - came over a ridge and stood, 
admiring the ocean.  Safely out of earshot, Marc thought, but still, he kept his voice down.

"Don't you ever stop grinning?"

"Naw.  It was a hell of an exit, and, you know, he got me fair and square.  I was lucky to be 
near the edge of it."  There was something in the Prince's voice that Marc didn't like.  "I've 
been thinking.  Maybe Dave was right.  I've been in this gig for a hundred years, and every day 
Eli gets a little farther ahead of me.  I've lost three studios in the last month to his 
meddling, and every year more indy films get out that are better than anything my guys can 
produce.  Maybe it's time for me to retire gracefully.  I've already shattered my Heart; this 
is the only body I have left.  I just... you know... wanted to say goodbye."

Marc was torn.  On the one hand, fewer Demon Princes meant fewer enemies, and any Archangel 
worth his salt should be trying to get rid of them as fast as possible.  On the other hand, 
Nybbas was a soul, however detestable, and deserved to be saved.  "Why don't you come work for 
us?  We could use someone with your skills."

"Bullshit, Marco.  Between you and Eli, there's nothing I do that Heaven can't do better.  You 
and I both know that.  Besides, I can't imagine not working in the Industry, and there's no way 
on God's green earth that the Hyena would let me anywhere near my old stomping grounds."

"You'd be surprised," said the hiker, who was suddenly right behind them.  "Maybe this disaster 
happened so that we could know the joy of your presence with us in Heaven.  Not exactly on a 
par with the original, but hey - you've only had a century to work on it."

Nybbas smiled.  "You sure you want me?"

The hiker winked.  "Would I lie to you?"

Nybbas laughed.  "I guess not.  Hell, I can't pass up a deal like that - not one signed and 
sealed by the Most Just himself.  When do I start?"

Marc smiled broadly.  "There's a Tether of mine a couple hundred miles away, eastward.  I think 
you know the place.  I'll be waiting there."

Nybbas nodded.  He kicked off his remaining shoe, letting it tumble down toward the water 
below, and padded off in sock feet toward Las Vegas.  "How did you know?" asked Marc once the 
reformed Prince had gone.

"I didn't, dude," Dominic replied, slipping back into his Role.  "I just happen to like hiking 
in the Sierra Madre, y'know?  Lotta trees, lotta rocks, get-back-to-nature sort of thing.  My 
girlfriend says I need to spend more time with the animals, y'know?"

Marc winced.  "Still, it's pretty convenient that you-"

Dominic held up his hands.  "Hey, dude, if you wanna make a Federal case out of it, how about 
you start by tellin' me what the Hell you think you were doing consorting with two Demon 
Princes within the course of twenty minutes?"

Marc paused.  "...Right.  I won't ask."

--

On the grass of the Mall in Washington, DC, a couple lay on their backs, their fingers laced.  
One was dressed in warm-weather hiking gear, his pack off to the side, within easy reach; the 
other had a simple sun-dress on, tie-dyed in a starburst of reds and oranges.  Above them, the 
Washington Monument stretched toward the sky, where fireworks blossomed in the night air.

"Nice," she commented, as a blue firework exploded into shimmering sparks, each of which burst 
in green.  "Very nice.  I only wish the circumstances were different."

"Well, the President had to do *something*," he said.  "Two national disasters in six months is 
a little hard for a fractious country to handle.  At least this is encouraging solidarity."

"You know that's not what I meant."

He looked over.  "He left of his own volition," he said quietly.  "There was nothing we could 
do about it; he kept to himself so much that even I was hard-pressed to see his moods.  At 
least he still considers himself allied.  At least he only transplanted himself to a grove in 
the dreamlands."

"Unlike some we know."

He squeezed her hand.  "That was uncalled for."

"No, it wasn't.  Self-deprecatory, yes, but then, I'm not exactly being cruel to myself when 
it's true, am I?"

He smiled and turned back to the sky.  "Truth."

--

"Why didn't you call me?"

The man stopped, a cheeseburger halfway from the tray to his mouth.  "What do you mean?" he 
asked.

"You told me you'd get in touch when the operation was over.  Why didn't you?"  The newcomer 
took a seat opposite the diner.  His posture was perfect, his demeanor beguilingly calm as he 
folded his hands in front of him.

The cheeseburger made its way back to the tray, where it fit snugly into its paper wrapper.  "I 
haven't called you," replied the first man slowly, "because the operation is not yet over."

"What do you mean?  Half of California lies in the ocean, our agents in Washington have been in 
and out while the nation celebrated to forget its losses, and we have the information we need 
to bring down the Host.  The operation was a success.  Do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly well, Jan," said the diner, now visibly annoyed.  "You think the 
operation was a success.  But my end of the bargain is not yet sealed.  David remains loyal to 
your employer, and he has gained a valuable new ally today in the form of someone almost as 
experienced here as Nybbas was.  Speaking of Nybbas, your meddling in David's affairs cost us 
one of our brightest rising stars.  It is only the fact that two of the most seminal media 
personalities of the last century have left this realm that convinces me that our luck still 
holds even a little. And you call the operation a success?"  He took a bite out of the 
cheeseburger.  "I still have damage control to take care of.  And you're lucky we're alone in 
this room; you'd have revealed us all.  You should be more careful in your speech, friend."  
Another two bites, and the cheeseburger was gone.

"It is my job to shake things up, is it not?" asked Jan.  "And you know full well that damage 
control has never been high on my list of priorities.  I've let that imbecile run around with 
my gifts for long enough to demonstrate that."

"Enough," said the other, opening another cheeseburger.  "I can see that this was a mistake.  I 
should have known from the start.  You are a valuable contact, Jan, but you are far too 
unreliable to be trusted with even such a trivial task.  I'm taking command of this operation, 
Jan, and I'm afraid there's not a damned thing you can do to stop me."

"And what the hell do you expect me to do?  I defected for you!"

"I appreciate that, Jan, I truly do.  But I'm afraid your usefulness has reached its end."  He 
raised his hand, and a trio of burly men, armed to the teeth, stepped into the room, followed 
by a thin man with patchwork clothing and a grin that stretched for miles.  "Val, I believe you 
know our guest.  Jan, I have taken the liberty of allowing Val here to replace you as my 
lieutenant."  He leaned closer, stage-whispering: "I would have given it to him, but you know 
as well as I that he wouldn't want it unless I let him think he was stealing it."  Returning to 
his original posture, he smiled broadly.  "In the time it has taken you to react, three Songs 
have been sung.  The repercussions will be obvious in a matter of moments, but by then I expect 
to be long gone."

"But - what?"  Jan stood suddenly, attempted to flee and found that he could not.  "What is 
this?"

"This," said the other, quietly, unwrapping a third cheeseburger, "is a betrayal.  My brother 
would have loved it - anything for a laugh, you know - but unfortunately he seems to be 
indisposed at the moment.  Drowning will kill you, and even we Princes go through Trauma when 
our only manifestation dies.  It's the same thing I've done to you, you know."  He laughed.  
"Nobody ever accused the Great Consumer of being original."  Looking at his watch, he nodded in 
beat with the second-hand for a moment, then looked back up.  "You have ten seconds to tell me 
why you shouldn't be replaced.  Go."

Jan stammered.  "I don't - I didn't -"  All of his considerable fast-talking skill was failing 
him.  "You have no right to do this!"

"No," the diner said.  "I have the right to do anything I please.  And right now - " He looked 
at his watch again.  "I please to remove an obstacle.  Val?"

Jan hadn't even the time to scream before Val had cut his throat, and then there was only the 
sound of knives slicking for many seconds.

The first man looked up again, in the middle of his fifth cheeseburger, when Val said his name.  
"Good," he said.  "Excellent.  Val, you know what you have to do.  Boys, clean this up, 
please."  The three burly men stepped forward and began pulling mops, buckets, and kitchen-
sized trash cans out of large backpacks that nonetheless seemed too small to hold them.  Val, 
meanwhile, had transformed himself into a perfect facsimile of the man whose pieces were now 
lying on the floor.  "Extraordinary.  Had I not seen it done, I would not believe it.  The 
charade has begun, Jan.  Let them know that Valefor has died an ignoble death, and we shall see 
how they react."

He picked the sack of cheeseburgers up and started for the door.  "Since when have *I* been 
known for damage control, you blithering idiot?"

--

"Lord Laurence," whispered Vapula, Prince of Technology, "I had thought that you might be here 
today."

But he was alone.

The cathedral rang with his whisper, soft as it was, but it did not garner more than an annoyed 
look from a tired acolyte.  There were no other penitents at this hour: strange, for a day as 
holy as today.  As Vapula looked around, however, a man dressed in burlap robes and cord 
sandals entered, and sat down beside him.

"You have chosen the wrong cathedral, friend Vapula," he whispered.

The Prince smiled.  "You know me, then.  And you know why I cannot join the mighty in their 
French stronghold.  The Light there is too strong for me even in my sane moments.  I had hoped 
that the Archangel I seek could join me here as well."

A grin split the darkness under the other's cowl.  "Laurence prefers to devote himself today.  
One of his aspects remains in the Cathedral of the Sword, with the blessed souls.  Another 
spends the entire day, from the first moment in the Gilbert Islands to the last moment in the 
Aleutians, in silent prayer and contemplation in Notre Dame Cathedral.  He spares no other 
attention."

Vapula nodded.  "What you say makes sense.  But who, then, are you?"

The man pulled his hood back, revealing a tanned face framed by long, loose hair.  "I'm the 
escapee," he said.  "Eli Evanescens, at your service."

"I might have known," said the Prince, laughing quietly.  "Why do you come to me?  Is our 
meeting random, or strange kismet?"

"I hoped you would be here today," Eli said softly.  "I had to see for myself."

Vapula nodded, and then stiffened as a new voice rang through the cathedral.  "As did I."  The 
voice was strong, almost overbearing, a rich baritone with a razor edge.  "I had thought my 
Soldiers were taking lessons from their Balseraph masters until I actually saw you here."  The 
owner of the voice was the very image of a medieval church official, with long, flowing robes 
in crimson and violet and a velvet tri-corner hat with gold trim.  He stood at the end of the 
pew that Vapula and Eli shared, grinning a shark's grin.  "I wish to hear that you have 
entrapped the Archangels of Creation and the Sword in a web of deceit and treachery.  I wish to 
hear that your words in this church have been a carefully-planned charade.  I wish to hear that 
your loyalty to our organization remains without question.  Will you tell me these things?"

"My connection to our organization has never been more solid, Prince Asmodeus -"

"You lie," said Asmodeus, and shot Vapula through the head.

Eli gasped and stood suddenly, Vapula's surprised expression falling inches from the 
Archangel's bare toes.  "You are a liability now, Prince Vapula," said the Prince of the Game, 
nearly spitting Vapula's name as the body began to hiss and dissolve back into the Symphony.  
The sound of the gunshot still rang through the arches of the cathedral as Asmodeus returned 
the gun to its holster.  "When he returns, tell him that he is no longer welcome in our 
organization."  Eli nodded mutely, backing away slightly from the now-skeletal corpse.  
Asmodeus folded his arms and swept out of the cathedral, vanishing as the morning light struck 
him.

To Eli's left, a confessional opened amid a sudden humming, and Vapula stepped out, his face 
straightening and regaining its sanity as the house of God claimed its effect upon him.  "He... 
shot me."  Eli nodded.  "He shot me," Vapula repeated, his voice nearly breaking, "and 
shattered my Laboratory.  The work of centuries, of millennia... gone at Asmodeus's whim."

Eli walked forward as quickly as he dared, hearing the dust that was all that was left of the 
old vessel snap and spit as individual motes returned to the Symphony.  "Come with me," he said 
simply.  "I will help you if you come with me.  You must trust me, however."

Deep in the heart - not the Heart, the crystalline structure that is a demon's connection to 
Hell, but the very core of his soul - every demon knows a secret longing.  Even though he might 
deny it, for fear that others might see it as a sign of weakness or treachery, it sits, 
waiting, pulsing, and it is undefiable.  Deep in the heart, every demon looks at the sky, at 
Heaven above, and thinks, that is *home*.

Vapula nodded.

"I will do what you ask.  Hell has no place for me anymore."  The former Prince took Eli's 
outstretched hand, and together they walked to the rear of the cathedral, where the altar and 
lit censers stood ready.

To the side, the acolyte smiled.  I was loath to abandon my prayer with even a fraction of my 
attention, he thought, but Eli, how glad am I that you called me here.  Today we have *two* who 
rise to be among us.

--

"Idiot," snarled Asmodeus as he materialized in his chambers.  "Did he think I wouldn't realize 
his subversion?  Did he think I didn't have people watching him at all times?"  His voice was 
tight as he turned to that day's secretary, a Lilim with startlingly blue hair and a scar 
running down her forearm.  "Make a note to double all observation details until further notice.  
This is a dangerous time to be a Demon Prince, and I want to be informed of any further 
problems as soon as they develop.  Before they develop!"  The Lilim nodded and made a note, 
then sent the piece of parchment off into the Symphony with a low hum of disturbance.

Asmodeus turned to sit, but there was a form already in his chair.  "You," he snarled.  "What 
makes you think that you have the right to-"

"Calm, Prince Asmodeus," said Haagenti in a cool tone.  "It does not become you to make 
outbursts.  Are you not after all a Djinn, the noblest of all demons?  No, do not correct me; 
the Balseraphs wallow in self-deceit, their nobility degraded by their delusion.  It is the 
Djinn who are calm, collected; it is the Djinn who are able to keep tabs on us all, and make 
certain that we do not fall further into ruin.  And who is the chief of all Djinn?"

Asmodeus almost smiled despite himself.  "You may be right," he allowed.  "To what do I owe the 
pleasure of your visit, Prince Haagenti?"

Haagenti wrinkled his nose.  Already his new suit was decomposing.  "You and I need to talk," 
he said, his voice smooth.  "You may be of the noblest rank, but your methods are growing... 
how shall I put this?... unreliable.  Just this week we have lost two of our Princes to Heaven, 
and still more are likely to arise before this affair has ended.  What do you have to say of 
that?"

Asmodeus frowned.  "Two?  I knew that Vapula was possible, but... who?"

"You did not know, then?  Of course; your agents were killed too.  The Prince of the Media is 
no longer with us."

"Nybbas was killed in the flooding?  That explains some interesting news stories recently."  
Asmodeus nodded.  "We shall have to appoint a new Prince, I think."

Haagenti's eyes flashed.  "You may be of noble creation, Asmodeus, but never forget that the 
Nemesis assigns positions outside of your ranks!"

Asmodeus was so startled by this outburst that he actually took a step back.  "Of course," he 
said softly, recovering.  "We are all grateful to the Lightbringer."  He smiled.  "I will have 
to make some... recommendations, then.  As far as appointing a new Prince of the Media goes."

"Have you forgotten the other?"

"And another Prince of Technology.  How quick you are to catch my errors!"

Haagenti smiled toothily.  "I know the temperament of our lord Nemesis, and I know of the trust 
which he places in you.  It would not do to violate that trust, or cause that temper to flare.  
And even the best of us need reminders on occasion."

Asmodeus turned back to the Lilim.  "Make a note: I am to suggest a new Prince of the Media and 
Prince of Technology at my next meeting with the Lightbringer."  She nodded, and wrote this 
down, but did not vanish the parchment.

The Prince of the Game nodded, then returned his gaze to Haagenti.  "Now that we have had our 
little chat, will you excuse me?  I have scheduled a visit with one of my subordinates."  
Without waiting for the reply, he vanished in a puff of brimstone.

"Very dramatic," Haagenti murmured, "but you are doing nothing but driving the nails into your 
own coffin."  He stood, and looked at the Lilim.  "It is time."

She nodded, and laughed - a musical laugh - and the hum that had pervaded the chamber since she 
had arrived dissipated in a burst of trumpets.  Her horns folded in upon themselves and 
disappeared with a Symphonic pop as the Song ended.  "Now go!" commanded Haagenti, and she 
nodded and vanished upward, through the ceiling of the chamber, speeding for Earth, and thence 
for Heaven, as fast as her Song of Motion would carry her.

Haagenti smiled his toothy smile again.  "Ah, Asmodeus," he said, sighing happily and leaning 
against the Prince's desk.  "To have your naivete again would be refreshment beyond compare.  
But I have an appointment as well, I'm afraid."  He checked his watch, let his second Song fade 
and watched as his clothing knitted itself back together.  "Time to face the music."

A burst of Song later, he was standing in a richly-appointed antechamber.  Various demons and 
damned souls were milling about, obviously waiting for an appointment.  Meeting with the 
Nemesis was a deadly business, although most of these didn't know that: unless he had summoned 
you, you had to wait in the antechamber until he did.  If you left, your name was sure to be 
called as soon as you stepped out the doors; if you tried to trick him into meeting you, he 
would, but you were many, many times more likely to die for fooling the Lightbringer than you 
were to be granted a boon.

Haagenti had been summoned, and the receptionist - a pale Habbalite whose scalp had been flayed 
to reveal a bare skull - nodded as he stepped up, straightening his tie.  "Haagenti, holder of 
the Word of Gluttony, submits to the will of the Lightbringer," he said, dropping to one knee.

The receptionist nodded again, and a door opened behind her.  "Enter," called a voice from 
within.

Lucifer's chambers were not what most would expect; in fact, they were rather spartan, 
considering.  Although the room was spacious, there was but one decoration: the original 
manuscript of _Paradise Regained_, on a mahogany stand and encased in glass.  His desk was oak, 
as was his chair.  There were no cushions anywhere, no other seating, but a small shine on the 
floor before the desk showed where countless generations of demons had knelt.

Haagenti was glad to be tall enough to see over the desk as he knelt.

"My dread Lord Lucifer," he said, "you have summoned me?"

Lucifer finished writing a sentence and looked up.  "It has come to my attention that two of 
our Princes are gone from our ranks, a third is missing in action, and a fourth is dangerously 
close to sedition.  What do you know of this?"

Haagenti looked up, careful not to meet the Lightbringer's gaze.  "I know that Nybbas was 
presumed perished in the California disaster of several days past," he said.  "I know that 
Vapula was vessel-killed by Asmodeus for the crime of being a Catholic, and that he was last 
seen in the presence of the Archangel Eli.  I know that Asmodeus has been acting pridefully and 
with great wrath in the past weeks."  He stopped, and shrugged.  "I know that Valefor has 
killed the Archangel Janus.  I have not seen him since."

Lucifer looked over thin, rectangular glasses at the Prince.  "When was Janus killed?  We had 
reports of his interference at a Tether in Indianapolis only yesterday."

Haagenti shrugged again.  "I know that Janus was killed in the past week.  I watched it done.  
If he lives still... then my senses must deceive me, dread Lord."

Lucifer nodded, apparently satisfied.  "Thank you, Haagenti.  That will be all."

Haagenti stayed kneeling.  "If I might, my lord?"

Lucifer looked up.  "Yes?"

"How goes it?"

The Lightbringer frowned, but it was not of displeasure with his Prince.  "I cannot decide how 
to end the sixth chapter," he said.  "Have you any suggestions?"

"End it with a murder," Haagenti put forth.  "Kill one of the major players.  The readers will 
never expect it."

Lucifer smiled.  "An excellent suggestion, my dear Prince.  Thank you."

Haagenti returned the smile, but thinly.  "Thank you, my Lord.  Any other business?"

"No," said the Nemesis, already writing again.  "That will be all."

Haagenti rose and left the chamber.  As the door closed behind him, he spied another Prince 
entering the antechamber the same way he had, the hum of disturbance following him.  
"Haagenti," the newcomer said.

"Baal," replied the Prince of Gluttony.  "Troubling times, are they not?"

The Prince of the War nodded.  "Nonsense,"

"Prone to become more troubling soon," noted Haagenti, moving close, conversing in whispers.

"I don't think so," Baal replied, and then coughed softly.

"It's too bad," said Haagenti, wiping the blade on an already-red cloth, "that you won't be 
around for it.  Unlike the meddler, I know how to make my problems go away."  Baal slumped to 
the floor as Haagenti faded out of the antechamber, and there was nothing that the stunned 
demons could do as the Prince's Forces sloughed off into a Symphony that didn't even respond.

--

At the back of Laurence's Cathedral, hidden in the shadow of one of the buttresses that line 
the walls, is a door, simple and wooden.  There is a trick to this door that few know: its 
various brass decorations (including the handle) need polish.  In fact, this is the door's Need 
(at level 1); if a creature does it the favor of polishing one of the decorations with a soft 
cloth for one minute, the door will respond to the favor by opening of its own accord.  It is 
to the benefit of those who use this door that the Need is immediately visible to any Lilim who 
sees the door, without the need for any sort of roll.  (There is one other way to work the 
door: it will always open when bidden by the Archangel of the Sword.)

A creature managing to get the door open will find itself facing a hallway, wooden, lined with 
doors, and vaguely medieval in appearance, with a doorway to an open room at the end.  The rare 
creature that not only has access to this door but has been to Hell before may recognize this 
as a replica of one of the residence halls of the Guildhall in Lilith's domain.

Almost invariably, when new Bright Lilim arrive in Heaven, they gravitate to one Superior in 
particular: the Archangel of the Sword.  (There is no documented evidence as to why this trend 
exists, although several Lilim have gone on the record as saying that Laurence is "cuter than 
hell."  Laurence isn't sure how to take that.)  When they do, Laurence initially directs them 
here, to this hall, in order to meet and get to know the other Brights, who often have better 
insight into working for Heaven than anyone else could.

Moliq, the Host's newest Bright Lilim, hurried along in Archangel Laurence's wake as he strode 
through his Cathedral.  The door burst open before him, and Laurence beckoned Moliq through.  
"Go talk to your sisters," he said in a hushed voice.  "I'm sure they have missed you in your 
long absence from grace."  He paused as she stepped through the doorway.  "And Moliq... thank 
you."  He smiled, and the Bright Lilim nearly fainted, then skittered off down the hallway.

"Hello, Brother," said a quiet voice from behind him as the door slid noiselessly shut.  "You 
seem to have quite the collection."

"Brother Vapula," said Laurence, a smile coloring his voice.  "They... come to me.  I do not 
ask for this honor, but neither can I, in my heart of hearts, deny it."  He turned to face the 
Elohite.  "How have you liked your first days in the Eternal City?"

Vapula's skin was clean for the first time in his life, though he still bore traces of the 
scars and tattoos that had blemished his body.  He was dressed in the simple robes of a 
penitent, and his demeanor was very unassuming, although the ashes on his bald head were a 
touch Laurence had not seen in a long time, and Vapula was doing an admirable job of keeping 
them on his smooth scalp.  "It is... a marked difference from the shambolic life I am used to 
living.  I have yet to truly get my bearings."  He looked down.  "Brother Laurence, I have been 
to see Jacob's Ladder."  He laughed self-consciously.  "I have so much yet to learn."

Laurence nodded somberly.  "There is much to learn here.  And.. there is much for us to learn 
as well."

Vapula looked up sharply.  "Anything I can do to help our Lord... but so soon?"

"No, friend," Laurence said, smiling.  "Continue your acclimation.  When you are ready, come 
find us."  He moved off, toward the front of the Cathedral.  "And until you select a Superior, 
I pray that you find yourself comfortable in my home."

Vapula nodded.  As a newborn Elohite, he was still struggling to control his emotions.  It was 
only natural for him to want to serve under the Archangel of the Sword, he felt; after all, 
that one was the man who had sent him on the path to redemption.  But were there other places 
he was needed?

Vapula had resolved to take as much time as he needed to prepare himself for service to the 
Lord and an Archangel when the door opened, and a Bright Lilim stuck her head out.  He 
recognized her at once, of course: Grenic, one of his own Servitors in days gone by.  He had 
thought that she had died - and, irrationally, found a sudden joy in his heart at seeing her 
alive and well.  "My sister?" he asked, for she had not yet seen him.

The Bright Lilim looked toward him.  "Have we met?" she asked.  "I'm afraid I'm still new here.  
You're an... Elohite, correct?"

Was I really that bad at educating my subjects?  "I am."  He stepped closer.  "My name is 
Vapula.  I think we've met."  His eyes twinkled as she stared.

"Oh my... you're..." she stammered, letting the door close behind her.  "They got you to 
redeem?"

Vapula nodded.  "I was... rejected by Hell, and accepted by Heaven.  And having been a Catholic 
anyway, in my saner moments...."  He shrugged.

She nodded slowly, comprehension dawning.  "W... welcome to Heaven, Lord Vapula," she said, but 
Vapula interrupted her before she could continue.

"I am no longer a lord of any sort, my sister," he said quietly.  "Even before the Lord God 
accepted me back into His light, I had renounced that arrogance.  I am a penitent in the house 
of God - nothing more."

The Bright Lilim nodded, understanding slowly dawning.  "I... have taken a new name in the 
service of Heaven," she said carefully.  "I am called Vehia... brother Vapula."

The Elohite smiled.  "Vehia," he said, testing the name out.  "I like it.  Much easier to 
pronounce than Grenic, and friendlier to the palate."

Vehia beamed.  "Vapula... I'm glad to see you again.  I'm sure we'll see each other around, but 
I have to go..."

Vapula chuckled.  "I understand.  It is good to see you as well, sister Vehia.  Be well."

--

Kobal was becoming impatient.

Regardless of which Demon Prince you are, regardless of how highly you think of yourself, you 
do not turn down a request for a meeting from the being who is, at least nominally, 
coordinating the military arm of the entirety of what you believe in.  But now Baal was half an 
hour late, and the bad Chinese version of "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", being sung by an even worse 
Chinese lounge band, was starting to grate on his nerves.

He shouldn't have been surprised that the song was playing; it was one of his adoptive 
brother's restaurants (God help him, Haagenti actually liked the song), but the Prince of 
Gluttony had gone typically overboard.  The name of the restaurant was the Leroy Brown Lounge.  
Everybody who worked there was a damned soul who went by the name of Leroy Brown.  The only 
song ever played in the restaurant was "Leroy Brown"... and Haagenti never seemed to get tired 
of it.

Kobal hated it.

But, this was where Baal had asked him to meet.  Kobal knew enough of the rules of Hell to 
realize that should he leave, Baal would immediately show up and proceed to lay into him for 
leaving.  (This was not a conscious imitation of Lucifer's waiting-room policy, Kobal knew; 
rather, it was Murphy's Law combined with an application of Baal's personality.)  The Demon 
Prince of the War gave the most damaging dressings-down of anyone in all of creation; Kobal had 
seen *Kronos* flinch when Baal was in top form.

The only other creature in the lounge who didn't work there seemed to be a Djinn, although the 
celestial form was all wrong; this one seemed to be a *human*, or at least a humanoid, with 
bat-wings, although Kobal wasn't immediately sure what sort of humanoid, as the Djinn's back 
was turned.  Still, all demons - at least, in the eyes of Princes - were immediately 
distinguishable by Band, regardless of shape, and this one was definitely a Stalker.

It made sense, at least.  Only a Stalker would have the aloofness required to withstand "Leroy 
Brown" on infinite repeat.

Kobal looked again.  The Djinn had a familiar aura about it... no, *her*.  The way she moved, 
the tone of her voice... Kobal was sure he'd seen her somewhere before.  Ah well, he thought.  
As long as I'm here, I might as well have a little fun.  He'd had some bad pick-up lines saved 
up for a while.  Heading over to the bar, where the Stalker was occupying a stool as only 
Stalkers can, he slid smoothly into the seat next to her.  "Excuse me," he said, in his best 
Jock, "but has anyone ever told you that you have amazing..."

Kobal's jaw does not drop often.

The Djinn smiled.  "Oh, hello, Kobal," she said sweetly.  "Miss me?  I know I've been away for 
a while, but your brother and I struck a bargain recently.  He goes to the top, I go free.  You 
didn't think he was always hungry because he was Gluttony, did you?"

Kobal was speechless.

"Listen, Baal won't be making your meeting.  He fell ill, the poor dear; a sudden case of 
reintegration into the Symphony.  So you can run along with no fear of retribution."  Her smile 
grew teeth.  "It's something I'd suggest, personally.  Besides... isn't this song plucking 
about your last nerve?"

Kobal nodded.  "It's, um... been good seeing you again," he said, slinking off the bar stool 
and toward the door as fast as he could go.

The Djinn giggled to herself and slugged back the drink the bartender gave her.  Behind her, 
the lounge group started up "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" again, this time in Korean, which made the 
Djinn laugh out loud.  "God, I love this song," she said.  "Leroy!  Two more of these.  I've 
got some catching up to do."

--

It was not a good day for Hell.  According to current intelligence, two Demon Princes were 
dead, another had Redeemed, and still a fourth had gone Renegade with no sign of his 
whereabouts.  Meanwhile, Heaven didn't even seem to have skipped a beat; operations were going 
as smoothly as they ever did, which - unfortunately - the majority of Hell seemed to take as a 
personal affront.

Saminga was not in the majority of Hell.

Saminga's opinion was that the more Princes died, the more powerful his Word became, and 
therefore he wasn't terribly concerned about the fate of his fellow Superiors.  He wasn't about 
to kill them himself - that might get him in trouble - but he wasn't going to argue with 
whoever was doing it.

The reports filtering into the Hall of Death were grim: it appeared as though Haagenti may have 
been behind the death of Baal, and could possibly have been masterminding the events leading to 
Nybbas's demise.  His agents couldn't find any link between Haagenti and the redemption of 
Vapula - in fact, all evidence pointed to Asmodeus as the catalyst there; one Prince ought not 
kill another in the middle of a cathedral and expect not to be held accountable for it - but he 
was sure that Malphas's spin doctors could find a way to turn that to the Prince of Gluttony's 
detriment.

The loss of Baal hurt Saminga in a way that little else could.  The Prince of Death had always 
admired Baal for the sheer amount of destruction that his armies could inflict, and had 
considered him a friend ever since the Confrontation with Legion, when Baal had literally 
dragged Saminga away from the fight moments before that final, catastrophic clash between the 
Prince of Corruption and the Archangel of Knowledge.  The image - that last instant - was still 
indelibly engraved on one of Saminga's Forces, as it was on everyone who had been there, as a 
sort of Symphonic reminder of the consequences of unhindered growth.

Which was why Saminga was cautious now about killing other Princes.  It would certainly feed 
his Word - but what were the consequences?

A knock on the great oak doors of the Hall startled Saminga out of his reverie.  "Come," he 
intoned, and the doors swung wide, revealing a pair of Djinn, both humaniform, both cloaked 
from head to toe.  One's robe was the jet black of space, without the veil of stars; the 
other's was white, with blue highlights where the shadows lay.  "You have my attention," said 
Saminga, affecting lazy almost-disinterest even as his many ears pricked up.  "What is it?"

"We come to make a proposal, Lord Saminga," said the Djinn in black, her voice oddly empty.  
"We seem to have a situation on our hands, and we know how much Baal meant to you.  We would 
like your assistance in... curtailing the trouble."

Saminga nodded.  "What is it that you would have me do?"

The Djinn in black spoke again, bluntly.  "We need Haagenti to die.  He is the one causing all 
this trouble, and he must be stopped.  By any means."

So Malphas has already begun to play.  "Tell me what you offer me in return.  Haagenti is a 
friend, an ally.  What could you give me that would be worth that?"

The Djinn in white smiled, with teeth that glittered like crystal.  "My services, Lord Saminga.  
You will trade one Prince, one who consumes all and leaves nothing for you, for another - one 
whose practices leave you the bodies to reanimate."  He grinned and threw back his cowl.

The Djinn's skin was so white as to be almost transparent, although he didn't seem to have any 
blood vessels near the surface to speak of.  His hair was long, and as bone-white as his robe, 
and seemed brittle enough to break at the slightest provocation.  His ears carried slight 
points, as did his eyes, and his teeth did indeed sparkle like crystal, even out of shadow.  
This was a creature the likes of whom Saminga had never seen, and yet -

"Vephar?" he asked, hollowly.

The Djinn cringed.  "I... I remember Vephar.  Distantly, as if in a dream.  I am told that I 
bear his Forces.  But he is gone, no more than a legend.  Call me Zapan."  The smile returned.  
"I represent Ice."

Saminga smiled.  This might work out after all.

The three found themselves shortly thereafter in Haagenti's favorite lounge in Shal-Mari, 
laying in wait for the Prince's eventual appearance.  (Zapan would think, later, that to hear 
"Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" in Tagalog was an experience that almost demanded a Force-purging.)  The 
Djinn in black, who had yet to reveal any portion of her body or her name, sat at the bar in 
what was apparently an accustomed place; Zapan and Saminga, both humaniform, took a booth, 
waiting silently.  Saminga was busily running "It's A Small World After All" through his head 
in a desperate attempt to DROWN OUT THAT DAMNED SONG when Haagenti, followed by a small 
entourage, walked in the door.

Immediately the staff converged on him, smiling and complimenting and leading him to what was, 
again, obviously an accustomed place.  "Wait," he said, and smiled toothily in Saminga's 
direction as the staff, the band, and even the ceiling fans stopped dead in their tracks.  
"Sam, my old friend, what brings you here?"

Saminga swallowed his dread.  "Haagenti... you've gone too far.  Nobody liked Nybbas, not 
really... but Baal?"  The knife, its blade long, wavy, and serrated, made its way into his 
hand, and he stood.  "You shouldn't have killed Baal, Haagenti.  He was the leader of our army 
- our best chance - and a good friend.  And you killed him."  The knife rose high; as one, the 
entourage backed away.  "No more, Haagenti.  No more."

The knife plunged.

The scene held for a moment: Haagenti, hands clapped around the blade, fingertips pressed 
against the hilt as the much-stronger Saminga drove it downward.  Then Haagenti spread his 
hands, and the knife, now bladeless, pounded against his chest.  "What?" Saminga roared, 
looking desperately at the hilt.

Haagenti calmly plucked his own knife, a stiletto whose blade was black as night, from its 
hidden sheath under his jacket, and slammed the point deep into Saminga's forehead.  "Next 
time," he whispered so that only the dying Prince could hear him, "get a blade that won't 
melt."

He stood, watched as the Saminga-pool began to dissolve around the knife.  "Delusional," he 
said loudly.  "A pity, too; Saminga was a good friend, but I couldn't have him trying to kill 
me.  I wonder where he got the idea that I killed Baal, though?"  He turned.  "Do you have 
anything to say about that, Zapan?"

The pale Djinn shook his head.  "I said nothing to him."

Haagenti shrugged.  "Ah well.  You'll be remembered, Sam," he said, more quietly.  "Leroy!  A 
double!" he called out, and the entourage and band all returned to their work smoothly.  "And 
Leroy - dump a double out for the deceased, would you?"

--

"Stand away from me, Haagenti," said Andrealphus, Prince of Lust.  "The demons have watched you 
kill two of our number, and I would not have myself be a third."

Haagenti smiled, and leaned back in one of the many comfortable chairs in Andrealphus's suite.  
"Relax, Andre," he said, in a deep, soothing voice.  "I'm not going to kill you.  I'm not even 
going to hurt you unless you ask me to.  I'm here to ask you a favor."

The Prince of Lust relaxed a little.  "What's that?  A lot of favors have been asked recently, 
too."

"Why, to side with me, of course," Haagenti said, and smiled wider.  "You've never liked me, 
and I can understand that.  What reason did you have?  I'd sooner have bitten off anything you 
tried to put near me than slept with you.  But Andre..."

Haagenti stood up and began pacing.  He'd left his shoes outside, as per Andrealphus's custom, 
and was enjoying the three-inch shag carpeting beneath his feet.  "Andre, a lot has changed 
recently.  I've become less of a ravenous destroyer and more of a - oh, how can I put this?  
Well - you've been watching me.  When's the last time you actually saw me eat anything?"

Andrealphus thought on this.  Haagenti had been picked up on a freeway in the American Midwest 
with a bag of White Castle cheeseburgers, but since then...  "Over a week ago," Andre admitted.

"Right.  Do you know why that is?"

Andrealphus shook his head.  "I made a deal that day, Andre," said Haagenti.  "You'll recall 
that of the demons I devoured to take my seat as Prince, only two were Princes themselves.  
Meserach couldn't muster the energy to resist me.  His Forces are long gone.  But *Mariel*... 
Andre, consider this - and I'll try to couch it in personal terms for you.  What if someone 
removed your pleasure-termination center - the place in your head that tells you when you're 
'all funned out'?  What if you had to keep going because you were being teased along, led to 
believe that if you slept with just *one more girl*, you'd be sated?  What if did it not 
because you wanted to - but because you *had* to?

"Mariel kept herself together in the pit of my stomach.  She obliviated everything that I ate - 
let me have just enough to keep me on the edge.  And then we found out that Vapula was 
considering Redemption, and watched California fall out from under Nybbas, and Mariel contacted 
me and told me that she knew of a way to consolidate Hell's power and prevent this kind of 
thing from happening again."

Haagenti smiled.  "It's gonna be an Old-Testament kind of Hell.  Fire and brimstone, torture 
and pain, and we're going to be right in the center of it - the Seven Sins, just like it always 
should have been.  You know how they have a Seraphim Council up top?  We'll have the First 
Circle.  Eight Princes - the Sins, and Mariel as the eighth."  His smile grew teeth.  "I only 
have to find five more candidates.  I'd hate to have to find a sixth."

Andre nodded.  "But - aside from the power, yeah, that's all nice - what's in it for me?"

Haagenti laughed.  "Imagine a world," he said, "where we didn't have the Game looking over our 
shoulder.  Where we had freedom to actually inflict our sins upon the swine, instead of dealing 
with Asmodeus's insane cold war?"

"The angels would be on us in a heartbeat."

"The angels don't have the numbers, Andre.  They kill a demon, we've got two more to replace 
him.  And we can create demons as fast as we want.  Think about it.  All of the Essence in Hell 
going right to us."

Andrealphus smiled.  "Now you're talking.  So what do I have to do to get in on this?"

Haagenti laughed.  "Just be ready, friend Haagenti.  Together, we're gonna blow this place wide 
open."

With a flourish, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Andrealphus to consider his new 
allegiance.  Quickly, almost irritated, he kicked his shoes back on and headed out toward 
Greater Shal-Mari.  "Mariel!" he called, and she appeared from a shadow beside him.  "What have 
you found?"

"I am not your lackey to command," she growled.

"Of course not," said Haagenti, "but we are running on a tight schedule.  If we foul up at any 
point on this, the whole thing could blow up in our faces. Now, what do you have?"

"It happens," she said coldly, "that Prince Asmodeus is beginning to be suspicious."  Haagenti 
laughed.  "Enough!  He saw the tape and was not convinced.  Only after he had tortured one of 
your busboys to death was he satisfied."  She growled softly.  "He oversteps his bounds, 
Haagenti.  We should-"

"We will do nothing," he said quietly, turning into the Leroy Brown, "until the time is right.  
If Asmodeus is playing hardball, then so shall we.  Master Lucifer!" he cried, breaking into a 
grin as he broke through the beaded entryway.  "It is so good to see you, sir.  How is your 
book coming along?"

The Nemesis nodded to Haagenti.  "Fairly well," he said, "although I'm not sure I've liked the 
last few chapters."

"Oh, I'm sure it will turn out all right, sir," Haagenti said, every inch the patronizing 
butler.  "Can I get you anything?  Wine?  Cigarette?  Buffalo?"

Lucifer smiled.  "Actually, I was hoping I could have a moment of your time."

Haagenti's ichor hardened to ice.

"I think," said the Lightbringer, that we need somebody like Nybbas back in the Media slot.  
Someone with style, and panache.  Someone who's not going to let the stupid stuff get on the 
air."  He beckoned the Prince closer.  "More to the point... someone who'll proofread my book 
discreetly."

Haagenti almost laughed.  "I think that can be arranged, my lord.  Was there anything else?"

Lucifer shook his head, stood up and stowed his glasses in his breast pocket.  "That's all for 
now, Haagenti.  I know you have things to do, but would you have someone show me to the 
monorail stop?"

--

Haagenti strolled along the rooftops of Shal-Mari, watching the lights of the city three or 
four stories below.  He was in the lower section of town, where the buildings were all pretty 
much of even height - far from the Ultra Plaza downtown that was Andrealphus's base of 
operations, or the Infernal Megamedia building that had been Nybbas's domain.  A latticework of 
wooden boards and riveted metal sheets crossed between the roofs of these low-slung edifices, 
making a convenient walkway for anyone who knew about it.

A fair number of demons were aware of the network of walkways, but very few used it; it was 
certain to have been noticed by Infernal Megamedia's cruising camera helicopters, for instance, 
but the demons operating the helicopters rarely got enough of a break to be able to use the 
paths that they saw.  So Haagenti was, for the most part, guaranteed solitude when he walked 
the rooftops, and he had been taking advantage of that solitude more and more in recent days.

Today, it seemed, was not one of those days.  A shape, little more than a shadow, detached 
itself from one of the smokestacks that littered Fleurity's bit of Hell and flitted over toward 
Haagenti, silently, swiftly, without the Prince in question even being aware.  As Haagenti 
stepped onto one of the narrow planks above an alley, the shadow slid up behind him, mimicking 
the Prince's movements, and then leaned forward, grinning white teeth gleaming against the 
shadow.

"Boo," said Kobal.

Haagenti didn't miss a step.  "Dear brother," he said softly, "I should think trickery like 
that to be beneath you."

Kobal shifted into his normal human form.  "Well, I *was* dark, it's hard to be a shadow 
without being dark, and I thought it was funny... you're not laughing, Haggy, what's the 
matter?"

Haagenti cringed.  "You know I hate that name," he muttered.  "Kobal, a lot of Princes have 
been dying recently, or returning to Heaven.  There's a new order coming, and I hate to say it, 
but the people planning it don't really see a place there for Dark Humor."  He turned to his 
brother, who was idly standing on his head.  "They're saying that they're going to be making a 
council like the one Heaven has.  A Circle of Sins, or something like that.  I've been 
included, and Andre, but..."  He shrugged.  "Unless we can get you bumped up to Wrath..."

Kobal walked on his hands over to his adopted brother.  "Haven't I survived all of the coup 
attempts we've had so far?  Hell, haven't I orchestrated half of them?  I'll be fine, Haggy.  
Don't worry."  He did a half-cartwheel, and when he landed he was wearing a jester's costume.  
"Even the Lightbringer needs someone to make him laugh."

Haagenti smiled through gritted teeth. "I'm glad you're so confident, Kobal.  I don't think I 
would be, if I were in your position."

The Prince of Dark Humor laughed, his bells jingling.  "Don't underestimate me, brother.  I may 
be only an Impudite, I may not be dedicated to war, but I can defend myself."  His eyes glazed 
for a moment.  "Three... two.. one.."  There was an explosion from three blocks away, and Kobal 
ran to the edge of the roof to look; Haagenti followed at a much more leisurely pace.  By the 
time he got to the edge, Kobal was in a general's outfit.  "See?  Careful application of lethal 
force.  That was one of Mammon's casinos.  Notice the flames reaching to the sky?  None of the 
buildings around will be harmed, because I've fireproofed them - ah, there goes the Song of 
Shields now - but we'll all get a good laugh at Mammon's expense.  Why?  Because he was stupid.  
Because his security was lax.  Because he allowed a Habbalite who'd overdosed on his own 
emptiness to walk into his casino with a rapidly-advancing degenerative skin condition and 
subcutaneous bags of napalm.  Best part is, the Habbalite was about to redeem, so getting rid 
of him means we keep all our secrets in the family, eh?"  He grinned and nudged Haagenti.

Haagenti nodded and turned away.  "It does indeed, brother.  And thank you for destroying one 
of that disgusting pig's strongholds.  Let's hope it was a Tether locus too."

"No," said Kobal, now a radio operator with headset and telegraph book.  "We'd have heard if it 
were a Tether.  Unless the Shield is blocking the noise out..."

There was a deafening bang and both Princes were staggered as the shockwave from the Tether's 
destruction passed over and through them.  "Well," said Kobal, as a game show host, "whaddya 
know.  Mammon zero, me *two*.  Oh, he's gonna love me tomorrow."

Haagenti walked to the opposite end of the roof.  "Look," he said, "here comes the wave of 
onlookers.  Five-minute response time; everybody must be worried about recent events."  He 
turned to look at his brother, who now, in a mime's outfit, was feeling his way around an 
invisible wall.  "Cut that out," Haagenti said irritably.  "You know I hate that mime crap."

"No," said Kobal, in a soft voice.  "There's really a wall here."  He reached a corner and it 
became apparent that he was inside the box.  A whistling noise began to pierce the air from 
above them, and Haagenti and Kobal both looked up to see a bomb hurtling down at the rooftop, 
painted yellow with a black "Have A Nice Day" face inscribed on the nose.  "Haagenti," Kobal 
yelled, "run --"

Haagenti leapt off the roof just as the bomb exploded, tumbling to his feet in the alley below.  
He thought it odd that he couldn't see any debris in the five seconds or so before he 
remembered the invisible wall; jumping with all his might, he caught the edge of the roof and 
pulled himself up.

The roof had been blackened in a ten-foot square that ended very abruptly.  Just off-center was 
the body of Kobal, already beginning to scatter as Mariel plunged a dagger again and again into 
his unmoving form.  "Mariel!" shouted Haagenti.  "He's gone - you can stop."  Only then did 
Mariel seem to realize that her target was dissipating, and she let out a long sigh and stood.  
"What the hell was that all about?" asked the Prince of Gluttony, stepping to the very edge of 
the blackened square.  "When did you intend to tell me that you were going to kill my brother?"

Mariel sniffed, and wiped the grease from her hand onto the shift she was wearing.  "If you'd 
known, you would have tried to get him out."

"No kidding!" Haagenti yelled.  "You think I'd stand idly by while you murdered my brother?"

"Relax, Haagenti," she murmured, dropping the invisible wall and stepping up to him.  "He would 
have died eventually, anyway.  At least we saved him the pain of a new infernal order made 
without him in mind."  She slid the dagger back into her shift.  "Besides, I know you.  You 
won't mourn him for too long."

"Get away from me," growled Haagenti, and stepped back.  In the time it took Mariel to blurt 
out a confused "Wait!", he had gone backward over the edge of the rooftop.  By the time she 
reached the edge and looked down, he was gone.

--

Haagenti stepped through the ruin of a wooden door, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden 
gloom.  Although the gaslights down the corridor in front of him were supposed to be eternal, 
six and a half centuries of neglect had dimmed all but a few, and those sputtered, giving the 
entire corridor a spooky, otherworldly appearance.  The Prince shivered involuntarily - 
regardless of how many times they'd visited, there was nothing more disturbing to a Superior 
than an abandoned Principality - and made his way through the wreckage of the hallway's 
displays and decorations, toward the rear of the building.

It was almost frightening to Haagenti to turn his gaze into some of the crumbling doorways.  
His eyes focused against his will on the remains of demons whose very Forces had rotted from 
the inside, of souls that had once had human form but were now contorted beyond all 
recognition, of imps and snots and demonlings forced into bottles, their nutrient drips - no 
matter how tainted - now more than six hundred years dry.  He shivered again.  This, more than 
many other places in Hell, was not a happy place.

It is said that the Demon Princes are hundreds of years more advanced than the humans.  (The 
Archangels, as all demons know, are backwards, incompetent fools, but they are hundreds of 
years beyond the Princes all the same.) Still, the Princes had to rely on the same basic 
methods that humans did, and as a result, the rooms which Haagenti was passing, even had they 
been in perfect, working condition, would still have seemed hopelessly antiquated to any modern 
mortal.  Even physicians and psychiatrists might have been baffled by some of the instruments 
and tools that lay broken and rusted on the tables and floors.

Still, there was a grandeur about the place.  In isolated spots near the Essence-burning 
gaslights, the solid mahogany paneling still shone as though it had been recently polished.  In 
some rooms, the decay was halted, and steel-and-glass contraptions still warmed over hissing 
Bunsen burners.  There was a power about the place, as though the countless ideas that had 
grown in this building had permeated the walls and pulsed still, waiting for another mind to 
corrupt.

Haagenti's was not that mind.  He remembered the events which had led to the Grand Laboratory's 
master's destruction, and he wanted no part of such things. 

He did want one of that master's last inventions, though.  Like his successor, that Prince had 
not always realized the full detail of his inventions' powers, and had developed a 
bacteriophagic syrup that would consume any germs it came across and subsume their infectious 
abilities, resulting in a super-germ that could be kept in a bottle.  Its creator hadn't gotten 
all the way through testing, though; in fact, the syrup was a poison that was alkephagic, 
devouring Forces instead of bacteria.

Haagenti was glad that the elbow-length rubber gloves he'd found in one of the less-ruined 
rooms were actually more or less untouched, and still he winced as he uncorked the glass bottle 
that held the venomous syrup.  When he was certain that the fumes had cleared, he removed the 
black dagger from its sheath and slid it, tip-first, into the thick liquid.  Almost 
immediately, beads of syrup began flowing up the blade, toward the hilt of the dagger, but 
cleverly-worked grooves in the surface and interior of the blade kept the liquid from touching 
the ornamented grip.  Only a few moments passed as the venom worked its way into the dagger, 
and then Haagenti drew the blade out and re-stoppered the bottle.  Its contents frothed and 
sloshed a little, but the Prince paid that no mind as he stripped the rubber gloves from his 
arms and resheathed the black dagger.

On his way out, Haagenti noticed one of the remaining gaslights sputter and die.  He sighed, 
reached up and let flow a little Essence from his fingertip into the light, which immediately 
flared back into life.  The Prince smiled, sucking idly at the prick that the light's sharp, 
pointed casing had given him.  It was only right, he felt, to give something back to a place 
from whom he'd taken so much.

As he stepped again over the blasted door, he almost thought he could hear a tortured, ragged 
scream from deep within the facility, and he shivered once more.

There was a reason that the master of the Grand Laboratory was almost seven hundred years dead.

--

They arrived at the same time, the two refugees from a distant land.  They glanced at each 
other, then at their feet again.  One wore the robes and sash of a monk, and his head was as 
bald as a stone; the other wore loose modern business clothing, all in white, with the cuffs 
and sleeves rolled up.  Both pairs of feet were bare upon the loose sand and gravel.

The businessman, whose hair was a flare of red, smiled.  "Father."

The monk nodded.  "Son."

They stood for a time, heads bowed, reciting prayers.  In front of them, a human took his first 
trembling steps upon a blindingly white staircase.  "How have you fared?" asked the 
businessman, finally.  "I'm glad to see that the Host was able to bring you upstairs in one 
piece."

The monk looked up, his crystal-blue eyes glinting in the sunlight.  "I am well," he said 
finally.  "I have not yet chosen an Archangel, but I am well nonetheless.  It is difficult to 
make such a decision when one must remain objective."

The businessman laughed.  "I doubt that any Archangel would be unwilling to remove any 
dissonant notes you might assume by choosing them," he said, his green eyes twinkling.  "Toward 
whom are you leaning?"

"I owe great debts of gratitude to Laurence for giving me a place to stay here, and to Eli for 
making certain that I could ascend to Heaven in one piece.  But frankly," he murmured, as 
another human approached the staircase, "I have a certain desire to put myself into the service 
of a certain Archangel who prefers female form.  Jean may be Heaven's inventor, but she gets to 
see the devices that can only exist in the dreams of humans."

The businessman laughed again, louder, and clapped the monk on the back.  "Or you could just 
admit that Blandine's cute."

"That would be subjective, my son."

"So it would," the businessman said, grinning.  "So it would.  What reason do you have to not 
put yourself into Blandine's service?"

"She might not accept me," said the monk, sobering, "and I might not be right for her 
organization -"

"Father!" interrupted the businessman.  "There is time for thought, and there is time for 
action.  Now is a time for action.  You might spend the rest of your life debating whose 
service to choose, but then what good would you be?  You arose for the good of Heaven, did you 
not?  Take a stand, make a choice, and stick with it.  Regret is part of everybody's life, but 
at least if you choose something that you *want*, you'll be happy."  He looked into the short 
monk's eyes.  "Go talk to Blandine, Father.  I'm sure she would be glad to have you in her 
service.  And if the rumors I hear are correct, you'll be able to see a lot of Laurence 
anyway..."

The monk almost snickered, but managed with a mighty exertion of will to maintain a poker face.  
"I don't know, Son.  The Bright Lilim that Laurence allows to live in his Cathedral..."

The businessman swatted the monk's shoulder.  "Go!"  He watched the monk scurry off, smiling, 
and then, on a whim, shouted, "And may the Force be with you!"

It was rewarding to see the monk nearly trip in his mirth.

From behind the businessman came a voice.  "Have you found a name?"  He turned, and found 
himself looking into the eyes of the oldest creature in existence.  Yves always creeped the 
businessman out vaguely; it was disturbing to look at someone so infinitely older than you 
were.  "Would you like my help?"

The businessman smiled.  "Now that my father has found his peace, I think I would, Archangel 
Yves."  He fell into step behind the older man.  "I understand you have the Book of Names..."

As Yves and the businessman faded into the general glare of the Eternal City, a pair of 
Archangels stepped out of the shadow of Jacob's Ladder.  They glanced at one another, and then 
one pulled a tiny jade matrix out of a pouch at his waist and handed it to the other, who 
smiled and slipped the matrix into a velvet-lined box.  "We still have not seen the Mercurian's 
disposition," the first said, his voice deep and resonant.

The second nodded.  "This is true.  But the Elohite is bound for Blandine's service - and I 
know she will accept him; she has far too few Elohim in her ranks.  And though he will be a 
vast asset to our organization, for the moment, the Mercurian's assignment is of a somewhat 
secondary concern to us.  Their security comes first.  Do you think we ought to tell them about 
the honor guard?"

The first shrugged.  "I'm not Litheroy," he said, simply.

"No, you're not."  Laughing, the other nodded toward the Glade.  "Come on, we've got time for a 
practice run before my staff meeting in an hour."

"Like I'm not going to beat you into the ground."

"Then I'll have an excuse for being late."

--

Gabriel was barely audible over the din of the restaurant - these people weren't being cruel, 
but they had no class at all - but Dominic could still make out her words, barely, as he pulled 
at a banana shake.  "I think this is going to work out," she said, smiling.  Dominic treasured 
that; it was rare that anybody smiled anymore, and it was nice to see Gabriel in a good mood.

"I'm sure I would have been notified if any difficulties had arisen," he replied, and took 
another gulp of the yellow concoction.  "In any event, at last count we're up by five, so I 
don't think anybody upstairs is going to complain much if the pace slows.  I know I won't."  
She looked quizzical.  "I'm sure you're starting to feel the backlash.  It's like a billion 
rubber bands suddenly snapped back into place - for every vacant Word.  Tethers all over the 
world are starting to feel the effects.  I understand that one of Saminga's actually exploded 
when his Forces dissolved."

Gabriel stifled a laugh.  "Where do you get your numbers, though?" she asked in a musical 
voice.  "Mine say three.  We have Vapula and Nybbas - I'm sorry, Siyachel - but I'm told that 
Hell has two new Princes as well."

Dominic's eyes widened.  "What two?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"We know about Mariel," replied Gabriel.  "The other... opposes me.  But I don't know how, 
yet."  She sighed, and took a great bite out of a complimentary breadstick.  "My information 
network is not as thorough as some."

Judgment nodded.  "I understand.  Don't worry.  My agents will get to the bottom of this."  He 
reached over and took Gabriel's hand.  "You won't be harmed, I swear it."

Gabriel smiled.  "I hope not."  She took a bill out of her pocket, dropped it on the table 
without looking at it.  "It's enough," she assured Dominic.  "Go on.  I know you have things to 
do."  He smiled gratefully and headed for the bathroom; a moment later, a gong sounded in 
Gabriel's ears and he was gone.

She leaned back, regarding the table before her.  Dominic's meal was fastidiously tidy; she 
could spy no indication, other than a light shine on the ceramic, that there had ever been 
lobster bisque in the bowl, and all of the bread crumbs had managed to land directly in his 
napkin, which was folded neatly by his place on the table.  Hers, by contrast, was a mess - but 
then, what could you expect from king crab?  She wiped a dot of vinegar from her sash and 
turned to stand when a tall man in a business suit she recognized stepped up to her chair.

"Long time, babe," said a deep, gravelly voice, and Gabriel knew instantly who it was without 
looking up.  "How's life treatin' ya?  Min' if I sit down?  No? Good.  Nice t'ing you have
goin' on with Eyes dere, huh?  Glad yer enjoyin' yerself."  His accent always thickened when he 
was upset by something.  "Look, I got somethin' I gotta say, an' den I'm gonna let you 'lone, 
okay?  I 'preciate that yer gett'n' back inna da fold, but ya coulda leas' tol' me.  Now I look 
like an idiot fer messin' wit' his Tedders, ya know?"

Gabriel reached over the table and lay her hand on Belial's.  "Bee... do you remember what love 
feels like?"

Belial coughed.  "Sure I do, babe.  An', God, I don' wanna soun' like a jerk, but you coulda 
picked someone better for yer sanity, y'know?"

Gabriel laughed and stood up.  "Thanks for your concern, Bee.  I'll be okay.  And you don't 
look like an idiot.  I have to run - take it easy?  Okay."

Belial tried to catch the breath caught in his throat before she left, but by the time he'd 
finished choking it was too late.  He slumped, dejected, into the seat.  "Someone like *me*," 
he muttered.

--

"This has all gone wrong," said one Djinn irritably.  "We lost Nybbas before I even knew who he 
was, and Vapula not a day later.  I let the Glutton do all the work, and when I try to help, he 
leaves for a week!"  She shook her head. "It's more than I can bear."

"More beer?" asked the other, hopefully, holding out a mug.

"What for?  Nothing helps," the first whined.  "For all I know he's been out in the Forest of 
Allusion for the last week, bribing Alaemon with He-knows-what to keep his location secret."

"Haven't you checked his Heart?"

The first Djinn glared at the second.  "I don't even know where he keeps the accursed thing.  
For all I know, it's hidden in the Forest too.  Look, Zapan, all I know is that Haagenti's gone 
missing for six days, which - I think - is longer than anyone's been gone without being dead.  
I don't like this one bit; Haagenti's the lynchpin that's holding everything together.  Well - 
him and my dagger.  Without *that*, we wouldn't be in the position we're in now."

Zapan frowned.  "Forgive me for being so bold, but wouldn't you have an attachment to the 
dagger?"

Mariel laughed bitterly.  "No!  Isn't it grand?  Haagenti told me he'd never be out of sight, 
so I didn't have to worry about it!  Idiot that I was.  Now I can't find him, I can't find the 
dagger, and the whole accursed plan is dying faster than Saminga!  I should have chosen a patsy 
that wouldn't run off."

From the door to the Leroy Brown came the sound of a man clearing his throat.  Both Djinn 
looked over at once, and nearly jumped; Haagenti stood in the doorway, arms folded, a grim look 
on his face.  "Patsy, eh?"

Mariel stared for a moment.  "Ha-ha-Haagenti!  What a pleasure it-"

"Hush, Mariel.  There is no need to explain.  In a game like this, everybody thinks they're 
playing everybody else.  Zapan, for instance, has this grand idea about the two of you being 
together, forever, the cold of your oblivion freezing anything that passes through those damned 
Gates."  He laughed.  "As if the two of you could wrest power from the Nemesis."

Zapan sneered.  "The Nemesis grows weaker by the day.  He does nothing but write in that book, 
taking no interest in the affairs of Hell.  What should he care if we freeze it over?"

Haagenti laughed.  "I should think that he would be rather displeased.  After all, this has 
been his home for uncounted years.  Why should he want it violated so?"

"Didn't you hear?"  Zapan was almost shouting.  "He isn't paying attention!  Too distracted by 
his precious book.  He'll never even know the difference."

Mariel could see Zapan's eyes changing.  "Steady, Zapan, this way is madness," she cooed.

"Never!"  The Prince of Ice took a deep breath.  "I am cool.  I am focused, not a madman, like 
some here.  I am a glacier.  A glacier that will roll over Hell, razing it, reforming it in our 
image!"

"You leave me no choice," murmured Haagenti, plucking Mariel's dagger from its sheath beneath 
his cloak.  "If you've chosen to oppose my order..."

Zapan's eyes widened.  "You wouldn't," he whispered.

Haagenti grinned nastily.  "And with a fresh application of the alkephage," he said, advancing.  
"Shall we dance?"

Zapan fell to the floor, cowering.  "No," he said.  "I will not challenge you."

"Offer me your allegiance."

"Yes."  Zapan was shaking.

"Offer me your life."

"I am yours to command, O Haagenti."

"Offer me everything."  Haagenti's eyes were dark with a fury beyond imagination.

"Anything I can give."

Haagenti whipped his head around, glaring at Mariel, his eyes boring into her soul.  "I want my 
brother back," he whispered, and turned, stalking out of the room.

--

For the first time in a long time, Haagenti found himself with nothing to do - with nowhere to 
go.  Contrary to Mariel's understanding of events, Haagenti had killed everybody he needed to.  
Kobal had been an unintended consequence - but then, that was what came of leaving your cohorts 
in the dark for most of the operation.

Unfortunately, if Mariel found out the truth, she would stop at nothing to rip Haagenti limb 
from limb.  Not that she didn't have the right - after all, according to what she knew, she'd 
been trapped in his gullet for untold centuries - but it would certainly put a crimp in 
Haagenti's plan if she were to kill him now.

He smiled idly, his fingertips caressing the pommel of the dagger.  One thing left to do, and 
the cycle that had begun seven centuries prior would finally be completed. He still wasn't sure 
how Lucifer had foreseen all of the catalystic events - the destruction of California, the 
defection of Vapula, Nybbas, and the unnamed third - but Haagenti felt that he was doing a good 
job of taking advantage of the whole thing.

Then again, there was that book of Lucifer's.  Perhaps all of this was happening simply because 
the Nemesis willed it.  

Haagenti smiled.  He didn't mind being a tool, so long as he was being used by a master 
craftsman.

The Forest of Allusion drew near.  Of course, Alaemon had been in on the entire plan from the 
beginning - it was the only way he could have known everything that he did, and the only way 
that he could have had Vephar's last remaining Forces prepared for a reincarnation.  Never mind 
that Alaemon had not even yet been created when Vephar had died; the Prince of Secrets kept his 
own counsel as regarded his sources.

The Forest was constructed as a great maze, the trees forming barriers that none - not even the 
Calabite Princes - could penetrate.  Above, the canopy formed an impregnable barrier over the 
entire forest; the only way to the ruined temple at the center that served as Alaemon's home 
was to work the maze, whose layout changed for each creature who entered it.  One could never 
be certain of the way in - which was, of course, just the way Alaemon liked it.  Naturally, 
there was an easy way out - but just as naturally, it didn't lead back in...

Haagenti stood for several moments at the entrance to the Forest, considering.  The dagger was 
Alaemon's price, and Haagenti had no further use for it; still, it might be a handy device to 
keep until he was finished with his quest.  On the other hand, he had promised it to the Prince 
of Secrets, and he was reluctant to renege on any deal, even now.

In his mind's eye, Lilith appeared before him.  "You," she said sternly, "have made a deal.  
Vephar's Forces for the last remaining shard of Mariel's Heart.  The dagger has served its 
purpose.  What need have you for it now?"

Haagenti nodded, and Lilith disappeared.  He laughed softly and stepped into the Forest of 
Allusion, fallen leaves crackling beneath his feet as, before him, a cold wind blustered down 
the corridor of trees.  Oddly, his finger itched.  He looked at it - the scratch he'd received 
from the light fixture in the Grand Laboratory.

Haagenti's ichor ran cold.  He stared for several long moments at the scratch, now a vicious 
red, and laughed hollowly.  Turning to head back to his home, he discovered nothing but another 
corridor behind him.  He was trapped - he should have known better than to step into Alaemon's 
domain without precautions.

There was nothing to do but proceed.  Haagenti clutched the dagger, carved of the last 
remaining shard of Mariel's Heart, and walked off into the Forest.

--

The air in the clearing was cool and still as Haagenti stumbled into it.  His arm was now 
stiffening; the veins through which his ichor flowed were turning dark as the manufactured 
disease crawled into his system.  He felt hot, even as the air chilled more, and he was finding 
it harder to concentrate.  "Psychosomatic," he muttered to himself.  "Not actually happening 
yet..."

Alaemon's temple lay in the center of the clearing, long and low, surrounded by a moat and the 
mist that rose from it.  Instead of a drawbridge there was an arched stone bridge across the 
twenty-foot moat, and over this a constant stream of human souls walked, proceeding into 
Alaemon's chambers to be inducted into the rites and rituals of Secrets.

It was to this building that Haagenti stole, as quickly as he could, brushing past the line of 
souls and bursting into the chamber beyond.  "I must see Alaemon!" he cried, but none looked 
up.  The souls continued to march, one foot at a time; the only demon in the hall continued to 
transcribe the names of those who passed him.  Above - for the temple had only the rim of a 
roof, supported by columns and walls on every side - the moon shone brightly down upon 
Haagenti, as it always did here in the realm of Secrets.

From the shadow of a column stepped a figure in black robes inlaid with scarlet letters in a 
tongue none had read or spoken for millennia.  "You have my knife?" whispered the figure, 
extending its hand.

"I do," replied Haagenti, holding the knife by its crosspiece, disallowing it to touch him as 
he lay the hilt in the outstretched hand.  "But - I must beg another favor.  I have been 
poisoned by a relic of the ancient Prince of Disease... can you solve this?"

Alaemon laughed sibilantly, his teeth gleaming beneath his cowl.  "I know a way... but I think 
you'd have rather a distaste for my solution.  On the other hand, your friend Asmodeus would 
probably love it..."

Haagenti spat.  "Thanks for nothing, then," he said, heading for the back.  He heard Alaemon 
begin to laugh again as he passed between the columns and again into the stark moonlight, 
almost running for the way out.

It wasn't there.

"You!" shouted Haagenti at the top of his voice.  "You have tricked me!"  His arm hung at his 
side now, the very skin beginning to blacken.

"The only way out," said Alaemon, beside him, "is the permanent way out."  The knife still 
gleamed in his hand.

"No," growled Haagenti, "there is another.  You have driven me to this, and know that I hate 
you for it.  You were the only one who could, in the end."  He grinned suddenly.  "Tell 
Asmodeus that the cycle is complete.  But try to stay out of his way - he'll try to kill you 
for it."

"I know," said Asmodeus simply, and stepped back as Haagenti relaxed his Superior-icon and 
unleashed his true form.  Where once had stood a tall dark man in a somewhat badly-tailored 
business suit now spun countless rings of fire, one black, its flames oozing with disease 
instead of burning with passion.

Many eyes rose to the Hellish sky that night as those rings of fire screamed upward, clawing 
their way toward Heaven.

--

Although the Archangels were known to take in a rock concert from time to time - Janus in particular was famous for his patronage of speed-metal bands - it was a rare day that saw a Demon Prince (aside from Furfur, who never got enough of them) attending a performance.  The Demon Princes are not exactly known for their love of humanity or their respect for the creations of the 'talking monkeys', regardless of what form that creation takes.

It was surprising, then, to see Asmodeus at this particular concert - especially as it was a benefit performance, all proceeds going toward the California Relief Fund.  (Actually, Furfur was there, too at the front, trying in vain to start a mosh pit.)  Although the performers had only just gotten together to form a band a few months earlier, they were quite good, individually and as a group, despite their apparent lack of original material.  Currently they were playing "The Wall," a cover of the Kansas song, dedicated to "all you guys and girls out there who just haven't been able to make the right choice yet".

Asmodeus had been tipped off to the concert only a few days before, when one of the Game's Soldiers had mentioned to his infernal master that he was going to see the Redemption Squad benefit at RFK Stadium.  The demon in question, intrigued by the name, had immediately reported this to *his* superior, who took it to Asmodeus himself.  Another of his servitors had noticed four Superior-level disturbances in the Boston area within thirty seconds of each other - and then silence, as the Symphony wove itself back together almost seamlessly.  Considering that the band had originated in Boston, and that their first concert had been within a day of that massive disturbance in the Symphony, he felt that it behooved him to check out the situation personally.

Now the Prince stood in the crowd, trying to avoid as much contact with the writhing youths around him as possible, watching Redemption Squad play their hearts out on stage.  Of particular interest was the vocalist although he wore a torn tank-top, his right arm was nonetheless covered in something that looked - at least at this distance - like a silver glove, running from shoulders to fingertips.  His voice was also familiar a little gravelly and more than a little worn, he sounded like a man who's had something unpleasant scrape down the back of his throat, although his singing voice was crystal-clear and vibrant.

Come to think of it, the man at the keyboards was also startlingly familiar.  Although his attire was different - a rumpled Blues Brothers-style outfit, less the hat and with sleeker sunglasses - and almost his entire demeanor had changed, from his posture to the way he grinned as he pounded the keys, the shock of bright red hair was almost unmistakable.  Asmodeus's frown deepened as another piece of the puzzle fit into place.

Now that he looked at each individual band member as opposed to the performance as a whole, there were some characteristics of each of them that struck a note of remembrance with the Prince of the Game.  The bassist was huge, towering over the rest of the group, with eyes that seemed to bore into every member of the audience at once and a pate that was bald in a way that suggested that he had never had hair for an instant of his life; the lead guitarist had hair as black as jet and eyes that burned with internal fire; the drummer had an innate talent for meter and measure, and was wearing a bodysuit of oddly-quilted fabric; and the rhythm guitarist...

"...is the only member of the band still in our camp," said Asmodeus to himself, realization dawning about exactly who these people were.  The technician at the sound board would probably be intimately familiar as well.  "Prince to Pauper," he said, reaching up and activating the subvocal communicator at his ear, "we have a situation.  Alert the Council and ready a team for immediate insertion."

"Negative," came the reply in his ear.  "Stand down, Prince."

"What?" hissed Asmodeus, his outrage building.  "How dare you-"

"Look up," said the voice in his ear.

Asmodeus did so.

In the shadows to stage right was a door, and at this moment that door had opened to reveal a tall, strong silhouette.  Balanced on the silhouette's shoulder was another silhouette that of a battleaxe, larger than any Asmodeus had seen before.  "Stand down," said the voice in his ear again, and in the shadows Asmodeus saw a malicious grin form across the silhouette's face.  "Or you'll bear responsibility."

The Prince of the Game gritted his teeth.  "All units," he said, "move in."  He'd be damned if he let Michael cow him this late in the game.

"Are you unfamiliar with the term 'amazingly bad idea'?" asked another voice, and to stage left another door opened, silhouetting a robed figure, pinpoints of light blazing where the cowl would have been.  "Stand down."

Asmodeus gaped openly Michael and Dominic working together to protect this concert meant that something far larger than he had anticipated was going on.  Still, that was no reason to leave the concert unguarded, and Asmodeus wasn't about to pull out without a fight.  "All units," he repeated, but this time he was interrupted by the man next to him nudging him in the ribs.

Asmodeus hadn't really paid attention to his fellow concertgoers - he was too intent on making sure that they touched him as little as possible - but the man next to him was too odd to ignore.  Shorter than average, in a bright white suit, with a head of bleached-blond hair and a smile that rivaled the keyboardist's, he was currently chomping on a Cuban cigar and grinning up at Asmodeus.  "Relax," he said, before Asmodeus could respond to the jab in the side.  "I'll handle it from here.  Go home, relax, have a beer.  You're too damned uptight, Azzie, that's your problem.  Here," he said, and produced a thick, leatherbound book from under his jacket where it couldn't possibly have fit a moment before.  "Read my new book.  I think you'll like it."  Asmodeus looked at it as he took it from the short man's grasp _A Day In The Life_, no author listed.

Asmodeus fumed.  This was going too far.  He nearly shouted his entire vocabulary of invective at the short man when he realized what he'd been called "Azzie".  There was only one person in all of creation who had ever called him that.

"My apologies, sir.  I leave this in your hands.  All units," he said as the short man disappeared into the crowd, "stand by for retrieval."

The two silhouettes nodded, and in tandem the doors closed, leaving the stage as it had been.  In the periphery of Asmodeus's senses, the band began to play "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", which cut through the rage and made the Prince of the Game wince.  He had hoped that, since the Prince of Gluttony had left Hell, he'd never have to hear that song again, and the very opening had him moving quickly for the doors.  As soon as he heard the audience take up the chorus, his self-preservation reflexes took hold and he fled for Hell.

Backstage, Michael looked at Dominic curiously.  "I thought you didn't approve of this venture."

Dominic looked back at Michael, and nodded.  "I don't.  I think it's frivolous and I have yet to see an explanation for how this furthers the War in our favor.  However, the cause is good at least David is trying to make amends for the damage he caused in California.  And, of course, any idea from the head of the former Prince of the Media must have some merit, however slight.  I will wait out the course and see how things turn out," he said in a somewhat conciliatory fashion.

"Besides," he continued, as the robes fell away into nothing to reveal a guy in hiking gear, "my girlfriend's in the band."

The Archangel of War couldn't stop laughing for five solid minutes.

---

The ? Cycle is complete!

For my next trick, I'll be HTMLing the files and - maybe - adding a soundtrack.

In the meantime, here are the credits!

-Chris


Cast, in order of appearance:

Laurence, Archangel of the Sword
Benjamin Dane, Saint of the Sword
Abernathy Crom, non-aware acolyte
Vapula, Demon Prince of Technology
Belial, Demon Prince of Fire
Haribold, Elohite of Fire
Gabriel, Archangel of Fire
Marc, Archangel of Trade
Lilith, Demon Princess of Freedom
Nybbas, Demon Prince of the Media
Dominic, Archangel of Judgment
Haagenti, Archangel of Retribution
Valefor, Demon Prince of Theft (as "Jan") 
Karl, Calabite of Gluttony
Japhik, Calabite of Theft
Lars, Ofanite of the Wind
Janus, Archangel of the Wind (as "Val") 
Eli, Archangel of Creation
Asmodeus, Demon Prince of the Game
Moliq, Bright Lilim of the Sword
Lucia, Habbalite of the Game
Lucifer, the Lightbringer
Baal, Demon Prince of the War
Vehia, Bright Lilim of the Sword
Kobal, Demon Prince of Dark Humor
Mariel, Phantom Princess of Oblivion
Leroy, Human Soul in service to Gluttony 
Saminga, Demon Prince of Death
Zapan, Demon Prince of Ice
Andrealphus, Demon Prince of Lust
Siyachel (formerly Nybbas), Angel of the Public Interest 
Vapula, Angel of Invention
Yves, Archangel of Destiny
Michael, Archangel of War
Alaemon, Demon Prince of Secrets
Furfur, Demon Prince of Hardcore
Kronos, former Demon Prince of Fate
David, Archangel of Stone

Redemption Squad is:

Haagenti, vocals
Gabriel, lead guitar/vocals
Belial, rhythm guitar
Siyachel, keyboards/vocals
Kronos, bass guitar
David, drums

Vapula, engineer
Dominic, manager
Michael, security

Author:
Christopher Anthony

Muses:
Maya Cogman
Charity

Special Thanks:
Archangel Beth
The Sunday Night Gang