Lounging on a chaise was, perhaps, the last thing he had expected when visiting hell. True to the adoptive namesake, the Cat was all but ready to scratch things up and demand out, as comfortable as accomodation might be. There were things to do and fight and kill outside.
Like all of Euryale's personal quarters, the chaise, chairs, couches and tables were all in a close together island in the center of the room, away from the walls. Even after leaving her 10 foot by 10 foot concrete square in another Hell, Euryale still preferred everything within hand and arm's reach. The devil herself paced around the room, irritatedly removing layers of her dress and replacing it piecemeal with her armor.
"-had the gall to tell me I cannot interfere in the finances of private citizens! Altogether a little more than a quarter of both my cities are still rubble, with dispossessed squatting and pissing in the alleyways, and I cannot divvy out money earmarked for corruption and back patting to speed the process of rebirth! What is the point of rulership if I cannot solve these least of problems?" She growled to Hrol, slipping on a gauntlet and clenching her fist with a brief whoosh of black fire.
"Bah! Never become nobility, dear. It is not at all as fun as the stories make it out to be." She said, smiling tiredly at him before a knock came at the door and Circe poked her head in. The little greed eyed Hrol like she was assessing his value before looking away uncomfortably and instead giving Euryale an extravagant bow.
"Stop that." The Pride ordered, while Circe tittered and straightened.
Glancing back up and swingling slowly to his feet from the seated position- well, laying, more accurately- the man blinked dispassionately at the increasingly familiar banking figure in the Pride's retinue, her churl, as it were, before offering a slight nod behind Euryale's back. Many a regal figure would take extreme displeasure at so little ettiquette, but giving her more than he gave the baroness he served as consort and familiar for would be bad. Not to mention he just didn't much care. "Are there any problems you want to... go away, love?"
Circe smiled like a doll and smoothed the front of her blouse. For her part, she hadn't known quite what to make of Hrol, except he made her nervous. He couldn't be bought, not really, anyway, which left him an unknown quality to her.
"There are a few that come to mind." Euryale allowed, slipping on her pauldrons. The black plates of her armor were weighty, but they were comfortable and served every function. "I could sway enough minds to my line of thinking if a few agitators and their interests were not spreading like a poison. Sybrid Antioch in particular may need dealt with... I know for a fact he has been attempting to recruit guards on my payroll into entering his service, and I will not have that."
"Doesn't he know about the contracts?" Circe asked, walking over to a chair and leaning against it's back.
"Seemingly not, but it is a matter of time. I do wish I could set my hands around a few throats... I miss solving simple problems with simple measures." She sighed, adjusting her breastplate. "I take it things went well?"
"Oh, yes- your roads will be fully functional in four days time, and the first harvest of the year will come in within a week. Let's see... Your standing army was successfully converted into a Hellguard for domestic situations, and your coffers are finally out of the red and into the black. You aren't making a profit, but you aren't working against a loss, either, finally-"
"Good." Euryale emphasized, buckling on her sword.
"Oh, and there was a... Minor problem, a bit of trouble brewing, but Nyx handled it." Circe said, waving a hand. Euryale tiled her head, and the Greed looked over at the doors. "I'll let her tell you of it when she arrives..."
"Might do it without a contract. No paperwork, no formal blame for a hormonal mutant who got loose if I'm caught," Hrol mused. "Call it a New Year's gift. Or a harvest one. Whichever works better here. Is he buried terribly difficultly?"
Resting his hand on a hip and blinking more at the Greed than Pride, he pondered further aloud. "Or would that... complicate things? Hmm. Ah, well. You said Nyx was due?"(edited)
"Well, not without payment, at least." Euryale offered. Circe closed her mouth and looked pained. "No, he has a villa on the outskirts of the city, as well as an office and seat of power somewhat closer by. He's a Gluttony, and won't be at all hard to track." She sneered. Checking herself in the mirror, she flipped her hair and smiled over her shoulder. "Things are complicated as they are now; a little blood spilled ought to wash things cleaner. Just do not be caught. I would truly hate to have my hands forced."
"...If you were to, er, ambush him in his office or home, there are certain of his records and finances I could use to smooth and settle things over. They'd likely have his allies and contacts as well." Circe said, folding her hands. "Yes, Nyx was on her way. We'd left at the same time, but, well..." She gestured around her, at the Slothless room. Euryale raised an eyebrow and then frowned.(edited)
"Might have to bring a bag or two for those, depending. Things get heavy in your hands when you're evading notice," he reflected. His yellow eyes slitted and shone very slightly brighter as he stretched. "Sure we'll work out some reward after, your hellishly beautiful and Pride-worthy Baroness and Knight to remember-ship. Mightn't even need to touch the coppers if you have a mind otherwise, but the weight off your mind might make things more pleasant for me in the while anyway. Should I take the window, or establish an alibi somewhere before starting the stalk?"
"I can think of a few things either way, my Knight." Euryale grinned, while Circe stuck her tongue out at a corner. "Hmm. An alibi would serve, I think. When Nyx finally arrives, we'll make our way to the grand opening of the Arena and watch a few of the matches before you slip away. Enough souls will see you in the box at my side to place you there, at the least."
"Are the banners in place?" Circe asked, suddenly alert.
"Yes, your businesses are well advertised." Euryale laughed, before Nyx opened the door, stooped, and slowly walked in. She was covered in black ash, only her eyes breaking up her profile. When she noticed Hrol she blinked, but otherwise shyly waved a metal claw.
"...What happened to you?" Euryale asked, looking down at Nyx's black footprints.
"There was a Cinder Elemental the size of a hurricane nearby, but he's gone now..." Nyx said tiredly, before she sneezed a black cloud.
"Hoo. Haven't seen one of those yet. I'm imagining I might not want to outside the Arena if a job doesn't need it, huh?" he inquired and slightly waved back to the rather large Lord. "Are you joining us? I understand the Arena can be exciting stuff. Might give some nice dreams later... and dull some of the folks around the box when I do take my leave, come to think. Drowsy testimony."
Circe nodded while Nyx coughed deep, with another black cloud. "They're not so dangerous when they're small, but they never stop growing and eating. Or hating. I've owned one or two, but they're like big cats, they can't truly be tamed... What happened?" She asked Nyx. The Sloth raked her metal hands through her hair, leaving it frazzled and a dust pile on the floor.
"Well, I found him out on one of the ash plains. It wasn't hard. I didn't need my sword, I just wrestled him down... I thought I could get him to leave, but he made me kill him." Nyx finished, downcast. When she looked back up, Euryale nodded in thanks. "There shouldn't be any other big monsters near the city limits now."
"Do you want to get cleaned up? You are coming, aren't you?" Circe asked, walking over to peer up. Nyx scuffed the floor and shrugged. "I'll just dump a barrel of water over my head. Thanks again for inviting me..."
"Certainly. It seems to have worked out all for well." Euryale said, raising her eyebrows.
"Not really sure how a Witcher's potion would work with your kind, if at all. Does nasty things to a lot of organic insides. Might test that on Antioch with a more potent one before a blade... but, ah, if you want to try it, you're tough. Golden Oriole might clear up that cough nicely, Nyx."
"Oh, no, that's okay. I don't want you to waste one on me." Nyx said, smiling blearily at him. She hadn't known Hrol all that well when they'd all gone to Hell, but he'd been nice to her, so that made him alright in the Lord's eyes. She coughed again before shaking herself off in a sudden cloud. Circe looked at Hrol and tilted her head.
"They're that caustic?"
"They'd melt a hole right through you." Euryale said grimly, while Circe gulped. "But you should be fine, Nyx. Take one please."
Nyx sighed and plucked the potion in between two clawtips, carefully opening and drinking it before looking around for a trash can. She didn't show any discomfort or pain, but she did cough one last time and then not at all. Euryale looked at her and then Circe before putting her two handed blade across her back, under her shield.
"Ready to go?" She asked.
Having at first not been sure what to make of the superpredator that made him drowsy, Hrol had come slowly to appreciate how much effort she took off Euryale's shoulders, despite her own realm of Sloth. It was easier to lounge in peace without living things pestering and poking problems, it had become apparent. Certainly he didn't mean to let her get impeded and cranky- and it was nice, for the change of pace, to have so many powerful beings and monsters on his side. The thrill of the Hunt against odds was one thing, but Nyx removing things before they were even something to care about and Euryale's well earned battle pride and prowess were another altogether.
Checking his swords, oils, and poisons slightly more casually than he might otherwise with a mildly more tired wave back, Hrol nodded quietly before remembering he was behind the Baronness. While the view was appreciated, both for the context of form, armor, and the length of weaponry by the bulwark of metal, it did not make the gesture any more useful. "Anytime you are."
"I was born ready." She promised, before leading the way. Circe and Nyx brought up the rear, the Greed because she was short, the Sloth because she moved so slow. Once they'd made it outside, a retinue of armored demons, Devils, and damned were waiting to form up around Euryale. While it was a more direct show of force than she'd have liked, it wouldn't do to become complacent. Assassinations were common, after all.
Of her two cities, Canaan was more like a traditional piece of Hell, the stones around them black and arched high like wings. Bats flew overhead in the light of a bloody red moon. The rebuilding and consolidation had gone well; there were plenty of people out and about, and there was an air of excitement in the warm breeze. Some of her subjects waved or bowed, and Euryale did her level best to acknowledge them. Circe looked up and then pointed out a 7-11 that she happened to own, smiling when she saw a hippo-headed monster opening a pack of cigarettes it had just bought.
The coliseum wasn't hard to spot or hear; both were easy when they came close enough. Lit by torches, it made an imposing sight. Not that long ago she would've been entering through the side and finding a seat in the stands, or trying to weasel her way onto the sand. Now...
"This way. We will be in the center- the dead center. Care for snacks? I am not certain, but I think they will be free for me." She said, waving and smiling confidently to a little boy with a tin sword. Circe had perked up at the mention of free food, while Nyx shrugged and her stomach rumbled.
"Never turn down a free meal if you don't have to," Hrol nodded amiably. "Maybe check it for poison or curses first; make sure it won't bind you to the plane and make you a faerie sex slave or something; but otherwise, absolutely."
"Persephone-thing might not be so bad in your case anyway, but that does bring up a question. You can detect good. Can you detect attempts on you?"
"Hah! I think a faerie looking for sex slaves in this place-" she paused to look over the crowd, her guards, and him, before she slowly smirked. "-would be well and truly fucked."
The empty box was like a pavilion; there were chairs set up on either side of a throne, one of which had a pillow and blanket folded behind it. Circe hurried and took her seat while Euryale waved a hand and waited for some of the food vendors to be cleared and allowed nearby. Nyx stood there with a bucket of chicken the size of a trash can before she nervously smiled and bit a drumstick in half.
"It depends, really. If the attempt is overwhelmingly strong, then of course, but otherwise generally not from another thing such as us. The other sorts of beings that could or would do not have much opportunity before we begin trying to kill each other." She shrugged, and her armor clinked. "Angels and such do not generally pause after seeing horns or hooves, the same as I after smelling a halo."
Circe broke a piece of peanut brittle and nibbled at it like a chipmunk, wiping her hands on a napkin from her pocket. "Distance and intent are factors as well. A person wondering if you're really all that awful is much different from a Paladin planning to decapitate you and intending to be sure." She said.
"Imagine so," he said and did, picturing the sorry fool that might try. He had heard about the riots in the other cities, the humanist movement brutalizing demons on crusades, apparently. They had not cropped up in Euryale's domain yet, but the bloody business did not disguise itself in the realm of lust and sin well. "Reminds me why they try to ingrain not feeling out loud."
He took to a bit of chicken and narrowed his eyes. "Mm. Right. Who are we watching fight, Lordships? The halos?"
"If only! Sadly the Angels of our better nature don't have much stomach for this sort of thing. They would have to admit how much fun it is to spill the blood of your adversary, and they are far too holier than thou for that." Euryale said scornfully. Unsurprisingly she had only had negative experiences with Angels in the past, and didn't much care for them. Circe leafed through a program while Nyx reached and spread her blanket over her legs.
"Well... They have a Doom bear fighting a battalion of Imps, A few honor-duels between Wraths seeking promotions, a clown show-" Nyx looked over with confusion and a little horror while Circe scanned more pages. "-Oh! A fight between chariots, and... " She paused, reading while a line formed on her brow. Eventually she looked up.
"...They'll be sacrificing human chattel at Intermission to consecrate the sand with blood." She said to Euryale, while the Pride eyed her and made a face.
"What? Why?" She asked, with dawning disgust.
"Er, in your honor, apparently."
"...What in the thrice damned unholy darkness would I want with dead bodies? It is a pointless, stupid waste of life. Wha- did they think this would please me? What pride can I take in an empty gesture?" Euryale asked, anger slowly building in her voice. "No. I will not bleed my people for the sheer Hell of it."
As a loud roar echoed over the cheer of the crowd, and a fifteen foot bear covered in spikes and burning like a furnace barreled out of a gate and into the center, Euryale looked at Hrol before running a gauntlet through her hair, frazzled. "When I find out who thought such would please me, perhaps there will be one last fight at the end of the event." She said darkly.
Hrol's smile lapsed into a scowl, but Euryale's own reaction tempered his. Instead, he clasped the dark lord's pauldron briefly and nodded. "Well. Seems I know what the distraction is going to be to leave on. Imagine that they might be surprised at the human sparing. Good reason to leave- pre announcement- even if someone does see me."
"Good choice. Good choice," he muttered more quietly, solely for and to her ear. "Glad."
"There is no pride in it..." She murmured back, briefly reaching for his hand before she replaced hers in her lap. She didn't give a damn what anyone thought of him and her, but that didn't mean she could afford to be seen as anything less than iron in the public eye. "They are my subjects. Their welfare and wellbeing is my onus, they are not... Some throwaway padding for my ego."
Circe had been adding something up on her program, and she got up before walking over. "You'd best stop it soon. The blow to your workforce will be noticeable, to say nothing of morale. It seems they're the slaves of a, er... Another Pride." Euryale's face was flat as she arched an eyebrow and watched the bear bite an Imp in half.
"Well! I suppose that simplifies matters. One death compared to many." She nodded slowly. Nyx yawned and looked between her, Circe, and Hrol, before pulling out an entire roasted hen and beginning to snarf at it.
Euryale watched the duels and battles in silence, unsmiling for a little while before she glanced at Hrol and sighed. "I... Things such as this keep happening. Even with your task, I'd hoped we might have at least one span of hours without any wrinkles or surprises. I am s- I am sss-"
"Sore to have to miss out," he spared her, entirely understanding how much 'sorry' would cost her Pride. Although his eyes spoke a different message to her than his glib quipping tongue, he continued on unabated. "That's simply why we'll both have to live and crush everything in the way, though. It would be bad form to not get to feed one addiction in Hell of all places."
Listening to the last snarfs before the hen was gone and the gutteral roars of the bear being guided back to the cage, the Witcher dared a peck to the cheek. "Save me the story for this other Pride, would you? It sounds like you'll need to humble them. And I should start slipping out."
Dipping her head, she briefly smiled small at him. "Of course. I will tell you all about it."
"Form up, two lines." She ordered the guards, who put themselves between the chairs and the crowd like a fence. Circe frowned and craned to see over them before Nyx picked her up by the collar and put her on her shoulder, the Greed looking both embarrassed and grateful.
"Good hunting." Euryale said, pecking him back.
He did not fully contain an amused snort at the pair before he turned sharply and went softly.
Slipping out like a gray shadow amid dark shapes, the fleeting shape of the blonde man was gone as though it had never been, leaving few traces besides a few surprised grunts of passerby that soon forgot in the show spectacle before he climbed down the box walls and into the streets. There were times for presence and times for a hunter to be inconspicuous, and this was most certainly the latter. Padding along the city streets, he knew quite well he had no clues and no entry plan for if he found the building, but asking in any shop would make it far more suspicious. Instead, blending like some of the human chattel- save the eyes; he had to be careful of his eyes, for Euryale was not the only demon who seemed to respond to them- he allowed himself to be funneled down towards the governing areas in the mass of bodies.
A Senator of Gluttony with an office in the center of the city would not at all be hard to track, no, particularly one who thought little of trying to snub the new rule of law. Where the food and slaves to serve it went in biggest bulk, there too stalked Hrol. The mess of rinds, bones, and discarded offal was a reminder of what this place represented outside her order. The screams, too, of every flavor and variety. Anger, woe, pleasure, horror.
The simplest way to prepare Antioch for a killing might be poison in the all too eagerly ingested muck of things, were he present with his trash, but he might also have built resistances. A silver sword would be surer if he found him.
The slaves marched with heads down as the carts and boxcars loaded with everything from fresh baked bread to exhumed corpses slowly rolled into an unloading area at the floor of the ugly, squat stone building that housed this arm of governance. The unloading process was undertaken quickly, enough of the workforce missing fingers to show that dangers of the process and the aftermath.
Immediately beyond the double doors was a cafeteria, with various Gluttonies and other demons eating or working. A Lust fixed her makeup and sipped an espresso, while a Wrath suddenly surged to his feet.
"Damn it, Cindy, I said paint the sitting room aquamarine, not FUCKING TURQUOISE!" He roared, before spiking his cell phone to the ground and driving both his fists through the table before coughing and sitting back down, picking his peanut butter and jelly sandwich off the floor. The other Devils and Demons didn't react, except for the Lust, who rolled her eyes.
The hallways outside shifted from castle-like stones to plain white drywall, monsters going to and fro, from office to office. There were enough humans around that Hrol didn't stick out to an excessive degree, although an Envy pushing a cart nearly ran into him as he dispensed mail.
Pitching his voice in the panic of a slave, the nearly emotionless man felt the odd tingling of these incarnate ones playing with his mind, as ever, though none like Nyx was capable of. He wondered if these feeling things were how normal humans felt all the time. It had to be exhausting if so. Looking through the doors and chambers helped him to begin to garner a sense of the hierarchy of this particular establishment. The higher ups would be lower-down, as it were. After spending ten minutes pretending to clean more Wrath messes, he swept along the stairs into the executive hallway and slowly drew his sword.
It would still be another forty minutes and one office map stolen later before he was anywhere close, though.
Hrol had the right of it; the higher in hierarchy, the closer to the center and the underground. In an environment where a powerful enough individual could level a building by their lonesome, keeping important figures mantled and secure was more important than giving them a corner office.
Antoich's realm was a plot of cubicles clustered together like a beehive, and the office with his nameplate had the door closed. None of the drones looked behind them at Hrol's footsteps, the humans pale and sickly, chained to their desks, the demons crammed like anchovies. Another massive Wrath, spiked and covered in burning, searing runes adjusted teeny glasses and sighed as he fed something into a paper shredder.
A human struggled with a dolly and a tub the size of a vending machine, filled with raw meat and bananas. He forced it towards the office like he was driving a reluctant cow, cursing under his breath as it very nearly struck an aquarium filled with lava and little ugly black fish that looked like charcoal chunks.
Studying the incident signs with as much nonchalance as was possible for a Witcher with so many potential targets and threats in his senses to almost led Hrol to miss this particular human.
But happy serendipity allowed him to assist in swerving the cart out of the way, and then, seemingly naturally, falling in line with assisting the man in pushing the dolly. Granted, it got banana on his armor, but much worse had been and would be yet. The ugly little fish glared, but that was all that prevented the march amid the damned. If his luck continued to hold, the man wouldn't question it.
"Thanks, buddy. Goddamn horns been watching me struggle and doing jack shit." The man muttered, not looking Hrol in the eye. Much like the office workers, he was chained to his dolly.
After knocking and looking into a camera while Hrol sidled out of view, the door opened. The stench of rotting food rolled out like a heavy cloud while the tub was pushed in. Sybrid Antioch was well and truly behind his desk, his fanged mouth going all the way down his neck and his mountainous gut. He had no nose, and deep-set piggy eyes that were currently over the human's head.
"Yes, Desecles, yes, I know. Either we'll have the funds for the coalition to secure the votes or we won't, but either way, our bloc in the Senate grows the longer our dear queen wastes her days on minutiae. Yes. Yes, as I said, I know-" he said, beckoning them closer before giving the slave a greasy dollar before hauling the tub on top of his desk. The troll-like monster drove his face directly in, continuing his phone call in between a trash-can sized mouthful of food before waving irritably at the both of them to leave.
The door did not move so smoothly as Hrol might have liked after the other human, and the locking latch was louder, but it was still reasonably competently done as motions go. He wouldn't have long before the other man reacted. Certainly before the demon did. The tension and the thrill of the risk washed over him as much as the brief fear of failure; not of death, or pain, but that it might hurt Euryale's cause were such to happen. And more so if the slavering juggernaut of obese tissues and power survived.
Time felt briefly as though it was slowing from adrenaline as he unclipped and hurled a dimertium grenade into the feeding trough to help disable local magics and transformation, possibly to hurt the spirit as well, and rolled over to the desk in a somerset. The sword came out as the flash of the bomb went off.
The grenade went off in a flash, the obese beast snarling and drawing back with a hand over it's eyes; the other man scrabbled at the door handle, turning it like it would somehow open despite it being locked.
Close up, Antioch seemed mountainous; the smell was worse. Hrol's blade split a meaty hand in half as the creature surged to it's feet, letting loose a roar of stinking meat and curds of spittle. It's face and front were singed and scorched from the explosive, and it took a lumbering step forward, the other milk-jug sized hand curled into a meaty fist.
"You'll- Hmm. The Pride's pet. I wondered when your bitch queen would send you slinking here. I'm going to rip off your head and eat it like an apple." Antioch sneered. It was a lot of sneer, considering he was 1/4th mouth, and when he grabbed at his desk to slam it into the wall- and to try and pin or crush Hrol- pens and papers scattered to the floor.
The slave kept on the other side of the room, as far away from the both of them as he possibly could. He put his arms over his head and hoped he'd make it out alive.
Antioch certainly hadn't won his place in a raffle. The desk caught the Witcher's side even as he was starting to try to move to evade, caught just a hair too slow and crushed into the wall. He felt something crunch under the armor; he expected it was a rib, but it might have been his hip. Either way, blood was coming from where the bone had been forced to puncture the skin by the intensive pressure. When he spat and reached for the potions, they had been crushed in as well.
And he could no more use his Signs than Antioch could; dimertium didn't discriminate. The Cat seemed well and truly caught for skinning. Or dinner, more like, in this case. He struggled to loose himself as the Senator approached. He could make no reasonable motion of attack, but he might survive to strike again if he could... just... get his leg out...
The trollish creature loomed as it stomped toward him, bullish snorts sounding. Antioch was big and strong, but decades of decadence and a sedentary lifestyle had left him massively unhealthy. Even as he reached to Hrol with his claws and lost the entirety of the hand for his trouble, he readied himself to charge and crush and kill-
The Devil blinked and threw out his good hand at Hrol again, pausing and then looking down at it's palm confusedly when the Witcher wasn't immolated in fire. When a banana bounced off his head, he whirled to glare at the Slave darkly, while the man held up his empty hands and once again tried to make himself as small as possible.
Turning back to the matter at hand, Antioch once more lumbered at Hrol, his mouth snapping in anticipation of blood. He licked his lips, the two foot long tongue dripping with saliva.
Finally forcing the desk off himself and weaving a web of steel between himself and the demon's fingers with an array of slashes, Hrol's iris slitted further with their mutual bloodloss before lunging at the far larger and more musclebound but unarmed target. He struck, aiming for tendons-
-and missed, entirely, stabbing the wall instead in sudden horror, as the locked door burst open. Time had been short. Now it had run out. Grenades and death threats weren't exactly a quiet affair. The others would be in all too soon.
He spun on a heel and drove the other sword for the Senator's wobbling belly, hoping the creature was equally distracted
The blade sank deep into the fat and gristle, and when Hrol ripped the sword out, blood, food, and loops of intestine would follow. The demon roared in pain this time as security began to file in before drawing back out momentarily to better prepare. They'd just assumed Antioch had eaten a slave, rather than was fighting an unknown assassin for his life; the Envy who'd kicked in the door eyed Hrol's swords with a jealous frown as he pulled out a black nightstick.
The Gluttony surged before falling to a knee with a squelch of bloody carpet; it was difficult to fight while attempting to shove your guts back inside. He was missing more fingers, and was altogether the worse for wear.
"-eat your soul-" he gasped at Hrol, trying to come forward again. The peacekeepers likewise began to surge into the room proper, riot shields and batons at the ready as they tried to force the two apart.
Although his potions were gone, the grenade sack remained in decent condition. The wounded assassin was all too glad of the peacekeeping separation pushing them apart as he stabbed a knife directly into one of the Northern Wind cryogenic bombs and hurled it into the guts Antioch was straining to hold together. He took a blow to the knee and shoulder respectively as he stumbled back, hand landing on his silver sword embedded in the world. Then the world detonated, and the limping man was scarcely out of the room with his possession before the frigid reaction and cracking thereafter finished.
He scolded himself to start with that the next time, only, what if Antioch had been able to prevent it with his powers? No, dimertium had been the right choice, no doubt, but getting clipped certainly wasn't. He'd have to practice more and relax less. Ignoring the looks from the office and the chair that slammed into the wall behind him, the contract killer limped back into the room and swung five times at Antioch's neck.
Taking the head home would be worth being noticed.
Food spilled from the severed throat, and the reek of ancient and evil blood filled the room as it ruined the carpet in gouts. The Envy and the other two guards blocked the doorway, the cubicle farm silent behind them except for a printer still going. They had their nightsticks out and were watching him in the aftermath of the blows, tense and high-strung.
"...what was that supposed to be?" He asked irritably."Get the slave out of here."
The Sloth with him marched over and yanked the other man out of his cringing corner before leaving, the two officers keeping the way out blocked, the Envy walking into the room while the goat-headed Pride muttered across the radio,
"Listen, put down the swords and the explosives. This will go a lot easier." He said, eyeing Hrol.
"Might be willing. Is this an arrest or an on the spot execution, though? Might not want to make that easier. Any chance you would consider this a promotion opportunity and let me walk?"
"Solomon. Secure the area." The Envy ordered, before the Pride gave him a weird look and went off to do that. The officer glanced over his shoulder, spinning his nightstick distractedly before he closed the door.
"You know, I'm thinking we could have gotten here moments after you'd already left. Trail gone cold just like that greasy fat fuck on the ground." He said, eyeing Hrol flatly, like a barracuda studying a shark. "Hauling you in would just be fun as all hell, I'll bet. Doubt the Queen will let her blade rust in a dungeon."
"If I were to do you this little favor, you going to remember my name? Tit for tat?" The Envy asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door.
"Matter of fact, yes. Our potential mutual friend doesn't like wasting her allies or subjects on whimsy. I'll even give you a token to remember our pact by for that name- tonight, when you go home, you'll hear the city abuzz with the thought that she'll have violated a sacrifice devoted to her own Pride on principles. Any time you start to question getting what you're owed, you remember that, but I doubt she'll keep you waiting long," Hrol swore agreeably. "Mind, names have power, especially here, but I expect yours will have more so soon."
"I'm Diogenes." The Envy said, moving from the door. "...I've been a cop for a few years now, and this is about the only time we all haven't been trying to eat one another down here. Bunch of damn crabs in a barrel, and some of the old ones liked it better that way." He said bitterly.
"You've got about six minutes before we finish sweeping the building looking for you, since all I know is there's an assailant at large." He said, shrugging. He hadn't blinked a single time.
"Got it. If we meet again in any capacity related to this, I'm 'shadow whose blood melted before the mages could investigate' or 'that incompetent assassin I had to stab'," Hrol nodded back agreeably, spritzing a bit of chemicals onto the battle site, dipping his head, and moving off as swiftly and surreptitiously as a hall and injuries allowed for. When he reached the building's higher elevations by some miracle, he set Diogenes and his words in his mind to tell Euryale as he painstakingly forced his hip out the window and into a departing garbage cart, filled with bones and broken plates.(edited)
As the cart trundled away, the streets of Canaan were still loud and excited; as night had truly fallen the city had lit itself with neon, pyres, and gouts of hellfire. This close to one of the governing branches it was slightly subdued instead of raucous, but Demons and Devils seemed to keep smiling, laughing, and generally being happy.
Four imps clustered around a trash can, cooking pigeons on spits; ten feet away, an older Greed hawked souvenirs and T-shirts from the back of what a sign proclaimed ($3 for a picture inside) was Stalin's old jeep.
Hell was alive with excitement instead of screams, for tonight, at least.
How curious it was to be allied on the wrong side of heaven and dwelling in the more righteous side of hell. The lights reflected in eyes slowly starting to glaze, the artificial one casting odd lumination of its own back on the broken glassware as the images in it shifted at jagged random. The scarred man forced himself upright a few blocks down, staring at the injuries and bracing. Though he did not feel pain inasmuch as a normal man, the scream when he cut free the protruding bone and pushed what remained roughly back into place would have easily attracted attention if he hadn't gagged himself with his own sword pommel. Not letting it get in the way of carrying through, despite the near minute of blackness resultant as his consciousness flickered and fresher blood flowed, the contracted mutant burnt closed the injuries with carefully placed Igni sign usage before rolling out of the cart, hitting a wall, and staying still for a long few moments to catch his breath.
All in all, for not having had any kind of information or plan, he knew he'd gotten off lucky and light killing a demon of real rank.
The cat limped along the alleyways, enjoying the smells outside the palace, the sounds. The vibrancy of the place would scarcely be credited.(edited)
The three imps following Hrol were obvious and bad at staying hidden; they didn't whisper when they talked, one kept sniffling, and they knocked over a trash can by accident. His swords were keeping them from approaching, but the plan was to wait until he dropped and then go through his pockets, before a backdoor banged open-
"What are you doing?! Hoy! Out of here, you little punks! Tonight is a school night!" The Wrath was massive, like a miniature Balrog except for his white and blue coloration, and the mustache. He threw bags into a dumpster with a squelch while the Imps scattered and ran, before he spotted Hrol and double-took.
"...Oh. Hey. Hoy! Are you alright? Who did this to you?" He asked, tilting his head and looking at Hrol with surprise and worry in his burning eyes. "Here, sit down and I'll call for help."
If the damn potions hadn't been smashed, Scylla's work would have already shored me up, he reflected. Need to do better.
"I did it to myself," he said aloud, with a certain point of view honesty. "Appreciate the thought, though."
"Oh. Ah. Er- well, keep careful. Are you sure you don't-?"
Deeper in amongst the alleys, there were people and demons living destitute; Hell's climate never turned unless it was the heat going up, and even the nights were at least balmy. Most had the good sense to leave Hrol alone, although a Lust with a hole for a face seemed intent on getting his attention and attentions. Eventually, however, he'd be alone in a periphery once more.
The last thing Euryale needed was her pet turning up in the ICU the night a Senator died, or he might well have taken the Wrath up on his welcomely good natured offer. Even with Diogenes' team keeping mum, the connection would be quite as obvious as one of Nyx' prey actually making it to wreak havoc in the city. He knew the internal bleeding and bloodloss had likely been something requiring such, but he sat down to consider. If he could get back to her place without her worrying terribly, he could begin to meditate and allow some of his own mutations start to piece things back to place. If not even use reserve potions. Doing it here would only make him absent for the time he did, with a higher chance of someone choosing to eat his face while he rested.(edited)
The alleys and the city moved around him, bats in the sky and Hellcats roaming and seeking Styxmice. Most of the Demons and Devils who passed or intersected didn't notice him, too caught up in their own Sins or gossiping. Snatches of conversation painted a picture of the matter at the Arena; Euryale had entered the sands at halftime, ordered out the slaves who had been ready to spill blood, and then called down their owner to face her instead.
The humans in this place seemed sharper, either double taking at the yellow eyed hunter or noticing him and hurrying up their pace. While their lot was steadily improving, a second class society didn't forget the lessons it had learned that easily.
He had something of a better time amid the Lethe crowd, the forgetful air aiding his escape quite a bit. Were there a next time, he would try to devise a deliberate concoction of the vapors from the river. To be unnoticed and forgotten would be a massive boon. It almost affected him as it was, though; he was still amid the poppies and the sweet smell of blissful oblivion for nearly a half hour before his mutations and training salvaged him.
Her door was not that terribly far beyond, however. It wouldn't do to come in the front in this state. He slowly, with a great deal of concentration, made sure to climb the side of the wall and pay off the gargoyles instead. With sneaking complete, and landing on the floor of the foyer to her offices, he crept to eat corn and to recover a satchet of potion vials.
When Euryale finally came upon him, armor covered in sand, blood, and triumph, she at first jerked back in surprise before pausing and grinning at him with the warm cheer of an evil secret. Circe, Nyx, and her guards weren't with her.
"I had not known you were back! I suppose I cannot be too disappointed I didn't catch you sneaking in. How did the matter go?" She asked, stepping closer and cleaning off her armor in a burst of black fire. Once it was gone, She blinked at him and then frowned. "I smell your blood. I am sorry you were wounded... I had hoped you would not suffer solely for my cause."
The Witcher leaned upon a desk and shook his head. "Killed him. Bit of salt and fire for the corpse with cutting his magic. Shouldn't be back. I got sloppy, though. He almost got me instead, and I only got back because his guards cut a deal. Guy called Diogenes kept it from being a total bust for you, but I'm the one that's sorry."
He winced before the smile slowly went through, the other eye projecting pictures of flower fields. "I hear you had a good time. Glad to see you're not too bad off."
"Glad to see you whenever, so that may not count as much, but still."
He traced out 'sorry' with the sword in floor scratchings, almost absentmindedly, like a cat with furniture.
"It is done now, and that is all that matters. I do appreciate your suffering on my behalf, and so will many others, even if they are not aware of it." She said, inclining her head. "I may need to open an investigation into this sordid matter. A contact in the guards will be useful... I wonder who will be appointed to the late senator's place?"
She tilted her head and softly smiled at the swordpoint. "For myself, it was a fun diversion. I took his head in single combat while the crowd cheered at the sight. I have missed taking matters into my own hands, although it was less of a fight than I expected. Every now and then it is good to be the queen!"
She took his hand, her eyes briefly lighting up before her smile faded and she looked considering. "You know... It hurts me to admit, truly, but I think I would be doing a much more lackluster job of rulership without your help and support. Who else could or would be able to handle these sort of problems? I suppose I will have to pay you your weight in gold. Be wary, Circe may have a convulsion."
"Eheh. The School might take issue, but if m'lady will address most of that weight in gold to Caprice, I might be better served," he squeezed her hand, tone taking on a joking lilt. "Only need a handful while I'm with you, but it might help me keep my head. Either of them."
"We'll simply have to find something to do together so shocking that Circe doesn't hurt herself in a greed conniption for awhile, I suppose..." he contemplated, yellow eye contentedly surveying her own. "Come on. Let's soothe your ego with something you can beat me handily in. Preferably one that's still enough challenge it doesn't feel unearned."
The wince came once more. "Er, perhaps one more of Scylla's Raffard's to recover, first. If you don't mind. And one of these, if you don't stop me."
The handhold lengthened into a hug, although the cat began to slip off after the display of affection, true to form.
"Very well. I will gift it to her next week, after I train her with blades a little more. She may have a convulsion trying to decline!" She laughed, hugging him tightly back and then following after, letting him lead the way.
Like all of Euryale's personal quarters, the chaise, chairs, couches and tables were all in a close together island in the center of the room, away from the walls. Even after leaving her 10 foot by 10 foot concrete square in another Hell, Euryale still preferred everything within hand and arm's reach. The devil herself paced around the room, irritatedly removing layers of her dress and replacing it piecemeal with her armor.
"-had the gall to tell me I cannot interfere in the finances of private citizens! Altogether a little more than a quarter of both my cities are still rubble, with dispossessed squatting and pissing in the alleyways, and I cannot divvy out money earmarked for corruption and back patting to speed the process of rebirth! What is the point of rulership if I cannot solve these least of problems?" She growled to Hrol, slipping on a gauntlet and clenching her fist with a brief whoosh of black fire.
"Bah! Never become nobility, dear. It is not at all as fun as the stories make it out to be." She said, smiling tiredly at him before a knock came at the door and Circe poked her head in. The little greed eyed Hrol like she was assessing his value before looking away uncomfortably and instead giving Euryale an extravagant bow.
"Stop that." The Pride ordered, while Circe tittered and straightened.
Glancing back up and swingling slowly to his feet from the seated position- well, laying, more accurately- the man blinked dispassionately at the increasingly familiar banking figure in the Pride's retinue, her churl, as it were, before offering a slight nod behind Euryale's back. Many a regal figure would take extreme displeasure at so little ettiquette, but giving her more than he gave the baroness he served as consort and familiar for would be bad. Not to mention he just didn't much care. "Are there any problems you want to... go away, love?"
Circe smiled like a doll and smoothed the front of her blouse. For her part, she hadn't known quite what to make of Hrol, except he made her nervous. He couldn't be bought, not really, anyway, which left him an unknown quality to her.
"There are a few that come to mind." Euryale allowed, slipping on her pauldrons. The black plates of her armor were weighty, but they were comfortable and served every function. "I could sway enough minds to my line of thinking if a few agitators and their interests were not spreading like a poison. Sybrid Antioch in particular may need dealt with... I know for a fact he has been attempting to recruit guards on my payroll into entering his service, and I will not have that."
"Doesn't he know about the contracts?" Circe asked, walking over to a chair and leaning against it's back.
"Seemingly not, but it is a matter of time. I do wish I could set my hands around a few throats... I miss solving simple problems with simple measures." She sighed, adjusting her breastplate. "I take it things went well?"
"Oh, yes- your roads will be fully functional in four days time, and the first harvest of the year will come in within a week. Let's see... Your standing army was successfully converted into a Hellguard for domestic situations, and your coffers are finally out of the red and into the black. You aren't making a profit, but you aren't working against a loss, either, finally-"
"Good." Euryale emphasized, buckling on her sword.
"Oh, and there was a... Minor problem, a bit of trouble brewing, but Nyx handled it." Circe said, waving a hand. Euryale tiled her head, and the Greed looked over at the doors. "I'll let her tell you of it when she arrives..."
"Might do it without a contract. No paperwork, no formal blame for a hormonal mutant who got loose if I'm caught," Hrol mused. "Call it a New Year's gift. Or a harvest one. Whichever works better here. Is he buried terribly difficultly?"
Resting his hand on a hip and blinking more at the Greed than Pride, he pondered further aloud. "Or would that... complicate things? Hmm. Ah, well. You said Nyx was due?"(edited)
"Well, not without payment, at least." Euryale offered. Circe closed her mouth and looked pained. "No, he has a villa on the outskirts of the city, as well as an office and seat of power somewhat closer by. He's a Gluttony, and won't be at all hard to track." She sneered. Checking herself in the mirror, she flipped her hair and smiled over her shoulder. "Things are complicated as they are now; a little blood spilled ought to wash things cleaner. Just do not be caught. I would truly hate to have my hands forced."
"...If you were to, er, ambush him in his office or home, there are certain of his records and finances I could use to smooth and settle things over. They'd likely have his allies and contacts as well." Circe said, folding her hands. "Yes, Nyx was on her way. We'd left at the same time, but, well..." She gestured around her, at the Slothless room. Euryale raised an eyebrow and then frowned.(edited)
"Might have to bring a bag or two for those, depending. Things get heavy in your hands when you're evading notice," he reflected. His yellow eyes slitted and shone very slightly brighter as he stretched. "Sure we'll work out some reward after, your hellishly beautiful and Pride-worthy Baroness and Knight to remember-ship. Mightn't even need to touch the coppers if you have a mind otherwise, but the weight off your mind might make things more pleasant for me in the while anyway. Should I take the window, or establish an alibi somewhere before starting the stalk?"
"I can think of a few things either way, my Knight." Euryale grinned, while Circe stuck her tongue out at a corner. "Hmm. An alibi would serve, I think. When Nyx finally arrives, we'll make our way to the grand opening of the Arena and watch a few of the matches before you slip away. Enough souls will see you in the box at my side to place you there, at the least."
"Are the banners in place?" Circe asked, suddenly alert.
"Yes, your businesses are well advertised." Euryale laughed, before Nyx opened the door, stooped, and slowly walked in. She was covered in black ash, only her eyes breaking up her profile. When she noticed Hrol she blinked, but otherwise shyly waved a metal claw.
"...What happened to you?" Euryale asked, looking down at Nyx's black footprints.
"There was a Cinder Elemental the size of a hurricane nearby, but he's gone now..." Nyx said tiredly, before she sneezed a black cloud.
"Hoo. Haven't seen one of those yet. I'm imagining I might not want to outside the Arena if a job doesn't need it, huh?" he inquired and slightly waved back to the rather large Lord. "Are you joining us? I understand the Arena can be exciting stuff. Might give some nice dreams later... and dull some of the folks around the box when I do take my leave, come to think. Drowsy testimony."
Circe nodded while Nyx coughed deep, with another black cloud. "They're not so dangerous when they're small, but they never stop growing and eating. Or hating. I've owned one or two, but they're like big cats, they can't truly be tamed... What happened?" She asked Nyx. The Sloth raked her metal hands through her hair, leaving it frazzled and a dust pile on the floor.
"Well, I found him out on one of the ash plains. It wasn't hard. I didn't need my sword, I just wrestled him down... I thought I could get him to leave, but he made me kill him." Nyx finished, downcast. When she looked back up, Euryale nodded in thanks. "There shouldn't be any other big monsters near the city limits now."
"Do you want to get cleaned up? You are coming, aren't you?" Circe asked, walking over to peer up. Nyx scuffed the floor and shrugged. "I'll just dump a barrel of water over my head. Thanks again for inviting me..."
"Certainly. It seems to have worked out all for well." Euryale said, raising her eyebrows.
"Not really sure how a Witcher's potion would work with your kind, if at all. Does nasty things to a lot of organic insides. Might test that on Antioch with a more potent one before a blade... but, ah, if you want to try it, you're tough. Golden Oriole might clear up that cough nicely, Nyx."
"Oh, no, that's okay. I don't want you to waste one on me." Nyx said, smiling blearily at him. She hadn't known Hrol all that well when they'd all gone to Hell, but he'd been nice to her, so that made him alright in the Lord's eyes. She coughed again before shaking herself off in a sudden cloud. Circe looked at Hrol and tilted her head.
"They're that caustic?"
"They'd melt a hole right through you." Euryale said grimly, while Circe gulped. "But you should be fine, Nyx. Take one please."
Nyx sighed and plucked the potion in between two clawtips, carefully opening and drinking it before looking around for a trash can. She didn't show any discomfort or pain, but she did cough one last time and then not at all. Euryale looked at her and then Circe before putting her two handed blade across her back, under her shield.
"Ready to go?" She asked.
Having at first not been sure what to make of the superpredator that made him drowsy, Hrol had come slowly to appreciate how much effort she took off Euryale's shoulders, despite her own realm of Sloth. It was easier to lounge in peace without living things pestering and poking problems, it had become apparent. Certainly he didn't mean to let her get impeded and cranky- and it was nice, for the change of pace, to have so many powerful beings and monsters on his side. The thrill of the Hunt against odds was one thing, but Nyx removing things before they were even something to care about and Euryale's well earned battle pride and prowess were another altogether.
Checking his swords, oils, and poisons slightly more casually than he might otherwise with a mildly more tired wave back, Hrol nodded quietly before remembering he was behind the Baronness. While the view was appreciated, both for the context of form, armor, and the length of weaponry by the bulwark of metal, it did not make the gesture any more useful. "Anytime you are."
"I was born ready." She promised, before leading the way. Circe and Nyx brought up the rear, the Greed because she was short, the Sloth because she moved so slow. Once they'd made it outside, a retinue of armored demons, Devils, and damned were waiting to form up around Euryale. While it was a more direct show of force than she'd have liked, it wouldn't do to become complacent. Assassinations were common, after all.
Of her two cities, Canaan was more like a traditional piece of Hell, the stones around them black and arched high like wings. Bats flew overhead in the light of a bloody red moon. The rebuilding and consolidation had gone well; there were plenty of people out and about, and there was an air of excitement in the warm breeze. Some of her subjects waved or bowed, and Euryale did her level best to acknowledge them. Circe looked up and then pointed out a 7-11 that she happened to own, smiling when she saw a hippo-headed monster opening a pack of cigarettes it had just bought.
The coliseum wasn't hard to spot or hear; both were easy when they came close enough. Lit by torches, it made an imposing sight. Not that long ago she would've been entering through the side and finding a seat in the stands, or trying to weasel her way onto the sand. Now...
"This way. We will be in the center- the dead center. Care for snacks? I am not certain, but I think they will be free for me." She said, waving and smiling confidently to a little boy with a tin sword. Circe had perked up at the mention of free food, while Nyx shrugged and her stomach rumbled.
"Never turn down a free meal if you don't have to," Hrol nodded amiably. "Maybe check it for poison or curses first; make sure it won't bind you to the plane and make you a faerie sex slave or something; but otherwise, absolutely."
"Persephone-thing might not be so bad in your case anyway, but that does bring up a question. You can detect good. Can you detect attempts on you?"
"Hah! I think a faerie looking for sex slaves in this place-" she paused to look over the crowd, her guards, and him, before she slowly smirked. "-would be well and truly fucked."
The empty box was like a pavilion; there were chairs set up on either side of a throne, one of which had a pillow and blanket folded behind it. Circe hurried and took her seat while Euryale waved a hand and waited for some of the food vendors to be cleared and allowed nearby. Nyx stood there with a bucket of chicken the size of a trash can before she nervously smiled and bit a drumstick in half.
"It depends, really. If the attempt is overwhelmingly strong, then of course, but otherwise generally not from another thing such as us. The other sorts of beings that could or would do not have much opportunity before we begin trying to kill each other." She shrugged, and her armor clinked. "Angels and such do not generally pause after seeing horns or hooves, the same as I after smelling a halo."
Circe broke a piece of peanut brittle and nibbled at it like a chipmunk, wiping her hands on a napkin from her pocket. "Distance and intent are factors as well. A person wondering if you're really all that awful is much different from a Paladin planning to decapitate you and intending to be sure." She said.
"Imagine so," he said and did, picturing the sorry fool that might try. He had heard about the riots in the other cities, the humanist movement brutalizing demons on crusades, apparently. They had not cropped up in Euryale's domain yet, but the bloody business did not disguise itself in the realm of lust and sin well. "Reminds me why they try to ingrain not feeling out loud."
He took to a bit of chicken and narrowed his eyes. "Mm. Right. Who are we watching fight, Lordships? The halos?"
"If only! Sadly the Angels of our better nature don't have much stomach for this sort of thing. They would have to admit how much fun it is to spill the blood of your adversary, and they are far too holier than thou for that." Euryale said scornfully. Unsurprisingly she had only had negative experiences with Angels in the past, and didn't much care for them. Circe leafed through a program while Nyx reached and spread her blanket over her legs.
"Well... They have a Doom bear fighting a battalion of Imps, A few honor-duels between Wraths seeking promotions, a clown show-" Nyx looked over with confusion and a little horror while Circe scanned more pages. "-Oh! A fight between chariots, and... " She paused, reading while a line formed on her brow. Eventually she looked up.
"...They'll be sacrificing human chattel at Intermission to consecrate the sand with blood." She said to Euryale, while the Pride eyed her and made a face.
"What? Why?" She asked, with dawning disgust.
"Er, in your honor, apparently."
"...What in the thrice damned unholy darkness would I want with dead bodies? It is a pointless, stupid waste of life. Wha- did they think this would please me? What pride can I take in an empty gesture?" Euryale asked, anger slowly building in her voice. "No. I will not bleed my people for the sheer Hell of it."
As a loud roar echoed over the cheer of the crowd, and a fifteen foot bear covered in spikes and burning like a furnace barreled out of a gate and into the center, Euryale looked at Hrol before running a gauntlet through her hair, frazzled. "When I find out who thought such would please me, perhaps there will be one last fight at the end of the event." She said darkly.
Hrol's smile lapsed into a scowl, but Euryale's own reaction tempered his. Instead, he clasped the dark lord's pauldron briefly and nodded. "Well. Seems I know what the distraction is going to be to leave on. Imagine that they might be surprised at the human sparing. Good reason to leave- pre announcement- even if someone does see me."
"Good choice. Good choice," he muttered more quietly, solely for and to her ear. "Glad."
"There is no pride in it..." She murmured back, briefly reaching for his hand before she replaced hers in her lap. She didn't give a damn what anyone thought of him and her, but that didn't mean she could afford to be seen as anything less than iron in the public eye. "They are my subjects. Their welfare and wellbeing is my onus, they are not... Some throwaway padding for my ego."
Circe had been adding something up on her program, and she got up before walking over. "You'd best stop it soon. The blow to your workforce will be noticeable, to say nothing of morale. It seems they're the slaves of a, er... Another Pride." Euryale's face was flat as she arched an eyebrow and watched the bear bite an Imp in half.
"Well! I suppose that simplifies matters. One death compared to many." She nodded slowly. Nyx yawned and looked between her, Circe, and Hrol, before pulling out an entire roasted hen and beginning to snarf at it.
Euryale watched the duels and battles in silence, unsmiling for a little while before she glanced at Hrol and sighed. "I... Things such as this keep happening. Even with your task, I'd hoped we might have at least one span of hours without any wrinkles or surprises. I am s- I am sss-"
"Sore to have to miss out," he spared her, entirely understanding how much 'sorry' would cost her Pride. Although his eyes spoke a different message to her than his glib quipping tongue, he continued on unabated. "That's simply why we'll both have to live and crush everything in the way, though. It would be bad form to not get to feed one addiction in Hell of all places."
Listening to the last snarfs before the hen was gone and the gutteral roars of the bear being guided back to the cage, the Witcher dared a peck to the cheek. "Save me the story for this other Pride, would you? It sounds like you'll need to humble them. And I should start slipping out."
Dipping her head, she briefly smiled small at him. "Of course. I will tell you all about it."
"Form up, two lines." She ordered the guards, who put themselves between the chairs and the crowd like a fence. Circe frowned and craned to see over them before Nyx picked her up by the collar and put her on her shoulder, the Greed looking both embarrassed and grateful.
"Good hunting." Euryale said, pecking him back.
He did not fully contain an amused snort at the pair before he turned sharply and went softly.
Slipping out like a gray shadow amid dark shapes, the fleeting shape of the blonde man was gone as though it had never been, leaving few traces besides a few surprised grunts of passerby that soon forgot in the show spectacle before he climbed down the box walls and into the streets. There were times for presence and times for a hunter to be inconspicuous, and this was most certainly the latter. Padding along the city streets, he knew quite well he had no clues and no entry plan for if he found the building, but asking in any shop would make it far more suspicious. Instead, blending like some of the human chattel- save the eyes; he had to be careful of his eyes, for Euryale was not the only demon who seemed to respond to them- he allowed himself to be funneled down towards the governing areas in the mass of bodies.
A Senator of Gluttony with an office in the center of the city would not at all be hard to track, no, particularly one who thought little of trying to snub the new rule of law. Where the food and slaves to serve it went in biggest bulk, there too stalked Hrol. The mess of rinds, bones, and discarded offal was a reminder of what this place represented outside her order. The screams, too, of every flavor and variety. Anger, woe, pleasure, horror.
The simplest way to prepare Antioch for a killing might be poison in the all too eagerly ingested muck of things, were he present with his trash, but he might also have built resistances. A silver sword would be surer if he found him.
The slaves marched with heads down as the carts and boxcars loaded with everything from fresh baked bread to exhumed corpses slowly rolled into an unloading area at the floor of the ugly, squat stone building that housed this arm of governance. The unloading process was undertaken quickly, enough of the workforce missing fingers to show that dangers of the process and the aftermath.
Immediately beyond the double doors was a cafeteria, with various Gluttonies and other demons eating or working. A Lust fixed her makeup and sipped an espresso, while a Wrath suddenly surged to his feet.
"Damn it, Cindy, I said paint the sitting room aquamarine, not FUCKING TURQUOISE!" He roared, before spiking his cell phone to the ground and driving both his fists through the table before coughing and sitting back down, picking his peanut butter and jelly sandwich off the floor. The other Devils and Demons didn't react, except for the Lust, who rolled her eyes.
The hallways outside shifted from castle-like stones to plain white drywall, monsters going to and fro, from office to office. There were enough humans around that Hrol didn't stick out to an excessive degree, although an Envy pushing a cart nearly ran into him as he dispensed mail.
Pitching his voice in the panic of a slave, the nearly emotionless man felt the odd tingling of these incarnate ones playing with his mind, as ever, though none like Nyx was capable of. He wondered if these feeling things were how normal humans felt all the time. It had to be exhausting if so. Looking through the doors and chambers helped him to begin to garner a sense of the hierarchy of this particular establishment. The higher ups would be lower-down, as it were. After spending ten minutes pretending to clean more Wrath messes, he swept along the stairs into the executive hallway and slowly drew his sword.
It would still be another forty minutes and one office map stolen later before he was anywhere close, though.
Hrol had the right of it; the higher in hierarchy, the closer to the center and the underground. In an environment where a powerful enough individual could level a building by their lonesome, keeping important figures mantled and secure was more important than giving them a corner office.
Antoich's realm was a plot of cubicles clustered together like a beehive, and the office with his nameplate had the door closed. None of the drones looked behind them at Hrol's footsteps, the humans pale and sickly, chained to their desks, the demons crammed like anchovies. Another massive Wrath, spiked and covered in burning, searing runes adjusted teeny glasses and sighed as he fed something into a paper shredder.
A human struggled with a dolly and a tub the size of a vending machine, filled with raw meat and bananas. He forced it towards the office like he was driving a reluctant cow, cursing under his breath as it very nearly struck an aquarium filled with lava and little ugly black fish that looked like charcoal chunks.
Studying the incident signs with as much nonchalance as was possible for a Witcher with so many potential targets and threats in his senses to almost led Hrol to miss this particular human.
But happy serendipity allowed him to assist in swerving the cart out of the way, and then, seemingly naturally, falling in line with assisting the man in pushing the dolly. Granted, it got banana on his armor, but much worse had been and would be yet. The ugly little fish glared, but that was all that prevented the march amid the damned. If his luck continued to hold, the man wouldn't question it.
"Thanks, buddy. Goddamn horns been watching me struggle and doing jack shit." The man muttered, not looking Hrol in the eye. Much like the office workers, he was chained to his dolly.
After knocking and looking into a camera while Hrol sidled out of view, the door opened. The stench of rotting food rolled out like a heavy cloud while the tub was pushed in. Sybrid Antioch was well and truly behind his desk, his fanged mouth going all the way down his neck and his mountainous gut. He had no nose, and deep-set piggy eyes that were currently over the human's head.
"Yes, Desecles, yes, I know. Either we'll have the funds for the coalition to secure the votes or we won't, but either way, our bloc in the Senate grows the longer our dear queen wastes her days on minutiae. Yes. Yes, as I said, I know-" he said, beckoning them closer before giving the slave a greasy dollar before hauling the tub on top of his desk. The troll-like monster drove his face directly in, continuing his phone call in between a trash-can sized mouthful of food before waving irritably at the both of them to leave.
The door did not move so smoothly as Hrol might have liked after the other human, and the locking latch was louder, but it was still reasonably competently done as motions go. He wouldn't have long before the other man reacted. Certainly before the demon did. The tension and the thrill of the risk washed over him as much as the brief fear of failure; not of death, or pain, but that it might hurt Euryale's cause were such to happen. And more so if the slavering juggernaut of obese tissues and power survived.
Time felt briefly as though it was slowing from adrenaline as he unclipped and hurled a dimertium grenade into the feeding trough to help disable local magics and transformation, possibly to hurt the spirit as well, and rolled over to the desk in a somerset. The sword came out as the flash of the bomb went off.
The grenade went off in a flash, the obese beast snarling and drawing back with a hand over it's eyes; the other man scrabbled at the door handle, turning it like it would somehow open despite it being locked.
Close up, Antioch seemed mountainous; the smell was worse. Hrol's blade split a meaty hand in half as the creature surged to it's feet, letting loose a roar of stinking meat and curds of spittle. It's face and front were singed and scorched from the explosive, and it took a lumbering step forward, the other milk-jug sized hand curled into a meaty fist.
"You'll- Hmm. The Pride's pet. I wondered when your bitch queen would send you slinking here. I'm going to rip off your head and eat it like an apple." Antioch sneered. It was a lot of sneer, considering he was 1/4th mouth, and when he grabbed at his desk to slam it into the wall- and to try and pin or crush Hrol- pens and papers scattered to the floor.
The slave kept on the other side of the room, as far away from the both of them as he possibly could. He put his arms over his head and hoped he'd make it out alive.
Antioch certainly hadn't won his place in a raffle. The desk caught the Witcher's side even as he was starting to try to move to evade, caught just a hair too slow and crushed into the wall. He felt something crunch under the armor; he expected it was a rib, but it might have been his hip. Either way, blood was coming from where the bone had been forced to puncture the skin by the intensive pressure. When he spat and reached for the potions, they had been crushed in as well.
And he could no more use his Signs than Antioch could; dimertium didn't discriminate. The Cat seemed well and truly caught for skinning. Or dinner, more like, in this case. He struggled to loose himself as the Senator approached. He could make no reasonable motion of attack, but he might survive to strike again if he could... just... get his leg out...
The trollish creature loomed as it stomped toward him, bullish snorts sounding. Antioch was big and strong, but decades of decadence and a sedentary lifestyle had left him massively unhealthy. Even as he reached to Hrol with his claws and lost the entirety of the hand for his trouble, he readied himself to charge and crush and kill-
The Devil blinked and threw out his good hand at Hrol again, pausing and then looking down at it's palm confusedly when the Witcher wasn't immolated in fire. When a banana bounced off his head, he whirled to glare at the Slave darkly, while the man held up his empty hands and once again tried to make himself as small as possible.
Turning back to the matter at hand, Antioch once more lumbered at Hrol, his mouth snapping in anticipation of blood. He licked his lips, the two foot long tongue dripping with saliva.
Finally forcing the desk off himself and weaving a web of steel between himself and the demon's fingers with an array of slashes, Hrol's iris slitted further with their mutual bloodloss before lunging at the far larger and more musclebound but unarmed target. He struck, aiming for tendons-
-and missed, entirely, stabbing the wall instead in sudden horror, as the locked door burst open. Time had been short. Now it had run out. Grenades and death threats weren't exactly a quiet affair. The others would be in all too soon.
He spun on a heel and drove the other sword for the Senator's wobbling belly, hoping the creature was equally distracted
The blade sank deep into the fat and gristle, and when Hrol ripped the sword out, blood, food, and loops of intestine would follow. The demon roared in pain this time as security began to file in before drawing back out momentarily to better prepare. They'd just assumed Antioch had eaten a slave, rather than was fighting an unknown assassin for his life; the Envy who'd kicked in the door eyed Hrol's swords with a jealous frown as he pulled out a black nightstick.
The Gluttony surged before falling to a knee with a squelch of bloody carpet; it was difficult to fight while attempting to shove your guts back inside. He was missing more fingers, and was altogether the worse for wear.
"-eat your soul-" he gasped at Hrol, trying to come forward again. The peacekeepers likewise began to surge into the room proper, riot shields and batons at the ready as they tried to force the two apart.
Although his potions were gone, the grenade sack remained in decent condition. The wounded assassin was all too glad of the peacekeeping separation pushing them apart as he stabbed a knife directly into one of the Northern Wind cryogenic bombs and hurled it into the guts Antioch was straining to hold together. He took a blow to the knee and shoulder respectively as he stumbled back, hand landing on his silver sword embedded in the world. Then the world detonated, and the limping man was scarcely out of the room with his possession before the frigid reaction and cracking thereafter finished.
He scolded himself to start with that the next time, only, what if Antioch had been able to prevent it with his powers? No, dimertium had been the right choice, no doubt, but getting clipped certainly wasn't. He'd have to practice more and relax less. Ignoring the looks from the office and the chair that slammed into the wall behind him, the contract killer limped back into the room and swung five times at Antioch's neck.
Taking the head home would be worth being noticed.
Food spilled from the severed throat, and the reek of ancient and evil blood filled the room as it ruined the carpet in gouts. The Envy and the other two guards blocked the doorway, the cubicle farm silent behind them except for a printer still going. They had their nightsticks out and were watching him in the aftermath of the blows, tense and high-strung.
"...what was that supposed to be?" He asked irritably."Get the slave out of here."
The Sloth with him marched over and yanked the other man out of his cringing corner before leaving, the two officers keeping the way out blocked, the Envy walking into the room while the goat-headed Pride muttered across the radio,
"Listen, put down the swords and the explosives. This will go a lot easier." He said, eyeing Hrol.
"Might be willing. Is this an arrest or an on the spot execution, though? Might not want to make that easier. Any chance you would consider this a promotion opportunity and let me walk?"
"Solomon. Secure the area." The Envy ordered, before the Pride gave him a weird look and went off to do that. The officer glanced over his shoulder, spinning his nightstick distractedly before he closed the door.
"You know, I'm thinking we could have gotten here moments after you'd already left. Trail gone cold just like that greasy fat fuck on the ground." He said, eyeing Hrol flatly, like a barracuda studying a shark. "Hauling you in would just be fun as all hell, I'll bet. Doubt the Queen will let her blade rust in a dungeon."
"If I were to do you this little favor, you going to remember my name? Tit for tat?" The Envy asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door.
"Matter of fact, yes. Our potential mutual friend doesn't like wasting her allies or subjects on whimsy. I'll even give you a token to remember our pact by for that name- tonight, when you go home, you'll hear the city abuzz with the thought that she'll have violated a sacrifice devoted to her own Pride on principles. Any time you start to question getting what you're owed, you remember that, but I doubt she'll keep you waiting long," Hrol swore agreeably. "Mind, names have power, especially here, but I expect yours will have more so soon."
"I'm Diogenes." The Envy said, moving from the door. "...I've been a cop for a few years now, and this is about the only time we all haven't been trying to eat one another down here. Bunch of damn crabs in a barrel, and some of the old ones liked it better that way." He said bitterly.
"You've got about six minutes before we finish sweeping the building looking for you, since all I know is there's an assailant at large." He said, shrugging. He hadn't blinked a single time.
"Got it. If we meet again in any capacity related to this, I'm 'shadow whose blood melted before the mages could investigate' or 'that incompetent assassin I had to stab'," Hrol nodded back agreeably, spritzing a bit of chemicals onto the battle site, dipping his head, and moving off as swiftly and surreptitiously as a hall and injuries allowed for. When he reached the building's higher elevations by some miracle, he set Diogenes and his words in his mind to tell Euryale as he painstakingly forced his hip out the window and into a departing garbage cart, filled with bones and broken plates.(edited)
As the cart trundled away, the streets of Canaan were still loud and excited; as night had truly fallen the city had lit itself with neon, pyres, and gouts of hellfire. This close to one of the governing branches it was slightly subdued instead of raucous, but Demons and Devils seemed to keep smiling, laughing, and generally being happy.
Four imps clustered around a trash can, cooking pigeons on spits; ten feet away, an older Greed hawked souvenirs and T-shirts from the back of what a sign proclaimed ($3 for a picture inside) was Stalin's old jeep.
Hell was alive with excitement instead of screams, for tonight, at least.
How curious it was to be allied on the wrong side of heaven and dwelling in the more righteous side of hell. The lights reflected in eyes slowly starting to glaze, the artificial one casting odd lumination of its own back on the broken glassware as the images in it shifted at jagged random. The scarred man forced himself upright a few blocks down, staring at the injuries and bracing. Though he did not feel pain inasmuch as a normal man, the scream when he cut free the protruding bone and pushed what remained roughly back into place would have easily attracted attention if he hadn't gagged himself with his own sword pommel. Not letting it get in the way of carrying through, despite the near minute of blackness resultant as his consciousness flickered and fresher blood flowed, the contracted mutant burnt closed the injuries with carefully placed Igni sign usage before rolling out of the cart, hitting a wall, and staying still for a long few moments to catch his breath.
All in all, for not having had any kind of information or plan, he knew he'd gotten off lucky and light killing a demon of real rank.
The cat limped along the alleyways, enjoying the smells outside the palace, the sounds. The vibrancy of the place would scarcely be credited.(edited)
The three imps following Hrol were obvious and bad at staying hidden; they didn't whisper when they talked, one kept sniffling, and they knocked over a trash can by accident. His swords were keeping them from approaching, but the plan was to wait until he dropped and then go through his pockets, before a backdoor banged open-
"What are you doing?! Hoy! Out of here, you little punks! Tonight is a school night!" The Wrath was massive, like a miniature Balrog except for his white and blue coloration, and the mustache. He threw bags into a dumpster with a squelch while the Imps scattered and ran, before he spotted Hrol and double-took.
"...Oh. Hey. Hoy! Are you alright? Who did this to you?" He asked, tilting his head and looking at Hrol with surprise and worry in his burning eyes. "Here, sit down and I'll call for help."
If the damn potions hadn't been smashed, Scylla's work would have already shored me up, he reflected. Need to do better.
"I did it to myself," he said aloud, with a certain point of view honesty. "Appreciate the thought, though."
"Oh. Ah. Er- well, keep careful. Are you sure you don't-?"
Deeper in amongst the alleys, there were people and demons living destitute; Hell's climate never turned unless it was the heat going up, and even the nights were at least balmy. Most had the good sense to leave Hrol alone, although a Lust with a hole for a face seemed intent on getting his attention and attentions. Eventually, however, he'd be alone in a periphery once more.
The last thing Euryale needed was her pet turning up in the ICU the night a Senator died, or he might well have taken the Wrath up on his welcomely good natured offer. Even with Diogenes' team keeping mum, the connection would be quite as obvious as one of Nyx' prey actually making it to wreak havoc in the city. He knew the internal bleeding and bloodloss had likely been something requiring such, but he sat down to consider. If he could get back to her place without her worrying terribly, he could begin to meditate and allow some of his own mutations start to piece things back to place. If not even use reserve potions. Doing it here would only make him absent for the time he did, with a higher chance of someone choosing to eat his face while he rested.(edited)
The alleys and the city moved around him, bats in the sky and Hellcats roaming and seeking Styxmice. Most of the Demons and Devils who passed or intersected didn't notice him, too caught up in their own Sins or gossiping. Snatches of conversation painted a picture of the matter at the Arena; Euryale had entered the sands at halftime, ordered out the slaves who had been ready to spill blood, and then called down their owner to face her instead.
The humans in this place seemed sharper, either double taking at the yellow eyed hunter or noticing him and hurrying up their pace. While their lot was steadily improving, a second class society didn't forget the lessons it had learned that easily.
He had something of a better time amid the Lethe crowd, the forgetful air aiding his escape quite a bit. Were there a next time, he would try to devise a deliberate concoction of the vapors from the river. To be unnoticed and forgotten would be a massive boon. It almost affected him as it was, though; he was still amid the poppies and the sweet smell of blissful oblivion for nearly a half hour before his mutations and training salvaged him.
Her door was not that terribly far beyond, however. It wouldn't do to come in the front in this state. He slowly, with a great deal of concentration, made sure to climb the side of the wall and pay off the gargoyles instead. With sneaking complete, and landing on the floor of the foyer to her offices, he crept to eat corn and to recover a satchet of potion vials.
When Euryale finally came upon him, armor covered in sand, blood, and triumph, she at first jerked back in surprise before pausing and grinning at him with the warm cheer of an evil secret. Circe, Nyx, and her guards weren't with her.
"I had not known you were back! I suppose I cannot be too disappointed I didn't catch you sneaking in. How did the matter go?" She asked, stepping closer and cleaning off her armor in a burst of black fire. Once it was gone, She blinked at him and then frowned. "I smell your blood. I am sorry you were wounded... I had hoped you would not suffer solely for my cause."
The Witcher leaned upon a desk and shook his head. "Killed him. Bit of salt and fire for the corpse with cutting his magic. Shouldn't be back. I got sloppy, though. He almost got me instead, and I only got back because his guards cut a deal. Guy called Diogenes kept it from being a total bust for you, but I'm the one that's sorry."
He winced before the smile slowly went through, the other eye projecting pictures of flower fields. "I hear you had a good time. Glad to see you're not too bad off."
"Glad to see you whenever, so that may not count as much, but still."
He traced out 'sorry' with the sword in floor scratchings, almost absentmindedly, like a cat with furniture.
"It is done now, and that is all that matters. I do appreciate your suffering on my behalf, and so will many others, even if they are not aware of it." She said, inclining her head. "I may need to open an investigation into this sordid matter. A contact in the guards will be useful... I wonder who will be appointed to the late senator's place?"
She tilted her head and softly smiled at the swordpoint. "For myself, it was a fun diversion. I took his head in single combat while the crowd cheered at the sight. I have missed taking matters into my own hands, although it was less of a fight than I expected. Every now and then it is good to be the queen!"
She took his hand, her eyes briefly lighting up before her smile faded and she looked considering. "You know... It hurts me to admit, truly, but I think I would be doing a much more lackluster job of rulership without your help and support. Who else could or would be able to handle these sort of problems? I suppose I will have to pay you your weight in gold. Be wary, Circe may have a convulsion."
"Eheh. The School might take issue, but if m'lady will address most of that weight in gold to Caprice, I might be better served," he squeezed her hand, tone taking on a joking lilt. "Only need a handful while I'm with you, but it might help me keep my head. Either of them."
"We'll simply have to find something to do together so shocking that Circe doesn't hurt herself in a greed conniption for awhile, I suppose..." he contemplated, yellow eye contentedly surveying her own. "Come on. Let's soothe your ego with something you can beat me handily in. Preferably one that's still enough challenge it doesn't feel unearned."
The wince came once more. "Er, perhaps one more of Scylla's Raffard's to recover, first. If you don't mind. And one of these, if you don't stop me."
The handhold lengthened into a hug, although the cat began to slip off after the display of affection, true to form.
"Very well. I will gift it to her next week, after I train her with blades a little more. She may have a convulsion trying to decline!" She laughed, hugging him tightly back and then following after, letting him lead the way.
Twue wuv :3
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