[Intermission, Part 3] While the Husband’s Away...

At the Psychosphere in John's Temple...

He would replace me. It was obvious enough: why else spend such resources to slowly learn a talent she was freely giving him? As the sole occupier of the psychosphere ever since her... condition... became apparent, Alysha was charged with watching John’s every action whenever he wasn't in the temple. She was the only one who had the privilege of this; he had willed away the visual and audio feed that once dominated the temple's center.

Her watch was quiet; she had irritated him enough to warrant a demand for silence except when it might endanger him. She obediently focused on this task: she conveyed orders to the rest where he felt them necessary, and she watched his every act in the alien and pitiful existence that most humans suffered. Such an example of that existence came this morning: John made a deal with one Ophelia Waterstone, a crippled warrior **** to endure her mutilations, for firearms training. This "Ophelia" had not died honorably, nor did the humans have or use the means to restore her body; a vicious punishment, Alysha decided, that only proved the cruelty of mankind.

But Alysha wasn’t concerned with human justice. This... victim was being recruited to teach John marksmanship. Even now, Alysha’s talent was guiding his gun whenever he saw fit to use it; what need did he have for such a mentor? More, he must have remembered (given the number of times Alysha had reminded him) that elven marksmanship was a craft learned over centuries; he would be a poor shot for far longer than the crippled warrior could live, presuming his strange sorcery did not overcome time itself. Indeed, it was impossible for this ex-soldier to be near as good a shot as a trained dark elf warrior.

Yet he would still attempt it... so loathe is he to rely on me. Perhaps he would have me removed from here... Alysha rubbed the small swell on her belly. Shouldn't that make her happy? She had begged for **** almost from the inception of her enslavement; if he was readying to finally dispose of her, she could escape this punishment and leap into the arms of sweet ****. She would finally be free of the real brand on her face and the metaphorical brand in her womb. So why...?

She suspended the connection. The dark elf’s words were more hissed than breathed in that daunting chamber, but she didn't dare let John hear her. “Why am I furious at him?” She looked down... and finally noticed how her hand wrenched around her middle finger. The band that marked her as wed felt hot from her rubbing. She frowned in her isolation and reached out to Master’s-no, to her husband’s-no-

The Abyss take it all! The Psychosphere opened her to her Master’s senses once more. The moment he entered the stairwell of Ophelia’s slum complex, a tunnel opened and deposited him into a bathroom stall. She recognized it now: they were the facilities of the large park where he had acquired that wretched moon elf.

“Why have you returned to this terrible place?” she demanded, leaning towards the glowing orb before her. There was a danger here, surely; she decided as much to justify her sudden query.

John’s internal voice vibrated in the room as he thought it. “I’m taking the day off... might as well enjoy the park, walk around, maybe take a nap... eh, if I can...?”

“You could do these things here, in the temple.” Where I am-

“No, I... I don’t think I really could. But don’t worry! I’ll play it safe.”

“... I am not worried... but ensure that you do.” She bit her lip. She couldn’t say the rest; she couldn’t dare confront it.

---

Not too far from there...

"You're not even using any of it!"

"It's for the babies."

"Well they're not out to suckle yet, are they?! C'mon now!"

"It's also... for John," Tita whispered with a serene smile.

Tita plucked one of the excess mana berries from the garden, as was her self-appointed chore, while the Bloodgrumbler persisted in stalking her. Kazex remained just underneath the table holding up the small, potted plant; he gripped two glass vials, just a sample of his portable alchemy set, in his ugly, knotty fingers.

Despite claiming that this was naught but research, he couldn’t manage to wipe his perverted grin from his face. Even his frustration was not enough to hide how much he enjoyed looking at her breasts, swollen with the milk he sought to harvest, outlined against the thin veils of her robe. That the robe was parted by her gravid belly, and so revealed the hairless crotch at his eye level, meant he'd find just about any excuse to bother the healer. "Sure, sure, but some of us would like to eat something besides magic berries and fruits all gob-sopping day! So let ol' Kazex massage a bit of that baby juice out from them udders, kekekek-"

"We don't feel hunger here," Tita chastised, "so I hardly see any reason to humor your... appetites.” Tita kept her voice level; Kazex could not **** her unbidden, at least not physically, thanks to John’s dictate. She needed only show patience... even if the source of her irritation was something as vile and unworthy of breath as a goblin. “Why not ask the dark elf instead? She’s closer to your... standing, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Already did. She’s ah... she’s bound by the same curse as the rest of us, right? Can’t hurt me none? The way she looked at me... ooohoohoo!” The goblin gave an exaggerated shiver, and Tita held a batch of the magical grapes in her fingertips as they remained clustered on the branch... and let her gaze drift to the ring on her finger.

A mere week? A bit more, if one counted the hours the Master has spent in the temple... but was that old life really so recently lost? Thumalk, imprisoned in the armory, had lost his former life as well. To think he was her former fiancé... and now so pitiful a fellow. He would stand at the doorway of the armory, barred from the rest of the temple by John's callous orders, and beg her with his pitiful erection as he begged anything humanoid that passed by... except Fairy, who he would grovel before in gratitude for what she did to him.

Could anyone cure him? Perhaps the Master, if he tried his new powers... Perhaps if Tita could look upon a full moon to call her matriarchs and their mastery of healing. Not that I’d want to... I love Master, after all, and I dare not think what they’d do to him... With a quiet, exasperated song hummed in her throat, Tita moved on to the lifefruit trees. Thumalk was lost, she decided; first to her love for almost a week now, and perhaps to life itself. “Was there something else, Kazex...?”

Kazex wiped a bit of drool on his tattered sleeve as he stared at her rear. “Oh, worry not: ol' Kazex'll think of something.”

---

On the outskirts of Springfield, at a family restaurant...

The blinking Benny's sign stuttered until it finally shut off as the morning sun sat comfortably in the sky. Despite being a restaurant suitable for all times of day, Benny's seldom had much traffic except in the middle of the night; it being Sunday morning, that Saturday night crowd was slowly shuffling back to reality just as a well-disguised figure moved in.

The woman was tall, curvaceous even through her hoodie and sweatpants, and appeared bald wherever the hood didn't rest on her scalp. Her eyes were hidden behind massive sunglasses; her smile was hidden behind a deep, disappointed frown. The greeter tried her best to look happy to see this imposing figure. "W-Welcome to Benny's!"

"My party has already arrived," came the dry, bassy voice of the new customer.

"O-Oh, OK, well let me- oh... okay, have a nice day." The greeter attempted to guide the customer, failed, and nervously waved after the stranger as she loped into the restaurant. Her eyes waved over the only two parties still at booths: a circle of hungover teenagers at the far corner of the restaurant and the interior booth that, despite being near the center of the restaurant, managed to be conveniently hidden from all windows. Therein sat company that none would expect her to keep; that made them the people she was looking for. The two sat on one side of the booth and perked up as the stranger approached. The one sitting on the inside of the booth was a voluptuous, raven-haired woman in a tailored pantsuit who, with her carefully tailored smile and stare, managed to make even a restaurant booth seem regal. The newcomer could feel her stormy blue eyes piercing right through her sunglasses, and the urge to abort was overcome only by the business she had to conduct. Next to this expected individual was the unexpected: a brown-haired teenager in a dress shirt and blazer, though neither the teen nor her uniform seemed to be in good care.

All waited in their places until a waitress for the other guests was out of sight. “Tara Dase,” the woman warmly declared.

Tara tsked. “Natalya Ankov... and then some.” Even through her shades she managed to make her distrust of the teen clear.

“She is one of my more gifted pupils,” Natalya explained. “You may call her Layla. She’ll be here to help... if it comes to that.” She waved a hand to the empty half of the booth. “Won’t you join us?”

“Only,” Tara began, cautiously sliding into her booth as she kept her senses on the two mages, “because you refused to welcome me into your precious academy properly.”

“You’re a thief and a kidnapper,” the older woman replied with a smile.

“Retired thief and kidnapper," Tara corrected.

"You..." Natalya let her words drift into a smile as the waitress began the long walk towards the booth.

"Good morning, welcome to Benny's, can I get ya'll started with something to drink?" The blonde bun and tired smile both seemed unwashed, and Tara grimaced at the prospect of staying long enough for breakfast.

"Root beer," Layla suddenly declared.

"Water," Natalya added.

"Coffee," Tara sighed. A few beats passed until the waitress was once again out of earshot, and the fire mage took the reins. "Don't lecture me on being so upstanding, now: Firesmith is hardly the most prestigious around, now is it?"

"We have... liberalized our approach to education and to the student body, certainly. We did take your sibling in, after all... and I doubt Yale would have done the same."

The two women shared a silent competition of eyes as the drinks came. The root beer was half-flat, but the sugar would do it for the exhausted teenager. "Thank you," she properly declared, eyeing the waitress... and suddenly smiling. "... and congratulations!"

The waitress blinked in confusion before forcing an amused grin as she put the other drinks down. "Well, uh, thank you, Miss! But what for?"

"Twins," she said with a simple smile before sipping on her root beer. The waitress, confused, walked away from the table... unaware, for at least another month, that her absent-minded lapses in birth control pills had consequences.

"That was why you sought us for a position at the Academy, right? To restore your good name... and to help your little sister?"

Layla Viorica continued to look over Tara as their conversation went. It was her unstated job, after all; a favor for a favor that she could hardly refuse when offered by the Headmistress of Firesmith Academy. Layla was warned to look for signs of abomination or elementals, as if she'd miss such things; she had come to this table already bored and continued to be so after the first few seconds of analyzing the Hellbat's aura... until she had taken a better look at her.

The mage's aura was, indeed, abhorrent. Only barely human in shape, it blossomed with the golden flames of a fire mage while tendrils of red poisoned the otherwise healthy glow. It mingled with, instead of smothered, the mage; it was joined, and nearly one, with her. Layla had never encountered a Hellfire elemental-and even doubted the Headmistress when she described it-but it could be nothing else now that she felt its corrupting presence. The allegations had proven true: Tara Dase, sister to Layla's classmate, Jacqueline Dase, had sacrificed her humanity and merged with an evil spirit. There was no way the Headmistress could let such a creature into the Academy; it was doubtful she'd let her continue to live in Springfield, given the proximity to the true school.

But Layla had to do everything in her power to save Tara... at least long enough to find out why she had slivers of blue, those singular, gentle finger of glowing light in her aura, that emanated from her left ring finger and her mouth-no, her tongue! That light, that beautiful, desirable glow, was too unique for Layla to forget. She's... somehow, somehow, somehow...! She's linked to him! How?! How could he have possibly- no, no Layla, you don't know enough. First, how did he manage to put a piece of his aura into hers? That's never been... How is this even... I have so many questions! But his aura... his power... I feel it. If anyone could lead me to him, then it must be... I must know!

The conversation had gone on briefly as Layla twisted with her questions in silence. Tara had had enough of it. "I think you've made it fairly clear that I'm not welcome at Firesmith... so I'll just ask: will you treat my sister fairly, at least?"

"Her tuition is paid... and the Dase name will survive you, I believe. You can rest assured that Ms. Dase will stand on her own merits."

Tara nodded, though her bitter disappointment was worn plainly. Without moving, she began to cast a spell; Ankov and Layla both tensed, their own prepared spells and wards held at the ready, but calmed as the effect never extended out beyond the Hellbat's own body. The hellfire tendrils-that's all Layla could think to call them-died down as the spell finished. "Well," Tara began after a sip of her creamless, sugarless coffee, "I suppose we're done here-"

"We are not," Ankov corrected. "You have my word on your sister's safety and respect... but we cannot abide you remaining in Springfield."

"You're just going to have to learn to live with it," Tara tersely replied as she rose to leave.

"No," Ankov sighed, "we won't."

Layla could sense the magic budding in them both. Things were about to boil over- "Y-You're somehow deeply linked to a man!" Layla blurted, her thoughts jumbling as she tried to keep all Hell from breaking loose.

Ankov didn't bother to turn to regard her pupil... but her interest piqued as Tara's jaw dropped.

Her naked tongue sat there for just a second longer than anytime she had opened her mouth to speak... There! That's him!

The Hellbat quickly regained face, but the slip was too raw to leave alone. Ankov's pupil had spoken out of turn, and a lecture was due later... but still... "Is this man in Springfield, Tara? Is that why you refuse to leave?"

"If I hit the road, I'm ****. I don't care about Springfield, especially if ya'll won't help-"

"What's his name?" Layla interrupted again.

"Layla, please be silent-"

"Your tongue! Why is he on your tongue?"

Ankov was stunned... but again, not nearly as badly as Tara who, in a motion that seemed too maiden-like for the hardened criminal, suddenly covered her mouth. Ankov narrowed her eyes and extended her own magical senses towards that intriguing hole.

"W-Who is this bitch?" Tara demanded. "You've got a Seer on the payroll now?"

The Headmistress frowned; things were getting more complicated than she wanted. "I can assure you I wouldn't traffick in Seers... but since my pupil will not drop the subject," she tersely chided and, much to her amazement, remained ignored by the passionate student, "I must at least ask: does this mean some other criminal mage is hiding in our city?"

Tara slowly went from shock to amusement... and, as she realized her insurance to get out of the diner alive, wore a malicious grin. "Criminal? Boy, I sure feel that way... but nah, he's an Order boy. Even goes to Ashcroft Academy with their Warden... 'Course, that means if anything happened to me, that's the attention you'd be bringing down on your Academy..."

A tense silence. The Ankov matriarch weighed the new bargain... and grew frustrated as her magical senses found nothing on Tara's tongue. What was Layla even talking about? But Layla, with her gift, saw that glowing beacon as clear as the sun... and now she had a location. Ashcroft Academy... a den for mundane rich kids and a few power players and absolutely off-limits per Firesmith code of out-of-campus student conduct... but if he is there, then... then what choice do I have?! Maybe if I don't step directly into the Academy, that would be OK...

Layla's plotting continued that way as her Headmistress finally gave a sigh of defeat. "An exchange, then: leave my students and faculty alone... and your sister will enjoy a bright and promising education under the auspices of the Spiritsmiths."

The threat to Tara's sister was naked, but it was the best she could hope for. "Without the job and security, I don't have any interest in Firesmith people anyways."

"What's his name-?"

"We're done here," the Headmistress tersely announced. Tara agreed and made her brisk escape as the Firesmith mages watched her go. Layla continued to follow that fiery aura, doing her best to memorize it... right until an unfriendly squeeze gripped her shoulder. "We're going to have a long discussion about 'discipline,' young lady, and why it's key for any future you may have at the Academy."

"Yes, ma'am," Layla barely managed. That boy, no, that man was closer than ever... and she had to meet him, the Ankovs and the Academy be damned.

---

Meanwhile, in a certain underground laboratory-home...

Administrator's Log, Day 81 of Springfield Insertion

The scan of the new materials has been completed autonomously while I entered an involuntary resting period. I have since reviewed them and found the following contents:

Journeyman's Guide to Alchemy: a text written by a previously unheard group that refers to itself as the Jeweled Humours. The entire manual is translated to English, despite overt references to two languages that the book suggests it uses, and summarizes the properties of a number of artificial materials. These materials are derived using (1) ingredients harvested from monsters, only some of which were previously documented, and (2) one or more of a number of magical circles diagrammed in the same text. The circles can be replicated easily, but the materials would prove elusive to most besides the local Order-registered mage referenced in my Day 78 report, hereafter referred to as "John," who was also the instrument of this book's acquisition. Text copied to the database for future reference.

Haxton's Treatise on Outsiders, 18th Edition: there is neither a researcher named Haxton nor such a treatise recorded anywhere in the database. One instance of a "Haxton" appears in the list of Cabalist mages captured, interrogated, and terminated by the Order and the Gorbachevs in the 15th century following his hunt for Gorbachev slaves; none of his works were said to survive, and he did indeed traffick in Outsider spawn. The venerating tone and obsessive scribbling allowed on what is allegedly the 18th attempt at this manual matches his personality description, but little can be gleamed from these mad scribblings. Text copied to the database for future reference.

Dwarves Are From Mars, Elves Are From Venus: The Big & Small of Finding Love in the Abyss: this is a farcical text in its writing style that suggests guidelines for sexual engagement and pleasure that can be traced throughout disparate peoples, beings, and creatures. There is apparently no taboo to the anonymous author of this manual: young and old, humanoid and aberrant, physical and ethereal, he (or she; the author describes using no less than four versions of their own genitalia, three of which are or at least resemble a penis) has apparently slept with them all. Despite the likely worthless nature of this promised "text," it will be uploaded for any potential for cross-reference. Text copied to the database for future reference.

Furthermore, I've teleported eight of the ten bricks of pure gold to Accounting. I've been awarded $3,000,000 credit in assets for future projects and have paid the entirety of my earlier debts, a feat most Gorbachevs do not achieve until their 30th year or later. I will continue as frugal an existence as I can manage, and having two solid bars of gold at my disposal should aid as raw materials for certain circuitry and experiments.

Lastly, for the remainder of the day, I've studied, practiced, and managed to call upon each of the new Eyes at least once, albeit against the "problem" of being more in control of my emotions. As detailed in the "Dragon Encounter" log, the lack of overwhelming emotions has significantly reduced the destructive power of my first Eye and similarly has minimized the effect of the rest that I’ve been able to test. Regardless, I've been able to cross-reference all but one of them in the Gorbachev database records on Eyes based on emotions, descriptions, and known effects:

The Eye of Hate. A cursed eye that destroys all that it sees. Triggered by anger, frustration, or pain.

The Eye of Reason. A cursed eye which overwrites the free will of a victim with that of the user. Triggered by envy, danger, or jealousy.

The Eye of Humility. A cursed eye which steals from another their ego and self, leaving an obedient, near-lifeless shell until the ego is released. Triggered by pride, envy, or gluttony.

The Eye of Love. A blessed eye which temporarily promotes empathy in any subject who witnesses it. Triggered by want, sympathy, or greed.

The Eye of Fertility. A blessed eye which promotes temporary libido, virility, and fertility in all living things it falls upon. Triggered by lust, love, or pity.

The Eye of Forms. A blessed eye which restores non-living matter to its desired earlier state, be it the best condition or else down to its fundamental materials. Triggered by fear, apprehension, or embarrassment.

The seventh and, perhaps, final Eye has no parallels. The emotion is absolutely... rather, is almost certainly joy. Ostensibly, the only Eyes associated with joy are those of Healing, Rapture, and Empowerment... and I have no doubt that joy is what opened this latest Eye, but it has done nothing save, allegedly, calming me with its "openings" that aren't truly openings. Further, the Eye remains ever-present, making my attendance at the Academy problematic. I will have to wear a head bandage, and I predict few will question it for at least the first few weeks... but I must devise a better means to hide it with either additional layering with my suppression suit or some other means of camouflage.

Tricia rolled her fingertips at a steady beat on the arm of her computer chair. She had one last thing to add to the report, but it embarrassed her to note it. But these reports were not merely for her benefit; all future generations of Gorbachevs would see her records as she read those that came before. Even these lapses of her good behavior had to be immortalized for their benefit.

I have not yet advised my stepfath-

I have not yet advised my superior of my new Eyes. I know it would worry him, given my denial of them until now and my formerly violent emotional instability, and would rather have identified my last Eye, and mastered them all, before interrupting him. For now, I will continue to experiment and leave these new developments out of my weekly reports to him.

Tricia leaned back in her chair as her log closed. Overhead, the drones merrily chirped as they carried nuggets of gold, broken off from the bars, to and from the various compartments around the lab for all manner of crafting. She stared up at them and their flawless work ethic... and thought back to her own promises to John. She would study his summons to greater detail; she would see to somehow removing (and studying) the human-elf hybrids he had somehow created. More, for her selfish ends, she wanted to also study every summon he had, to record details of Abyssal monster anatomy that had never been recorded before... and, by those reports, slowly gain the standing in the Opekuny she should have by this year in her life. I’ll make you proud, father... I’ll show you that I’m far greater than whatever they told you I... Tricia inhaled sharply and sighed her breath as she struggled to control her emotion. Her mind had not wandered to the possibility for years; that door had always been closed, with her scientific developments being the only chance at cracking it open.

But now she was developing properly. She had resources, knowledge... power. The chance to live a real life was almost hers... and the thrill of it, of a dream that was once nothing more, excited her until the seventh Eye, blessed or cursed, cycled eyelids and calmed her anew. Pulling up her cellphone's holographic interface, she prepared a text message for John... and took greater care to get it right this time.

Danielle Kislev: Hello, John. Prior to leaving for school, may I request that you allocate some of your summons, preferably including those you've impregnated, to remain in my lab for most of the week? I promise to take the utmost care in the non-invasive study of their-

She shook her head and deleted a few words.

... to take the utmost care in the non-surgical study of their anatomies, energies, and curious conditions. Per your description, you can dismiss or teleport them from anywhere at anytime; as such, I hope you'll consider granting as many as you can while you attend the Academy and, hopefully, do not require their aid. Please advise at your earliest convenience. Thank you.

After confirming that she left no gaffs in the message this time, the SMS was sent. It was close to the middle of the night, now, and she had slept enough recently to survive on her suit for at least a week without rest. With a satisfied nod, she moved back to the chemistry set of her lab to resume one of the many projects she had left idle since meeting John... a realization that made her feel just a bit guilty. Whatever the world offers, a Gorbachev's good works are never done. Her stepfather's maxim put an urgency in her step.

---

Meanwhile, at the Brighton Manor...

The tiny steel key turned in the only lock it could open, and so her sex toys were safely locked away.

Moira stood from the small, innocuous filing cabinet in her closet and tossed the ring of keys, the few secret keys that none of her staff were privy to, back into her shield. The golden artifact shrunk back down to its broach form; being naked, she had no intention to put it on. Stepping back into her bedroom, and detouring straight into the bathroom, she ignored the musky scent of her self-pleasure and tossed the brooch on the oak chest without so much as looking at it. The brooch slid until it clicked against a brick of solid gold.

Moira worked to get the bath going; the massive marble tub began to fill, and she stood idly staring at the lapping, gushing waves. She had masturbated the morning away but was too distracted to enjoy it... after all, she had seen an angel. She had seen a true and deific agent of Gaia, her heart sang at the sight of that perfect being... and her husband... her crush... was sentenced then and there without trial or reason. Moira had rushed home and woken Lorelei from her meditation for questions, answers, anything on John and heaven and angels...

"I cannot see that which man must never see... and now the mage known as John Newman is among the unseeable. My Sight cannot reach him any longer... so pray that Heaven forgives him, whatever he's done."

Her words echoed in Moira's mind as if she stood there, blind and blindfolded, in the bathroom. But Moira was alone with her memory. The tub was half-full, and the more prolific memory rushed back as if it were to be re-lived.

Yesterday...

The scent of iron... and then lilacs. A potent, fragrant smell, sickly sweet and energizing. Moira had been beaten bloody, but that mere hint of flowers in the air stirred her to stand straight, cast her eyes upward... and see the first curves of colossal golden armor enter the inferno. So much of it had seemed a dream: the sky had turned a brilliant, clear blue with the angel's arrival. The angel, a colossal woman of golden skin and fiery red hair, had resembled the last female Warden. Moira's mother, unknown to her except through legend, photograph, and the portrait in the Hall of Shields, now stood in the raiments of the Lady Herself. Moira cried at a memory she had lost; of the warmth of the womb, and the gentle, blessed light of the Lady as it filled her soul with the same song that now vibrated with every step of the winged woman towering over her. The golden armor broke only for six massive wings of pure white feathers to flick and tither as their owner considered the barrier-the pitifully unsuitable barrier-she had been called into.

The angel's golden eyes fell upon Moira, and the latter's burden of wounds became as air... but that hallowed gaze of mercy turned to wrath as it found none but John Newman, Moira's burgeoning love... and the angel spoke first with words that shook Moira's core.

"We have answered the call. But he who calls us is our enemy, and so we owe him only annihilation."

The angel's beautiful, unarmored hands drifted to the golden sword at her side. Slowly the longsword was drawn, and the Lady herself seemed fit to let justice be done here. The Warden's legs refused to move. Her eyes fluttered to a close as some power in her whispered to let justice pass, to let angels carry out their sworn duties-

"But I'm sorry, princess: I must decline. I gave you my word... and I won't break it."

Moira's tear-filled eyes snapped open, and her body leaped before John, her arms wide as she met Heaven's gaze. "Please stay your blade, holy warrior. I beg your audience so that righteousness and Heaven may be served!"

What followed was a manic blur, perhaps by the audacity of her request, or that of staring back at the holy gaze of an angel. Vaguely, she recalled turning away as the sounds of battle, of a righteous strike with a holy blade, filled the air. The dragon was felled by a merciful blow... but Moira also recalled the mangled corpse of the same. It didn't register except in memory after the fact; the paradox of the alleged wound and the result was unquestioned by one who obeyed the will of Heaven. The angel's words, however, Moira would never forget.

"We greet you, Chosen Bearer. But there is no righteousness in staying our blade before that one."

"I have taken responsibility for him; I will have him repent for his sins, whatever he must pay," Moira pleaded. There was some commotion behind her, but she could feel that John remained; the angel paid no mind to the rest.

"That one's crimes cannot be absolved."

Moira's heart sank, and she looked back at John, her face twisted with worry. Slowly, she regained the will to face Heaven once again and looked back up to address the hallowed being, her eyes stinging with both tears and the holy light of Her presence. "What has he done?" A pregnant pause as all the justice of the universe sought her answer...

"We do not remember."

For a moment... for the briefest of passing milliseconds... the illusion wavered. The holiness of the angel was questioned. The avatar of Justice was simply not. The illusion took hold once more... but the Warden's faith was shaken. Her words lost their reverence for the moment. "How can his crimes be forgotten and still be beyond forgiveness?"

The angel detected it; Moira swallowed it. But it was too late to walk her tone back... and the angel was too ready to answer.

"That which Heaven may forget, Heaven may not forgive. The foe of Heaven he was; the foe of Heaven he remains."

Back at the present...

The tub had filled, and now the excess water drained as Moira stared, naked and useless, at the quivering pool. She wiped the tears from her face and went to cut off the flow, her body quaking with the terror she felt for John. I... I don't have anyone else who can help him... I have to do it. I have to save John... somehow... Her body continued to tremble in the water, and the stinging warmth of it could not calm her.

---

At the Newman Residence...

“Yunikal, 3,000 soul gems posted by Ryūjin, collected approximately 12 hours ago... Yarrick Dell, 10,000 soul gems posted by Abbadon, collected approximately 72 hours ago...”

Lily sat up on the guest bed, as John had specifically ordered her to do (so she’d stop soaking his mattress), with her pajamas-sheathed legs splayed out before her. Her arms wrapped around her pink bunny center, and the ears sewn into the hood of her jammies had both flopped over her face. This was fine; her glasses were on the nightstand anyways, so all she could reasonably see was the pitiful ledger scrolling in her eyes. Her expression was a somber one as she reverted to her cubicle persona; she was refreshed by a 13-hour slumber, so that meant it was time to work.

“Master reported that Yunikal was powerful, even comparable to Yarrick,” she sighed to no one. “But such a mediocre payout, barely a 1-Star... such is the gamble with Hate contracts, but how will Master get rich on such sporadic payments? We really must go hunting for starred contracts together... even if it is dangerous...” The faux bunny stretched her arms and yawned. She had been awake for thirty minutes now; a nap seemed to be in order. Moreover, Brenda Newman seemed less inclined to... tend... to Lily when the latter was fast asleep.

She needed to help her hunter; that drive was firmly planted in her, and steeled her resolve. “... but Master did say he’d take today off... so I should too, right...?” Yawning, Lily bounded towards the gaudy, flower-shaped lamp on the nightstand and groped its stem for the switch. She clicked its knob twice to be sheathed in darkness once again and slid under the covers until naught but squinting eyes and differently folded bunny ears poked out from underneath them. “I’m such a good secretary... why, Master should... reward my hard...” Her mouth opened in a tiny, tiny yawn. “... work...” With that, the horrifying crackle of a succubus snore would fill the room for the next seven hours.