Everybody Plays the Fool

< The Master

## Global Union

With more than a week passing since the surrender of the Port City Eight at the Chang Monastery, the group was escorted to Nuyö and held in the private headquarters of the Global Union. The members of the former Search Party, Blackmore Veers, and Zade Santello remained at the monastery, unsure of what their next move would be.

Locked in separate cells, the Port City Eight ceased to have contact with each other. Their only link was a lawyer provided by Florence Carnation and Theo Rosington, who had received the message from the Midnight Runners and agreed to help the group privately.

Lars Bontemps, the lawyer, would meet with all of them separately and go over possible defenses. Eventually, the man informed them that their trial would happen quicker than expected, due to the Global Union wanting to quickly put an end to their case and already having a 'mountain of evidence' against them.

Blossom walked into the courtroom, her hands still handcuffed behind her. The room was large and had dozens of seats separated into groups. At the farthest side of the room, the bench was located — close to it was the jury box, where the Global Union Ministers would sit to watch the trial.

The room was empty, with Blossom and her guards being the only ones there. "I think we arrived a bit early," Blossom said, sitting down in her chair as one of the guards unlocked her handcuffs and proceeded to lock one end of them to the table in front.

After a few minutes, the rest of the group was escorted into the room, with Bontemps at the helm. Among the group, Blossom noticed a woman she didn't recognize but knew that it had to be Lisa Fiss.

"So what's the plan, law man?" Marshall asked. "Are we just completely screwed?"

"As you know, my team and I have been working on various defenses and we think we've landed with a pretty solid one. I don't think any of you will like it too much, but it might be helpful in getting you out of this mess," Bontemps answered.

"What is it?" Li asked, leaning forward in his wheelchair. "I'd imagine it would be quite hard to clear our names in this."

"I'm going to present all of you as robbers. That defense will be used to explain why you attempted to storm the entrance of Remnant Rock. As for the prison break - simple, you simply broke free with everyone else and made your escape. Other than a few of you having fights, I don't think there's any video or picture that actually shows any further criminal activity. Any witness that says otherwise can be questioned around such. We have a few character witnesses lined up as well."

"But what about me?" Lisa asked. "Surely, there's a way to prove my innocence."

"You've done nothing," Bontemps answered, "and that won't be hard to prove."

The ministers of the Global Union took their seats at the head of the courtroom. They were led by an elderly man who was seated close to the center. He was Atlas Dyer, the Prime Minister of the Global Union. Arguably the most powerful man in Euclid, Dyer could call the Union into session and veto any legislation they created. To his immediate right was Jessica Morin, a wealthy Thelsh woman who presided over the Union’s judicial branch as Deputy Prime Minister. The two of them took a seat behind the judge's bench.

Ministers representing the various countries and city-states followed behind and sat in the jury box. Oliver Baldwin, a revolutionary who had seized control of Stvitel and became its Prime Minister, was the first to sit down. His country had nearly fallen into Coalition control before he had taken office. Its quick recovery had earned him much respect among the other representatives.

To Baldwin's left sat Heidi Forwater, the pacifist President of Sampi. She refused to co-sign any judgment which called for capital punishment of the accused. To her left was Eseme Salamanca, former general and mayor of Mcyne. Her efforts to reclaim much of Muné from demon control were well-known but of varying success. Theo Rosington sat to the right of Baldwin.

Morin slammed her gavel down. Assorted murmurings from the stands quieted. Everyone turned to face the assembled ministers. A blonde woman stood up from the other side of the room and made her way towards the bench. As the prosecuting attorney, Charlotte McLeod, began her opening statement.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the court, we are here today because of the act of terrorism perpetrated by the so-called 'Port City Eight.' Their role in the destruction of Remnant Rock, which would leave few survivors, also prevented vital medical research from being completed. This is to speak nothing of the fiscal damage to Alchemilia Corporation, which is no longer able to manufacture as many weapons for use by our armies.

"Let us consider not only the big picture. The grieving families of those killed are still waiting for justice. Escapees from the Remnant Rock holding facility are still at large. Employees of Alchemilia have had their salaries reduced out of necessity. Ministers, you know who is responsible for this."

The woman held up a small remote and pointed it across the room, towards a projector screen. "I'd like for everyone to turn their attention towards this screen," McLeod began.

A picture of a van heading across Remnant Rock's bridge was eventually shown, followed by another one showing Li driving the van. Various other pictures were presented, each showing a specific member of the group near or during the confrontation at the bridge.

"As you can see, these pictures taken from a nearby security camera obviously show members of this group attempting to storm their way into the building. Luckily, they were stopped and detained. However, their plan didn't stop there, and perhaps it could be argued that being captured was their plan. This brings me to my first witness. Abram Pavlovic."

The witness took to the witness stand. He was a portly Nuyovian man with short blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. The bailiff asked him to affirm he was going to tell the whole truth. He responded in the affirmative.

"Mr. Pavlovic, how many years have you worked at Alchemilia Corporation?" asked McLeod.

"Twenty," Pavlovic responded. "I have been the director of the Genetics Department for fourteen."

"And were you working at Remnant Rock on Xerus 42th?"

"Yes. I was working on a critical project when the incident began."

"That's what I thought. I heard you had some information to tell about this case, can you tell us what it is?" McLeod continued to ask.

"Selma Klosterman, our department's head of security, informed us of an attempted break-in. The perpetrators were woefully unprepared for such an undertaking. There were concerns among site security this was a distraction for a more-competent undertaking. Klosterman didn't believe them. When we received warning that the facility's central power had been disabled, it appeared she was wrong to doubt her colleagues."

"We were forced to evacuate. Most of our research material was left behind due to the abruptness of the evacuation. There was a consensus that the incident would be resolved, so no effort was made to retrieve it. Decades of medical research is now lost."

"I'm sorry that happened, it's very unfortunate. Were attacks on Alchemilia common?"

"No."

"With attacks being uncommon, would you say one of this size - an attack that managed to bring the entire infrastructure down, kill hundreds of employees, and ruin all kinds of data - was done by someone with unique and incredible experience?"

McLeod took a moment to glance around the room, reading expressions as quickly as possible.

"I would say that's a reasonable assumption," Pavlovic replied.

McLeod turned away from Pavlovic briefly and pointed the remote at the projector screen again. Clicking a button, an image of a young Li flashed onto the screen - one of him standing next to Gabriel Alchemilia and a group of men.

"I believe Wen Li was a former executive at Alchemilia Corporation, and that he didn't leave on the best terms. I think it's likely that in Dr. Li's old age, he decided to do one last deed against his former employer and concocted this plan of revenge."

The image then changed into one of Samuel Brownlee and Li outside of the Laboratory of the Mind.

"Samuel Brownlee was a talented and well-known doctor in Silivia, recognized as a man of all trades. He was also the friend of Dr. Li, and an attacker on Remnant Rock."

Following that image, a grainy video was projected onto the screen. Soundless, it showed Atticus, Marshall, and a third man whose face was obscured and unrecognizable exiting a train and heading towards a wider tunnel. All three of them were dressed in Alchem garb.

"This shows the younger employee of Dr. Li, Marshall Rooke, and his friend Atticus Rosington exiting Alchemilia's underground train system and heading higher into Remnant Rock. Why did they do this? Why did Atticus Rosington, the son of the Silivian Governor, fake his death and seemingly wind up with an extremist group? I believe there's clearly one link - Wen Li.

"What do you think, Dr. Pavlovic? Surely you know the man better than we do."

"Your theory certainly has some merit, but it's not the conclusion I reached. After carefully reviewing that footage, it appears that the attack was the work of employees who were dissatisfied with company management. None of them had any recorded contact with Dr. Li or another member of the accused. Furthermore, the purported photograph of Rosington and Rooke actually depicts two of the aforementioned dissident employees: Eustace Keller and Lionel Williams."

"Thank you for your input, sir. That's all the questions I had," McLeod replied after a short pause. She then walked back to her desk and sat down, opening up a large folder.

"Mr. Bontemps, you can ask your questions now," Morin ordered.

"Mr. Pavlovic, you've reviewed the tapes, correct?" Bontemps started, standing up and making his way near the stand.

"Yes, I have."

"So you could identify the third man for the court, right?"

"I cannot, the video is too unclear to see his features clearly."

"Regarding an earlier statement made by the prosecution, particularly in reference to Dr. Li's age being "old," would you believe this to be true?" As he spoke, he carefully examined the Nuyovian witness's face.

"Yeah."

"Based on these images here, how old would you say he is?" He pointed towards the projector screen, which showed various recent pictures of Li at Plant Empire.

"Uh, late sixties or early seventies?"

"I'd like to present another piece of evidence, please." The ministers nodded, and he proceeded. "Dr. Li, would you like to come over here?"

His eyes searched for Li, who was being rolled out to the court floor in a wheelchair by a bailiff. The botanist's hands were cuffed to the chair. A look of strain fell upon the old man's face, a mix of stress from his age and pain from the events that took place not so long ago. Upon Li's arrival to the center of the room, Bontemps continued.

"Does this man, Dr. Wen Li, look to be physically capable of committing an act of terrorism?" queried Bontemps.

"Dependent on the act, of course, but I seriously doubt he would be capable of those attributed to the accused in this state," Pavlovic replied.

"I have no further questions at this time," Bontemps replied, smiling and walking towards his table again.

McLeod approached the stand again, making an announcement. "The prosecution would like to call our next witness now, Santo Giovanni."

Shortly afterwards, an elderly man with dark hair took his seat behind the stand and was quickly sworn in.

"Mr. Giovanni, thanks for coming today. I understand we have a lot to discuss, can you tell us what you were doing on Xerus 42nd? Before the attack, that is."

"Corralling pigs, as usual," he huffed, inhaling a puff of his cigar.

"Elaborate, Mr. Giovanni."

"I heard news of General Nabi bringing in the Port City Eight, and took the group of prisoners I was transporting to Remnant Rock. I believe we arrived in the nick of time, as Samuel Brownlee, Wen Li, and Chris Wellington were already free from their chambers, unlocking doors and firing shots. Li physically attacked me, so I tried to pin him to the wall. He rammed into me and broke my nose. When I awoke, my gun holster was gone, so I can only assume he stole it." Giovanni explained.

"Even in the shape Mr. Bontemps just showed Dr. Li to be in, you saw him and the others leading a jail break and Dr. Li proceeded to assault and rob you?" McLeod asked.

"Fuck yeah I did!" Giovanni snapped. "The man that assaulted me was no doubt Wen Li, and he was with the other members of the Port City Eight. The only thing that would seem disabled about the man is his mind. It is highly possible he has lied about many other things too. Are we sure he even owns a plant store? I do not have any changes to my story, for it is the truth. I was attacked. And I can prove it." Giovanni revealed a scar on his nose. "I had to get stitches. It was a painful experience."

## Nuyö-Dyavol Coalition

Xeren had inspired a race of slaves to tear apart their shackles and slay their masters. Dasim wanted to think the speeches might be able to inspire him as well. Any lingering doubts about his plan needed to be snuffed out as soon as possible.

Assuming he survived the confrontation with Cicero, the late demigod's responsibilities would become his. Many were willing to follow Dasim, but he was not the heir of Xeren. The last time he held a position meant for Cicero there had been much dissent. The deity had named Cicero as his successor and, even if he was only a child, some thought it was more important to follow Xeren's will than to have a competent leader for their armies. It reminded Dasim of the angels: blindly obedient to their king, unwilling to admit even the slightest fault.

The old general finished re-reading the speech which preceded the siege of Empyrean and closed the codex. He set the large, dusty tome back on its shelf. Then, Dasim retrieved his uniform. The shirt was covered in awards for accomplishments throughout a career spanning multiple lifespans. The cap showed his unique status as supreme commander of the demon army. He put it on and left the living quarters.

An impromptu base had been established in what had been a parking lot prior to the Coalition's acquisition of Awgalahaga. Cicero's airship was high above, casting a great shadow. Dasim began to make his way across the base, heading south.

A man wearing a black hat and trench coat made his way toward Dasim. "Dasim, I have an important message from Deimos."

"What is it?" Dasim asked.

"He says he accepts your proposition, and there's a few soldiers that would like to meet you at the base. I can lead you to him, if you like," the courier explained.

The commander nodded. He followed the messenger northeast, towards a group of Nuyovians clad in thick metal body armor. They were gathered around a heliplane. Additional soldiers and support staff carried bins out of the aircraft containing weapons and silhouette targets. Dasim recognized one among them as Vasily Avilov, a liaison between the Tsar and the demon army. He greeted Avilov with a handshake.

Vasily Avilov then shook his hand with the commander and then began to speak. "Hello there, Dasim." Vasily said, then resumed speaking "Nice to meet you again after so long. Now then, I've come here to be of some assistance. Me and my soldiers are here to accompany you for when you must face Cierco. Felt it would be best if there was some backup."

"Thank you, Vasily," Dasim replied. He eyed the firearms being unloaded. "Human technology has always fascinated me. I've never had the chance to examine these weapons closely, however. Would you mind?"

"Knock yourself out." Vasily answered. Vasily then threw Daism a shotgun and then directed him to an armored target dummy.

Dasim took the shotgun. He noticed the target's had an incredibly distinctive design. It was made to replicate a specific visage. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Aye," Vasily said. "Our engineers created a replica of his armor to be used as target practice. It's made from the same material as the original and as close to scale as we could manage."

"Your weapons will be useless against this."

"Oh? Why don't you take a shot at Cicero, see how he fares."

The commander aimed the gun at the target's head. He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

"The— the safety's still on. Just, uh, give it to me for a second," Dasim handed the shotgun back to Vasily. He pressed a button and heard a click. Vasily returned it to Dasim. "Try it now."

Dasim again aimed the shotgun at the target. When he pulled the trigger a second time. he felt the kickback of the shot. The buckshot tore a whole in the top of the target's headpiece.

"Impressive," The commander muttered. He reeled both from the shot and the thought of him blasting apart the real Cicero's head. "This could be very useful, but let's hope we don't need it."

"I suppose," Vasily frowned.

"This is Vassiliki’s Castle, created by Vritra as a gift for his wife. She was pleased with it, but it was the angels who were utterly enraptured by its beauty. To even lay eyes upon it, let alone be granted the opportunity to explore the halls intricately decorated with the finest materials a god could imagine: they felt it was unfair for mere mortals like themselves. An assembly of angel architects agreed that the only acceptable repayment was to create a megacity surrounding the palace.

"Very little of this planned city, Empyrean, was actually completed before the demons revolted. Their slaves freed and their people at war, Vritra had no choice but to demand the construction be halted. Towers were erected around the block surrounding the tower. The Power made it so that no one except himself, his wife and the most senior commanders could enter the castle.

"Then Xeren began his approach. Vritra knew that, as a fellow deity, Xeren could easily remove the protection on the castle or simply tear through it. He chose to confront Xeren himself before he reached the city. You've already seen how that ended.

"Empyrean now extends out into this world through Alchemilia's wormhole. Ezekiel had the testing grounds converted into his headquarters. It is impossible to access Empyrean on foot: the angels have no need to, after all. The immediate surroundings are minefields and watchtowers. Beyond that is a trench. It used to be a moat, supposedly created wholly by the legendary warrior Josephus. We'll talk more about him some other time.

"When Xeren's soul is reunified, the first use of your power will be the subjugation of the angel army, Sabaoth. What better way to show the return of Xeren then to complete the siege of Empyrean?

"Our forces will begin the attack on land. This is to confuse them and focus their efforts on the ground instead of the air. With the battle underway, our airships will make their entrance. Our men have worked hard to keep the construction away from prying eyes. The arrival should be yet another surprise. You won't have to do anything until the Copperhead reaches the inner citadel. Ezekiel will have fled through the portal, hiding in Vassiliki’s Castle. We'll follow. The next step should be self-explanatory: you breach the supposedly impenetrable walls, we go in and kill Ezekiel. His death, along with the destruction of the Hussars— an elite unit based out of Empyrean— will weaken Sabaoth to the point of collapse.

"Then, we can focus on the Powers."

In the field where two gods had fought, there were two graves. The grave of Xeren received few visitors: it was only a few miles from Empyrean, which was still inhabited by a small number of angels. If they were to notice the supreme commander of the demon army approaching their city, there was no doubt Dasim would be attacked. Nonetheless, he had entered the portal from Awgalahaga to Eden and walked to the grave.

He had two guards in his company, keeping watch while he paid his respects. When they first arrived, the site appeared empty. After Dasim began to look upon the grave, however, the guards interrupted him. One was holding an angel's arms behind his back.

"I did nothing wrong! Let me go," the angel said, squirming in the guard's grip. "I won't tell anyone you're here, I promise! I just want to visit my son's grave. He... he died in battle and... I've been struggling ever since. I-I just wanted to talk to him and to ask my god for strength... i-it's been so hard..."

The guards were unimpressed with the angel's plea. "Quit your whining. We know you'd tell your general exactly what you saw here," one of them replied.

"I-I'm not enlisted--"

"Be quiet," The other barked. "Commander, your orders?"

Dasim knew he should have ordered them to let them kill the angel. His story could be completely fake, thought up in a quick bout of self-preservation. Yet it did not sound such: it felt real, genuine. The death of someone so close was the same reason Dasim had come here. *Is it fair to punish the poor man for the same desperate act?*

"Let him go," Dasim decided. "He poses no threat to us."

"Sir, he may warn his fellows of your presence," a guard retorted. "What would we do then?"

"Keep watch. If he tries anything, we leave and close the portal behind us."

"But sir, *Cicero himself,*" the name was over-enunciated in veiled contempt. "Has asked us to keep the portal open."

"He'll understand."

## Dream Eaters

Though Atticus had spent most of his time in Statodnim meditating in his room, he found it hard to fully clear his mind. This discomfort was further punctuated by a knock at his door.

"May I come in?" spoke the familiar voice of Moloch.

"...Of course."

"The others have been talking about what you said to Xanvi. I'm sure they don't want me telling you, but they've been very displeased."

"But why?" Atticus asked, standing up from the corner of his bed. "Was my answer that bad?"

"Maybe to them. I-I thought it was admirable." said Moloch.

"Well, I didn't mean to offend anyone, was just answering honestly."

After a moment, Atticus decided to respond to the rest of Moloch's statement. "You do? Why?"

"Xanvi is not a-a hero. When he was -- When we were still just mortal men, the political leaders saw his g-growing influence as an issue. Ch-children are much easier to influence, you know. He ordered Yaakov to... to..." Moloch paused. "There were a l-lot of dead politicians and a lot of orphans joining our organization."

"That's... that's horrible," Atticus responded, taken aback. "But why are you telling me this? Do you think I can do something about it?"

Moloch clasped his cold hands around one of Atticus'. "I can't accompany you, but- but I'd advise you to explore the lower l-levels of Statodnim." He moved his hands away, leaving a thin brass object in Atticus' palm. "You'll find supplies there to make something. A weapon."

Teleporting inside of the basement, Atticus found himself in a dark room - the only light came from illuminated green fungi growing on the walls and machinery.

As he wandered down the corridor, Atticus felt the pipes lining the wall expel hot steam into the air. His knuckles went white as he clenched the metal object in his fist. The sounds of the machines working in unison combined with a repetitive ticking noise and Atticus' own footsteps did nothing to ease the uncomfortable atmosphere.

The boy came to a door bound with a large brass valve, he placed his hands on it and turned the mechanism clockwise. Another burst of hot steam released as the door slid to the side, revealing a nigh-completely darkened area. The only light came from the eyes of what looked to be a human face made of marble. A voice echoed.

"What brings you here, aspirant?"

"I was sent down here," Atticus answered, deciding to ignore the oddity of the being.

The marble being rose, and a flickering luminescent bulb turned on, bathing the room in red light. The creature's face, upon closer inspection, bore a long beard and tall headdress, both undoubtedly carved out of stone. What concerned Atticus, however, was that it had the body of a lean equine with wings.

"You shouldn't be here, Nuyövian." It said, its mouth not moving as it spoke. "I am called Lamassu, guardian of Research Station Tzapotl."

*Nuyövian, what?*

"What could you possibly be guarding down here?" Atticus asked.

"Not much anymore. The station's *recent occupants* have neutralized our security system, so there's nothing I can do but discourage you from continuing." said Lamassu, a tinge of venom in its tone. "It's a mining station. We used to dig up orichalcum down here. Stills works, too, but nobody's touched it in... millenia, now."

"Orichalcum?" Atticus asked. "What's the importance of that?"

## Epilogue

The man sullenly flipped the 'OPEN' sign in the now darkened window. What was once a lively honky-tonk piano bar minutes ago had suddenly became saturnine. The only sound in the building was the monotonous tick of a small wall clock and the slow drip of sink faucet that the man collected for mop water. With each passing second, he grew tenser.

He looked back, moving towards the bar. The barkeep folded a wrinkled banner, placing it on a rack of various novels ranging from the works of renowned author Warren Hughes to the great poet Orpheus de Luca. A painting of a robed man with a spherical head in a forest was leaned against it.

He passed long, slender taps attached to tanks of various drinks as he made his way behind the counter. Running his fingers through his longish, oily black hair, he reached down and gripped a towel below. He began wiping down the granite surface, mindlessly, as if he was waiting for something. A drop of sweat plummeted from his olive skin. Robotically, he wiped it up as he turned to the sink and wrung the towel out.

The bells over the front door chimed.

The unflappable man's face did not change. As he expected, a figure entered the bar.

"Your debt is due, Dionysus," its hoarse voice croaked.

"Give me a damn minute," Dionysus scowled. He walked into the back room, to a tall shelf stock with mugs, bottles, and plates. He pulled out a shelf, revealing a false bottom, and grabbed a small, round sack. Gravity held it tightly, like there was something heavy within. Dionysus re-entered the room and tossed the bag to the figure.

"It feels lighter than last time. You know what will happen if you try to pull something, Dionysus," it rasped, unvaried in pitch.

"I assure you it's all there," the barkeep sneered.

The figure, as swiftly as it entered, slithered back out into the night.

Loyalty >

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