“Repeat it, if you please,” said Gerard.

“I’ve got two vials,” said Sun. “One’s the vampire poison, one’s the antidote. I’ll take the poison first, sneak in with the cargo, and take antidote once I’m in.”

She puffed out her cheeks in annoyance. “I might talk, and act, and pout like I’m a toddler sometimes. But I’m not as dumb as one! Give me some credit.”

“Which is which?”

“…Um.”

She thumbed open the pamphlet, but the page was smudged with the leavings of some particularly messy chips she’d been eating. She glared balefully at her stained fingers.

“…Purple one is poison.”

“Good job,” said Gerard. He tossed her a carrot. She leapt up and caught it in her mouth in one big chomp.

“And how will we communicate?”

“Speaker’s con— con—” She gagged on the carrot, swallowed it. “Speaker’s conches!” She held up a shell. “We’ll whisper in these. They connect to paired conches. We all have one.”

“Very good.” He tossed her another and up she went. It was like watching someone trail a seal. She licked her lips.

“And what are these?”

He pointed to three silverish cubes with tiny metal legs sticking out of them. Like spiders with the bodies swapped out. “The wardbreakers! I put them on the wards and, well, they break them.”

“How?”

“They’ve got blood samples from each of us. I’ll break into the wardrooms once I’m inside and put them on the wards. They’ll tell the wards to ignore our signatures.”

“Very good! For this you deserve two carrots.” He threw them and Sun launched herself happily about, like they were playing fetch.

Dorian would’ve found it embarrassing but frankly on this run alone he’d sucked a man’s toes to get what he wanted, and that didn’t rank in the top hundred least dignified things he’d done. Who was he to judge?

“This really shouldn’t be working on me,” said Sun, grinning. “But it is!”

“For teaching men, pets, and children alike, the principles are the same, sir.” said Gerard to Dorian. “You motivate them by giving them what they want.”

Then to Sun again—“And what then?”

“We meet up in the lobby once they let you in. And then we’ll try breaking into the vaults!”

“And what’s our backup plan?”

“If we don’t manage it we’ll just plant one last bomb inside, attend the auction like normal auctiongoers, get out, and blow the whole city to bits!”

Gerard smiled. “That is the last of it. Very good. And now you, Dorian—”

He frowned down.

Sun had ran up and punted him in the shins.

“What is it? Also, may I commend you on the recent improvements you’ve made in regards to your leg strength. That hurt.”

She crossed her arms. Then she opened her mouth and pointed at it. Gerard blinked.

“I must apologize, miss Wukong. I’ve run out.”

“I hope you die alone.”

Gerard looked rather put out at that.

“…In any case.” To Dorian now. “What shall is your alibi?”

“Wealthy merchant with connections to the Fabro Kingdom. If asked I will present my fake ticket. I am to keep my mask and suit on at all times, and to not cause trouble, lest the Godking of Ur and the many Empyreans in his honor guard take notice and bash our face in.”

“Good Dorian,” said Gerard, and handed him a qi elixir.

“…”

“That was a joke, my liege,” he said. “Please laugh.”

“Ha ha.”

“Thank you.” He brushed an invisible speck of dust off his pristine collar.

“The auction will begin three hours after the goods arrive. With great luck, we will get in and get out before the organizers are aware they’ve been robbed. With average luck, we will get in and steal the goods, trigger an alarm, and blast our way out of the palace and the city via a route of qi bombs.”

“And with poor luck we die?” said Sun.

“…Well, yes.”

She threw him a thumbs-up. “Just making sure we’ve got it all down.”

“My thanks, miss Wukong.”

“We should go over which goods we’ll prioritize.” Dorian nodded at Sun’s pamphlet, where neat illustrations were drawn up by hand. The first were elixirs the icy blue of frozen lakes.

“The Millennium Elixirs come first. They’re likely the most valuable goods at the auction! Which means they’re likely also the most well-guarded.” Each one could boost Dorian’s Bloodline by 1000, equal to 1000 years of accumulated Bloodline. With just a handful of Elixirs he could be of equal Bloodline Form to a monster like Meng! Or Gerard, for that matter. Instantly by raw power he’d be the unquestioned #1 at God.

He’d be a formidable force even among Empyreans then. Well on his way back to his prior stature!

“And tied for first,” chimed in Sun. “Chiron’s Ribs! They say it’s the most tender centaur meat in all the Multiverse.”

“You’ll get your ribs, runt. Don’t you worry.”

“Good. I’d better.” Sun crossed her arms, puffing our her chest. He suspected it was meant to be intimidating, but it landed somewhere north of cute.“Or there will be consequences.”

***

Fate sat before his scrying mirror awaiting a very important visitor, sweating so much his brow looked positively dewey. He was alone in his general’s command tent, which was sealed shut and warded off thrice over. Outside a host of Orcs stood guard with sharpened axes, growling at anyone who strayed too close.

For this was top secret.

Today was the day of his meeting with his mole in Jez’s camp.

Right now he and his merry legions were on the march! The army of Orcs and Rocs and wyrms and demons, the free tribes of Hell, and it was no secret what they were after.

The critical city of Ur! The heart of Hell from which trade of all kinds flowed, and whose rivers connected east to west to north to south. It was Ur that stored the munitions for Jez’s armies. It was Ur where Jez’s army would shell up in, and refuel, and use as a springboard to strike at the rest of Hell.

All Fate’s hopes hinged on taking Ur. Take Ur, bomb out their weapons and supplies depots, and this could prove to be a turning point in an admittedly very sorry war effort. Oh, how they desperately needed a turn…

Outside Grand Chieftain T’lak—bless him, the big oaf!—would be chest-thumping and hooting and putting some fire in his soldiers. Outside the Rocs would be sharpening their feathers, and the Whales storing their blowhole-blasts. But there was still a feeling of despair lingering about like smoke over the camps.

This Jez fellow seemed nigh-invincible!

Everywhere he struck there were no half-measures, only crushing defeats. A city seized here. A whole kingdom sundered and surrendered there. If they couldn’t take Ur, the simple blow to morale—

—Fate stopped himself. If. If! He huffed. He would not count them out just yet! They were a scrappy bunch, these Hellfolk he’d helped rustle up. And his scouts said by sheer numbers they held a slight advantage over Jez’s armies. And they were a day ahead on the march to boot!

If his folk in Ur—Gerard and Dorian—if they pulled through it would make all the difference.

A shrill sound like steel scraping steel stole his attention.

A figure resolved in the scrying mirror. Masked, black-cloaked. Fate gasped. “Thank Heavens! I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it.”

“Are we secure?” said the figure.

“Yes.”

And the figure pulled off the mask.

“Greetings, Fate,” said the Emperor of the Jiangshi Salieris—and one of Jez’s two High Generals of all Hell. Fate’s heart did a little stutter when he saw the vampire’s face.

He looked almost panicked. Salieris—cooler than a frozen lake in a blizzard, that one—had his brows drawn up in a squirming bunch, corners of his lips pressed tight.

“Salieris! So good to see you, old friend!”

“I regret I was unable to come sooner.” Salieris shook his head. “You have no idea how difficult it was to establish this route this connection through to you undetected—no matter. I come earring urgent news.”

“What is it?”

“Your strike team in Ur is under threat,” said Salieris coldly. “Jez has sent in the Nine-tailed Fox, Nujia, and the Sky Wolf. With them is Kaya, stocked with enough Qi to down an Empyrean. And it is not only them—they have alerted the Godking of Ur to the presence of a certain Godking reincarnate they know to be trespassing on his territory…”

Fate gasped. “Oh, dear…”

“They suspect he targets the Auction. And they stand ready with some nasty surprises. A trap has been set within the Royal Palace, ready to be sprung the instant he sets foot within. He is your agent, yes?”

“Well—in a manner of speaking—”

Tell your men to blow the city and get out! Now!” snapped Salieris. “I tell you now, Fate. This plan of yours cannot be allowed to fail. The army of Trolls, Orcs, Rocs he has rushing to Ur now draw their powers from two adjoining Upper Realms in the network. It will be like facing an army triple its size. Ur must fall! If Jez’s forces are offered a chance to resupply and gather arms he will wipe you off the battlefield.”

“I understand!” Fate nodded quick as quick. “It shall be done posthaste! We planned on blowing the depot in the Royal Place too—”

“No time! Get. Out.” Salieris pronounced each word precisely. “It may already be too late. This needn’t be said but if you fail now our acquaintance is over. I’ve strung together a loose alliance of rebels in Jez’s network—but first they need proof, Fate. They need proof the man can bleed! Only then can I embolden them, and more, to make a serious try at insurrection. If not…” He breathed. “It’s over. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Fate, cotton-mouthed.

“Good.”

“Pardon—isn’t Nujia one of your fighters? Can she—”

“Nujia is one of Jez’s fighters,” said Salieris bitterly. “She is a contract killer. Her loyalty is first to money and Jez has the coffers of kingdoms for Dorian’s head. Nominally I am her commanding officer, but if I were to show even a hint of insubordination to Jez she would not hesitate to turn me in. It was Hellish enough delivering you this message, Fate. I’m afraid I can offer you nothing else. Do not fuck this up.”

The image in the mirror vanished.

Fate took a long, slow breath, trying to put all that news into place.

He choked on it partway through.

When had Gerard said they planned on beginning their infiltration?

A chill crept down his spine. A dawning realization.

Oh, no… no, no, no!

He tripped and scrambled his way to his portly little desk, scrabbling for a the Speaker’s Conch on top.

“Gerard!” he cried. “Gerard—dear Heavens, pick up!”

But he knew he was too late.