WELL, LORD BLOODTHORNE, WE DID NOT SAY—THAT IS—YOU SHOULD ENDEAVOR TO REMAIN FOR THE FINAL DAY OF YVLCON AND THE FOLLOWING NIGHT’S FESTIVITIES. GO NOW, BUT NOT BACK TO YOUR PLANE. ENJOY YOURSELF.
Damien grumbled but nodded, pocketing what remained of the pendant, relieved to not be reminded he should wear the thing. He probably already was anyway, he knew, after that arcane atrocity, but pushed that thought away. There was enough to be concerned with, and half of a pendant forged by the Grand Order of Dread that had potentially sunk into his chest barely made the list.
The burnt imp scrambled to get ahead of Damien, bowing at the door that opened of its own accord, and began to escort him back. Once he was free of the chamber and heard the stone slide back into place, sealing the council inside, he assured the too-put-upon imp that he could find his own way, and Damien was left alone in a rarely-traversed hall.
In the quiet, he slipped the pendant from his pocket and looked it over once again. Surely, the Grand Order wanted him to remain through Yvlcon’s end because they would be sending someone after him when he left. He would be a fool to ignore their directive and an even greater fool to think they did not have other ways to watch him, but he still did not want to be followed.
He hesitated, Amma’s soft skin drawing his wandering mind, but prudence disappointingly won out, and instead of heading back for his room, he turned down a narrow corridor half hiddenbehind a tapestry of divine priests being stretched on a rack. Light flooded his eyes, burning much brighter in the braziers overhead, and there was a stale, acrid smell to the air. The doors here were smaller, no grandiosity to the bland design of the stone flooring and walls, and when he listened, he could hear the shuffling of parchment and heaving of sighs behind them. Clearly, this was where GOoD kept its bureaucracy.
He ran a hand along the wall as he went down it, tracing lightly over the doors to feel for what could be behind them with as little magic as possible, the cuff helping to subdue what he put out into the world. It would have been much easier with Amma—all things were, really—but a much bigger risk too, and she would be too willing to help.
Then there was a sound, nearly inaudible, but the padding was familiar, followed by a quiet trill. Above Damien’s head ran a shelf along the entirety of the hall, and atop it stood a cat. Sleek and covered in swirling, grey stripes, she fell still when her golden eyes found him.
“Hello, beautiful.” He held out his hand.
The creature darted over, butting her head against his knuckles. In her mouth, she carried an envelope, and as he held her captive by way of scritches, he could just read that she was making a delivery to the Department of Lesser Tortures.
“Would you mind showing me where transportation is, gorgeous?”
With a chirp, she skittered off overhead, and he followed to a door that, even with his senses dulled, he could tell radiated a familiar if off-putting magic on its other side. The cat continued on, and Damien remained, shocked when the handle gave way under his grip. It led to a simple storage closet lined with many shelves covered in scrolls of glowing parchment. So much intensely powerful arcana should have been locked behind many enchantments, but the source of the closet’s open state stood justin its center.
“Oh, fuck me.”
Xander’s ridiculous grin only grew in response, and Damien nearly stormed off, but the opening of some other door along the hall forced him to slip inside.
“Shut up,” he said before Xander could retort, snapping closed the door and listening for the sound of boots to pass. When Damien was satisfied, Xander was still looking delighted. “What are you doing in here?”
“What do you think?” Xander held up one of the glowing scrolls.
“Translocation. Of course.” Used for Yvlcon summonses, the rolls of parchment housed in the closet were of the Grand Order’s own design with the ability to send Yvlcon’s attendees back from where they’d come and likely allowed the members of GOoD to travel uninterrupted throughout the realm. “Will they work once you’re out of this dimension or only from here?”
Xander took a long look at the one he held, jutting out a lip then shrugging. “A little studying of these untargeted ones, and I should be able to figure it out.”
Well, if Xander could figure it out, then so could he.
Damien turned from him, not that there was much room to do so in the cramped space, and began scanning the shelves. The stacks were helpfully labeled with their destinations, and there was even one for Eirengaard, but he skipped over that in search of something close to where the Grand Order wanted him to end up.
“So, you went and got her.” Xander’s voice was like a dagger being driven into the base of his spine, thick and painful and paralyzing. He would have liked to just kill him, but the risk was too great. If he wanted to keep Amma safe, Xander would have to be allowed to live another day.
“I did what I wanted to do,” he said, crouching to read thelabels on the lower shelves. “What Ihadto do because of you. Allying yourself with the Righteous Sentries—pathetic.”
“Well, we certainly pulled one over on you.”
Damien’s grip on a shelf went so tight he thought the wood might splinter. “You hurther,” he said, teeth grit, “abducting her and sending her back to that monster.”
“You’re the one who abducted her, Bloodthorne.”
Damien could have spun and hit him, but reined the anger back in, standing. “It’s more complex than that.”
“Yes, I’m sure you could fill two, maybe even three whole tomes with all the complexities of your internal conflict, but what’s the plan now? You’re going to let the kitten live and leave our parents trapped in their crystal prisons forever?”
Damien groused, “It’s not really any of your concern.”
“I believe my mother is a little bit my concern.”
“Birzuma’s plight isn’t my burden.”
“Well, it should be considering all she’s done for you, but youdocare about Zagadoth. And about that little baroness.” Xander clicked his tongue as Damien shoved him out of the way to continue checking the shelves. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t admire what you’re doing, ruining her and all, I just worry about what you think you’re going to get out of all of this.”
