Philippe tumbled over the center table as Arthur threw him, rolling over the surface in a whorl of ill-fitted clothing and asscrack, then he slammed into the freestanding refrigerator, the both of them falling through the soft side flap of the tent. As Arthur jumped back through the entrance and transformed, Bourgeois could see the demon’s campfire-hued glow even through the light-muting fabrics of the military issue tent. The knight stumbled to his feet, grumbling as his pants started to fall down. In a surprising display of clumsiness he fumbled with his pike, which, of course, he had set next to the appliance. Though Philippe was heavy, he wasn’t heavy enough to completely crush the refrigerator with his body mass just yet. As the pig demon threw a frozen blade of chaos at him, the Duke of Cobblemont gripped the fridge laying next to him and lifted it as his bulwark. The cleaver would bury deep into the fridge, slicing through the door, but its frozen properties would be so heavily mitigated from insulation, and its force by the thickness and metal, that the weapon wouldn’t be much threat to anyone. The chained blade's strengths became its greatest weaknesses as they trapped it inside the fridge. Philippe turned and heaved the appliance and weapon inside away from both of them with inhuman strength. While the refrigerator flew into the city he leaped forward and quickly jabbed his pike and what would likely be an unbalanced demon. “Oh, cochon, un de mes plats préférés.” [center]***[/center] The newcomers sudden and unexpected appearance elicited a couple of surprised shouts that broke the heavy tension in the room. The skittish dignitary and expert blame-shifter squealed for the door guards. As the doors flung open with two armed soldiers leveled automatic weaponry, Apollo casually waved them off. The president already knew who his guest was--that exhibitionist. The fact that he was already sure of Autun’s state was only confirmed by some of the confused commotions within the room. “For God’s sake put some clothes on. It’s not our worst day until the day we die and we’re not dead yet, ” he muttered, turning his attention to the wall of screens at the opposing end of the table. He watched the events transpiring of the two suits, recognizing one as Max, whom he had just spoken to merely a few short hours ago. Yet again, Apollo had reason to be frustrated and disappointed.[i] “I gave him an assignment… He should already be in Spain.” [/i] Apollo didn’t even take the time to consider why he was floating in space and who the other operative was. That was when he watched the energy beam lance through one of them, parting through the smoky white cloud cover veil into the center of where Madrid once was. Seconds later different feeds patched in through different parts of the world showed mountainous tidal waves, the closing of the Gibraltar strait, momentous earthquakes, and a sky filled with too many Val’gara to possibly comprehend. All of these images flashed like a horrifying montage to a dumbfounded room of gaping officials. Everyone gawked in silent dismay for a couple seconds. Everyone except the nudist. And for Apollo, who closed his eyes repeating, “...yet.” The room erupted into chaos around him. Phones were ringing people started shouting, some blame shifting, others reaching out to their respective agencies. Apollo jammed his index finger at the grimacing General Millheiser, “Get every fucking thing we have on that. I want every operative out there, yesterday, general. Move! We have a full-scale Class 20 situation!” Apollo’s comms rang with several different voices as the operative sorted the information in a way he could comprehend. “OPERATIVE 2232 status: MIA.” “OPERATIVE 2246 status: in custody.” “OPERATIVE 4585 status: MIA.” “OPERATIVE 1313 status: engaged.” “OPERATIVE X7B status: requesting an assignment from Tel-Aviv.” A few mission updates notified Apollo on his communication link as he continued to receive various statuses of different field operatives. With General Heinzemann killed, General Millheiser now assumed control of most of the field operations of different Mobius ops, with only a select few filtering above his head to President Amon. “The cat is in the bag,” another report Apollo had been expecting, and the first bit of good news he had received all day. Not that it would matter if the planet was destroyed before then. Merse had become a far lower priority to him now. “Assign Tartalo to it.” The reports continued. As Autun stood fiddling with his cock ring, Apollo looking at him, shouted, “I don’t suppose you’re here to watch us die. Start with that.” Apollo demanded while pointing towards the collection of screens dominated by an armed Cubozoan creature whose hands grasped at the edges of the horizon, and whose frame dominated the midday’s sky. “DO SOMETHING!” He said, throwing his hands in the air. [center]***[/center] Even as Brobdingnag eclipsed the Sun, his pulsing brain bathed distant Earth in a pale lavender light that supplanted the Sun’s rays. Surviving citizens in the surrounding blocks screamed as the far mass shifted, visible in what became instant twilight. Billions of Val’gara Cataclysm dotted the sky, chittering crustaceans, multi-winged membranous worm-like space whales, country-sized octopi whose feelers crackled with active bioforce. Some of the flotilla remains were as close as the interior of F67X’s orbit, while others remained halfway to Venus. Coursing with adrenaline, Anathema stopped as his yellowed eyes beheld the scene above. For a stranded Val’gara it was a miracle, and for Earth, it was a nightmare. His fractured psyche connected to something, a noise, a harmony that just a memory these days. He sensed the rest of his flotilla and a bolstered, nearly unbreakable psi-link that powered him far beyond what he ever was capable of on his own. Anathema felt strong--no, Anathema was invincible. He sought Sounder, hardening his fists and he crushed them into the ground. He sought the Slut and exhaled a miasma of poison into the surrounding block. The psi-link was alive and well, more so than it had ever been, and with it heralded a message from a new god for the Val’gara, a new deity preaching an old message. Everyone around Anathema was dead, sterilized from the beam. Only he had greater fortitude than the human who landed here moments before, and though the Herald wasn’t directly hit by the beam, he still felt its effects. The engine left him feeling… different, but marginally so. Leathery wings burst from his shoulders and organic vents rent at his scapula-measures for space travel. With a quick metamorphosis, Anathema pushed off the ground and took to the sky, and then to the stars, and then to Sal’Chazzar. [center]***[/center] Jack had seen the strange skeletal powers Thomas employed, but now he understood as the essence latched onto him. As Agron housed itself within his body, pieces of its experiences began to flood into his mind. He saw the visions of a simple creature shattering the lives around it as callous as the Val’gara ever had. In some ways, this creature was worse, as it replayed to him Jessica’s death and its satisfaction at neutralizing a threat. The ironically thin-skinned creature also projected its outrage onto Jack for all the mean things he said. The creature didn’t know the first thing about pain, but Jack had learned this lesson from the best and he would educate this creature. Though only thirty years had passed on Earth, time was relative in other places, and it had felt like thousands of years in his captivity. This gave Jack a distinct advantage at the empathic war game that was soon waged--a battle of wills between Jack and Agron. He quashed Agron’s outrage with a tsunami of fury. Much like the wave that destroyed the northern wall of Africa, Jack’s rage drowned the will of Agron just as much as it tried to drown him at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean. It seemed Anathema still left his touch on the flesh of the ex-human, as he could breathe, stabilize under intense pressure, and swim as effectively and fast as he could run. Even as Agron physically resisted him by spurring his bones into his muscles, and heating up his skeleton, Jack’s flesh and the residual spirit of Anathema resisted the essence involuntarily. [i]“You think you know pain? You think Thomas was hurting because someone loved him? You think [b]you[/b] love him, you stupid fucking rock?” “I may not be able to kill you but I am going to hurt you more than you can possibly imagine.”[/i] Jack raised his eyes to the darkness where his internal gage told him was up in the midnight zone and began the long trek back home.