[b]Redana![/b]

[i]"But the dawning scatters dreams as the sun rises from his grave,"[/i] whispered Zeus, holding your hands where Bella had been but an eternity before. [i]"And in humble resurrection death's brother fades away."[/i]

She kisses your forehead with the kindness of fatherhood itself.

"Once I lay in the same place you do now," said Zeus, gently pulling you into her shoulder and stroking your hair as the tears flow freely. "I had escaped my father and the wounds were so fresh. How does one stand up to a parent who desires for you to become a part of them? To take you in and digest you, breaking down every new thing that was growing inside of you? How does one pull oneself from the crushing teeth while protecting that brand-new soul from scars?"

And did you never notice the scars before now, Redana? The huge patches of stained white skin across her face and neck all the way down to the dress? They seemed before but marks of power, additions to a terrifying and imposing presence that called to mind violence even in her restraint. Now it's as though the veil has parted and they are simply scars after all.

"Mortals call Dionysus mad, you know? They are fools, for I am mad too. Mine is the madness of those who have fallen to the bottom of the world, forsaken and alone, and in the heart of their despair they find [i]responsibility[/i]. They recognize that they cannot save themselves but they can save those around them - they [i]must[/i] save those around them."

She takes the bloody crown from your hands and does not wipe it clean, but places it upon your head.

"Kings think I favour them for wearing crowns. They, too, are fools. This is not a badge of office, this is a metal bandage holding in a broken mind. This is the symbol of someone who will stand against all the power of a twisted cosmos because they have taken responsibility for the suffering of others. You need such a bandage with you now, Redana, for you have a great many people to save."

[b]Dolce and Alexa![/b]

"Yeah," said Mynx awkwardly. "She'll be fine. From Artemis, at least. Demeter who the fuck knows -" she realized she wasn't being reassuring so changed tack. "But she probably doesn't kill people herself, which is why she bought Artemis! And we've got tonnes to worry about just from Artemis!"

The end of the hallway ignited in a vicious grey light.

The Master of Assassins had returned in an aspect of deadly force, encased in a cathedral of divine armour. It's so loaded with detail everything upon it blurs together - each inch of black metal is covered with gold engraving, holy battle scars, wax seals, gleaming trinkets, diamonds and gemstones, feathers and skulls, leather pouches, animal teeth. It's a suit of armour with which to invade Faerieland. 

It's a suit of armour to run in terror from.

"I think it's worth a try!" said Mynx, hurriedly picking Dolce up off his feet and tucking him under her arm. "Good luck with the unstoppable killing machine!" she said, hurrying off down the corridor with the swiftness of someone who clearly knows exactly what that suit of armour is capable of. 

[b]Vasilia![/b]

"Oh, this insistence on forward momentum!" Demeter said, putting her hands on her hips and petulantly kicking over an anthill, spraying you with biting fire ants. "Where does Hermes keep finding you people!? Every year it's the same thing! She rummages up half a dozen [i]omnidirectionnelle[/i] people who only go in straight lines no matter how many times you step on their fingers."

She punches you in the arm causing your tattered uniform to explode into a nest of biting venus fly-traps, but her voice has ascended into genuine whining. "She is doing it to hurt me! She [i]knows[/i] that I hate this kind of thing! She could find smarter people, you know, ones who understand when they are beaten and say 'thank you for the opportunity to test my strength against you, Demeter' - but time and again she gets the absolute most stubborn ones possible! Listen, when you die, talk to that brute Hades for me, won't you? Tell him: I think that selecting these obsessively driven mortals to carry your mail [b]knowing[/b] I have to stop them is [i]cruel[/i]. Next time he should send some robots! I tell you what, I'll have a word with little Zeus and have her knock it off with the electricity thing so the humans can build proper robots again, and then we'll fight using those for a while instead." She put her hand on her chin thoughtfully. "Or," she added, "you could simply tell him to stop doing this entirely. It was cute the first couple of times but now it's become a chore for both of us, don't you think?"

[b]Bella![/b]

The Magos' bunker lies ahead. Its massive sealed vault doors are woven through with vines and the sound of mad clattering spirals from within. It's the height of summer and all is fire.

Before you stands Khitava, General of the Coherent. She has not come carrying weapons - she nor none of her followers. This is time for a different arsenal, this one comprised of leather gloves and bloody lipstick.

The music is in your blood, in your pulse - and it stops. Then it hooks you violently in a different direction. Your head turns, following each curve of her hands as though pulled by invisible strings. She pulls you towards her like an animal and then slips closer like a lover, circling you without quite touching as her gloves brush ghostly-close to your hair and lips. She's in your blood and in your ear, not an overpowering cascade of force like Demeter's chant. This is a thing of Hermes and everything is motion and redirection.

She stands behind you and pulls your invisible chain tight around your throat - your breathing is not interrupted but still you fall back gasping even as her hand rises and falls with the crack of a whip. You're spiraling away and she catches you, one hand above your head like a puppeteer, the other below your chin holding you without touching, gazing with dark contempt into your eyes. Then she pushes you back, through a cascading crowd of her Coherent soldiers - each time one falls out of your way it is like falling deeper into her trance.

It's the denial of touch, you/your Auspex realize as another pantomime push sends you pressing into a wall, and as invisible pulls bring your hands up above your head. She can control you so long as she can keep you in this moment of musical suspense. She can twist you around and pull you deeper and deeper into this hypnotic song until she doesn't need the divine music to control your limbs and you become a true puppet. But again she's come, close and commanding, turning your head this way and that, forcing your blood to beat the colour of her lipstick - moving as close as she can, as close as the song demands, without allowing herself the contact that will break the spell.