[b]Redana and Bella![/b]

At the end of a long road, through war and death, pursued by a demon, is a grave. It is roomy. Space enough to lay you to rest along with all your friends.

Above the grave stands Hades. He's been busy. His shovel is wet with sand and all about are the crystals and precious metals his industry has brought forth from the earth. He dabs at his forehead with a white hankerchief and gives you the first smile you have ever seen from those thin lips and starshine eyes.

Oh yes, it's roomy down there. Space enough to bury one side of this conflict forever. Down in the depths of the pit smoulders a single cigarette butt, and there's a spot of light as the middle-aged man who smoked it lights another. You know, Aphrodite might have been beautiful once? He tips his round hat and he's gone again in moments.

Behind you comes a monster. But there is no one to light her way.

[b]Alexa![/b]

They could be sisters. Two wolves of Ceron, armed and armoured for battle. Theirs were the throats that howled the end of the galaxy. Theirs were the teeth that broke its neck. The finest warrior species devised by an ancient humanity. The ancient wolf, man's first enemy, its first friend, born anew in this distant future as the war hounds of empire.

They couldn't be more different. A bloodhound and a poodle.

Epistia is young, lean, jagged. Blood and fire, inside and out. The genetic alchemy of her biology runs rampant, this machine of flesh and bone and death, perfect vessel for the god of war. A great many genewrights laboured for a great many years to encase the mysteries of battle in the language of instinct. She moves with confidence, swaying as the intelligence of her spine alerts her to threats. The scythe swings back and forth like a pendulum, cleanly severing fledgeling trees of clusters of wheat as they grow rampant in this world that was once a desert.

Beljani is in each aspect the opposite. She is prim, round, delicate. She moves like a flower petal or dandelion seed, never seeming to accelerate beyond a walk. Her shortsword and fan are so comically mismatched against the reach of that terrible scythe it seems she may as well be disarmed. But below the surface her own biologically engineered organs are pounding just as hard. The air becomes thick and heavy with the scent of her perfume, a faint fuchsia tint visible in the air around her. And as she circles so do her puppets; twenty soldiers who emulate her own slow-walking dance, connected to their mistress by strings of delicate mist.

Neither salutes. To show respect would be to die.

There is silence for a moment. The rain pours off their fur, darkened puddles around their feet.

And then, all at once, Beljani and all her soldiers drop their weapons.

With one motion each of them snatches a SP grenade from their belts. With one motion, they throw those twenty grenades upon the ground. In the roar of light and sound the pink thread severs and Beljani loses all of her puppets. In exchange for this surprise she cast off her entire arsenal.

Through the storm she runs, eyes shut and senses deadened. She ducks under the scythe and crashes into Epistia, a tackle around the midsection. And then she's on top and that airy little poodle is biting and biting and [i]biting[/i]. All along the arm, the collar, the neck - and then she is caught and hurled away. Epistia staggers to her feet, snarling, and stalks after her opponent, smoke billowing away from her in clouds.

She looms over the assassin, bloody froth on her lips. Beljani, bloodstained, smiles up at her.

And Epistia freezes in place. Her muscles tremble and her eyes flick down to her bite wounds, glistening with the aftermath of Beljani's venom. 

But then she slugs Beljani across the face.

The battle is now on Beljani's territory - the landscape of mind control. Her venom courses through Epistia's veins, but Epistia fights against it. The fight has become stop-go, with Epistia frozen in place for long moments while Beljani recovers and lands counterblows, before snapping out of it and counterattacking. It's vicious and you have no idea who is going to win - until Beljani's hand falls across the hilt of a sword. She picks it up.

And throws it aside.

You know in that moment she's going to lose.

Further and further she goes back until she's fighting with her back against a tree - arms up, battered into a corner like a boxer with nowhere further to retreat. The heavy blows come harder and faster as Epistia finds a rhythm and you can hear the heavy impacts over the rain. At last she seizes Epistia by the wrists and then lifts her up off her feet, pinning her against the tree as the assassin's legs ineffectively kick against her. Epistia, face alight like a demon, leans close and snarls, ready to return the bites she was given earlier.

And at that moment a fuchsia mist, thicker than anything Beljani has previously used, pours out of her body. Her mouth, her eyes - everything she has. It pours into Princess Epistia who howls and drops the assassin, clutching at her head, clawing at the air around her. She struggles and writhes. She collapses. She kicks against the ground, tearing roots and fresh grass apart. And then at last, they both lie still.

And then a few moments later they both sit up. They both stretch. They both sniff the air, look at each other, then look at the world around them. Both perfectly synchronized. Not puppet and master - two puppets.

[b]Vasilia and Dolce![/b]

"Oh, forgive my tardiness," said Aphrodite. "Business. You know how it is."

He couldn't look older than fifty. 

"But you're wrong, with your prayers," said the God of Love. "You always have been. You people always are. I try to tell people how it is but nobody listens to me. Listen, Dolce, if you have ever obeyed the gods listen to my advice now: You do not have love. You were not gifted with love. You do not deserve love."

He snapped his fingers, hard and clear. "You [b]belong[/b] to love. It [b]owns[/b] you. You will be love's obedient slave or it will torture you until you learn your place. This bitch," he jerks a thumb at Demeter, who looks scandalized, "is nothing. She's just another way for me to teach you that. Capisce?"