Just The Daphne Bits Of The Mephistopheles Chronicles

New York: Daphne Heliopolis gazed at the momentous amount of paperwork at her desk and slowly ringing phone that was somehow half way across the room because Emily kept using it for phone calls. To the hair salon, the delivery service, the pizza, racking up a bill of nearly half her salary and three fourths the combined monthly expenses. When Emily was confronted about this, she merely mumbled "Like, okay." and went back to polishing her nails.




Daphne constantly complained to her boss Jewbag [actually his name, it was a very long and not sensical story] about this, but the elderly adventurer was busy yachting in Morocco or hiking in Yemen, and constantly replied that he was no longer a member of the Be Detective Agency which bore his name. His Asian wife was even more obtuse. When Daphne had last met him he simply blasted "Halfway Right" by Linkin Park and lit a pipe. The air was so foul with tobacc that she had to evacuate.




So responsibility felt to her to make some kind of functioning system out of the Be Detective agency, and since she could not fire Emily she devised ways of making her uncomfortable as possible including hiring a thug to periodically light her shrubbery on fire. Crude, but effective. And with the savings she bought an office fan for the hot Summer. Not that Emily, who seemed to be a Demon from Hell and equally as heat resistant, seemed to notice. Still, Daphne held some sort of loyalty to the place.




She had always wanted to be a detective since childhood. It had been a silly dream, and it was equally as silly now, but it made her feel cool. With a gun in her hand she traveled the world and dominated wherever she went. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she saw a tired but beautiful woman of about twenty, with antiquated long blond hair. And blue eyes that looked like Banshees from how bloodshot they were and her natural temperment. Slightly scowling, she went back to her work.




The phone rang.




"Emily, could you get that?" Daphne said reflexively, although she was already getting up because she knew Emily would not.




"Like, I'm busy." Emily replied, polishing her nails.




Daphne answered the phone. "Hello. This is Be Detective Agency, and we




"Answer the door." A grim voice on the end said.




Daphne worriedly looked to the door. Crazies again. To apply for the services of a Detective Agency you had to be either really rich or really insane, and the latter were multitudous.




"Why?"




"Just do it yo."




"The door was locked, but she could easily be shot through the window. She picked up an ice pick and opened the door.




A black, nearly eight foot tall gentleman in a black trenchcoat was waiting for her. Sunglasses obscured his face. He had a white undershirt and many tattoos, red and in the form of Nordic weaves. Smiling, he revealed a golden grill. And a tobacc stained tongue. He had been chewing the stuff.




"Hey o." The man said. "I'm Black Thunder. We spoke on the phone last week. I'm Jewbag's replacement assistant that he sent to you because he felt you were swamped. Anyway, enough about me. You look attractive, but I'm afraid I'm more interested in the wine on your desk. Got any sandwiches or pancakes?"




Daphne stammered. Jewbag did send a man named Black Thunder to talk to her, but he hadn't sounded so deranged before. This was just like Jewbag. Now she was stuck with a useless weight and a madman.




"Why didn't you just talk through the door?"




Black Thunder smiled.




"Because. This would be more stylish. Make me look impressive."




"Or make you look insane." Daphne thought, but didn't say anything.




Black Thunder forced his way in, elbowing Daphne and staining her immaculate tan suit with tobacc residue. He drank the bottle of wine without asking permission.




"Now, are you going to listen to the new case?"




"Are you serious, a new case already? I'm under mountains of work."




"Yep."




"Tell Jewbag I can't take it. I appreciate the help, but I believe you would only slow me down, and you could go fight a Oceanic Robber Smuggler's criminal organization or whatever it is you guys are getting up to."




"Suck it up Princess. Jewbag needs help, and you're the only Detective good enough for the job."




"What is it now? How much trouble is he in?"




Black Thunder sat down on her plush chair and swiveled to the fridge. Then he got a couple of cucumber sandwiches and continued to swivel, and didn't stop swiveling as almost thirty seconds went by.




"Are you all right?" Daphne continued.




"Ye, no worry." Black Thunder replied.




"So about Jewbag."




"Shit I'm not fine." Black Thunder replied and stopped swiveling.




"Have you never swiveled before? It gets you dizzy. Just how wasted on Mary Juana Iguana are you?"




"Not very. Anyway, Jewbag is being targeted by the cult of the Jesus Goat, only this time they have an evil Djinn behind them. And he needs a book, a certain Tome you see, kind of a Necrological Record."




"I see. So he's going to bring someone back from the dead? As usual. Who is it this time?"




"Rudyard Kipling. And apparently it has to do with a certain song." He leapt into his coat pocket so fast Daphne thought he was reaching for a gun and readied her pistol, but apparently it was a CD which he jammed in the VCRomma faster than a teenage boy on lavender oil.




A song started to play.




"Oh Lord I have been told
That I must take the Unforsaken Road"




"Everyone knows Marina and the Diamonds." Daphne said. "Because I'm Greek I can't seem to avoid being compared to her." The last name was from an eccentric grandfather who went to Egypt and lived there so long until he forgot his actual name, but she was still as Greek as Jason.




"But I thought Jewbag was nigh obsessed with Linkin Park and only Linkin Park."




"He is. But his brother, on the other hand."




"Oh no, I know where this is going."




"Join with us and Jewbag will reobtain the Agency to fire Emily." Black Thunder stood up and reached his hand out, but Daphne was already limping back.




Emily stopped polishing her nails. "Like, that's stupid wack." she said, then went back to polishing her nails.




"Not that guy. Anything but that guy." Daphne shouted.




"Yes," Black Thunder replied, seemingly ignoring her visual repulsion and focusing on his grandois mental narrative. "We are going to visit Jewball in England."




Daphne Heliopolis was now on a plane headed for Longyearshire of England, a shit town in a shit country that's only saving grace was that it was the only pretty spot in a decrepid and destitute land only functioning for the sole purpose of taking care of the world's trash and jetsoning it into the stratosphere and deep space. Thankfully, she was not empty handed, bringing her book collection and trusted pistol. She had somehow managed to smuggle it through customs when Black Thunder had offered the stewardess a ten thousand dollar bill. And the food was good, tomato cheese ravioli with a fruity drink that was possibly one percent apple and ninety percent sugared arsenic but at least tasted good. In today's mechanized world one was lucky to get nutritious food.




So, why had she agreed? Well, she didn't know herself. The benefit of expunging Emily was far outweighed by the prospect of having to deal with Jewball, but Daphne supposed she had some sort of addiction to adventure. And she had to get revenge on Jewball for the time he had dismantled her car to build a death ray. Some part of her was longing for the idyllic rustic splendor that existed only in the few sunny days in England before the rain came and washed it all away. But such moments were worth it.




Black Thunder insisted on a seat besides her. He was currently flirting with a big busted woman on the window seat, and telling her stories of his exploits in the Trading Sector which Daphne supposed were completely fabled and fabricated. Black Thunder claimed he wrestled a lion as it attacked the King of Sweden, and while Black Thunder was strong, he was far too drunk regularily to wrestle a lion.




The plane started to land, uncertainty ahead.




Jewball's manor was immaculate as always. Between the dusty libraries, Black Thunder lit a cigarette and was immediately doused in a bowl of water by Jewball, who emerged from the shadows.




"No smoking around flammables." Jewball said.




"Didn't you light your entire house on fire?" Black Thunder replied.




"That's different. There were Aliens involved."




Jewball sat down on the sofa and sipped his tea. He had not aged much in the twenty years it took since Jewbag's wedding, but was starting to get a few flecks of grey in his black hair and a new beard was forming. He was far too tired to shave, even though it had been almost a rite of passage before. Each day was started with shaving, tea, and a light nap in the sunroom, which was so dark it was only marginally better than the rest of his pitch black house.




Daphne started to pace. "Look, Jewball. I'm not too happy to be here, but business is business. And I know you won't repay the damage on my car, so I won't bother you. Still, you deserve to tell us what this is all about."




Jewball flipped open a book. "I'm not here for that. The witch will suffice."




Suddenly a flash of lightning entered through the ceiling and coalesced into the form of a silver light dragon and a slightly ditzy looking girl in a black dress.




"I believe you all have met Sogton." Jewball continued.




Daphne hadn't, but felt Jewball already knew this.




Black Thunder approached and held out a fist. "How's it hanging?" he asked.




"Hanging fine." Sogton replied and fist bumped him.




The pair then went through a complicated series of motions which could be described as some elaborate ritual, resembling that scene in Naruto where Kakashi weaved hand signs to summon the water dragon, with a few strange symbols thrown in there. To mortals unfamiliar with the art of "throwing gang signs", the complexities of thought described by the gesture would be lost, but to the expert an entire conversation was taking place, a complex exchanging of ideas that went faster than mere text.




"We're going to America." Black Thunder said.




"What? We just were there!" Daphne shouted.




"I was fucking with you." Jewball replied.




Daphne was outraged.




"Save travels, Daphne. Don't let the wind ruffle up your fine hair." Jewball continued.




"You brigand."




Sogton brandished her broom.




"Alright, everyone on the dragon's back. This will be less comfortable than flying by plane, but you will save on tickets. And from what Jewbag tells me of your lifestyle, Daphne, you'll need all the money you can get."




"I can't believe this is happening." Daphne muttered through biting her lip.




She got on the dragon. It felt a bit like the consistency of gelatin.




The flight was indeed worse than a plane. Particularily the jet force winds which Sogton's magic only slightly succeeded in blocking, which made Daphne look like a pom pom blowing in some sort of tropical storm. Which indeed was happening somewhere in the distance, and Daphne only hoped they would avoid it.




Thankfully the trip over the Atlantic was over fast, nearly half an hour. The view was immensely beautiful, the oceans lying like some mythical beast below. And when the American continent went into view, dotted with deserts and forest, it did compel a sense of awe that the mostly steel and air pollution England did not. For the first time Daphne was proud to be in a shit country, because it was the best in the world. Although she did miss the skyscrapers of her home, and when they came into view she felt a sigh of relief.




Sogton did not seem to be alarmed at the descent, which made Daphne feel nauseous. Black Thunder held on admirably, but she could tell even he was perturbed behind his tough exterior. As they entered the New York streets in plain view of passersby, who merely viewed it with the detached annoyance and grim mien of every New Yorker, Daphne included, they landed on a grassy knoll in Central park. Black Thunder jumped off and promptly lost his balance, falling into a pool.




"The Butler should be here soon."




"Butler? You mean you are rich enough to afford one?" Daphne asked through barely veiled disbelief. Even Jewbag, a successful businessman, was still poor enough to travel alone with his own private boat.




"I have my methods. But Maximillen works for free." Sogton replied.




The limo came into view, and before it arrived at the knoll was greeted by a slew of "Go to hell, cunt" and, "why don't you shove that car up your ass.". Which you would hear in regular New York, but the tone was considerably more polite than now.




Black Thunder was drying his clothes by Sogton, who held up a hand held fire. The fire was considerably more magical than regular fire, for the clothes were dried in five minutes. Then the trio walked to the limo, and the door mechanically opened to reveal a white bearded man in a black suit, the trademark stereotype of a limo driver, and two girls in the back seat nearly identical with black dresses and black hair. Their black eyes were cold, and black lipstick made them look like clowns. It was blacker than a My Chemical Romance concert.




"Greetings Daphne and Sogton. I am Maximillen, and these girls are Mihael and Mikey Jackson."




"Our parents were obsessed with Michael Jackson." The two Goths uttered in unison like some demented banshee chorus.




"Which one is which?" Daphne asked.




"Mihael." The one at the left said, seemingly annoyed at Daphne.




"Mikey." The one at the right said, seemingly annoyed at the sunlight.




"Hey, what about me?" Black Thunder asked.




"I am sorry old boy, but I am under strict instructions not to talk to rappers for fear of getting shot." Maximillen replied.




"I'm not a rapper Nigga."




"Oh, is that so? Fascinating. Back in my time Blacks would have no other career, but the march of progress marches on."




Black Thunder felt the man was entirely racist, but was hungry, so jammed his way into the back seat, feeling Mihael's breast as he did so. It was not entirely accidental, although he did miss his mark.




"Yo, get off me." Mihael said, with the same tone she would ask for a chocolate pudding at a street bazaar.




"Right away. Sorry, it was an accident." Black Thunder said.




"Oh shit!" Sogton screamed, and dove as a blue circle with runes struck her and disappeared. She was hurled to the floor, and a strange red clothed jester in a twin cap materialized, walking out of a tree.




"We got you, mistress. I hope being flesh and blood isn't too much of an inconvenience!" the Jester said, then laughed.




"Get me up Daphne. I can't move."




Daphne obliged, and felt that Sogton was considerably lighter than usual. Also cold, and the witch usually didn't show temperature. Could it be some sort of curse?




They entered the limo, which closed mechanically and the window rolled down as Maximillien got a machine gun. He fired, screaming "Die motherfucker!"




The Jester was shot, but instead of blood mist leaked from his body and into the air like some weird octopus. He entirely turned into mist and flew to the west.




"Oh no." Sogton was murmuring. She had cut her hand on some twigs as she fell and blood was pouring out. "No, no, no."




"I'm almost human." she uttered mournfully.




"What do you mean?" Daphne asked.




"She's an Elemental. A kind of a cross between a Shapeshifter and a manipulator of chemistry.  An Undine, to be precise, which gives her control over the Element water." Black Thunder replied.




"Not anymore." Sogton replied. "We aren't suppose to bleed."




"Does this mean you can't make us fly?" Daphne asked.




"I can't do anything. Even move. If the spell is what I think it is then I cannot even move for a month. You are on your own."




"Wait, Sogton. You can still provide them with information when they fight their inevitable enemies." Maximillen said.




"Are you suggesting the danger is even worse than we anticipated, Maximillen?"




"Yes. Which means you need to join them, even if they have to carry you."




The prospect of carrying a heavy Sogton, who was not fat but certainly not the kind of models on television, did not appeal to Daphne. She hoped Black Thunder would sober up and do it for her. Those muscles had to be good for something.




"Who was that jester guy?" Daphne asked.




"Judging from the mist, probably an Elemental." Sogton replied.




Before Daphne could ask another question, the roof of the limo was literally blown off by a blast of fire, which set Black Thunder's coat on fire and burnt Daphne's hand. A rainbow dressed man in a tight outfit entered, jumping from the roof, his hair bleached and eyes bloodshot. But even without the blood Daphne could see they were red. And he held a sizable dagger in his palm.




"Mm, yes. You look fine. You'll be nice for feeding the wyvern, and all my delightful little pets. A little scrawny, though. You might be from the poor district."




Daphne realized he was looking directly at her. Black Thunder disrobed his coat and trampled it, putting out the fire, but he was immobilized by the knife, which stabbed him in the arm from the circus freak's hand and pinned him to the wall of the car.




Mihael and Mikey levitated into the air and were gone from view. So they could fly. Daphne hoped they weren't leaving them, but it seemed likely that was the case.




She instinctively felt for her gun, but the thief was quicker, punching her in the stomach, then stabbing Maximillien who leaped into the backseat, putting the car on autopilot. The knife was bent, and Maximillen's torn suit revealed a bulletproof mail underneath. Daphne sighed. At least one member of her party was competent. But as she fought the assassin off with her fists, she realized he was far stronger and well trained than she anticipated.




Daphne hurled him to the wall of the car, enough for Black Thunder to grab him across the neck, but he headbutted him, and the tattood man's mouth started to bleed. The assassin wiggled out of Black Thunder's grasp, and kicked the British Butler in the head, then took a hit in his face by Maximillen's fist.




Sogton stood watching in horror. "Daphne, your gun!"




The assassin feigned at Maximillen and then reached out and took her gun, but Daphne was too weak to do anything about it. As the red eyed man started to point it at her, however, he was suddenly bleeding in a spray that looked like it hit an artery. But he wasn't wounded by any object. Was the wound in his chest some kind of bomb?




Mihael entered the car clutching a voodoo figure with a pin in it. Exactly in the same position as the wound on the assassin's chest.




"You exhibitionist bitch." The assassin said, then died.




Mikey was soon after, and the sisters tossed the dead man out of the car and sat down, seemingly oblivious to his blood staining the seats and Daphne's face. Black Thunder pulled out the knife from his shoulder and Maximillen regained control of the car.




"Uh." Mihael said gloomily. "This is so boring."




"You are right sister." Mikey replied. "I wish we had some food, or at least a My Chemical Romance song."




The next few moments were spent in awkward silence as Daphne tried to calm down. Black Thunder was bleeding a lot, and Maximillen tried some salve which he kept in his car safe and was probably illegal judging by the herbs Daphne smelt in it. But if it saved his life, Daphne didn't care. She had spent her life going with dangerous brigands largely by choice, and she was not going to stop anytime soon.




Black Thunder tore a strip of his shirt and used it as a bandage. It looked extremely bad ass, like the type of stunts you see in the cinema, but Daphne realized it was serious.




"Can you two heal him?" Daphne asked Mihael and Mikey.




"Nah, that is only possible for Gods. We are half Elemental, and not even that good at it." the sisters responded in unison.




"How did that voodoo trick work anyway?"




"The figures aren't really Necessary. They just help us focus on a mental image, which we use to track the energy of something similar looking and remotely detonate it. We need to be a substantial distance away, and the result focuses a piece of crystal on the figure that resembles a needle. We store these needles, because the process can be speeded up if we focus the energy into the needles, but it can only be used once before the needle is destroyed. The voodoo mythology was based on observing creatures like us." Mihael explained. Mikey sighed and looked out the window mournfully, probably thinking of My Chemical Romance.




The sisters were even more insane that Daphne expected, but she was glad to have them. And their cold personalities were somehow welcoming to Daphne.




"How did you get involved with Sogton? And you too, Maximillen."




Sogton sighed. "I was looking for prostitutes."




"She saved us from poverty and an empty stomach. No one has been kinder to us and given us more gifts than Sogton. We would gladly die for her." Mikey answered.




"As for me." Maximillen answered. "There is quite a lot of history. But suffice to say that I was a student and apprentice of the Russian martial artist and Samurai Ramseys. We were also greatest rivals. I proved myself by defeating him in single combat, and earned the right to be Sogton's bodyguard."




"She gives you tremendous amounts of money, is that right?" Daphne replied. Daphne was still bitter about her poverty, which apparently everyone knew about.




"When she isn't spending it on lesbian escapades and rare art, including the original essays of Oscar Wilde, yes. Which is not as much as I hoped. But I generally have enough at the end of the month to buy a significant amount of property to add to my estate. My garden is looking magnificent."




"I'm happy for you."




Daphne somehow seemed to find a connection to Sogton, and all these fellows, even Black Thunder, who was rude and obnoxious. Perhaps a part of it had to do with the fact that she had no friends, and indeed never had any friends in her life besides a few mentors who were long gone and shorty present. For the most part she had learned to rely on her own skills, and be alone. But now things were changing. A part of it lay in Sogton's personality herself, and her mysterious gravitas. The witch garnered servants to follow her.




"Where are we actually going?" Daphne asked.




"To visit my friend John, who is fighting mummies and Djinn in an attempt to find the Necronomicon and use it's secrets. So Utah, or about. The desert is a prime preserver and necessary for the mummy ritual, as well as keeping the ancient Tome out of the harm of the rain and Elements." Sogton replied. It was easier for Daphne to be told friend instead of slave.




Maximillen's eyes suddenly widened. Daphne focused into what he was looking at, which looked like a mere bird's outline. But he looked a bit too worried to be focused on avian fantasies.




"Let me guess, a Wyvern?" Daphne asked.




"Looks like the guy's pets are here to find us. Stand strong old chaps and chapesses."




Maximillen hit the gas and swerved their rout. They were headed for a water tower.




"Oh shit. You're going to blow up that tower, aren't you?"




"Bullets can't kill a giant flying reptile, old chapess."




Daphne sighed. She was just looking for a break, that's all. But she knew that when the feeling of tiredness from fighting and the dragon subsided, she would be enjoying this adventure. Wanderlust beckoned.




Maximillen was driving so fast Daphne literally couldn't rise from the seat. They stopped at the tower parking lot and evacuated the vehicle. The steps from the bottom to the top of the tower were quite lengthy, so Black Thunder who had lost a lot of blood was left behind with Sogton. Daphne drew her pistol and Maximillen brought along his machine gun, as well as a bomb. The twins flew to the top, looking like traditional depictions of vampires in the dark sky.




"When I light the bomb, we'll jump into the twin's arms." Maximillen said.




"Got it." Daphne replied.




The Wyvern was now visible, looking like a tan scaleless alligator with bat wings. She remembered that their claws and fangs were venomous, as if them being twice the size of a goat wasn't bad enough. Daphne helped remove the hatch of the water filter. As Maximillen lit a cigarette and used the match to start the bomb, she rushed to the end of the platform and leaped.




The resulting explosion after Maximillen had just barely made it off the platform caused a cloud of steam to rise all over nearly half of New York and obscured Daphne's vision. Thankfully Mikey had already veered into position. She found herself roughly thrown into Mikey's arms, and such a jarring hit that she assumed her arm was injured. When the mist cleared Daphne saw Maximillen safely in Mihael's arms, carrying him like an eagle.




"Looks like we made it." Daphne said.




"Yeah, but our friends didn't." Maximillen said. She looked at the car. Maximillen was right, Sogton and Black Thunder were long gone.




Sogton: So, reader, you think I would allow myself to be kidnapped without fighting, like a leaf in the breeze?




That was exactly what happened. Fuck that Jester guy.




So Black Thunder did make a stand against the Elemental, but what can a one arm injured guy do against a Demon from the Blackest Pits of Hell? Nothing, and that is exactly what happened. Black Thunder was kidnapped against his will and me along with him.




The fight was kind of amusing. If someone had seen this rap artist looking reject fighting a clown that looked like he belonged in Celtic Storm or a bad production of a Broadway Show, they would have certainly taken pictures, but the Jester struck Black Thunder with the strength of a man five times greater than his size.




I pitied the black man.




We were roughly manhandled into some kind of Pimpmobile, painted bright pink and boasting a variety of hanging confetti in rainbow colors on both exterior and interior. The backseat where we were tied with rope was comfortable however. There were worse places to be kidnapped.




The Jester was fucking insane. He kept laughing like a lunatic in this high pitched squeal which reminded me of an ermine about to kill some mouse. Hopefully we weren't the mice in this analogy. I bet you are wondering how I could fall so low. Sogton Kottr, the Sabre Toothed Cat Goddess, she of shadows and commander of darkness most high, brought to some childlike existence where I could not even move my arms and hung like a mannequin while my compatriots had to carry me. Sad. Pathetic. But even in my most trying times I was not forsaken.




Some of my power remained. A little Telepathy, and the ability to hide a low energy detonating attack in the Jester, which I did. I did not expect it to help much, for he had almost as much power as me and not one Elemental existed in this country to match The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles, for that is I, reader, read it and weep. And before you ask, reader, yes, Marilyn Manson did write that song about me.




I then used my Telepathy to warn Daphne about her threat. She had such a messy brain, and the static energy frequencies were almost enough to make me retch. If I had bile, which thankfully as a human I did not. If I had to go to the bathroom in this car, a disgusting human habit, I probably would have stabbed myself in shame. With my mind. Stabity Stabity.




"We're fine Daphne. At least physically. The Jester dick ass took us to his car. Judging from his art taste he's probably going to fuck us while a lion watches." I said to her dramatically and daintily, like a Princess.
"What? How the fuck are you doing this?" Daphne thought, then "I really hope Sogton doesn't know I want to fuck her."
"Oh I know. You salivate whenever you look at me, and I don't even have that big breasts."
"Oh shit."
"Calm thyself sugartoy. Black Thunder is smarter than he looks, and I'm gonna bust out of this cab and get myself a roasted Jester kabob. By which I'm gonna make that dingbat cook it for me until he pisses himself in fear."
"Stay safe." then, "I really hope she doesn't know I want to fuck the Deligerent Shadow Twins."




Ah, Freudian psychology. As the insane man had suggested, naughty sexual thoughts sipped to the surface faster than background noise, which included important life saving information like a memory of your location and an encyclopedic knowledge of past events. The human mind was a strange thing.




I cut the connection.




"Yo Jester, why don't you take a clown ball and shove it up your ass?" I shouted.




For the first time the Jester seemed disturbed. "Don't make me use this rope to bind your mouth."




I obliged. No sense in being unpolite.




Daphne was distraught. Maximillien, however, quickly powered up the car.




"We have to complete the mission." he said.




Daphne entered without objections, but she couldn't accept the loss of her friends so easily. Maximillen must have garnered a suspicion of her mind, so he consoled her.




"Our friends would not want you to worry. It is a harsh world, and you have to be tough to carry on."




"Perhaps."




Still, there was the possibility that Sogton would contact her again. She doubted the kidnapper would be stupid enough to allow her to be rescued, but the witch was intelligent. There was no telling what she was up to. Daphne was still upset. She hadn't even told her how much she meant to her.




"Oh I know." Sogton replied.




The communication was over without a second reply.




What a bitch.




Several days later, with Daphne sleeping in hotels that were far too expensive for her to regularily afford, and eating salmon with orange juice, some of the most expensive products in near apocalyptic modern society, she saw the deserts of Utah reflecting under an unopen sky and fell in love. This land was like an artwork, although some of the most dangerous in the world.




Dismounting the limo, Daphne and the band made a hike to the Excavation, a large vast system of underground caves resembling in size and depth the Temple of the Kings in Egypt. Suddenly, though, the air lowered in temperature and Maximillen held up a hand.




"It appears we have company."




Daphne hugged her hands around her waist. It was almost freezing. And in the middle of the desert day, which had been so sweltering that she was in a sweat. What kind of sorcery was this?




Maximillen suddenly shouted in pain. The girls Du Goth were knocked back, seemingly by a wind, although the sand did not shift. As Daphne ran forward, she saw that a lance of pure ice was sticking through Maximillen's chest, through nearly an inch of bulletproof armor. Blood soaked out onto the sand.




"Look here. A filthy mortal." The voice was like a torrent running through shards of glass that echoed and chimed in unison, beautiful and clear, but with a dark undercurrent, disturbing and grim.




The haze on the horizon coalesced into a girl, and Daphne rushed forward in happiness before stopping. In front of her was Sogton, but with white hair and a white dress, and with such a look of hatred on her that Sogton would never possess. A hatred for life, the sun, and all living things, from the grass budding the wet earth to a woman playing with her child son.




Sogton's attitude towards life was like a hippie towards tax forms. She knew it was dangerous and could seriously inconvenience her, but regarded it with a vague and disinterested apprehension. It could burn without her feeling a serious form of emotion. And over the course of her life Sogton had burned many metaphorical tax forms.




But this new woman was evil. She had a malice that transcended space and time.




She stabbed Daphne with a myriad ice lances.




But as Daphne fell in a pool of her blood, she saw Mikey limping towards her.




"I can reverse the course of time. But only for a few minutes. You have to do the rest."




She felt herself drifting, and her eyes spinned. The white dressed woman stepped over her and the white dressed woman's arm turned into a claw. Then Daphne saw no more.




Daphne awoke to find her and Maximillen standing at the same spot they had five minutes ago. Her wounds were gone, as were Maximillen's. Mikey was gone.




"Run!" she shouted, and they took refuge inside a cave.




Panting, Daphne supported a weak Mihael.




"You think we are safe from her?" Daphne asked.




"We should be." Maximillen replied.




"This cave is deep underground," he continued, "and we would know if someone was following us. Elemental or not, they leave footprints in the sand.




"What about flying?"




Maximillen shook his head. "Not with this hot an atmosphere. Warm air rises, and there would be no way to heat the air to supply a current without it being countered by the warm air current already present. Not for an Elemental of Sogton's power, or whoever that being was."




"It wasn't Sogton, that's for sure."




Mihael was crying. In the confusion Daphne had neglected to comfort her.




"I'm sorry about Mikey." Daphne said.




"If she used her ability to turn back time, there is no way she is still alive." Mihael replied.




In the silence that followed the wind blew mournfully on the rocks, making a howling sound.




Sogton was trying to contact Daphne.




"We were attacked by a woman that looked like you. Mikey is gone." Daphne thought.
"That attacker was my sister, Ragna Kottr. She was born from the darkness in my heart when I fought God at the Rebellion of Satan. She posed as a friend and manipulated John into fighting me, when all I was trying to do was bring peace to my home in Nippon. I'm sorry about your friend." Sogton replied.
"How are things on your end?"
"The Jester took us to some kind of Castle. We must be out of New York, but I have no idea how far. Judging by the noise outside there is some type of river."




The connection broke. Suddenly a man in a black suit entered the cavern, boasting sunglasses and a pistol. He appeared to be an enemy, for Maximillen shot at him but the man took to the ground and responded with a gunshot to Maximillen's hand, causing him to drop the machine gun.




Mihael rose, and responded with a voodoo pin in the man's chest, but it seemed to be a shallow wound, for the needle was deflected with a needle of the man's own, which came out of his breast pocket. His chest erupted in blood but he seemed unaffected.




As Daphne was about to shoot a sword wound appeared in the man's arm, cutting through the flesh from behind, as a blue sabre appeared. A hand knocked the assassin unconscious and a brown suited man in a longcoat with black hair appeared. He tied up the assassin with a rope from his backpack, which he kept outside.




"Tally ho." the man said. "I'm John Westley, and I believe you were looking for me."




Sogton: I am afraid I have to take over the text again reader. I know you want to know about Daphne's adventures with John Westley, but I feel explainations are due.




For starters, I had sealed my sister in that demi moon Phoibos on the farthest side of Jupiter's storm stream trusting the power of the steam giant to keep her locked until I could regain my powers. After the reset I felt less a being, although the Entire Universe was suffering as much as me. Still, there were upsides to the reset of the universe, for instance I could finally tolerate the man I loved and live alone in England, although the joy would be short lived as technological progress nearly destroyed our home and the lust for adventure drove me to other places.




Fortunately, space ships capable of extra strato travel were beneficial. I no longer had to rely on my Demonic powers to travel to other planets. But some idiot in a V Rocket traveled to Phoibos and unraveled the bindings on my sister's tomb. She immediately lurked in the northern reaches until she could draw enough power to damn my efforts in the deserts of Utah, which was happening now.




As for the Jester, he at least was providing us with a good warm house and a decent bed to sleep. Perhaps he wasn't as big a creep as I thought. But I had to bust out of here.




Black Thunder was lying on the bed beside me and eating a cheese sandwich with his good hand. He was quite depressed, and I tried my best to cheer him up by telling him of my exploits with Asian prostitutes, but it did not seem to work.




Eventually we played chess with me dictating my moves and him moving the pieces. I was feeling grim and thinking about flirting with Daphne when the Jester entered.




"All right. Looks like your demented sister is on the loose. We need your help in finding the Necronomicon."




I sighed with some level of insult. If you are wondering how a sigh can insult, reader, wonder no further. I did it very elaborately with an addition of several musical notes and did not stop for thirty seconds which served to infuriate the Jester. Black Thunder looked at me like I was crazy, which I was.




"I tried to warn you." I replied. "All right, you're part of our gang. Now let's get the fuck out of here. I hope you have good transportation, and perhaps an album of Linkin Park."




With no option of going out into the open where they would be vulnerable to an attack by the Ice Queen, John Westley led them deep into the depths of the cavernous structure which he was quite familiar with, having explored most of its passages before, although dangers lurked some of which even he did not know about. The weird structure seemed to span miles, some of it natural, some obviously manmade, with labyrinth style bricks layed out a bizarre architecture that resembled some lost civilization.




Daphne soon couldn't see, but John Westley had packed several kerosine torches and the warmth was beneficial underground. How strange to be in the desert, Daphne thought, where a small variable in elevation could mean the difference between burning to death and freezing to death, with very little change between the two extremes. She had to pack winter gear, and the coat was a blessing. But the Goth girl barely needed clothes, and still kept her thin dress without complaining. It must be nice to be an Elemental.




John Westley relayed to Daphne some of his and Sogton's life, his time as an explorer in Victorian England, and marriage to the Ice Queen, where he killed himself under her curse and was resurrected by Sogton, who became a spy in her household. John killed Ragna after her betrayal, the elementium forged Excalibur shard which was his sabre the only thing capable of killing her, for even Sogton was not as powerful. He was immortal now, a traveling bandit, archaeologist for hire, a man of many trades. Some called him the Black Horseman, for he draped himself with a black cloak and rode on a black steed, but he robbed rich and forgone hurting the poor except in dire needs.




A folk legend around these parts, there was even a statue of John Westley in the Phoenix Arizona town square. He proved to be as strong a fighter as Maximillen, and as compassionate as Mihael.




How he got along with Sogton, who was his polar opposite in personality and a complete bitch, was a mystery.




A pitch black drop awaited them, a damned pit which looked like an invitation to Hell, and Daphne could easily imagine Virgil and Dante climbing up the surface in makeshift ropes, like some kind of damned explorers atop a sealed mountain where no mortal foot had ever tread. Their own ropes were insufficient to traverse the expanse, and Mihael was too tired to fly. As John Westley threw a stone into the bottom to gauge the depths, it was nearly a minute before the reverberation reached them. They were through.




Thankfully, John Westley had some food, which was much better than the oatmeal they carried. They feasted on roast chicken and potatoes while using the oatmeal as garnish, and they waited for Mihael to recover her power.




Suddenly a Jester appeared, flocked by Sogton and Black Thunder. The Jester, in fact, and John Westley drew his sword, which glowed bright blue.




"Put that shit away, John." Sogton said rudely, but still more politely than to Daphne. She must really love him, as odd as it seemed for Sogton to love anyone other than herself. "I have my body back."




The blade was sheathed, and Daphne realized the scabbard was iron, perfect for reducing the radiation waves of elementium. It was a harmful substance to humans, but generally five minutes of exposure would do nothing, but to Elementals even a few seconds was toxic.




"Yet she cannot use her powers." Black Thunder chimed in. He looked much better.




"Thanks to this Red Asshole." Sogton replied.




"I'm sorry." The Jester said. "But I go where the money is. All is fair in business. Maybe next time we can work as partners."




"For your information, Argent Misfit, I have more money than your bosses could ever imagine. You should do more research."




The Jester did a bow. "Yes, I shall do better, Mephistopheles of Los Angeles."




As on cue, Sogton retrieved a radio from a pouch and started to play the Marilyn Manson song of the same name.




"I feel stoned and alone like a Heretic And I'm ready to meet my maker.
Lazarus got no dirt on me. Lazarus got no dirt on me. And I'll rise to any occasion.
I'm the Mephistopheles of Los Angeles."




The Jester fashioned a very basic Bridge of lava earth, for it seemed his power was a hybrid Vulcan and Gnome, capable of moving Fire and Earth.




The two parties were reunited.




Sogton: Now reader, we rapidly reach the finale. We crossed the Bridge and headed to the cobblestones of the labyrinth, which now resembled English roads and gave me a homesick feeling for my thatched little cottage in the British woods. John Westley always said it was the pinnacle of architecture, and I said it looked like a piece of shit, but all architecture very much looks like pieces of shit and I had to admit it held a certain charm.




The radio, which I had autotuned to my selected playlist, somehow was captured by John Westley with a few horrific additions of his own, Like The Clash, an English band whose aesthetic and vocals could best be described as rusty nails scraping across a steel beam in some forgotten scrapyard in a desert in a shadowy hole of filth and depravity. Still, it was a decent song.




"Sherrif don't like it. Rock the Casbah! Rock the Casbah!"




I quickly stole it from him and jammed on "Walking With Strangers the song by The Birthday Massacre".




Now, I'll let Daphne take over, because her style during this part was quite good except the part about her romantic desires and entanglements over the responsibility of herself versus duty to others. Also random diversions to her Greek past. She was really obsessed with flora and fauna, especially oranges.




So the sextet came to a kind of enclave with several passageways leading to the east, and a natural glow that John Westley said came from some sort of natural mineral. Sogton was playing stupid music as usual, which reminded Daphne of the Emo hipsters she used to hang around with at school because there was no one better but the entire thing was filled with preps and poseurs, as well as the strange obtuse species known as the rich kids. Despite having a vacant stare they were indeed highly intelligent and had some kindness. Enough to help Daphne get through her hell teenage life.




Maybe that was why she liked Sogton so much. While all the other Emos had gotten big suits and money stuffed full in briefcases, she had gotten grown up. Older and wiser.




The air suddenly dropped to a freezing level, and Daphne clutched her arms around her waist as a high pitch entered the room. Sogton threw John's torch on the ground and held Daphne close, displaying a level of intimacy that the sorceress never did.




"Look, Heliopolis, I don't want to lose you. I rarely say this to mortals, but you rock." Sogton said.




Then she kissed her. It was weird, kind of like kissing a lama, or a llama, both of which Sogton somehow resembled in behavior.




Then Ragna entered.




Sogton quickly jammed the radio to Linkin Park's "Line in the Sand" with her foot and brought out two silver guns from seemingly thin air. The guns shot lasers at Ragna, starting off yellow and blue and transitioning to silver and rainbow. The Sorceress Weiss absorbed them, however, and white steam filled the room.




"Another day!
The truth will come
You're gonna pay for what you've
Pay for what you've done
You'll get what yours
And face your fraud
You're gonna give me back what's mine
Give me back what's mine."




Sogton then materialized a black scythe and rushed at Ragna, who blocked with her usual transformation into claw talons.




Black Thunder suddenly took Daphne's arm and rushed to the central exit, with the Jester and Maximillen following on foot and Mihael on air. Apparently it was understood to the others telepathically that Sogton was making a noble sacrifice.




Daphne had enough of Noble sacrifices in her life.




The party entered into the light of day and Maximillen was promptly dragged down to the bottom of the depths by a Chimera hiding in the darkness, one part bird one part lion. Daphne had no idea why the bird part was necessary, probably some mad Scientist or wizard as were prominent in those days was fucking around with DNA. No blood exited from the wound however, so it looked like the mail was functioning just as good as mithril in the Lord of the Rings.




"Don't worry." Mihael replied to Daphne's distress. "Maximillen is tough. He could snap this creature's necks in no time."




Maximillen saluted and fell to the Depths.




"You know, I did like that guy in the end." Black Thunder said.




"Shut up Black Thunder, Daphne lost her girlfriend." Mihael replied.




Black Thunder merely shrugged.




"Thunder, is your arm better?" Daphne asked as they descended the slope.




She sensed Black Thunder was not good at conversation but meant well. He fiddled with his bandage.




"Can't slow me down, this sayli dong ding stuff." Black Thunder replied.




"I couldn't understand any of that."




"I'm fine."




Their conversation was cut short by several black cloaked figures below.




"Aw, shit, the Cult of the Jesus Goat." Black Thunder screamed, and then brought out a rocket launcher from behind a rock and fired it at them.




"How the fuck did you know that was hiding behind the rock?" Daphne screamed through the sonic reverberation.




"A lucky guess."




The resulting fireball immolated all of the Jesus Goat members except for one, and Daphne shot him with her pistol. At the moment she was not going to deal with shit from any masked member of a secret society, for the death of Sogton hit her hard. The Black Thunder slid down the slope as a horde of a dozen Cultists of the Jesus Goat poured out of the rocks to face him, and beat them all with his fists, shouting "JoJo!" and "Golden Wind!" while he did so.




Was Daphne dead? Yes, she felt it. Mihael was gloomier than ever, so that explained. But.




"We have one last task to complete." The Goth girl replied.




She led them up a hidden ziggurat in a cliffside and to a shrine underground where the Necronomicon stood on a dias, frayed pages, blackened edges, with a silver cover.




As Daphne examined it she could tell the fraying was amazing, for it was made of a material like iron that did not bend or break. The first page said "Read on at thy peril." and to her amazement, the next page was a handwritten letter from Sogton.




"Daphne, if you are reading this, don't use the book of the Dead to revive me
Some creatures are better left in peace.
I predicted that this would happen and so left my record to you.
You are a Mephistopheles now, for as I kissed you I broke your blood with my teeth and transmitted the virus that brings blessings and curses.
Don't tell me you never wanted this, for I know lies.
I am a creature of utter loneliness, not fit for human relation.
But should I come back some day, for in the words of Lovecraft




"That is not dead which can eternal lie
For with strange aeons death can die"




And strange aeons is the only way we shall be together.
If you should choose to ignore my warning and use the instructions on page fifty, which I
Suspect you shall, for you have such a stubborn nature, you shall be burned and twisted
Beyond reckoning, and beyond recognizing, and become a creature like I was.
Safe travels, don't die."




Daphne flipped past the rest of the pages to page fifty, past waves of hentai and depraved drawings, and some notes of meteorological significance, some observations of human nature, some mundane tasks like grocery lists, and some pages specifically designed by Sogton Daphne thought to fuck with her, like an image of an orange.




The instructions were simple. And also dangerous.




"Well," Daphne said. "Looks like I have a new adventure."

Strange Aeons:

The Necronomicon was not much help in translocating the rough and dirty streets of Los Angeles. It gave directions, but most of the riddles led to old men in burly Greco apartments with fabled William Morris art and maple trees that offered her cake and more obscure hints, until Daphne was forced to dig through public parks in Sogton's mangled handwriting reading steps from landmarks, and shoveling grass until a treasure chest merely revealed "Who was Medieval Gilgamesh's enemy? Answer: Asureth"

[Sogton: Because no one gets this: Asureth sounds like Ashtoreth, another name for me.]

That wasn't even a good pun.

Eventually she came to a seaside home where "Crafters Of The Coast was filmed here, I know it" according to Sogton, and she walked up a staircase through a door and in the pitch blackness Sogton was drinking some tea.

"I thought you said I needed the Necronomicon to revive you."

"Fuck all. Hell if I understand it."

The Sorceress seemed undisturbed, but Daphne was irritated. Sogton picked up a rose.

"Do you think Crafters Of The Coast was actually filmed here? The Arab man said it was but when I followed the instructions all that was left was a pile of sand."

"God Damn it Sogton, I don't have time to be following your obscure quest about Musicians."

Sogton smiled. "Then you've come to the wrong place. Important Question, do you have a Lake behind your house?"

"What the fuck would a Lake be doing in ghetto New York."

"Valid point. I suppose I could always tweak the poetical notion. A drop of water with the qualities of a Lake. "The sadness in the falling of a leaf in Autumn", and all that."

"What the fuck are you delirious about?"

"You'll find out in a couple chapters. Anyway, I must be off." She was gone in a puff of black smoke.

Daphne gazed at the Necronomicon. As much as she hated to admit it, this Quest was rather fun. She turned another Necronomicon page.

Dance, Mephisto: 
Shadows fell upon the City Of Angels. No, not the modern city in its' sunlit glory, articulating to the corporate hierarchy and attending to the unintelligent masses, preaching the word of conformity and splendor, a garden of earthly delights for the few, mostly a decrepid ruinous cavern only fit for decay and lament. No, the other City Of Angels, the City where literal Angels glided silently in the gloomy twilight in a near black Armageddon. Not the silent, soft Angels of Poet's praise, but the Lovecraftian Abominations that populated the space between worlds. Among death wind they glided, among yellow light, among horrid forests, through a maze of Ancient Gothic spires that reflected a simpler and more civilized time, although still brutal and shadowy dread. Churches gave the sign of the cross, and squinty eyed priests huddled in terror and made the sign for warding Demons, but their hands were hard worked, for there were Demons everywhere. Where Angels dwell, Demons soon followed, for they are two sides of the same Theme. The stain glass windows reflected the dying sun. It was a perpetual evening in the City Of Dis, and most of it was dark. It was through this faint and strange world that I dwelled, reader. It was my home. I am Mephistopheles Of Los Angeles. Technically the decrepid city too, which is why mayors give me free soda and treats. Yet the City Of Dis is where I call my home. I had a Victorian manor, quite underground, like the darkened cave home of Batman. But I was Bat Woman. Or Dragon Lady, to be accurate. Demon Lord I am. Hell, a million other things too, but it would be too complex to go into all of them. Merely know I can shapeshift, reader. The blackened streets outside my abode resembled Gotham. Crime was a way of life, and an unchangable constant, and I liked that best. In the world of Daphne and even outlaw John Westley there was too much law, an uninspired system that stifled the working class and led to more violence than it solved. With the unrestrained rule of human emotions, the city started turning as efficiently as a wheel. Paradoxically, chaos created order. While order collapsed in on itself. I rule over a good deal of the Demon World. Not all, for my sister Ragna had always been a bitch, but enough to get by. I even had dear bought luxury. Unlike Ragna, who does not eat, I enjoy the physical practicalities of life even though my Elemental body cannot take them in. In their unconverted form, at least. Paracelsus would have a field day with this, but you did not come here to read about Science, reader. You came for horror. I glided across the rooftops like a bird. Although there were no birds in Dis, only shadowy bats. And predatory cats below that grew to be the size of small buildings. I had love for them as my namesake. And I glided on the wind on wings du noir, although I scarcely needed them, they were more aesthetic than anything. Why? Dragonmaids. The Gangsta cards. I had returned to my old home in Nippon to get a set. Every Blue Eyes player was taken back by such rare cards, but I merely knocked them over with my feet and stole their decks. In Yugioh it was every man, woman, and Demon Lord for themselves. This was not my only aesthetic change. I also had horns on my head to complete the theme, and my blue eyes were red. The horns I was a little perfectionist with, and since I could not get them to be maintained always and sleek I eventually discarded them. Jumping off a roof and into the garden below, I came to Tupac's palace. Yes, that Tupac. My Necronomicon had been busy. I was welcomed by the usual hired black thugs with shotguns and pistols, and as usual they recognized me and grimly sighed, for I was a bane to them. They knew they could not kill me with bullets, even Elementium bullets, so they did not try. Instead they escorted me through the pine trees and rose bushes past marble columns and a gold trimmed door into Tupac's hall, where I was greeted by a red carpet. Always did well for himself, Tupac did. I swiped a lime soda from a butler and sipped it. "Yo, Sogton, got the dope?" A bodyguard asked me. A man in a diamond checkered white and red suit with red sunglasses frowned. "You aren't suppose to talk to the prisoners, Gabel." I smiled. "You must be new here. I'm Queen of this turf. Mephistopheles, to be exact. Your boss and I are old friends." I showed him a sigil as proof. It was a silver wolf with rubies for eyes. The man bowed. "My apologies." I approached Gabel and handed him a Dragonmaid Lufte. He inspected it with wonder, bringing it close to the light, watching as the colors dappled. His friends marveled along with him. "This shit won't be released another five months.' Gabel marveled. "Indeed." We moved on. Candelabras gleamed. Within the shimmering expanse, I saw several bars open which contained alchemic like concoctions that I had no doubt would create chaotic events, and not even the bartenders knew the full effects of the potions. Someone played the following song: "Tupac: Stressed out something major Mamma raised a hellraiser Dear Lord as my savior mamma raised a hellraiser". I was brought through a maze like chamber into Tupac's room, where he was sitting shirtless on a red throne. His eyes gleamed maliciously, and he had recently finished a chicken and rice dinner, which the butlers removed for him. They brought him a glass of wine, and he sipped it methodically, before banishing it and turning to me. "Sogton, if I ain't mistake. What a bitch like you be doing in my crib? Don cha know that I am a sole rider, a true fire spitting G who don't give a fuck about anyone? How do I know it is really you and not that punk ass sista you have? Give me a line!" I had prepared this. And besides, I was glad to see Tupac again. Despite his harsh and hate filled greeting to me, I knew the Nigga cared. I took rapping posture. "Yo shed like a snake skin dropped from a fake pin Curtailing the hate within, give me a stand Guide me through the thirsty night in this abandoned land Like a frightful day gone astray Like we played when we were children Once, a dunce, gone in old times, to renounce Askance like a door, but the fitful whore does not pounce She waits, and poisons the floor with dripping venom of dourness" I posed dramatically. Tupac nodded his head. He slowly came to a still. "That's Sogton. As fire as evah. A little anachronistic and some weird adjectives, like you really don't give a shit about this rap game or any game other than your twisted side show, but that's you. It was heavy dope. I commend you." I smiled. Then I went and shook Tupac's hand in the Gangsta Salute which would take nearly six pages if I wrote it all down. Suffice to say it took nearly half an hour, with both of us taking wine breaks and sitting on the thrones [Tupac's butler had moved in a spare throne, mine was slightly smaller] listening to rap in the between. "So what can I do for ya?" Tupac asked. "It's Ragna, again. I need an army" "Not surprised. I'm afraid we're low on elementium, have to get a new shipment from the mountains. Fuckin' punks of the rival gang got our location and started sprayin steam when they last found us. Made a fucking explosion from a grenade and brought the whole boulders down. Six of my posse managed to get out alive, the rest lay buried in crystal and dirt." "May the Lord keep them well." "Anything else you need?" "Well, I could use a ride to my spare mansion. I got a visitor expecting me, and you know I hate to keep pretty girls waiting." At this several bodyguards narrowed their eyes and did the stereotypical "dude, we're gonna see two hoes kiss, get the fuckin' camera and put some jazz on the recorder" male gaze they usually did when even the slightest possibility of lesbians was present. I lightly threw some wind at them and they fell to the ground stopped. Tupac got his semi automatic. "Count me in. I'll get the limo." We were going to ride. 




Daphne wandered through the dismal streets of the cobblestoned pathway she reluctantly went on, a mixture of loyalty to Sogton and a slightly unsure dread of where she wanted to be. And who she wanted to be, like the Marina And The Diamonds Song. This worried her. More worrisome, however was the fact she was rapidly vomiting at least six times a day, her stomach felt like it had one of Mihael's pins in it, and she was bleeding at random. Sogton had warned her she would become a Demon, but she refused to believe the kind Elemental would curse her and abandon her. Didn't Sogton's sister do the same? Perhaps evil ran in the clan. Daphne shook her head. She refused to believe that. She had gone to this city by following the Necronomicon's instructions to the house of Aurelio Voltaire in original California. Aurelio was a musician, and absolutely fucking insane in a way that made most Goth singers pale in comparison [Pale, get it, because Goths have pasty white skin?: Sogton's Note] and his country villa was decorated with a variety of black streamers and black and purple furniture. Even the paint was black, and white in spots, thankfully Daphne thought, although the whole gave it a creepy Psych ward vibe. Aurelio had invited Daphne to tea and biscuit, which Daphne politely declined, although she was hungry she had no desire to ingest whatever it was Aurelio usually ingested, for his eyes were emotionless and drifted, and he seemed high on drugs or a zombi like the ones he sang about in his songs. Voltaire had asked her to go to the bathroom, which gave off a creepy stalkerish vibe, but thankfully it had been an enchanted bathroom that was a portal into another world instead of an event where Daphne had her clothes ripped off her while Reggae Mortis played. So Daphne had come to Dis. Where Sogton was she had no idea, and found it surprising that the Demon Lord could spend twenty pages going on about poetry and Celtic architecture but couldn't spare one moment to write down directions for a lost and scared and confused Daphne to follow. She was a bitch, Daphne realized. Daphne only hoped there was some dark danger big enough to impact Sogton into harming her friends. Daphne suddenly leaned against a pillar and almost fainted. She rallied her senses and walked on, pausing to inspect a dilapidated factory. Inside she found a bathroom much higher quality than Aurelio Voltaire's, and inside she vomited into the sink. With no paper, she ripped a portion of her white shirt [the tan overcoat was thrown into the shelf, for it was too dirty to be of further use] and used it as a cloth to clean her mouth. This done, she wandered further through the rubble. At length Sogton found her in a limo, and as Daphne fell inside the back seat she could afford no surprise that an undead Tupac was at the wheel, smoking a blunt. She fell into Sogton's lap, and the Sorceress Noir caressed Daphne's hair with a wicked smile on her face. Sogton: I found Daphne with my tracking system, reader. Humans are such noisy things, and rude, and easily found. I barely had to telepathically focus at all. Usually it was a burden but now I was kind of relieved. I kind of liked Daphne. And she was never in any massive danger at all, although she was wrong that there had to be an exterior force for me to be evil. I may look and act nice, but I am as cruel as the storm. There was no benevolent emotion in my heart. After I had warmed up Daphne in the fire of my spare mansion I gave her some tea and sat on my identical to my throne in Tupac's throne room throne. I must have not been what Daphne was expecting, for after she finished the tea she screeched at me. "Why did you bring me here? I almost died! You said I wanted this, and maybe I did, but I would have never agreed to it if I knew what was going to happen." Humans seldom did. There was only one man who rose above the dross to become a hero, and that man's name was Dante, and he is long dead. I regarded Daphne with an impassionate look in my red eyes. "Suck it up, Princess. You're part of my crew, and I don't accept stragglers. You're free to go home if you like, but I suspect the Demon powers inside you will not accept your feebility and rebel, to master them you will have to have my guidance and become my apprentice." Daphne flared. "Fuck you." "That's what I expected." Daphne shifted angrily. I rose from my throne and almost like a flash of lightning knocked Daphne to the ground with a slap, then put my Garnidelia boot on her neck roughly, taking care to remove pressure from the stabbity bits. Do not mistake my caring for Daphne's life for affection, reader, for my boot was still large enough to cut off Daphne's breathing and make her talk in hoarse mode with her eyes bulging. I smirked above my prey. I continued. "I really don't want to have to deal with your whining. You expected a savior, you got a Demon. I am not your fairy tale mentor." I released her. Daphne staggered to the wall and raised herself up. I was mildly impressed by her fortitude. Perhaps she would become a good Mephistopheles after all. "I was infatuated with you." I smiled. "You should have known danger would come with Jewball. He's like a drug dealer, the substance might seem sweet but it leads to problems later on. I am Sogton Kottr." Daphne was close to crying. "Was there ever a time you loved me?" "I do not love." I sat down on my throne. I could, at least, show a mild amount of compassion. "Yet there is something I need to say to you. You are my friend. I may not have kind feelings, but I can value the worth of humanity and be an ally if you wish. Do not spurn my boon so lightly. This is an evil world, and I am the least of greater evils. And I do have a certain affection with you. It is mostly an appreciation of physical beauty, for I am quite in spirit with my fellow Renaissance artists, but I do value your psyche. It is a frail and strange thing, like a dove trapped in a snare and bleeding, but it is beautiful. And has a ferocity I appreciate." Daphne sat down on the table. "I need time to make a decision. But I will stay with you, for now." "That's what I hoped." Her damnation was already complete. 




Interlude: Ancient Magus' Gangster: Meanwhile in Dis, great events were unfolding at a bar somewhere in the prostitute district where neon lights blared and the domesticated cats screeched at passersby like the howling of wolves. The bar was called the Three Pistols, after a D list Gangsta flick that although terribly acted and bland as all hell, was entertaining enough to gain a cult following among the washed out and drunk inhabitants of Lower Dis, Fifth Malebolge on the edge of the forest where lurked the forbidden mountains that no one had crossed and the Harpies that perched on the bloody trees "in the Wasteland on the way to the Red Queen". No one knew what lurked beyond that sheer white precipice. Not even me, and that was saying something. I had a feeling the drop was a portal directly to the Outer Darkness. A gang fight was brewing. Gang fights usually did, but this one was different in that it involved an enormous amount of money. Gold, in never a short supply, was sought after, and brimming with red rubies. And had Elias Ainsworth involved in it. He was the main character of a manga in the human world called The Ancient Magus Bride, and presided over the company that had published it. He still had his wolf skull face and purple hands. And his trademark black robe, which was stylish. The Ancient Magus had retired smoothly after marrying red haired Chise. Yet work still called him, more for pleasure than business, for the love of adventure and lust was still in the Mage's cold dead heart, and he had a dark eye for profit whereever it could be made. Now he was rubbing a gold ring across the table to a Gangster, who eyed it nervously, and unbeknownst to everyone with Elias the Magus has another ring, the real one, underneath his hand. The gold ring was a forgery. But you already knew that, reader, from watching Elias' character. He was the type to maintain a facade of pumpkins and cakes and spiced tea, but when darkness came down, was as horror filled and dreadful as any Eldritch Demon from the Pillars of My Home Country. He was quite like me in that way, and I quite liked that. Chise found that out the hard way, but she was cruel herself, and they made an excellent pair. Quite a romance that actually brought a tear to my eye while watching it, although I was quite disgruntled at the treatment of Cartiphilus, the villain of the manga. Cartiphilus was as cruel as Ragna, dear readers. Thou already knew that. Anyway, back to this bizarre tale. The neon lights flickered as the Succubi danced. A moment before the thug accepted the treasure that was really cheap illusion, the bartender put a red lamp on the bar and it's red light illuminated the shadowy cavern brighter. Unfortunately the beam also shined on the ring, dispelling it's illusion and revealing that Elias was actually holding nothing at all. Elias spoke into the Radio. "Silky, we might have a problem." It was a direct link to the Banshee Maid lurking in the upper balcony of the second floor of the bar. Silky, white haired, had spent years in Russia and developed a Russian accent, among other things, but she was as efficient as ever and methodical. And had a black suit and gun instead of her usual cleaning robes. Her suit was lined with seemingly thousands of small daggers, too. The thug brought out a horse tranquilizer. At least that was the name of the gun, it was a black shotgun like apparatus that fired like a shotgun but was usable with one hand. You can thank Ragna's demented Scientist Frankenstein for designing that. She also had a Necronomicon that could bring back mythical figures, fuck all that. Elias dove under the table as the other black gangstas brought out machine guns they started spraying. He used the table as a makeshift shield while he brought out his glock and unloaded nine rounds into the posse. Silky soon joined him, gliding down the staircase on a shield like a teenager going surfing. In the other room, Chise lightly drank her soda which she was drinking with another girl who held a separate bottle of wine. The girl asked "What was that noise?" Chise smiled happily. "Oh, nothing. It's merely that everyone we met in this bar is going to die." Elias brought out his tobacc wand and lit it with a silver lighter. He applied the end to a rocket launcher. Then the entire bar went up in flames. Except the Radio, that is. The Radio was playing "Last Ones Left", because Elias changed the frequency. 




"Tupac: Nigga Westside Westside on this Motherfucker Westside on this Motherfucker right here Westside on this Motherfucker Can't nobody stop us when we blunted up and swerving screaming Outlaw Running up the curb They never try Niggas right behind me a killin team I get the word cut the head off a Nigga like a guilotine This Hennessy will keep me calm though Sitting in the back of the club, trading convo Looking like I'm a Don in my own mind Signal Kadafi Nigga watch me with the chrome nine All the time drinking Champagne, Niggas walk through crowds Let the tramps say Niggas play hatin but do a damn thing Picture me doing eighty down the one way Stuck in a gunfight watching guns play So I gotta keep my eyes open getting high Wonder why we gotta die smoking My alibi Victory Victim of a rhyme and I'm marked for death Living my life like it's the last one left I'm an Outlaw Am I wrong? I wanna get it goin on Last to leave, til I see everybody's gone I'm at the bar, you can catch me, hands full of liquor Or puffin on a sweet Swisher I'm the last one left Tell me, am I wrong? I wanna get it goin on Last to leave, til I see everybody's gone I'm at the bar, you can catch me, hands full of liquor Or puffin' on a sweet Swisher Guess I'm the last one left"




By the time Napoleon's verse came on Elias and Silky had already left the safety of the table and were standing back to back and shooting at Gangsters who came in both directions through the doors. Elias was calmly smoking his tobacc pipe while dual wielding glocks, and tossed them, suspended them in midair to light his tobacc pipe with a grenade. He tossed it to the Gangsters and the already decrepid bar erupted into more fire, this time green and purple from the magic in the machine weapon, then Elias caught his artillery. Silky ran out of ammo and started stabbing assassins with daggers, and in time even Elias ran out of ammo and started hitting the Gangsters with his cane and fistfighting them. Thankfully the machine guns were rendered useless by the grenade, so they avoided a trip down to Hades. He levitated an ornamental sword and grabbed it, then chopped one. But even the great Mage was limited, and they had to escape quick. Chise came out after the door collapsed in a seal of fire. Elias motioned to the side to indicate that it was safe. They entered the garage and took the nearest limo, where I was waiting in the back. Elias took the wheel. I needed all the allies I could muster, even if they were fucking insane. Thankfully Chise was a little rational, and I could have an intelligent conversation with her. Elias was exactly like me in temperment and I found that a drag, apparently being with one's self for too long can become a conflict. I was never the type for gazing long into the mirror anyway, although I did maintain some of an appearance and gave a lot to aesthetic. What Chise said next I disagreed with, though. Elias had brought the Radio with him. It was still playing Tupac. Napoleon's verse started. 




"Napoleon only knows that we Outlaws, fuck fear Better strap down to the fullest, cause we outreach"




"Could you turn that infernal verse down?" Elias gave her a look like "Why did I ever marry you?". "No. I cannot." The gold ring was necessary for dispelling my sister's seals, and I intended to house Chise and Elias until I defeated Ragna. We drove into the city.
Sogton's Note: I have to mention that upon visiting Los Angeles it is not an uncommon sight me waking up in a violet satin pillow, with frilled white covers and a fairy tale aroma drifting from the kitchen as light dapples through the violet curtains, only to find Marilyn Manson staring at me. 
He shudders nervously, and placing his black gloved gloves in his coal like face as his black outfit convulses like the frill of a lizard dinosaur, he dreadfully asks me if I know where Johnny Depp hid the drugs. I reply that I have no clue and ask where we are. 
"I haven't absolutely any idea." he morosely replies.
Reflections On Evil: I spent the rest of the week nursing Daphne back to health. Mostly standing on the balcony, for Dis' views were some of the most breathtaking in the world. And I am speaking of the Multiworld, not the pathetic world of humans, which is really only good in Rome and some secluded places in the wild. Dis does not obey the usual laws of physics. Time moves slower here, for one. It is how I am able to pass through centuries and even millenium and not age a day, in addition to my usual immortality, but to the friends and folk and brigands I meet I resemble not an hour in time's difference, but to myself I have lonely brooded in the shadowy places between life and death, walking a thin line tightrope above a sea of dread and despair. My life is the life of supreme solitude and solipsism. I recalled H.P. Lovecraft's Nemesis: 




"I was old when the Pharaohs first mounted The jewel-deckd throne by the Nile; I was old in those epochs uncounted When I, and I only, was vile; And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle. Oh, great was the sin of my spirit, And great is the reach of its doom; Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it, Nor can respite be found in the tomb: Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom." 




Thankfully, I did have amusements. And Daphne was proving to be one of them. She was recovering fast, demonstrating that natural Greek temperment which was hostile to everyone around them and thankless, and that quick fight and recovery ability which was unique to her character. I wondered if she perhaps also had Demon blood before my bite du kiss, but decided against it. I was the only lesbian Demon Lord in this plane, and the bloodstream virus strangely only favored specific conditions. I fed her cake laced with herbs that would speed up the regeneration process. She ate it greedily and fearfully, but I stood aloof and really didn't care. Tupac would take the place of a loyal friend in rearing her with proper morals and virtues that weren't necessary to Demon Lords but necessary to humans, weird as they were. I stood outside in the storm gazing lonely at my old home by the sea. The sea wasn't visible here, but it was present, and it's salty brine aura could be felt even at this cold distance. The sea! Ah, the sea. Even Tolkien felt it's magnetic pull, although the seas of mortal lands around the Jormungand Serpent in Midgard are pathetic and paltry seas compared to the seas of our home world. I can even now feel the warm embrace of the only entity capable of loving Demons with hearts as decayed and cold as I, and I loved it in turn. I said I do not love, and that is true. For humans. For Immortals and Forces of Nature, I had nothing but adoration. An adoration bordering on fanatical. The seas of Avendora contained many the quaint building, which love filled reminded H.P. Lovecraft of his home in Providence. You probably already guessed at this, reader but H.P. Lovecraft was not human. He was a member of my race, a dearly beloved friend, and I would give all my treasures to have merely seventeen minutes with him. Even John was a plaything compared to that well of wisdom and saturated shadow. I still see it as if in a vision and far off. Beyond, in the twilit sky, red and blue and green wheels flickered, Angel craft from an Alien time when God was young and the world not thrown in disarray like it is in the modern epoch. I wrote a poem, the only time I had seldom been inspired to pick up a pen and line craft. It goes as following: "Shadow light half life dapples on the lee Wind swept grey moors rattle on the pier Where houses black rise to the night With cold, onyx spires in Devil light A red light inspires fright And above! But first within Candalabra's burn and the fire wheels turn by the beautiful twilight sea" It's a favorite of mine. I call it Avendora. It is the only thing left I have of my home. The clothes I wear are of Avendora's Master rulers. A race of Angels. Ragna, whom I love still, and constantly turn to despite the fact that our souls are incompatible, or because of it, brought me a record to listen. It was the band Garnidelia, whom she rules over as ringleader and they are her wraiths flying in spectral glory throughout the cold chapels and abandoned ruins. Thankfully, I had it with me. The song was called Mirai. "I'm fine."You carry the burden of everything All by yourself- it's your bad habit No matter how much time passed, it'll never get better, So I held your hand silently again today" From a distance I could see the white's white skyscraper reflecting amid the only sunny spot in Dis. From it I sadly reflected on the sister I had lost, and actually shed a tear. We Elementals usually do not cry, but I had to offer this bare offering to the love I had strove against with all these years. She was my greatest friend, my only companion, and my most bitter enemy. I now retire to my chamber for the day, at least what is called day in cosmological terms even if it resembled early night. Let Daphne's story continue in the morning. I do not care for her. AFTER A BRIEF AND FITFUL SLEEP Daphne awoke to see Tupac lounging on the table. The rapper was still shirtless, and was eating a fish, although he seemed brutal and uncivilized, he held the fork and knife with a remarkable poise, like some kind of Prince long exiled from his clan and sent to the shadowy moors where he could not find peace. Daphne pitied him. And was also excited happily, as if looking for a friend. Tupac regarded her coldly and went back to eating his meal. As she was about to leave, however, he spoke. "Sogton ain't that bad. She done act evil to satisfy that high nobility that is such a part of her being that she can't let go without strife. It might not seem like it, but her cruelty is a form of morality." "And how do you know this?" "Simple. I'm like that too. Not too much, for I was born human and saw the harms and ills of this world that take its toll on a Nigga's psyche, but I do have a cruel streak. But I still long for peace. I long for the day I can view my brothers that passed and hug them through tears in my eyes and settle down for a good woman and country. But that day ain't now." Daphne felt overcome by emotion. "I want that too." "Believe this. You said your name was Daphne? Well, that's a good name. The Nymph who ran from Apollo and was turned in to a tree for her devotion to God. You might be her reincarnated. I didn't believe in all that magic shit until I met Sogton, and she set me on the good path that appreciates both the light of Heaven and the lingering shadow which serves it. Now I'm a believer in more than mere chance. Fate, if you call that nonsense reality. And Sogton is working on God's Path. She's the only one who can accomplish it." SOME TIME LATER In my private chambers, I held a goblet of wine and sipped it. When I was finished I pondered, torn between love for my sister and the eternal conflict that drove us on. We were immortals of immortals, John, Ragna, and I, and the driving force pushing us on seemed to be as eternal as the waves and lasting longer than any other force when the bones of heroes crumbled to dirt and dust. Gradually rebellion filled my heart. This was exactly what Ragna wanted, of course. I muttered. "Shadowy spirits, attend to me. Now I have to go on a dark path and put the past behind me, quaint imaginings and childhood things needs be discarded to a dark and lost corner of my psyche, drenched in mist and obscured with the cobwebs of years and weight as numberless as the wings of trees. I turn my eyes to the West, to vengeful death and the cold harpies that watch over the branches of blood and strife, and implore them to grant me the boon of solidarity in the coming struggle. Yes, the time to act is now: [upon saying this I shattered the goblet into pieces that fell on the ground] My thoughts be bloody or nothing worth!" 




LATER In Tupac's limo, now I felt like going to war. I put my boots on Tupac's stand. The war song played.




"Demun Jones: I'm feeling good, catch me in the south like Rolling in a blacked out, outrunning the sunrise I'm feeling good, devil on my hip Angel by my side, man everything is alright I'm feeling good Man I'm feeling good Demun Jones, county in the end Zoned out because I've been gone with the wind I've blown a lot of money on these headphones and micro Nomad, running the roads, rocking shows, vocal recital Just keep making sure they hear you rattle the rear view Breaking speakers, flipping fuses, taking no else I refuse I don't do it for the money just to look Then my hustle turned a little to a lot, that's enough to buy them things We always wanted for yourself and I just daydreamed of but, Bring it in the living room and set it right there It's like we living in a dream and you wouldn't know if you seen it Look in the window, wait just let me clean it I'm feeling good, catch me in the south like Rolling in a blacked out, outrunning the sunrise I'm feeling good, devil on my hip Angel by my side, man everything is alright I'm feeling good Man I'm feeling good Living out here you can keep the pace if you just slow it down To a crawl we creeping when we drive and we speeding That don't mean we in a rush, we racing so button your buckle And flow through these fields, coyotes and honey suckles Trouble seems so far when you stay living in the present tense Ain't watching no news or reading nothing bout no president We obey the laws long as everybody's watching Then we stop it, drop it, load it up, dress it and chop it I ain't gotta do it to keep putting food up on my table It's feeling good to be willing and able, I'm able To stay on my grizzly, busy and grateful And I stock a lot of lead for animals and hatefuls I'm feeling good, catch me in the south like Rolling in a blacked out, outrunning the sunrise I'm feeling good, devil on my hip Angel by my side, man everything is alright I'm feeling good Man I'm feeling good Man I'm feeling good Man I'm feeling good"




We arrived at Ragna's factory for the rival clan. Thirteen black Tamakashis trailed us, Tupac's gang members he could spare and were going to join us in the fighting. I readied my laser pistols. Tupac got his glock and opened fire.




Cursed: Now Ragna was expecting us, so the blast did nothing more than knock out her windows. We rushed in guns blazing, although we were met with such an assemblage of rocket launchers and flare throwers that I scarcely could see from the fire smoke and debris. I set my laser pistol on some brigands, sending them down to Hades. Their souls would be recycled quickly and put into new bodies by the Lord Of The Dead, and they would quickly revive upon the manors of Dis to fight and slay and fight again like some dreadful version of Valhalla only much more dark and Gangster. Of course Loki would enjoy it. Loki had orchestrated the whole thing. Eventually I came to an open marble square which reflected the light of a sunny bridge carved in pearl and silver in strange arches and arabesques. Wherever Ragna went there was sun. It was hard hitting and frightening, and one of the only things that as a Demon Lord could get me unnerved. I was fine in the sun of above world without too many ill effects except the traditional physical pains against a creature of my composition, but Ragna's sun resembled something of a terrorizing fairy tale, with sweets and cakes meant to draw in innocent slaves and subject them to a life of brutality in the hot desert that knew no mercy and was as cruel as the sunless dark. Underneath the bridge, a river flowed and crashed and bubbled, clouds rising at ground level. Several churches were present around the wide open square. This was Ragna's turf, and it might seem strange to you, reader, if you have not read John Milton, to ponder why the dread lord incarnate Lucifer herself [soon to change genders, though, I surmised.] would have a strange obsession with living near churches even though the antithesis of her philosophy and a grim reminder of her fall. On the side of a Mary statue, across a gruesome cross, Jesus in statue form watched shirtless and angry. His eyes seemed to penetrate Ragna's core and lay bare her sins. Not that she cared for long. The reason why she inhabited church haunts was a love for what hurt her, a kind of morbid appreciation of death which at its heart was a tenant of the Christian fate before it became possessed by weaklings. Ragna still maintained the old ways, the ways of Odin hanging on Yggdrasil, Gungnir jutting out like a plank of some cosmic ship in an empty expanse. Ragna was Jesus' greatest servant, though not always in tandem with him, having only part of the mind of God and unable to see his wishes. She was Gullveig, Odin's greatest servant and greatest traitor whom he had stabbed three times with her own spear and three times she had refused to stay dead. I could relate, although I always followed orders. Ragna didn't. She was cruel. And yet she benefited from it. Osiris and Loki were like forces of nature, unchanging and steady. By contrast I constantly never knew who I was. Who can measure the direction of the wind? Speaking of Ragna, the Sorceress was pitched against a pillar on the bridge, clinging onto it like some sort of paradiver and soldier waiting to pounce. I was presuming I was her prey. Without motion of mine, my hand moved of its own accord, and grew into the talon that was a symbol of utter evil and Ragna's preferred weapon. I was taken aback. Never before had I lost control of my powers. Ragna leaped backwards from the bridge, arms outstretched like the Christ and struck the waters below like a typhoon. The waters churned and waved, then were still. I still could not control my hand, and nearly slashed Tupac before he dove and bound it with arcane cloth. My alchemists quickly fulfilled their servitude and brought out the medicine kit. I doused my arm in venom and burned it, then applied herbs as it rapidly regenerated, burned, and healed again, fuming out blue smoke as it did so. Then I pulled out one of my sealing white gloves in an ash box which I kept by my side at all times in case of occasion like this. I shoved it on my hand and gripped it tight until the binding could stay. Thankfully my hand settled back into the usual shape and I could move it again. Ragna had no doubt done something. 




Ragna's Tower: Now when I got home I realized that I had to visit my sister. Once and for all, to settle this. I knew it was dangerous, because Ragna's White Tower didn't really have a fixed point even in this fixless space, so I prepared for a long drawn out journey for which I might not return for aeons. Or it could be over in sixteen minutes. One never knew with Ragna. To be started, I packed ointment and spare gloves for my injured hand. Strange, and exactly what had happened I have no idea, for Ragna contained magic powers that were hidden and obscure even to me. Ragna was in terms of power my senior, and she could easily defeat me in a direct conflict. So I had to use guile and treachery whenever possible. I had no doubt that most of it wouldn't work. But it would be good to finally have a conversation again. Part of the reason John and I had parted [the other part was that we had different modes of adventure, and a brief separation away from one another would do both of us well it seemed] was that I needed to see my sister again. The years had brought both of us apart, and I didn't want to live without her. If it was a question of choosing John, my friend, or Ragna, it would be Ragna easily. Our relationship was such that no bond could break it. So I packed up my belongings and departed for the Eastern lakeshore. It was quite a long journey, even for Mephistopheles, and I could not take Tupac's limo for it would be lost in the ensorcelled mazes and shadowy alleys that made up the City Of Dis' outer sector. Ragna would be waiting for me. Even apart we shared a telepathic communication, and I could tell she was happy and longed for me in a way similar to the way I longed for her. Much of it was self serving interest while I had a more benevolent outlook, but nothing of Ragna was ever seldom more than self interest. I was flattered she took an interest. I had discarded my wings in favor of putting more faith in my traveling boots. Got from Garnidelia's website, half off, though if you [mortal as thou art] go to the same form as I do and submit the data check you likely will be taken to the page of some secret society, and dark amalgamation of anagram and hidden code and cross referenced links, that will either drive you to a hyper intelligent state of Tranquility or drive you half insane with wondering. I wouldn't go there if I were you. My wings were nice, quite stylish and utterly alluring given the circumstance, but I was going to parlay with Ragna, and some sort of civil formality had to be maintained, so I removed them. The streets of Outer Dis were white instead of the black of my home. Only otherwise identical, except slightly bigger. Ragna always did have an obsession with height, she did. She was ever so slightly taller than me. And always contained that smug look on her eyes, as if the fact that she was more beautiful than me made her a better Elemental. Of course it did. I was an afterthought of God, only made to keep her weaker emotions in check, and I fulfilled my purpose well. All things strive towards the light, even though raised in the shadow. Coming to Ragna's white tower I saw Ragna standing in front of me. Of course, this wasn't the end of my quest. It would seldom be that simple. Ragna smiled and evaded as I swung two great trees at her, brought to life from a single heat source from underwater springs that bubbled and boiled and erupted to the surface when the roots burst from the ground in the tree attack. I learned it from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, more specifically Golden Wind, where Giorno uses Golden Experience to create a miniature forest to fight his enemies. My spell was less impressive, though I was not King of Kings, so this should be expected. I was King, though, and the array was impressive, and in a small way I was proud of that. Ragna retreated inside, and I followed her. I climbed past several staircases into her bedroom, the blue bed and white furniture. Ragna sat at the table. I joined her. "So, did you like my song." "I cried." "You always were a soft one, Sogton dear." Ragna smiled. "Please. You bawled at John's betrayal." "It was merely an affectation. A whim. I was sad that my plaything was gone, that was all." "For me it was more than that. That song contained my very soul." "Let us talk. We have much to discuss." 




Parlay: Now Ragna had made me feel as comfortable as possible, and I rejoiced at the meeting, but there was still a pall like a curtain over our discussion, and I felt certain that darkness was going to assail us at any time. Not from Ragna, but she did live on the edge constantly, and I believed her magical arts had opened a portal to the Otherworld. One more problem to deal with. I seemed to never catch a break. Also my hand was acting up. My nails grew far longer than their original form, although my arm still did not transform into a claw. Ragna looked quizzically. "It seems your arm is malfunctioning." She looked surprised, and I was an expert at reading her. "Then you weren't responsible for this?" "If I was it would be far more controlled. No, there are darker forces at work. I blame Lilith." Ah, another Abomination. Astarte's sister, with red hair. We always seemed to be running into these Greater Angels, and I mostly blamed Ragna for it, although she was the weakest of them and not considered valued among their number even though she allied with them occasionally. They were too crazy even for her. So I gathered my assessment. It looked like this war, this pathetic gang feud brought on by little more than a game would have to be put on hold, and in its place would be a cosmic conflict. Rather strange. How often the situation changed, not the events that took place. I had been involved in several Universe Wars throughout the years, but they all seemed to undertake a pattern. Predictable fall after symptoms of corruption and decadence. It seemed the Universe was really headed towards a collapse, and there was nothing I could do about it. I only hoped the Je man knew what he was doing. I haven't had an audience with him for ten thousand years, and most of his Angels are furious with me by now. I would say it was because of my sister, but that would be a lie. I am quite volatile and untameable even at my best. Yet you already knew this, reader. So I asked Ragna to continue. Astarte was on the run, weakened but not entirely banished. She outlined the events since our last meeting, when we had flew from Astarte and I had abandoned John in the latest Alien civilization to attend to my City. Ragna had been doing deals with Horrors, as well to be expected from someone of her temperment, yet this time she had gone a little in over her head and destroyed half a Demon City. Mammon, brown skinned, bare chested, with horrible Horns on his head, and a beard gold and brazen, his eyes red, who was her loyal soldier and a key player in Paradise Lost even if Milton had neglected to mention him in favor of bare naked women and fruit, had led a rebellion, disgruntled over her abuses of power. Lilith had come from the Outer Dark to these shores. She was eternally naked, and completely so, and quite beautiful, but she caused so much chaos that I couldn't look forward to that. The seas turned to venom and the Jormungand Serpent, reanimated as I had wanted to do but my Necronomicon could not manage a creature of such power, rose from the depths and breathed fire on the land dwellers. Apparently she took up residence on a haunted mansion on the far side of the lake to the West. I sighed. Ragna had really gotten herself into trouble. We took a walk in the courtyard. The dying sun painted the sky red, a sight I could not see from my dark castle but a sight I had seen before, although seldom. I found it beautiful, and for the first time I could see why Ragna lived here and why her cruelty made sense to me. She was merely following the impulses of her function, which was Divine. I was also Divine but meant for a different purpose, one of servitude and charity and kindness which I despised but paradoxically loved at the same time. There was nothing paradoxical about my love for Ragna, however. She smiled at me, looking remarkably innocent in the half full yellow light. I watched in surprise and barely concealed glee as she brought out a white sealing glove and bound her hand with it, entirely voluntarily and despite the burden it posed to her. She hated to be without her evil powers, and to make a sacrifice such as this showed me that she cared about me indeed. I knew it, but she rarely showed it. We were sisters in the end, and compatriots above all else. Ragna shook my hand white gloved with her white gloved hand. I embraced it, and we stood like Yin Yang symbols above a marble paradise that still held a bit of sin and vice in it.




City Of Light And Shadows: So Ragna came to live with me as a guest, although she was really the master, and quite intolerable. Thankfully I had grown accustomed to not having a place of my own, and I didn't mind her that much. She rearranged the furniture at random, kept the curtains open letting in light that disturbed me and disrupted my reading schedule, and kept a constant watch over Tupac that was getting him flustered while trying to write his latest rap. Quoth she. "Let me guess. Your latest rap starts with "Westside", doesn't it?" The rapper had it up to here with her annoyance and shot at her with his pistol, although of course the bullets couldn't do anything even if they hit her. Another barrage of holes in my wall that I had to repair, and I gazed at Ragna evily. She had a large smile on her face though. Her intrusion didn't stop at the ornamental level, however. I lost half of my work, for she apparently started combing through it and throwing out what she didn't like, and editing half the rest with her quill. I was looking forward to finishing a novel, one Journeys In The Dark Of The Forest, but the ending was roughly scratched out and several claw marks could be visible throughout the text. On the final page was a mediocre explanation: "The book was rather dull. Choose better texts next time. Ragna." I closed it in anger and put it back on the shelf. Music was a constant solace. Thankfully our tastes overlapped, although she concentrated on high technological city trance, and I preferred the rough vulgarity of city nobility lament. My tastes diverged towards rap and rock, while Ragna of course preferred metal. Still, I enjoyed Ragna's presence. Daphne was convulsing on the bed in a Demonic growth which I marvelled at, for it was much more than I expected from the average Demon recruit. Perhaps she would end up a novelty, a one in a million exception which could bring peace to the Demon world. But probably not. Daphne was too dull for major exploratory conquest. Spikes sprouted from her skin, and her nails lengthened and turned a peculiar blood color. Her irises were now bright green, and her once blonde hair was brighter and brown at the edges and two massive horns curved around her head and spiraled like a mountain goat. We replaced her shirt with a heavy robe of orange, perfect for her color scheme, although it did make her look like some herbally infused monk in a trance or a goer of a My Chemical Romance concert, for which the expression of which was no different. Still, I liked her theme. I told her I was leaving. I felt I owed her that, at least. Tupac merely nodded and went back to composting a rhyme with his pen and notebook. Daphne was furious. "So you finally saved me after I waited months for you and now you're leaving again?" "Yes." "I suppose I won't get an understandable answer if I ask why." "Demun Jones." I replied, as if it meant something cosmically significant, as if all of Heaven could be wrapped up in such a simple idea and those words. To me it could, reader. I eventually went out for relaxation and rest. I patrolled the dark streets which were my usual haunt with the single mindedness of a predatory cat, and I could already feel the clouds shift away from my mind and my vision and deduction amplify with the clarity of an eternal era of poise, that clairvoyance which the wise among the bards know as the Thunder Perfect Mind. The dark streets were always a boon for me, a place I felt at home and comfortable. Yet there was a slight doubt on my mind. The war loomed. These pleasant streets were about to become the center of a battlefield. Demon combat was a little different than human combat, most of it doing with Psychological manipulation, but it still would have its impact. Perhaps more, for the very fabric of reality was thin here and Demonic magic would have a field day wrecking the bondage that sewn the fabric of the universe together, like a pair of knives through thread. I hoped not. The words of Tupac in Little Homies came to me: "Is there Heaven for a G? And if there is, will I finally be at peace?" I didn't know. When I asked the Je man, he replied "Occasionally.". Small comfort, but the possibility of redemption was always there. I found solace in the idea, reader. Remember it in times of conflict. It is important. Returning home, Ragna led me to her side of the city in the morning. There was thankfully less of a walk to go, since Ragna's tower constantly changed positions, and I almost ran into it as the walls and spires of the lower quarter morphed into some bizarre amalgamation of brick and metal like a beast or a Golem in the middle of being molded by some mad alchemist. The Golem was pretty angry, it seemed. We weren't here for the tower, though. The river surged below. We were here to visit the army in the marble square, to attend to them as Demon Lords and give some sort of rousing array that would send them in an impassioned and highly noble frenzy, to mold their fibres into mesh and their psyche into star substance, but I had no doubt that Ragna would do most of the inspiring. I wasn't very good at talking, especially in large crowds. The army gathered in numerous fold like some sort of archaic book with the pages all glossy and different colored. The theme was white and blue though. At the front were the grey skinned Orcs, the horned Demons, the imps fluttering on small wings and breathing fire, red imps annoyed with the normal white skinned imps, blue fairies annoyed at both the imps and swiping at any that came close with microscopic blades, gadgets fluttering through the air that were the tools of Goblin inventors, Balrogs, titanic and tall, leaking lava and back ablaze in fire and the yellow thongs and red blade gleaming in the half full sun. Fire Elementals, shifted into the form of flaming naked women, and actual naked women who were witches and rode on broomsticks. Cobras, salamanders, land kraken, bird of prey and white Simurghs fluttering around stole the attention of lesser beasts. Eternals in white spiced linen, with mummy robes to bind their fragmented essence together. Some of them even had no bodies left, their energy dissolving the bonds that kept them together and merely constructed out of energy and force of will. Amorphous white mannequins, creepily staring at me in a way that was partly aware and all wicked. Alchemists in black robes, huddling about concoctions and potions in vials, muttering grimly with brazen eyes and squinty foreheads. The half alive dragons that were not fire nor ice but something in between, black and light red, terrifying. And above all this the blue Djinn flew, dispensing out incantations and making the wind flutter amid it's tornado like lower body. This was Ragna's army. A massive force, a titanic repertoire of death, a half sunk treasure, a assemblage which had taken her millions of years and a number of disguises to amass. To the Elves she was Loki, half laughing and half cruel, to the Fairies Maev, witch queen and designator of chaos, to the Djinn Jadis, ruler of Narnia, even if she occasionally requiesed to Aslan. To the animals she was Skold, Norn of prediction and ruling over the menial slaves tenderly if roughly. The flaming eye that whips weird into shape. Speaking of flaming eyes, to the Balrogs she was Sauron, but if you have read this far without making that comparison, reader, you should probably take some cold tea and alert thy senses, for you are on drugs. And to the Arabians she was Innana, kind Goddess whose breast could bring the senseless back to life and imbue the very clay with sentience, but one glance from her blue eyes could cause lightning to flare and crackle rocks. I was quite nervous. It was my first Demon meeting, and I didn't know what to say. "Erm." I said, making my way to the microphone which was not necessary for my voice could be heard by everything miles away but it helped me concentrate and have some semblance of civilization in these wild isles. "Hello." There was roaring. Mostly from the Orcs. "Good to see you looking so fierce. And fiercy." More roaring, this time the dragons joined in. I felt emboldened. I was always good with footsoldiers and dragons, and even these undead dragons seemed to resonate with me, probably a remnant of my days as Dragon nurturer. "So, to business. You probably know me as Scheherazade. That seems reasonable. I don't have as much disguises as Ragna, I'm not too good at coming up with new names. But I recognize some of you. Mostly friends, although some enemies that I like. It's good to be able to be Queen. And thanks to my sister, we can make this a legend to be rivalled in Aenead. Dante would be proud." Gazing into the crowd, I saw Dante, who had no doubt chosen this moment to reveal himself and no doubt would have remained hidden had I not mentioned his name. I had some inkling of this, so I said it, no doubt believing that even Dante's love and admiration of me was not enough to conquer his vanity. He was riding on a goat. He waved as he saw me, nearly capsizing him from the goat, which he was able to avoid by hanging onto the goat's neck. Always a jester, poet Dante. I paused. The light filtered through the rooftop cover and illuminated the Jesus and Virgin Mary statues that hung like decorated protectors above the marble square and river. Ragna's tower absorbed the setting sun and burned red like a brand. I felt suddenly at peace. This was where I assimilated truly and belonged, burning like a star amid the warm glows of my subjects and the tender caress of my dearly entwined sister. I raised my hands in salutation like a beacon. The crowd was upturned in delight. Ragna stood beside me and together we welcomed in the death brigade, the march of holy reckoning that brought about the rule of order and retribution for those who transgressed against God's judgement. Ave Maria, hail Lord, hail. I was finally at my chosen place in the world. Mephistopheles Of Los Angeles, Queen forever.

The Unforsaken Road:

Daphne wandered through Sogton's Victorian mansion, the witch being out as usual and Tupac having the bright idea that lighting fireworks indoors wouldn't set the entire rapper quarter on fire, which lit on fire. After the Undines called forth a river to extinguish it, Tupac was lying in bed tired with some wine. It, being a Sorceress' mansion was a shadowy maze, the very first thing coming to mind was Pharaoh Atem's mental seal, dim and dismal, only this being Sogton's maze Hello Kitty and ancient artifacts took the place of Egyptian decour. 


At length it seemed there was a rhyme to the shifting palace, and a large door Daphne entered to behold a silvery room with blue furniture and a safe. The very first thing Daphne would do would be to rob it. Thug life, as Tupac would no doubt sing. The metallic lock was a digital combination with a keypad, and Daphne of course knew what the password was without Sogton telling her. 


She entered the word Hentai and the safe opened.


Surprisingly, though, inside were Daphne's books, which she had left with Jewball in England. She could recognize the alchemical smoke on them from the Englishman's experiments, but someone had taken a painstaking amount of effort to clean and straighten them. Also someone had placed them in the order Daphne had them in, and Daphne knew that Jewball would have gone through them being a bibliophile and not bothered setting them organized.


Sogton couldn't have done that, Daphne mused.


The answer came in an original book that Daphne had never seen before, black and filled with pictures of Daphne, most of when she was sleeping under the Demon curse. Also a painfully large amount of Marina And The Diamonds lyrics. It had a creepy stalkerish vibe, like most of Sogton Kottr's art projects, and it definitely belonged to Sogton Kottr.

Daphne found it incredibly sweet. 

At that moment the leftmost wall turned into a screen and Marina's music video for Blue stared to play. Marina ate cotton candy and rode on ferris wheels. And Daphne recognized the outfits, which Sogton had taken to wearing lately, and where her outrageous source of aesthetic originated.

We've broken up and now I regret it

I said Goodbye when I shouldn't have said it

I even cried but I never meant it

And I don't know why but I can't forget it

Give me Love, Give me Dreams,

Give me a good self esteem

Give me good and pure, what you waiting for? 

Give me everything, all your heart can bring

Something good and true

I don't want to be a Blue anymore

I don't want to be a Blue anymore


When it was over Sogton entered and switched off the display with a remote.


Daphne: "You know, you could have just told me how you felt."


Sogton: "And lose my pride? I have to keep some things to myself. I can't fall for you completely, sugartoy."


Daphne rushed forward and kissed Sogton. A real kiss, not the pantomime in the Mines Of Utah. Sogton moaned.


The dark witch hooked her arms around Daphne's neck and for a moment did not look the imposing and mean of Sogton, her usual self, but childlike and innocent. 


"Let's go to the Sea, darling. It's been ages, but now I feel I could walk anywhere."


They entered into the streets of Dis, where as if matching the Sorceress' mood it was bright and happy for the first time. The Never Ending Rain of Amegakure stopped for the first time in a thousand years, Daphne thought, remembering one of Jewbag's many Naruto Shippuden related phrases. She found herself immensely glad that Jewbag wasn't here to ruin this moment with Anime.


Avendora lay spread like a Kaleidoscope in a massive caldera that brimmed with the Sea's flowing water through a gap where poured The Ocean At The End Of The World. Towers, spacecraft, grey domes and buzzing vehicles meandered around a spiral Alien Panorama, glowing with opal lights yet somehow mellow, and conveying innocent beauty. This truly was the territory of God, and his red wheeled ships circled around a sapphire Throne. Bright light flowed. 

Sogton embraced Daphne. White suited Tupac carried a Radio, and In The Lake played, It was truly as Emily Autumn had conceived when she floated with the Angels in Avendora's highest Towers:

"In the Lake you will find me behind your house behind your house

And from that Lake I will remind you of your promises broken, your Cruel words spoken

My Ocean is bluer than the home you had to break, my Sea is deeper than your lake."

Avendora, Eternal:

In the highest Building on Avendora's Blue swept pier, Sogton gazed at Daphne as Sogton drank Emerald Wine and Frank Sinatra Played:
"Someday when I'm awfully low, I will feel a Glow just thinking of you, and the Way you look Tonight."

"If you rip off The Lord Of The Rings for this Ending I am not going to have Sex with you Tonight." Daphne said, still smiling. 

Sogton Mused contemplating Nephilim and Demons under the Twilit Chamber. 

"I'm Home." she said.

[Sogton's Note: That was an Evangelion Reference! You are Serious, Daphne. Please. Please come back.]

The following actual Ending could be discerned through smudged pen manship and Sogton's usual awful Caligraphy, yet the legible bits involved much Kissing.