All That Glitters

The Blessed and Holy City of Embrace, also known as Per'Shorn Jot, whose ancient name cast in a virtually dead tongue means 'To Embrace'. Population; 4 million. Head seat and spiritual center of the Rystianizm Branch And Blade Of The Enduring Faiths, known to non-practitioners as 'Risers' or 'Raisers'. Primary shrine and seat of worship known as the Nine Jewels, a temple overseen and guarded by three central and six surrounding towers to match the primary names of worship and their six most known aspects that blessed the world with their presence. Temple capable of seating 30,000 comfortably.

Current Arkhierei: Diana I, blessed speaker for the nine and mother of champions, healer of the sacred blood who the foulest hands could not spill without consequence or taint. Commands an army 500,000 strong who will ensure the safety of her, her chosen, and her flock. Speaks with the voice of God and his glory, and his mercy, and his love, and his wrath. She who saw demons and foul liars attempt to twist the words of the Nine to bring ruin to all who heard and believed them, who tore down the walls of Embrace and laid the towers low, and who raised them back not only in ever-greater glory, but made her people see their brothers in the other Enduring Faiths as such, and allowed once-closed hearts to build their own temples to their own words and worship of God....

And so on, and so on. Hyperbole was always important in religion. But actions spoke louder than words.

This was not the Nine Jewels, the central temple of Embrace, or even one of the larger temples that surrounded it. Embrace had nearly two hundred seats of worship for Rystianizm alone, let alone the other faiths that worshiped there, and to Diana, each was as important as the last. Some members of her higher Ecclesia would disagree with her, in that polite yet somehow non-understanding way; for the most part, she believed it was because they feared for her safety. They had feared for things before, and been proven wrong more than right. When the Twilight War had dissolved the feared tension of allowing the other Branch and Blades into their city, all speakers of their own words uniting to declare they would not die willingly or easy, they had been amazed to the point of stupefaction. It simply went to show that no one, no matter what, had a limit to what they could learn.

So she did not perform her service at the Nine Jewels, but at this small church, the seats only half full. Diana did not tell anyone where she would be performing her services, lest she provoke mobbing and riots, and her lone rule was that once she had entered, she preferred that no one leave lest the secret get out. They did not have to hear her preach, but until she had left, neither could they. So far, her request had not been tested; the church may have only been half full, but everyone there was hanging onto her every word.

But faith existed to be tested. If not one way, then another...

For instance, the construction of this church happening to provide good natural soundproofing, which kept her from realizing anything was wrong until her soldiers got thrown through the main door. The words from the Clasp, the main book of her Branch, grew quiet as everyone either turned around in confusion, froze in surprise, or both.

"You the one sticking shields on these assholes?"

The Magpies had some odd rules. One was that you couldn't take a 'special' name that described your powers unless you did something to earn it, and giving yourself one outside of your own head before you got official permission would get you anything from dirty looks to violence, depending on who found out. The four people who entered the church, as a result, were stuck with their birth names, though the speaker, one Horace Scott, suspected that would change soon.

"Because it REALLY! MAKES! THIS! A! CHORE!" Horace said, as he slammed the piece of limestone he'd pulled out of the street onto the soldier, something that should have crushed the soldier to pulp, but only made him groan and try and crawl towards the front of the church. "I hate doing my chores."

The screams were silenced as soon as they started, albeit not for any reason on behalf of the screamers. It was because of Doreen Shaw, whose lower-class command of sound allowed her to literally shut down the wavelengths human beings made their louder noises at. The last two,  Brett Wilkerson and Greg Holland, who respectively controlled chromium and rock salt, brought up the rear.

"My lady..." The soldier groaned, before Horace just dropped the stone onto him. Behind him lay the fallen, beaten forms of the forty soldiers the four lower-ranked Magpies had beaten to get into the church.

"You the Ark hearing?" Horace said.

"...I am Arkhierei." Diana said. Horace was not impressed. The stories he'd heard on his way here had all been about this woman's voice, but she sounded like any old woman to him. Her robes were a simple purple with a white sash and hood that covered her head, her black hair going to gray and crows' feet having long taken up residence on her face. She didn't even have any jewelry, a far cry from the yahoo they'd beaten the location out of, whose hands were so covered in rings he had trouble using them.

"Great! You're the bigwig hotshot here! You probably know how to use the Steam better than these losers! Tell us everything!"

"...You wish for me to...train you in the healing arts?"

"Fuck no! I wanna know how to blow things up! Like your loser soldiers! Except, you know, not a bunch of losers!"

"...my people. Let them go, then." Diana said, indicating those she had come to speak to, who had begun to back away and look for the exits.

"...we don't need them, Horace." Brett said.

"Like hell! What we NEED is to be taken seriously! Or the second we don't have any leverage this old fart's going to..."

"You should not do that." Diana said.

"Huh?"

"Draw such judgments. You're angry. All of you are angry. Is this what you want?"

"What is this, truth or dare? I want you to know that if you don't start talking, this is going to be even more of your people!" Horace said, and shattered his limestone block before hurling the pebbles outward like a thousand bullets.

It was an eerie thing, watching people scream in mortal terror without making a sound.

The limestone bullets proved equally impotent, impacting on empty air and stopping. Horace frowned, and then growled when his repeated efforts to make the rocks go forward was completely blunted.

"OH FUCK THIS SHIELD SHIT! HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!" Horace said, not noticing how Diana's hands were gripping the alter before her. "You know what, I changed my mind! Brett, go kill her!"

"What?!" Doreen said, her blonde hair flying around as she snapped her gaze towards Horace.

"What?!" Brett said in a near-echo. "Horace, Saguaro told us to get stuff, like magic things! Info! She didn't say go around killing people willy-nilly!"

"You don't get it, do you? Don't you see what this place IS?' Horace said. "It's a churchtown! A super mega church town! This is Chaktown with a different paint job! This is where all the assholes gather up and decide who should die and be tortured because they think God wants them to take all their money in between wanting them dead for being gay!"

"That is not true." Diana said.

"Like FUCK it's not! How many damn kids YOU raping, bitch?"

"...If those who claim to speak for God have done you harm, then I am sorry. Please...rage is a poison, you do not need to suffer in its grip here..."

"Suffer THIS! Brett, go stab a bitch."

"...I don't know, Horace..."

"Hey asshole, I'm TELLING you."

"You are NOT my superior!"

"Yeah, you can't give us orders, Horace." Doreen said.

"We aren't here to relieve YOUR grudges." Greg said.

"Hey, asswipes, you forgetting whose side we picked?"

"I felt Kou was being timid, that doesn't mean I'm now a mass murderer, Horace." Greg said.

"We're the MAGPIES, Holland. Morality is for OTHER PEOPLE. You think Saguaro is going to think you wanting to play nice is good? No, she'll kick you back to the Nest, and since you turned on Kou you'll get stuck with one of the other Seven. Probably Muerto."

"You are welcome here." Diana said.

"What?" Brett said.

"Oh don't fall for this! Brett go kill her before I have to just tear this whole place down and see what happens."

"Anger shackles you, it blinds...it is not something easily borne, and you all bow beneath its weight...if you feel trapped, you are welcome here, all are welcome...there is no suffering that cannot be endured and learned from togeth-"

Brett went for center of mass. He still couldn't look as he threw the blade of metal he formed, and he hoped it would be quiet and quick.

It wasn't. But not for the reason he expected. He felt the mental feedback as the blade struck flesh and impaled deep. The silence became even deeper. In the corner of his eyes, Brett could see the shock and outrage of the semi-trapped congregation, some actually bursting into tears.

"...If you wish it, there is no door here closed to you."

The voice was pained, but strong. Brett vaguely was aware of Horace's shocked face before he turned back to see the woman, her hand on the long thin blade of metal sticking out of her chest, her purple robes staining red as she began to slowly withdraw the blade.

"Rage is a part of you...but just...one part. Those who let it be their whole...cannot be whole. Whatever torments your soul...will not be found in anger, or hate...if that is all you know...then my door is open..."

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FUCKING KIDDING?!" Horace said. "WE DON'T NEED YOUR DAMN RELIGION!"

"You are hurting. We...bring peace, to those who desire it...no matter what their reasons may be. We are all...loved...we merely have to decide by who...to see it ourselves."

"For the love of...Brett, get her damn heart this time!"

"I..."

"NOW! YOU THINK SHE'LL TAKE YOU AND MAKE YOU ALL SHINY HAPPY? THESE PLACES EXIST FOR ONE REASON ONLY! THE EXACT REASON WE DO! EXCEPT WE DON'T MAKE UP STORIES!"

"I..."

"YOU WANNA BE FED TO THE FUNERAL KING?!"

Brett's face paled, and he recalled his blade and threw it again. This time, he hit the heart. He knew. He felt it.

...Her face barely changed. There was pain there, and sorrow. Yet...she did not mirror the hostility directed at her.

Instead...she reached up and began to draw the blade back out. Brett somehow went even whiter. Her heart was still beating, around the impalement. Brett knew enough about anatomy that even if that worked, it must have been agony...

"They suffered for our sins. As their voice, if I must suffer, then mine pales..." Diana said, as she again worked the blade free. It dropped to the ground.

It was around then that Brett realized that Horace hadn't stopped slamming his pebbles against the shields erected against them. And he hadn't gotten anywhere, even now.

"...guh...wuh..." Horace said, before he finally regained his fire. "YOU SUCK, BRETT! Doreen, pop her head!"

"And if that doesn't work?" Greg said.

"Then we'll break things until it does! Doreen!"

"No." Doreen said.

"What?!!"

"No! This is wrong, Horace! We...she's right, why are you so mad?"

"MAD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I'M JUST THE ONLY ONE OF YOU HERE WITH STONES." Horace growled. For a moment he debated re-directing his limestone bullets, but ultimately decided he didn't want to risk some trick. Instead, he stalked over to the fallen soldier he'd bashed into the floor and relieved him of his sword.

"Horace, come on! Stop! We can just go...!" Brett said.

"The doors remain open."

"YOU LET THE WRONG ONE IN, BITCH." Horace said, as he drew close and raised the sword. "GO TO HELL!"

The blade came down.

The blade bit deep.

The blood flew.

Then it landed on Horace, and it all went wrong. Suddenly he felt like every single part of him was having red-hot needles jammed into it, and even as he recoiled and screamed, the sword flying from flaming fingers, he had a sudden second, and worse, revelation. He was not on fire. His skin, his combat clothes, didn't have a mark on them. Save the blood.

The pain vanished as quickly as it came...and his energy went with it, Horace Scott suddenly feeling like he'd run the whole way to this city at a sprint. Within a second, he couldn't stand. Within another, he couldn't move.

"...Hell is not just a final fate." Diana said. Once again, she hadn't taken one step back, even as the blood soaked her.

Then Horace was gone, carried away by the dark.

----

The dark he came back out of. No one was more surprised than Horace.

He was back outside the city...and there was about three thousand or so VERY angry troops glaring at him. He was also soaked in water.

"I cannot have you put my people at risk."

Her. That damn woman, a simple white cloak over her robes, primary to hide the damage...and there were his three 'fellows', looking dully at him.

"You do not have to be alone. For no one behaves this way if they're alone." Diana said. "Is solitude your will?"

"...you ASSHOLES! You know what the Magpies do to traitors!"

"We're not defecting. We resign." Doreen said.

"Hostile work environment." Brett said.

"Screw you. SCREW ALL OF YOU. These shits will screw you, and SCREW you, and then we'll come back, and we'll skin you fucks alive, and I'll stick YOUR HEAD ON A POLE TO WATCH!" Horace said, pointing at Diana.

"I will pray for you."

"Save your breath." Horace said, getting up and stalking off. He expected every step for the next ten miles to be the one that triggered the ambush. It was hard to say if he was more surprised or angered that it never came.

"Some need more time. Some..." Diana said, having turned away. "We can shelter you for a time, but it would be best if you could discover a means of employment so you can have freedom. You will, however, have permanent sanctuary from those who would wish to prosecute you. The door is not open for revenge or hatred. Any who wishes to bring it to our gate will find our shields firm and our blades terrible and swift."

"...Our guys...they're strong, miss...and we found some stuff..."

"They shall reap what they sow." Diana said, heading in through the gates of Embrace, passing the statues dedicated to her son and daughter and their allies who had crushed the vile evils of Schwarz Spinne. "May some break off their shackles and turn to the light and the way, or a better path for them. Thanks be to God."

"Amen." Said the legions surrounding the three ex-Magpies.

Perhaps the most astonishing thing was there wasn't a single angry eye when they did not echo it.

Fool's Gold

Once upon a time, the isolation would have been the worst part. The lack of contact. Hell, that would have been the smart thing to do...

But people didn't always do the smart thing.

"Okay, let's start from the top."

Godfather idly swirled her wine, keeping her back to the prisoner. Keep them guessing, that was the trick. Keep them nervous. If they can't see your face, they can't tell what you're going to do, and nobody likes an enemy who's predictable...

"You have information I want. Information about your world and the way it works. I could use some of that, and save myself a lot of time in messing about with technology only half my men understand. And, obviously, I can't just beat it out of you, because I'm not a hired thug."

Turn, slowly... perfect. Flash those pearly whites...

"So... How about it? A cosy draft job with any of my boys, hourly wages and all the clams you can eat. In return, you tell me anything and everything, and I only listen to the good bits. Sound fair?"

"No."

A brief pause.

"That's in regards to the offer, by the way. Though it's also an answer to your last question."

That was the problem with a giant organization, after all. Too big, too complicated, too many moving parts. The left hand stopped knowing what the right hand was doing. Really, the smartest thing to do would have been to keep doing this. The cell, sealed off in a box, barely able to touch the outside world. Isolation was hell on social animals...

But mankind, and especially its evils, rarely understood the subtleties...

Eh, they always refuse the first one. No matter. Keep calm, keep smiling.

"What about a management position, then? Don't even have to go out to earn your pay, and you get somebody to press your suit! And you get discounts at all the fancy restaurants!

"...although all the waiters get nervous when we show up. Really, what's with that?"

"No."

Metal, and thick at that. Even if whatever weirdness they'd hacked together wasn't crippling him, he probably couldn't have punched his way out. Even if he COULD have, it would have taken time, and time was not on his side, especially in the heart of enemy territory. The only way in was a handprint scanner...

The smart thing would have been to let him stew in the isolation.

The human heart and mind were often at loggerheads that way.

Alright, arschloch. You're making it hard to keep composed, especially when we can feel the wine glass cracking in our grip. Those things are expensive.

"How about this? Joint leadership, with me. Half of the criminal underworld would stab their own mothers to share my dinner table, and that's just on a professional level."

"...Since it is clear I have to spell it out, NO. I will NOT betray my world, my friends, my PEOPLE, for you, even if you offer me everything in this world, the next, and throw in every single damn star in the sky. GO. TO. HELL."

The funniest thing (but not ha-ha funny) was, that hadn't earned him this. You would expect otherwise...

Crack. Aaaaaaand there it goes.

If Godfather was capable of it, she would be jetting steam from her ears. As it is, the gathering shadows were enough to make the two armed soldiers present take a nervous two steps back.

"I don't think you realize," she hissed through gritted teeth, "just how lucky you are. If you had been who my men thought you were, I would have come up and killed you myself. And just in case you mistake me for the average brain-dead tyrant, I have done my best to make you at least adequately comfortable. The least you can do is give me this one favour."

She let the glass shards trickle from her hand. There wasn't a drop of blood on them.

"Am I going about this wrong? Please, tell me! Am I asking too much, when all of this has practically gift-wrapped itself and all I need is the price tag cut off?! Do I have to start singing?!"

"...You could have treated me worse, yes. Thank you for that."

A pause.

"...but no. If you're not the average brain dead tyrant, you'll understand that I won't betray my world and its people. I...won't. No matter what. Singing? Fine. Do it."

Did she notice the tremble? It was definitely there. But...how could he give any other answer?

"You don't wanna do that, man," piped up one of the guards. "It's like if Niki Minaj-"

Too late. Godfather threw back her head and what came out of her mouth was worse than Niki Minaj with a head cold. It was more akin to a very bad impersonation of Kylie Minogue, if the impersonator was an elderly crow with a throat full of nail files. The guards actually cringed and covered their ears at several points.

Thankfully, it was over in a scant minute. A minute that probably seemed like an hour, especially to the shaking soldiers, who picked themselves up and exchanged nervous glances.

Perhaps the reaction from the stranger surprised them.

"....um...look, I'm a shit liar. That was terrible, but I can't sing either, so I'm not one to judge talent. If you were going to brainwash or break something in my head, it doesn't work. Plus, I endured being near the queen in yellow...that's kind of a step down."

Godfather snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Whatever. But you do realise, of course, that you don't have any other options? It's not like I'm going to let you wander all around my top-secret headquarters and stumble upon all my deadly secrets, like in Dracula. And my boys aren't going to release you even if you ask nicely. So either you tell me what I want, or you stay here and become part of the furniture."

The shadows around her dispersed slightly - a sure sign she was regaining her composure again.

"...is this really necessary? Is the only way to get what you want pillage and conquest?"

"Oh, really!" Godfather huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You make it sound like that's all we do! No, mostly we're in the shady deals and smuggling business, like any good criminal empire. Just think of this as us branching out into new markets, that's all! But to answer your question...

Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"It's a start. Then I was thinking of kicking back and watching half the world retcon itself whilst the money and booze rolls in."

"Then why am I here?"
 
"Wrong place, wrong time. Besides, that was only a trial run! When we get this thing going, we're going to do it properly!"

"Then please. Please. Just let me go and leave my world alone."

Godfather paused, raising a finger to her lip.

"Well, you know, I'd love to... Except. Point one. You put down fifty of my boys without breaking a sweat, and why would I let someone that dangerous out when I've got him under control? You might try to warn people about us, even, and that would just make things complicated.

"Point two. Saguaro's a bitch and cut off all communications in the name of building a facility. So I just have to take what I'm given, at this moment in time. Once she stops goose-stepping for five seconds, I'll try and whip her into line... but at the same time, might as well make use of these weird minerals we're getting from the feed pipes, right?"

"...fine. Lock me up, then."

"Heh. You'll see it my way, soon enough. You've got all the time in the world to think this through!"

Godfather turned and began strutting out of the cell, the soldiers reluctantly following. At the fame, she paused, causing the other two to screech to a halt, and turned back, flashing a grin.

"Or, should I say... my world?"

Then she left. As did the guards. The door hissed shut as though it were an audience member in a pantomine, and the lock beeped and clicked into position.

Just as it opened now.

"...You again." Ash said.

The godslayer had seen better days. True, that was his natural state half the time, but at least it was tied to getting something done. Now here he was, stripped of everything, Erdrick AWOL, wearing dull black prison clothes.

A contrast to the suit of metal of his visitor.

"Ash Marsello. Ceremonial Knight-Glorious of The Realms. 12, 12, 12...I honestly no longer have a serial number if I ever did. You ARE aware your boss ordered humane treatment and isn't always going to be asleep at the switch?"

Behind the metal faceplate, Ivan Vanko, codenamed Mr. Silver, cracked a dry grin.

"You assume too much, little man."

The classic haymaker. Dangerous even if done by a normal man. By a large man in armor? That could even be fatal.

Ash didn't IGNORE it, but the fact that he only took one step back was notable. The second one managed to knock him down, but he was already off balance.

"You know, you really shouldn't have a problem. You came crashing into my town and I defended it. It's not like I pantsed you in front of your buddies."

An ugly chuckle, muffled by the mask.

"Oh, so you forget the part where you humiliated me? Denied me my target? Please, allow me to refresh memory!"

A vicious kick for the ribs. Felt, but Ivan distinctly didn't feel certain things. Like bones breaking. Or air exploding out of lungs.

"And what did Sam ever do to you, anyway? Why care so much if you were just hired?"

"I could ask same of you! You have no stake! Nicodemus was my target, and my only target! You did not know him, yet you interfered!"

Rage taking over for a moment, Ivan thumped the wall with one massive fist. The clang echoed for quite a bit, even as the metal-clad Russian kept ranting as Ash got up.

"It is my job! My life! And I was happy! Then you come and make me look like pathetic weakling! Just like my father and Stark thieves!"

This time, a massive swinging clothesline.

"...if this...is how you handle it...then they're still making you weak...and you...beating on an unarmed man incapable of fighting back...will not restore your lost face..."

Ivan snorted, a harsh grating sound.

"You think I am weak? Loyalty is weak. That is why I take job - I survive by taking what comes my way. It is you, who defend complete strangers based on childish morals, who are weak."

"Oh really? Then why are you here?"

Ivan firstly responded with a sharp jab to the face. Mostly out of spite.

"You are not listening!" he snapped. "To survive! I care not for Godfather's idiotic plan! But better this than cold streets with no bread and being beaten with sticks! And if I must work for mad woman, then so be it, but will not march in step to her tune!"

The next thing Ash knew, a massive paw of a hand clamped around his throat and lifted him up into the air. From the angle presented, he could clearly see the flickering, repressed anger in the man's eyes.

"I work here for as long as it suits me. And when I have what I need, I take leave of Magpies. I illiterate this from memory and be Ivan Vanko again. Not Mister Silver."

"...Obliterate."

"What?"

"...I think you mean obliterate."

"What?"

"Obliterate. You said illiterate...that means you can't read. Props for trying to increase your word power, though." Ash said. "Ivan, you want peace? It's not..."

That's as far as Ash got before a roar of anger nearly blotted out his hearing altogether. Next came the sickening lurch, and the world span crazily for a moment before he impacted, shoulders-first and quite painfully, with the floor of the cell. Such was the force of Ivan's throw that the poor warrior actually folded up accordion-fashion, before he properly collapsed to the ground completely, head ringing and spine complaining vehemently.

There was a long, awful pause, punctuated by the rattling of Ivan's breathing.

"...I will have my peace when are dead. Presumptuous brat."

And it came as something of a mixed surprise and blessing when the footsteps moved away instead of towards him. Evidently, the fun of beating up an old enemy had been lost to the now aggravated Russian.

Ash, with some effort, managed to crawl up onto his bed. He was vaguely aware of them on the other side of the door.

"...you'd best get that locked...no sense...getting him mad at you too."

And so the door did close.

"...Name...rank...serial number..." Ash mumbled.

 Ash Marsello.

Would-be hero.

Prisoner of the Magpies.