It had been two weeks since the GSA had acquired the second Divine Chalice in England. On the other side of the planet, in the Tamberly farmhouse, Buck cracked open a beer and put on the television, exhausted after a long day of scheduling the next leg of the world tour. Running the family business was a tough gig. But the numbers didn't lie. Everything from the power bills to employee scheduling was operating at maximum efficiency, better than when even Colt had served as fed president.
Not that he had said anything about Buck's success directly to his one and only son. A few short messages on the answering machine were all Buck Tamberly could hope for. Still, it was something. Besides that, Victor and Iggy--having stepped back from the World Tour since the incident in Mexico, had proved helpful allies, the former having taken on duties as head of human resources. Iggy, whose movements and motivations were a sly and deliberate mystery, offered sound judgment and honest advisement, without sugar coating. Whether it as loyalty to the man who had put them in the spotlight and offered them a chance at superstardom, or Buck's team-player attitude, the two spellbreakers had forged a tight bond with their interim president. Buck and Victor had even begun the preliminary stages of getting an on-site mental health program (something the roster sorely needed).
Finally, after a long day of crunching numbers, Buck poured food into Zeus' bowl and put his feet up, switching to a TV channel he was sure his father didn't know they had.
On set, a muscular man in a business suit sat at a desk while a very attractive, thin, blonde man pleaded his case.
"But sir, I don't know how I'll be able to pay you to get all of these taxes filed in time."
The giant, absurdly attractive accountant brushed the papers off his desk and pulled the blonde in for a tight kiss.
"I'm sure we can find some way. Why don't we start with section c, item 1?"
Buck gripped the side of the couch and bit his lip, thinking how much the blonde reminded him of Spike (who he missed dearly). "Oh fuck yeah, item 1," he sighed, with arousal. "Tax deductions get me so--"
*Knock knock*
Buck whipped his head towards the livingroom window. A large man in a mask stared back at him.
Buck screamed, nearly jumping out of his skin. "AAAAEEE!!!" To his left, Zeus glared at him for interrupting his third nap of the day.
The man in the mask smiled and pointed to his head. "Buck, it's me!"
It was Victor. AKA El Amante. Buck, heart still beating out of his chest, quickly fumbled for the remote, shut the TV off, and went for the door. "Go down...go down...come on..." Not that El Amante would care, anyway...
El Amante, broad like the side of the barn, stood at the door with his arms folded (Buck swore the man was always striking a pose without realizing it) in his bodybuilding shorts and a black shirt that said 'Free Hugs'. Such casual wear, combined with his ever-present mask, was a nearly comical sight.
Buck sighed. "You scared the SHIT out of me, Vic!. I thought you were a burglar.
Victor blinked, and tossed his beautiful hair over his shoulder. "Why?" he asked, sincerely.
"Uhhh...cuz you're wearing a mask, bud."
"Ha! I always wear a mask." Victor gave Buck a tight squeeze, kissed him on both checks (twice) and invited himself in. "Now, you must turn on the TV"
"Uhhh why? Oh Vic, maybe you should let me--"
It was too late. Victor grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on.//
"Oh yeah, that's right, you saved all of those invoices, didn't you, bad boy? Who's gonna get a big, fat return?"
"Me, sir!"
Victro shrugged and flicked through the channels. "What were you watching?"
"Oh, you know, sports."
"I like that kind of sport," Victor said, winking. Buck felt himself swoon. Thankfully, Victor was all business right now. The urgency, and his presence, suddenly kicked Buck into business mode.
Vic switched on to the international news channel, A pretty female anchor with curly hair and a stunning, padded business suit, sat at a desk. "This is international news. Fresh off yesterday's report that French astronaut Jeanne DeRenne's prototype space vehicle veered off course, another tragedy has struck France's capital. We go live to the scene, where French-American correspondent Pam Plemousse is reporting from from the 7th arrondissement.
A pretty redhead in a pink dress, with grapefruit earrings, stood shivering in front of the Eiffel tower lawn, now covered in a thick sheet of ice. The landscape looked like a Yuletide village, or a gingerbread arrangement. Sheets of snow and frost covered the city. Icicles dripped from streetlights and rooftops, turning the City of Lights into a winter wonderland and the Eiffel Tower into a fairy tale witch's frozen abode.
"I am here standing in front of ze Eiffel Tower, where it eez reported a Cryos magi has cast a frozen enchantment across most of zis side of the Sein. While the Parisian police and anti-magick task force surround ze tower, inside, an unconfirmed number of assailants are currently engaging in magickal combat."
Confused, Buck wasn't quite following along at home, til Victor asked, "Do you know where Robbie and Lachlan are?"
"Well, it's Wednesday, so probably getting drunk and throwing watermelons off highways. Why?"
"Hmm. See for yourself."
On TV, the camera zoomed in to a spider-web of crystalline pillars upholding a platform around the center of the tower spire. Buck could barely make out the muscular builds of Icewolf and Deadboy staring down two figures at the back of the shot.
Buck's shoulders sunk. "Robbie found out Spike kissed Cian."
Victor gasped, nearly knocking Buck out of his socks again. "He did...WHAT!" he said as he dropped the remote.
"I know," Buck grumbled. "Lucky bastard."
"Which one?"
"Never mind that. Vic, I knew this was gonna happen. Robbie is more powerful than he thinks he is. Deadboy probably goaded him on just for kicks." Buck tore his hair. "Granted I love a bad boy as much as the next heel, but those two are so hard to manage!"
Victor agreed, just as the TV cut away to the next breaking story about Russian incursion into Poland. "Cian and Spike are up there now, dealing with them."
It was the worst news Buck could have heard. "Are you kidding? I'll bust both their spines, and not fun either! After Joseph sleepered them both out, I thought they would have at least learned to hold back."
"That's the thing, cariño! Joseph went IN first!"
Dad is gonna kill me...no...everyone. Bristling with anxiety and anger, Buck turned back to the TV, and the icy spire that was once France's most recognized monument. "Which means..."
"Deadboy finally got his revenge." Victor lowered his head, gravely. "The Tiger...is on ice!"
---
The sharp, bladed chunk of ice--formed in the shape and size of a hockey puck, naturally--missed Spike's shoulder by seconds. It was hard to spellbreak in a winter coat, Spike thought, slipping and falling to the frozen floor. It was even harder standing on a ring covered in a thick sheet of ice.
Brushing himself off, Spike looked up at the chamber surrounding the tower's viewing balcony. A sparkling canopy of ice sheltered them, forming the roof of an 'audience chamber; for some deranged, ice wizard. Only, the deranged ice wizard in question was a hockey playing hunk with a one-track obsession for the beefy redheaded doing his best to help Spike off his feet, and tripping over himself in the process.
Robbie had never been shy about his love of figure skating, in addition to hockey. He was such a testosterone-fueled tank that nobody would question the femininity of his tastes anyway. His 'entrance gear' (as Robbie was the only one in the frozen arena wearing spellbreaking attire...for reasons Spike hadn't deduced) took inspiration from the graceful sport. A gossamer robe, a mantel, hung over his shoulders, silhouetting his sculpted body, visible beneath. It was covered with flecks of frosted beads in various blues and whites, forming the shape of icy flowers. Spike had seen similar embroidery in Robbie's room, and recalled the traditional, Anishinaabe beadwork his mother often sent him. A silver brocade, in the shape of a wolf's head, clasped his robe tight. Icewolf stood tall and powerful, against the shredded and frosted French flag, skewered on its own spire.
Next to him, curled up in punish observation atop a throne made of sharp icicles, Deadboy (in a dark peacoat with skull-shaped buttons) grinned in amusement. One, black-nail polished hand was fastened around the throne arm rest, and the other atop a massive, transparent crystal of ice. Inside, the vague shape of Joseph Haw (White Tiger) floated, mouth open in shock from the moment he realized he had wandered into a trap.
It was unlike Joseph, Spike thought. He was probably the smartest of the whole roster (not that it was a high bar to surmount), and easily their most powerful. But when Spike and Cian had burst into the room, hot on the determined Tiger's path, Spike had noticed his body language shift as soon as he set eyes on Deadboy. It wasn't fear, of course, that compelled the Singaporean hunk--he had defeated Deadboy to become champion, after all. No. Spike knew that look well. Disappointment. And beneath that, maybe, a longing.
And stranger still, a range of odd emotions had played across Deadboy's face too. Guilt. Frustration. Anger. Spike generally needed things spelled out from him, but in a form of entertainment where stories were often told in looks and expressions, he detected a deeper narrative between the two.
Unfortunately, it had been Joseph's undoing. Icewolf--unlike his chipper, cocky self--pounced on Joseph like the alpha wolf he claimed to be, first injecting him with soma (to survive what would come next) and then cocooning him in crystalline frost. It was a sneaky, heel tactic, for sure. In seconds, Joseph was encased in a thick block of ice. Flash frozen.
Spike stood, clutching his arm and trying desperately not to lose his footing again. When I said I wanted to be in an Eiffel Tower with Cian and Robbie, I really should have specified. "Sucks that you've gone crazy, Icy, because you're really serving with that new gear look, stud!" His voice carried in a sonorous echo throughout the frozen chamber. "Now...defrost the hunk, you villains!"
Deadboy's ghoulish giggling was typical, but magnified by the room's acoustics. "Nah, I think little kitty looks better this way." He stroked White Tiger's frozen tomb with his finger tip. "So...helpless. So...mine."
He'd gone off the deep end, which was saying a lot of for the already manic Deadboy. Spike frowned. "Okay, what happened to me being your boyfriend?"
"Hmm?" Deadboy turned his nose up at him. "I never said you were my ONLY boyfriend, Spike!"
A low, bestial growl from his left cut the conversation short. Icewolf rose into the air, his gossamer cape billowing behind him in the frosty wind. His eyes shone with a mint-colored glow.
"CIAAAAANNNNN!" he roared, shaking the chamber and loosening a few icicles form the ceiling, which came crashing down dangerously close to Cian and Spike. Icewolf tore away his robe, revealing his intimidating, athletic body. Instead of oil, a glittery frost covered his muscles, making him shimmer and shine in the wintery half-light.
It was the first and only time Spike had ever taken him seriously. Now...he was afraid.
Cian bit his lip, unsure of what to do--he didn't even know Robbie liked him! The concept of being desired was so alien, anyway. "Er, yes, Robbie?"
The illusion of intimidation faltered. Instead of another growl, Robbie sniffled. "You broke my heart, you red-headed heartbreaker!" He snorted, sobbed, and then recomposed himself, summoning a powerful, cold gale. "Now, I'll BREAK YOUUUU! MY HEART NO LONGER BEATS! IT HAS BEEN FROZEN BY YOUR BETRAYAL! AND SO, PARIS MUST FREEZE!"
The frozen hurricane nearly knocked Cian and Spike back to the ground. They braced themselves against the wind, which chilled them to the bone.
Spike gritted his teeth. "Robbie, calm down! It's not like that. I was caught in the moment! I don't actually have a crush on Cian!"
"Gee, thanks!" Cian mumbled.
"I mean...not like that! I have a crush on everyone!" Spike realized he was, yet again, digging a hole for himself. Possibly his own grave. He wondered how long Joseph would last in his ice block before the soma ran out and his body succumbed. Icy and Deadboy wouldn't let that happen...would they?
Deadboy laughed mockingly. "Oh, my sweet, adorable, boyfriend. How could you betray me with that pasty thumb over there?"
Cian realized he was talking about himself, just as he dodged another ice bullet from Robbie. He was slowly but surely gaining footing. "Hey, boyo, I'm just as white as you ar--" Another icicile whipped past his head. "Icy, calm down, lad!"
"NO!" Icewolf proclaimed. He floated down to the floor, meeting Cian head on. "I can NEVER CALM DOWN AGAIN!"
Skating along the ground with his ice blades, the Wolf collided with Cian, body checking him so hard that the bulky boy went flying into the wall. Cian grunted, the wind knocked out of him, while Spike looked on in shock. Icewolf wasn't playing around.
"France will freeze!" Robbie said, bathed in his frosty aura. "Besides, you don't know how cathartic this is for a First Nations Canadian."
"I taught him that word!" Daemian quipped.
Spike glared at them both. "What, Canadian?" Cian's groans from the floor demanded his attention.
Slowly raising to his feet, Cian spat on the ice. "I can't believe I'm going to die surrounded by a bunch of himbos." He sighed. "No...wait...I can."
Spike considered himself a forgiving guy--easily triggered, but quick to make peace--but this was testing his patience. He was still bruised and sore from a match he'd lost to the French Stallion (and not sore just from the match itself either...) and had no time for Robbie's frozen, rejection fallout. He also suspected Deadboy had goaded him on, maybe even enhanced Robbie's mind with conjured, negative emotion.
"Cut the crap, Deadboy! Where's Brax to talk some sense into you?"
Deadboy pressed his palm to his face and sighed deeply, exhaling cold, visible breath. "At a pastry making class at the Cordon Bleu."
Spike's mind turned to the image of a giant, buff demon in an ill-fitting blue apron, daintily carrying a tray of mille-feuilles and macarons to a table of tiny, elderly French women nodding their heads in tacit approval. "Ugh, yeah that tracks."
Robbie yanked Cian up by the hair. A frozen vice clamped down around Cian's waist, binding his arms to his sides. He was trapped.
Robbie looked into his eyes and licked his lips. "This isn't how I imagined our first fight would go down, but I'll take it, eh?"
"Your pickup game leaves a lot to be desired, boyo," Cian spat. "Also, you need a breath mint."
"Hmm?" Robbie leaned back, hurt, eyes watering. "You're...so mean." He wiped the tears away; they turned to ice as they hit the ground. Deadboy grinned. "I'd have it no other way! I love a bad boy. So much more fun to tame! You're gonna be my pup, Cian. Just you wait! But...I won't kiss you like this. You don't want that. I'll prove to you that I'll be an awesome boyfriend first!"
"Well, it's a bit of a rocky start," Cian said, struggling. "Damn, this ice is thick."
"Ain't the only thing that's thick," Robbie said, flexing his muscles. Everyone else in the room groaned.
An abrupt, loud crack diverted everyone's attention to the ceiling. As Robbie looked up, something small hit his cheek. He wiped it away. "Huh? Water?"
The ceiling was dripping. The ice was melting, filling the room with cracks and groans from the structure breaking down.
Spike and Deadboy quickly hurried onto the tower's metal balcony, where Joseph's cold tomb rested between railing and lookout telescopes. "Let's go, Robbie!" Spike called back.
Robbie grunted. With pain in his watery, red eyes, he opened his palm. The ice around Cian turned to water, freeing him. Annoyed, Cian turned his back on Icewolf and hoisted himself over the railing onto the tower proper.
But Robbie was still in a mood. "Who the HELL melted my ice, eh?" he said, stomping over to the others. Around him, the chamber broken off into pieces, turning into liquid. By the time Robbie reached the others, it was like a fine rain and mist coming down around them, slowly giving way to a breath-taking view of Paris defrosting.
"What an...interesting gimmick."
Spike turned to the doorway. He knew that voice. It made his heart beat, with fear and lust. Vahni Rage, arms crossed, leaned against the doorway. He was dressed in a burgandy winter coat, and had pulled his hair into a ponytail.
Sike glared daggers at him. Inwardly, his thoughts differed. Damn, that ponytail really works for him. "Rage!?" he snarled.
The fire-wielding heel smirked. "Hello, my precious beast. Unfortunately, I have no time to spend on you today." He nodded to the brutes behind him, consoling each other with defeat. "A powerful enchantment, Icewolf. But sadly, not powerful enough. Daemian. Icewolf. I will cut to the point. I am seeking an unusual alliance."
"NO WAY!" Cian and Spike spat at the same time.
Deadboy grinned. "Cool! I'm in."
"DEADBOY!"
Rage blinked. "But I haven't even proposed...?" He shook his head. "Anyways, Firebird and I are having some...disagreements. I am going about achieving the federation's goals on my own terms. To that end, I wish to use--I mean--ally myself with your services in hopes of locating the next Divine Chalice."
"Mate, I already said I'm in!" Deadboy squealed with evil delight. He made the double devil horns in the hair and stuck out his tongue. "Heel squad! We gotta' come up with a stable name!" Next to him, Robbie remained dejected, distant, and hurt
He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I guess. I mean...we did totally gank Dr. Reye's research, and now we know that the Divine Chalice of Voice is here in Paris."
Deadboy slapped his hand against is forehead, noting Cian and Spike's smug looks of triumph at Robbie so easily spilling the secret. "ROBBIE!"
Rage stroked his chin, approvingly. "Very good." He brushed past Spike and Cian without even paying them any mind, instead cantering his attention on the still-frozen Joseph in ice. "Hmm. As much as I love seeing your little champion rendered useless...I desire to face him on the battlefield so I may destroy him myself. I will unthaw him."
Spike's brain automatically zeroed in on potentially trickery and stepped on front of Rage, locking his eyes on him.
Rage pressed himself into Spike, face inches away. "Make no mistake, little boys of the GSA. This isn't help. It's pathetic that your so-called champion allowed himself to get captured, but I wish to test him myself and I can't do that if you do not allow me to..." he pointed an accusatory finger at Icewolf, "Unfuck what that one did!"
Spike scoffed. He shuffled aside, allowing Rage to pass. "Just don't try anything funny."
"I am many things," Rage sniffed placing his hands on the ice. "Humorous is not one of them."
"Yeah, that's for sure." Spike scowled at Icewolf and Deadboy, who had already summoned in the elevator. Deadboy stuck his tongue out at the Sailorboy, but Robbie was much more taciturn. He refused to look at Cian.
"You will fall to me in time, beautiful Spikem," Rage said. The ice slowly melted into a fine slush, rinsing over the edge of the sky-high terrace. Joseph fell out, soaked wet, and coughing.
Rage smirked at the disgraced hero, and even raised his leather shoe to press it against White Tiger's head...until one look from Spike suggested he'd rather not.
"Hmph." Rage tugged on his lapels. "Well then, we should be off. Dark Magi. Ice wizard."
The elevator doors opened. "You bloody legend. Ya coming, Robbie?"
"Ehhh." Icewolf hunched up his shoulders. He turned to Cian, with the same expression as a kicked puppy. "Awww babe, I can't stay mad at you! One kiss between you and the sailor twink isn't gonna ruin what we got. And once I have the Divine Chalice, your big, strong wolfie will come back for you, my beefy, little cubcake."
Cian grimaced. "...Er right. Take care of yourself, Whitewolf."
Robbie gave him the finger guns as he backstapped into the elevator with the two, annoyed, imposing men. "Remember, sexy. Wolves mate for life!"
The doors shut. There was peace, and only the rush of the wind from the top of the tower to fill in the silence.
That was, until Joseph hacked up a mouthful of water. "You didn't see that," he wheezed, waving away Cian and Spike's help. "You didn't see any of this. I have a reputation to uphold. I just got these clothes too, and now they're soaked." He clenched his fist and struck an intimidating pose, glaring into a camera that wasn't there. "Deadboy. We have a score to settle. I won't rest until you are bound in my red rope, stripped, and laid out, and put in your place. You dare call me yours? No, boy. You're mine. And I'll make sure you don't forget it."
Cian stared at Joseph, slack jawed. "Joe...who the hell are you talking to?"
"Oh, sorry," Joseph blushed. "I think I must be delirious. I thought I was cutting a promo."
And while that imagery was all very arousing for Spike, this day was already too much for him to bear. "Cian, did our 'boyfriends' just leave us to help out fuckin' Vahni Rage?"
The Irish stud exhaled. He placed his hands on top of the cold railing and looked out. wistfully, towards the Champs Elysees. "Spike, I've been gay for exactly two weeks now and I already hate men even more when I wasn't."
---
The ghostly glow from Deadboy's green, phosphorescent lantern cast strange shadows across the skulls embedded into the sides of the Parisian catacombs. What had once been a labyrinth of underground mines had been transformed into a giant grave when the dead buried in the Paris cemeteries proved too numerous to contain (stories of bones breaking through walls in cellar were not uncommon). Of course, the ossuary was only one wing of the subterranean maze. Nobody knew how far it went, for it had never been truly mapped, and its numerous passages had been flooded or caved in where it was especially deep.
All Parisians knew that the catacombs were to be avoided. There were stories, of foolhardy explorers vanishing down there, their bodies never recovered. Whispers of dark cults and demons still travelled through the magickal communities of Paris. Some even believed the catacombs terminated at the entrance of hell itself.
These legends carried some weight. When the Albans and the United Resistance used the catacombs for secret bunkers and espionage, numerous curiosities were uncovered: alchemical formulas etched into walls, manuscripts, discarded laboratory equipment from bygone eras. During the golden age of alchemy, before the schisms divided France, Bohemia, and Italy into snarling factions, the catacombs were well used by devotees of the 'Great Work'.
This lore may have been lost on Deadboy and Icewolf, however, as they scurried through the moldy tunnels. Down here, the tight confines swallowed sound. No echoes. It was enough for Robbie, normally quite confident, to catch a chill.
"This place is creepy, bro!"
Deadboy grinnded, holding his lamp up to the map they had stolen from Tiago, T. Rex's sane(r) alter-ego. "I know, isn't it great?"
Robbie didn't think so, but he was along for the ride now. He'd made a deal with a devil--that devil being Deadboy--and now he had to see it through. Damn, I could go for one of Brax's croissants right now. How come demon friend can't help out his best bro? "Sure was cool of Vahni to let us do this by ourselves. He must trust us a lot."
"Nah," Deadboy said, deciding on a passage. "He's definitely just using us. But what he don't know is that we're actually using him."
"Woaaah. Galaxy brain, bro!"
Robbie followed Deadboy to the dilapidated corridor, trying to ignore the very human pile of bones wedged into the wall to his right. The light reflected off something shiny on the ground, and upon closer inspection, the two troublemakers realized it was water.
Deep water. Deadboy touched it with his foot. "Ugh. Spewin'! Shit's flooded, mate."
Robbied sighed. "Relax, bro. I got this." Kneeling over, Icewolf placed his palms to the surface of the water, which became cold and solid. After snapping his fingers, the ice texturized, giving the two explorers some traction as well.
Deadboy playfully cuffed his friend on the shoulder. "Bloody legend, you are! Let's keep movin'. Chalice has gotta' be around here somewhere."
Robbie grunted. "Right. Hey...I wanted to talk."
Deadboy rolled his eyes, but staid his anger. "What's up?"
"I...er...sort of flew off the hockey stick back there, bro."
"Yeah, it was awesome! You covered the city in ice! That's champ level mischief, mate!"
"I know. But I really embarrassed myself in front of my crush. I thought teaming up to take over the GSA would be fun, you know? And it would make Cian really dig me. But after hanging out with him and Spike...and seeing how Buck has been really awesome about managing everything, I kinda..."
Deadboy stopped. Like Nosferatu, he turned his eyes before his head. He held the lamp up to Icewolf's face. "You ain't turnin' face on me, are ya?"
Icewolf flinched. "I'm just..."
"I thought we had a partnership here, Robbie! Nightmare Prodigies, you and I! Don't tell me you're about to throw that all away."
Robbie looked away. Then, the temperature changed. He glared at Deadboy. "I do this shit for myself, okay? I decide when I get out! When I was the team captain for The Berserkers, if we made a bad play, it came down to me. I took responsability. And right now? This play stinks, eh? What happens when you get the Chalice, Deadboy? We have one."
Deadboy answered Robbie's cold air with his own malevolent darkness. The shadows on the wall elongated and twisted, becoming nightmare creatures. Robbie shrugged it off. He'd seen just about all the fear Deadboy could throw at him by now.
"It's leverage, okay?" Deadboy snarled. "And with Vahni Rage on our side, do you know what this means? We can hit Firebird where it hurts. I can become Champion, and then World Champ. And most importantly, I can get revenge on White Tiger. That stupid, smug, little babyface BITCH."
The shadows tore, snapping back into position. But Deadboy's mean, wild eyes remained beacons of fury in the dark.
Robbie scowled. "Y'know, I get called a big, dumb, jock a lot. I think only two of those things are true, depending on the day. But what happened up in the tower knocked some sense it to me like a body check in sudden-death overtime. This isn't about you trying to take over the GSA. It's about you trying to get Joseph Haw's attention, isn't it, broski?" Robbie kept his gaze fastened to his accomplice. "You like him. I can tell, because you get that look in your eyes when he's around, the same way I do Cian. Don't lie to me, Lachlan. I'm a Cancer. I know emotions." Robbie's eyes vibrated, filling up with tears. "I'm...really sensitive, bro."
Deadboy, who was second away from smacking Icewolf, now bit hi lips. "Bloody hell, mate, I can't fight you when you make that pathetic face! Ugh."
Inworld, Robbie felt a sense of victory. Outwardly, he sniffed.
Deadboy turned his back on Icewolf, letting the issue rest for now. Inwardly, however, he seethed. "We have a fuckin' plan, Robbie. We're stickin' to it. We can talk about this later. And we will talk about it, and where your loyalties lie. Got it...pup?"
Robbie wiped a tear from his eye. He always got like this when he was angry. "Yeah. I'm sorry if I made you mad."
Deadboy sighed. "No dramas, mate. Tensions are high today. I get it." He thought for a moment, which was a lot for an impulsive, dark soul like Daemian. "For what it's worth, punk, I think you could do better than Cian anyway." Before he could elaborate, or gauge his friend's reaction, something caught his eye. The passage ahead had an entryway shaped different than the others. They were deep in the catacombs now, and even the walls looked older than the rest of the tunnels. Symbols, some of it dark runes that Deadboy recognized, some of it...something much older and stranger, were carved into the walls. Overhead, engraved into the arch, was a relief of a triangle with an odd symbol in the middle, encircled by a serpent swallowing its own tail.
Rarely, did shit like this unnerve Deadboy. Hell, he was the prince of darkness! He had raised the dead and cast dark magick since he was basically in diapers. But this? This bothered him.
As did the cloaked figure with the white, long nosed mask, with its bony fingers wrapped around the stem of a sapphire drinking vessel: The Chalice of Voice.
It was such a surreal, unexpected moment that Deadboy wasn't even afraid. Just confused. Then, behind him, Robbie yelped.
Daemian could feel the intensity of what lurked behind the mask. "Magi scum!" it hissed in a queer vibratoo. "Seeking the provenance of the alchemists, are you? You who seek to disrupt the Great Work! May the dead EAT YOUR EYES!"
The cloaked figure removed a rather large book, bound in leather and decorated with various small bones. No, not leather, Deadboy realized, having laid eyes on more than a few dark tomes in his time: it was skin. Human flesh. This wasn't just a grimoire, but one of the big bads. When the Alchemist ghoul opened it, bearing its crimson, blood-scrawled pages, Deadboy knew exactly what it was: The Bible of the Damned.
Deadboy then experienced an unusual, novel, and somewhat exciting emotion he hadn't felt in a very long time. Fear.
"P̶͖͉͠à̵̳̮ř̶͖̮g̴̋͗ͅo̴̢̡̚͝n̴̰͚͑͒ ̷̙͐t̸̨̧̾͊í̶̡͖̃e̶̡͘ř̸͇̗͘ ̵̯̠̀̾ă̴̜r̶̨̳̾e̵̠͑̑t̷̨͇͝e̶̫̿͠k̶̟̈!̴͈̠̋̓"
A flash of violent crimson followed the chanting of those strange words, and when Daemian looked back at the cloaked figure, they had vanished.
"Shit," Robbie said, breathing heavily. "He was intense."
Then, came the moans, from the passage they had just came through. This was a dead end. No exit in front of them. Deadboy and Icewolf turned towards the sound. Shadows of skinless hands clawed out from the dark. A hundred eyes of fire burned inside their skulls.
"D-d-Daemian! We got...skeletons!"
"Oh, yeah." Deadboy smiled. He cracked his neck to the side, spoiling for a fight. "Well, I don't speak French...but my fists do! This is where the fun begins, mate. Let's knock some skulls!"
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