II-130 Ass Labyrinth (I) (TTF)

What happens in the Halls of Highest Power? What happens beyond Preceptor's Descent? What do the Princes, Princesses, Kings, and Queens scheme about?

Ha! Nothing! Nothing particularly interesting, my dear children. Nothing, my dear sinner. Nothing at all. Nothing to me.

Let me explain this to you. When you gain great power, you will suddenly feel a rush. A rush as you realize, "I can destroy a building." No, "I can destroy a continent." No, "I can burn a world if I just unleash all my Essence at once. I can incinerate the atmosphere and cook every single living being on this planet," and it means nothing. It means nothing at all, because ultimately, the people you can destroy with a gesture aren't people to you at all. The things you can break so easily, that you can rebuild with just a thought, aren't things at all.

No, nothing happens in the highest halls of power, because there is only one rule, one goal. One thing occupying my princes, princesses, kings, and queens: the power that they do not have. For princes, this means the power of a king above them, or the power of another prince. The ones they cannot so easily destroy. The ones they get to overthrow.

What do you think the world is like, when one can bring ruin to a world? What do you think you are like, when you can do that? Let me tell you what most sinners are like. They're like drunken apes, coveting what they do not have. And that's why nothing happens, because they war for nothing. They struggle against nothing. All that power is spent on nothing. Nothing at all.

And I think it's perfect. I think it's the single most fabulous thing I could have done for the world. For the fathoms. For Earth. For any place. Because nothing is the most important thing you can devote yourself to. The meaningless pursuit of power for power itself. That is what makes them King, Queen, Prince and Princess.

-Mepheleon the Harbinger

II-130

Ass Labyrinth (I)

A song of jingling coins drew Bishop's attention. He was about to leave the Unblossomed for the day, to return to the lodge, and to figure out the next steps against the Circles. The Claimed Hells were in an uproar. People didn't know what to make of Wei, and with more and more sinners joining every day, that came with spies. Degenerates, vermin, all manner of horrible, horrible people. 

Because this was the Claimed Hells, and the best you could hope for is that the person you were talking to was merely an emotionally unstable murderer. Come to think of it, the circles are just like a big prison gang. Except, well, they're not that Bishop-polished. Okay, yeah, they're kind of racist, but they're a different kind of racist. They're the kind of racist that doesn't annoy me so much.

However, as Wei emerged with an uncertain expression on his face, the former spy let out a displeased breath. 

"This, however," he muttered to himself, "is probably going to chafe my balls." Behind Wei came a stunned-looking Agnesia, a tired-looking Vendrian mourning with Little Justice strapped along her side, and there's that weird, twitchy kid Wei kept around these days again, and he was holding—Bishop's eyes widened.

"Wei."

"Yes, Master Bishop, I have a slight inquiry," the young master said, before offering a bow and salute.

Bishop had a really bad feeling about this. Wei usually didn't offer bows and salutes, not unless he was going to demand something very, very unreasonable. Bishop, however, had a question first. "Why are there golden coins leaking out from," he gestured at the trine, "from that thing's ass?"

The Trine let out a sigh. "We had been blessed-cursed by a Prince of Hell. But all glows well in resplendence." The surroundings grew brighter. Plants emerged from cracks in the ground, damage was undone. "All is as it should be. A harmonic path is in our future."

Bishop ignored the weird creature that had just suddenly reappeared in his life, reappeared in their lives so fast it gave him whiplash. He still had no idea what its exact deal was, but since they were against the Unfallen, he might as well keep them around. What he was interested in was the mystery of why it had so many gold coins spilling out from its ass. "Please don't tell me you slept with a succubus of greed and lust."

"We do not have the genitalia for such an action," the Trine proclaimed.

"And so it is wrong," the weird, pale kid squirmed. “The succubi are vile creatures.”

Bishop shook his head. Wei really liked bringing back all kinds of strays.

"The Prince of Pride—Greatest visited us just now," Wei began. And suddenly, everything clicked into place. 

Everything clicked into place and Bishop clenched his ass really, really tight. Greatest. Now there was a name Bishop never wanted to hear ever again in his life. Greatest. Greatest. Greatest. Terrible memories returned to Bishop, terrible memories. That also made Bishop think of prison, but in a different way. "Except in prison someone's trying to get in your ass," Bishop muttered. "This man's always trying to crawl out."

"All right," Bishop said. "I'm gonna go get Moonscar. Greatest is going to require her attention anyway."

In the meantime, Rafael came sprinting behind the trine. He placed a bucket underneath the weird, three-headed creature, and soon it began filling with coins. Then Rafael cast a series of ciphers. Glowing signs and constellations of magic flowed around the bucket, and suddenly its bottom fell out. It grew wider on the inside.

Bishop just stared at the supposed communist. "Rafael, aren't you supposed to hate money?"

"What?" Rafael stared. "No, you misunderstand, Master Bishop. I do not hate money. I hate capital. Money is different."

Bishop just stared. "How in the fuck does that make sense?"

"Well, it's quite simple," Rafael said, and stood up, adjusting his new suit. Where the hell did he buy a new suit? "Capital is when you own things, when you have too much control over something. Money is just a means of exchange, and a means that is best distributed by a central and planned official party, or potentially an organization. That organization…" Rafael said, mainly gesturing to himself, but also pointing at a few other people. He deliberately didn't point at Ellena, and she glared at him with all the venom the opposed queen could muster, "...is us. I am simply securing funds for the proletariat and the eternal revolution."

"Well," Bishop breathed, "I guess you could be one of them Soviet-type communists." Bishop let out a sigh. "All right." He projected his psionic powers into the Trine, and into Wei as well. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Wei asked.

"To the Lodge. I'm taking this thing to the Terrible Surgeon so he can play ass doctor." 

Wei paused, and his expression paled. "Is that a great idea?"

"Well, Moonscar's probably going to do the same thing, and you're going to need to talk to Moonscar since you just got visited by a Prince of Pride. He'd want to talk with you about it anyway. Did they threaten you?"

"No," Wei replied. "He wanted to come to an arrangement."

"An arrangement?"

"Yes. He wants to, uh, throw your people out of the Claimed Hells."

Bishop lifted an eyebrow. "My people?"

"Yes, Trespassers."

Bishop nodded. "I'm slightly less offended by that. Shit, I practically agree. All right, hang in there. Transition in three seconds." 

Wei looked to the others. "I'll be back and if he returns… Just don't let him crawl inside of you."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Agnesia said. "He forced his way into a Count of Hell."

Wei stared at her, and his expression changed from awkward to outright murderous. "If he touches you, I will kill him. I will find a way." 

And that was enough to make Agnesia blush. “Oh, I… Well. It is only just.”

“Only just,” Wei grinned.

Bishop looked between them and snorted. The fuck happened to buying a bitch some roses

***

General MacArthur knew something was wrong when a soldier marched into his office, collapsed ass-over-head, and began clawing at his own ass cheeks. MacArthur pulled his pipe out of his mouth and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Soldier, I hope your mind's broken. I hope you're insane, or I hope you're possessed. But I'm going, because if this is another one of those pranks, I'm going to have you running drills outside the barrier. No sinner's land."

The soldier gave a muffled sob, and MacArthur frowned. This didn't sound like a prank. Frankly, pranks had some kind of twisted military humor around them; even some of the new soldiers were much the same way. 

This one, however, seemed downright miserable. "I'm sorry, General," he whimpered. "He said that if I didn't come in, if I didn't do this, he was gonna..." And then the soldier screamed, as long, golden-bronze fingers pried his ass cheeks open. The soldier's obsidian armor broke in half, the fingers sinking right through it like it wasn't there. MacArthur looked away and simply got out of his chair to avoid any unnecessary sprays or spillages of waste fluid or matter. He didn't want to see this. 

He didn't want to look at this bastard, but he was here anyway.

"Greatest, get out of my office," MacArthur growled. "You know what my answer is. No, you're not getting in my ass."

Immediately, Greatest slinked behind him like a serpent, like the literal serpent from the Garden of Eden. Except instead of offering forbidden fruit, this one just talked about ass all day. This one just kept teleporting into people's assholes and using them as dimensional pockets. "Get away from behind me."

Greatest listened. Greatest backed off. MacArthur was nearly as powerful as Greatest, but if there was one thing good about Greatest, it was that he was primarily motivated by amusement, and he had a weird thing about consent. In a land of bastards, murderers, rapists, thieves, and more, Greatest was, well, he was a bastard, murderer, a thief, a monster in many ways. But a rapist? Not really. He also didn't steal things from people. Instead, he played with them. He was a bit like Mepheleon in a way, except he was purely whimsy-based. And when he got to his position, his princehood, he was practically the happiest person in all the Claimed Hells. 

Maybe because he's the only one who actually achieved true self-satisfaction, MacArthur thought to himself bitterly. There's always one bastard that finds it, that point of absolute joy. There's always one son of a bitch that discovers happiness wherever they go. And in the Claimed Hells, Greatest might just be, that one son of a bitch.

Greatest strolled around MacArthur's office, looking at his desk, running a long finger along the many maps MacArthur had opened. "Looks like the boy's been doing some work for you," Greatest sang. His voice was husky, low, and he was trying to use some kind of seduction skill on MacArthur. It was low-level, though, too low-level. There was barely any Essence in it, and he was probably just using it to provoke the general, rather than to actually affect him in any way.

"So he has," General MacArthur replied. "What of it?"

"Well, I'm just surprised, is all. He was more like an independent operator. But here he is, clearing up much of the base for you. You've gained what? One thousand kilometers of space in the past week or so?"

"Five days, more like," MacArthur muttered. "Boy's a monster. Yeah? And? You're planning to take some space back for Pride?"

"Oh no, I'm not that interested in the constant warring and struggling. I'm more of a butt man, not a fighting guy."

And there was another annoying thing about Greatest. Everything led back to the ass. He was so committed to the bit it was hard to take him seriously. "If you're here to waste my time, I'm going have to ask you to leave."

"Oh, but I'm not, General," Greatest continued. "I want to see Dr. Kalrus."

Just then, Kalrus entered MacArthur's office. He took one look at Greatest, and the orc's face flinched from surprise to horror to grim acceptance. And then he closed the door. But as soon as he closed the door, Greatest winked at the general. "You want to see a magic trick?"

"I've seen it before. Don't do it. Just ask him to come. Don't do it!" MacArthur cried.

And suddenly, Greatest was right next to the soldier, and he rammed his fist down into the man's folds. The soldier cried out. MacArthur closed his eyes and did his best not to listen. There came a wet, squelching noise, and Kalrus let out a muffled cry as he was promptly ripped free from the soldier's cheeks.

"Dr. Kalrus," Greatest said, holding the orc up by a single hand. He dropped Kalrus on his feet, and Kalrus shook his head and looked away.

"I would have come back in if you simply requested it."

"Well, that seemed more convenient."

"It really wasn't," Kalrus said. "It scientifically and practically is not."

"Well, it was more convenient for my ego," Greatest said, "and that's what matters here. Also, how would you guys like to kill a Prince of Pride?"

General MacArthur's pipe shot out of his mouth. "God damn it, Greatest!" he turned, wheeling on the Prince of Pride. "Don't say that shit out loud!" He looked around. He checked the wards lined into his walls. The glistening ciphers there were flaring bright. MacArthur pried open the wood, cracked some of the obsidian. He checked all of the wards to see if any of them were compromised. The last thing he needed was to be smote from high above.

Usually, Princes didn't join the fray in the base unless something was terribly wrong, unless their names were personally invoked. Each of the circles ran a kind of détente. Their greatest forces were held back, used only to face other greatest forces. There was a point to this, and that point was Mephelian hated a monopoly, so there was a general balance of power going at all times. Except, even when all things were equal, all things were never equal, and that was the whole point of war: to find a way to win, even when the other bastard had more things than you. However, there was no war MacArthur could fight against the kings, queens, and princes of hell without a great deal of preparation, and there would be no preparation if Greatest here kept invoking the name of his fellows. If they drew down an actual battle-inclined prince, much of the base might simply disintegrate, and then it would be another high brawl. A high brawl being a clash between the greatest powers of the Claimed Hells, all at the same time. Good thing about the high brawls: it opened up positions for dukes to ascend. Bad thing about the high brawls: billions died by the week, and Mephelian would go on a new recruiting spree, harvesting entire worlds into the Claimed Hells just to see the ranks of the sinners restored. There'd been three high brawls in MacArthur's memory. He did not want to see a fourth. "Not until I'm back on Earth and far away from this shithole," MacArthur thought to himself.

Kalrus, however, was slightly piqued. "And if this isn't a deception or an overly cruel game, what do you mean, 'slay a prince of the Claimed Hells'?"

"I mean what I literally said. Would you like to build something that can kill a prince? Something with a little bit more kick than the gun the boy has."

Kalrus regarded Greatest. "Did he show you the weapon?"

"No, he did not. But I know he has it. I know because you're the only one, the only one to make something like that, Kalrus. You understand how much I've been covering for you? How much the other princes hate this. Mephelian loves it, but the other princes, the kings?" Oh, Greatest laughed out loud. He slapped his knee, and the blow was so hard it cracked MacArthur's office. The chandelier came partially undone, a few wires connected to it, some Essence spilling free. "Well, let me tell you this. I can provide you with anything you need, and the boy is going to give me a service in time. A service," he gestured at MacArthur and at Kalrus, "that will see you two gone from this place."

MacArthur loved the sound of that. "And that's supposed to be a threat?"

"No, it's a promise, you idiot. I want you guys gone and I want this place back for myself. For me and mine. You should have never come here. Your kind made a goddamn mess of things. You're terrible for this place. You're terrible for the stories. You're terrible for my life. All of you." 

Greatest's face contorted briefly as the faintest hint of just how much he despised trespassers leaked through. "All of you think you're just wonderful, that this place is your playground." He licked his lips. "It's not. You need to get gone, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you guys are banished. Banished with that delightfully angry little man who's going to keep you chained to that miserable, magic-less world you call Earth."

MacArthur and Kalrus shared a look. "All right," MacArthur turned. "So, how are we supposed to kill a prince?"

"Please don't say it."

"I'm going to offer you something from inside my ass," Greatest declared, a wide grin on his face. "I'm going to need you to come inside of my ass. Where my vault is. Do you still remember the path you have to take and the puzzles you need to solve?"

"I wish I didn't," MacArthur muttered.

"I still do," Kalrus said. "Can you please not use the word 'come inside my ass' again?"

"I'm going to use that word many more times," Greatest said, denying the orc. "Now, get in my rectal labyrinth. There's something I got to show you."