By the time the Terran Confederacy of Aligned Systems began pouring into Unified Civilization Council space during The War of Lemur Aggression, some researchers had already spent quite a lot of time pouring through the records of the Confederacy as found on SolNet. There was particular concern over Lemur Enragement and it's potential impacts on neo-sapient and near-civilized races, as its deleterious effects upon other members of their Confederacy was already well documented.

Most of my peers quickly discarded these concerns; Lanaktallan gentling techniques were perfect, having remain unchanged and immutable for millions of years. Even seeing the effectiveness of neo-sapient forces when trained and equipped by the Mad Lemurs of Terra, they were confident that it was the Lemurs VI's that were effective, and not the Neo-Sapients themselves.

But some of us saw our inability to gentle the Lemurs and saw the possibility that our gentling wouldn't prevent something we had never encountered before. We instead posited that our gentling would either dampen or slow the enragement of any impacted Neo-Sapients and Near-Civilized individuals.

Rather than a Screaming One, they might become a Growling One; capable of both unleashing bottomless rage and wrath, but with enough mental faculties remaining to direct it effectively, long-term, and with great malice aforethought.

After all, is that not what the average Mad Lemur is capable of?

~Moo'vn'twi'st, Lanaktallan Researcher, translated by u/KnyteTech.

Brentili'ik watched as her sisters, her mother, and Vuxten's brother all sat down at the long ornate dinner table. She watched as servants, something she despised being forced to have by protocol, set down bottles and glasses of narcobeer or tea.

"Thank you," each of person said. The servants, highly paid and treated with respect, nodded and smiled before withdrawing.

Vuxten came in, looking to Brentili'ik's eyes more energized than he'd been in weeks. He sat down and looked at everyone, picked up his narcobrew, and took a long pull off of it.

"Sorry I was late, I had to stop by one of the clinics," he said.

"Why?" She'islos asked curiously.

"Had to get some cybernetics replaced," he said.

"Mission upgrades?" Vuxten's brother Nizruk asked, frowning. "Your cybereye looks different."

Vuxten nodded. "Yeah."

Brentili'ik frowned. "What mission? I wasn't aware of First Telkan mobilizing anywhere."

Vuxten looked at the table for a moment and then back up. "I won't be deploying with First Telkan."

She'islos frowned behind her Void Captain veil. "Then who?"

Vuxten sighed, setting down the bottle, and looked at each person at the table. "I'm not at liberty to say," he said. "I had the option of turning it down."

"Confederate Intelligence?" Brentili'ik guessed.

Vuxten shook his head. "I'm not at liberty to say."

His mother-in-law frowned slightly. "The Dark Crusade of Wrath has called you," she guessed.

"I can't say," Vuxten said again. "I'll be leaving tonight."

Brentili'ik nodded tightly, feeling like if she nodded too much her neck would snap. Her tail curled up defensively and she reached out with one hand to take her husband's hand and Synthal'la's hand with the other. Vuxten was already holding Ilmata'at's hand.

"Be safe, please, my brother," Nizruk said. He got up and moved to stand next to and slightly behind Vuxten. "We have lost you once," he said, lightly touching his brother's shoulder.

"I'll do my best, but no promises," Vuxten said, slightly tightening inside, preparing for his family to protest.

The Void Captain version of his sister nodded slowly. "No promises in war," she said, her voice soft even with the buzzing of her vocoder.

Brentili'ik smiled even though it made her feel like her face was going to crack.

"Well, let's have dinner then," she smiled.

The others nodded, their faces as tight as hers.

----------

The hotel room was dim, the only light coming in through the tilted slats of the blinds. There were narcobeer bottles on the table along with a bottle of Telkan Good Tymes Whiskey that was almost half empty, some cans of Liquid Hate that had been poured into the empty glasses and mixed with the alcohol, and clothing scattered around. On the nightstand was a nanite disruptor and an EM jammer, both of them glowing softly to show that they were active.

On the bed were two Terrans who looked like they should be straight out of a recruiting poster for the Terran Confederacy Space Force. The man was tall, wide, muscled, and clean cut, only the surgical scar on his chest and the eye patch marring his looks. The woman was tall and lean, muscle put on by long term exercise still soft and round with good fat distribution. Both were completely nude, sweaty, and slightly disheveled. The woman was laying with her head on the man's chest, running two fingers up and down the scar over his sternum.

"Ware feels a little weird," she said, her voice pitched soft.

"Yeah. Kind of surprised that replacing my eye wasn't on the list," the male said.

The woman chuckled. "I get the feeling that she would have known that you'd refused."

"She had us out the gate," the man said. He shook his head, reached out for one of the cold narcobeers and took a long drink before passing it to the woman's upraised hand. "She knew us better than we knew ourselves."

"Lady Keena surprised her," the woman said, raising up slightly so she could take a sip off the cold drink. She handed it back and laid back down. "I'll bet she had a whole speech prepared."

The man chuckled. "Lady Keena's a LARPer. She didn't bother reading the mission flavor text and just jumped to accepting the quest."

"Nervous?" Peel asked, tracing the heart surgery scar with pink enameled fingernails that glittered in the light. The paint had been recently reapplied, smooth, even, and unchipped.

Casey shook his head. "Not about whatever mission the Lady of Hell has for us, no."

"Lozen," Peel guessed. It wasn't really a question.

"Yeah," Casey said softly. He took another drink off the beer. "I'm just glad we didn't fight about it."

Peel gave a slight chuckle, tracing her fingers up and down the old scar.

"Casey, we've dated over a century. I know you. I know what kind of man you are," she said. She kissed the middle of the scar and then relaxed, still laying on his chest. "Whatever it is that requires you and only you to fulfill a role is not something that you'll turn down."

"No," Casey said, staring at the ceiling, his hand caressing Peel's hip. "No, I wouldn't."

"I'm still scared for you," Peel said. She kissed his chest again.

"We're putting our lives in the hands of the ruler of Hell in the SUDS," Casey said. "I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her."

"Pfft, says the guy who can bench press literal tons. I've seen how much you can throw, that's trusting her pretty far," Peel smiled. She raised up and held out her hand, took a swig of the narcobeer, and handed it back before sighing and laying her head on his chest again. "You know who we're really working for, right? Who sent her to recruit us."

Casey nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you going to be able to work with Trucker?" Peel asked, tracing his pectoral muscles with one fingernail.

Casey was silent for a long moment. "Yeah. I'm a professional. I know he won't waste me, if he orders me into the Last Fight, then it was for a damn good reason."

Peel kissed his chest. "And Lozen?"

"I spent over thirty years wrapped in her arms," Casey admitted as goosebumps rose up on his skin. "She was all I had and the psychosomatic bonding process wasn't helped by my grief and rage. We're more intertwined than I was ever before."

Peel nodded, reaching down and grabbing Casey's hand from where it was rubbing her hip, twining her fingers in his.

"I love you, you know?" she said softly.

"I know. I love you too," Casey answered, squeezing her hand.

"Love you more," Peel smiled.

"Yay, I win," Casey smiled back.

Both of them giggled at the joke that had passed back and forth between them for decades.

Peel sighed again after a while. "I don't like it, I'll be honest."

"I know," Casey said, rubbing her hip.

"But, like I said, I know you, Cathal," she said quietly. "I know what kind of man you are. I know that you could no more turn this down than you can stop breathing. You wouldn't be the man I love if you could walk away from this."

"Knowing who sent her as the messenger? No. I can't," Casey said. "He might not be the one I worship, but he still deserves the same respect I give my deities," he gave a chuckle. "In a way, it was respectful of him to send the Detainee. My gods could see it as muscling in on their turf if He shows up, but the Detainee? That's permissible."

"Can I ask a question?" Peel asked.

"Always," Casey said, tilting his head and kissing the top of hers.

"What was it she spoke to you?" Peel asked. "I looked up Emerald Islands, then I looked up Leprechaunese, and that wasn't it. I did some quick historical dives and figure that since Orpheus's wife was bitten by a snake, that was the reference to the Emerald Isles since she was showing off fangs."

Casey nodded. "It was Nordican. Old Nordican at that. It's mostly used for prayer services, oaths, and stuff like that. Outside of home, nobody but some historians and academics speak it, and usually badly."

"How good was it?" Peel asked, taking the bottle and taking a sip before handing it back. "It's empty."

Casey put it on the nightstand and grabbed another, popping the top and taking a drink.

"Flawless. It was obvious by the second sentence that she learned the old root language," he shook his head. "It was startling to see someone outside the Church speak it."

"It's been a startling time," Peel said.

"Yeah, yeah it has," Casey said. He took a hit off the bottle and handed it to Peel, who took a swig and handed it back.

Peel's eyes glittered with mischief when Casey set the bottle on the nightstand.

"Well, I feel sufficiently rested," Casey said.

"Hmm, I might be," Peel said, turning her head to look at him with one eye and smile. "Maybe you should bribe me?"

She laughed and squealed when Casey sat up and grabbed her.

-----------

Brentili'ik watched as Synthal'la and Ilmata'at held the two brown infants close, their eyes wide as they purred to the two Terran babies. They immediately retreated to the pillow fort, vanishing inside. She looked at the muscular woman who had handed the two infants off to Brentili'ik's broodcarriers.

"Are you sure?" Brentili'ik asked.

"If I do not return, my children, or one of my concubines, or even my King, may search them out," the woman's lips twisted in a smile. "My King may very well make it a quest. Not to be outdone, Kings and Emperors and Queens and Pashas across the LARP worlds, perhaps even as far as Starfleet, may assign finding my children as a quest."

"Should I put out notifications?" Brentili'ik asked.

Lady Keena shook her head. "No. Should I not return, let them be the Questgrail for those brave and clever enough to find them."

Brentili'ik shook her head. "If you insist."

"Thank you," the heavily built Terran woman said. She looked out at the yard, where Vuxten stood next to Casey and Peel. "I will do my best to ensure that he returns to you."

"Thank you," Brentili'ik said.

She didn't look. The sight of the huge demonic figure made her stomach clench.

"Till we meet again," Lady Keena said, nodding.

Brentili'ik stood silently as she watched the brown skinned woman, dressed in tight fitting leather armor, a sword across her back, head out into the back yard of the Planetary Director's mansion.

She felt a slight fzzt across the back of her teeth, across the molars.

They were gone.

"Are you all right, sister mine?" She'islos asked, her vocoder buzzing slightly.

Brentili'ik turned and hugged her sister tight, reaching out and pulling her mother into the embrace too as she wept.

-----------

The massive demon stood inside a triangle that was inside a circle, all of it painted in superconducter epoxy. At each point of the triangle a bird skull was painted and topped by a candle. It watched with burning eyes as the procession approached.

Dozens of foot tall green mantids carried one of their number over their heads. Hundreds were gathered in the large maintenance bay to watch as the armored one, waving a wrench in each hand and wearing an MRE wrapper over its armor, was carried to the circle.

They set their armored compatriot in the point of the triangle closest to them.

The chanted name got louder.

The huge demon extended out its wings and raised its arms.

White and red fire roared up, not leaving the confines of the circle.

It went out, leaving nothing behind.

The remaining green mantid yelled louder.

GRAVITY!