Few things could make the bickering Dark Lords work together.

The last time they showed a unified front was all the way back to the last Derro War, where they inflicted a severe defeat upon Otto Blutgang’s predecessor and shattered his realm. It took the Derro Kingdom decades to recover its lost strength at the cost of its people’s individuality.

When roused, the Dark Lords were fearsome to behold. Many believed that only their disunity had prevented the Empire of Azlant from conquering all of Underland from the Dokkar enclaves to the far fringes of the Derro Kingdom.

Today, Marianne would have the privilege to see their power up close.

“Teleportation pathways to the Institute are still secure thanks to my magical defenses,” Lord Och explained to his colleagues as they prepared to move on to the Domain of Paraplex. “However, I wouldn’t recommend moving to the city directly. Spatial anomalies have a way of causing teleportation spells to go haywire.”

“We know that,” Lord Phaleg replied dryly before interrogating Valdemar. “Your vision showed you the Lilith crucified at the center of the town?”

“Yes, right next to the well where the Nahemoth is sealed.” Valdemar nodded respectfully with the Mask of the Nightwalker on his face. His familiar had hopped back inside his bag in anticipation. “Shelley was using her to summon some kind of… rat hive mind, I suppose?”

“An avatar of Ialdabaoth no doubt,” Lord Hagith said while stroking his chin.

“All of Underland would be trembling as we speak if that were the case,” Lord Phaleg replied with skepticism. There were quakes taking place, but nothing truly frightening. “I believe we face two different phenomena. Liliths are handmaidens of the Nahemoths, so it’s plausible they're using her as a conduit to summon one. But I draw a blank at what this rat entity is. It’s not associated with any Qlippothic entity that I’m aware of.”

Marianne observed the Dark Lords strategizing without a word, but focused more on Valdemar. Her companion had recovered from his vision but he had been left shaken. “Do you still hear voices?” she asked him.

“I’m blocking them out for now,” Valdemar replied with some hesitation, his hand brushing against his mask. “It helps, I think.”

This only made Marianne worry even more for his safety. The Mask of the Nightwalker was connected to the eponymous Stranger; and though it stood in opposition with Ialdabaoth, it remained a different kind of evil. Valdemar’s plan to deal with his brother Crétail involved the mask, but cursed artifacts rarely worked as intended.

Lord Bethor’s contribution to the Dark Lords’ debate was far less verbose than his compatriots and far more meaningful. “Loctis,” he said.

“Who?” Lord Ophiel asked with a hint of contempt.

“One of the Masters at my Institute,” Lord Och enlightened his colleague. The lich’s eyes flared with a ghostly glow. “Ah, I see your point Lord Bethor. You believe that this creature is no Qlippoth but a powerful sorcerer’s soul splintered across countless bodies. But who would wield such power, I wonder…”

Marianne’s eyes widened as she put two and two together. Rats everywhere… she thought as she glanced at Valdemar’s bag and the little Stranger inside. Shelley was never more than a pet, a familiar. Did he still share a connection with his master even beyond death?

Valdemar immediately noticed her expression and turned in her direction. “Do you have an idea?” he asked her.

“Valdemar, you said the entity that sent you these visions called you his descendant?” Marianne scowled as Valdemar confirmed it with a nod, as her theory became all the more credible. “I think I know what, or rather who, that rat hive mind you saw is. The person who created Shelley and started this whole mess in the first place.”

Her companion crossed his arms as he considered her words. “My great-grandfather…”

“Aleksander Verney?” Empress Aratra raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t the inquisitors of the Light burn him at the stake?”

“Even death can be overcome, my dear Aratra,” Lord Och said with amusement. “Half of us here are living proof of it. Though I am curious about young Marianne’s reasoning.”

“Souls return to the Outer Darkness after they die,” Marianne explained. “It’s likely his service to Ialdabaoth might have secured him a favorable place in the afterlife. We know the cult gathered the remains of wererats, and I suspect they did so as part of a ritual to bring Verney’s soul back to the living world.”

“What purpose would reviving this loser serve?” Lord Ophiel asked in confusion. “If I led that cult I would call something with more power.”

That, Marianne didn’t know.

Lord Phaleg, as a summoning specialist, immediately guessed the cult’s motives. “Even the mightiest Qlippoths are summoned entities at the end of the day. They cannot break wards on their own, and this cult is made of weak-willed rabble unlikely to be privy to knowledge of higher rituals.”

Lord Ophiel snickered in response. “All I hear is that we only have to kill him to end this charade and get back to more important matters.”

They are truly treating an apocalyptic scenario as a minor nuisance, Marianne thought. Was this a show of confidence or plain old arrogance? She simply couldn’t tell.

“The situation is more complex than you believe,” Lady Phul protested. By now she had managed to stabilize her essence somewhat. Her inhuman avatar looked paler than it did a few hours ago, but she no longer faded in and out of existence. “Their ritual uses the Nahemoth as an anchor to merge the Outer Darkness and the material plane. I can sense Qlipphotic essence infecting the very fabric of space. More of these foul creatures will slip inside our reality the longer this phenomenon continues.”

“If so then the process might continue even if we disrupt the ritual,” Lord Phaleg pointed out before glaring at Valdemar. “The wards have weakened so much he doesn’t even need to sleep to manifest the Nahemoth. We should slay them both.”

“Should we even bring him at all?” Lord Ophiel leered at Valdemar with disdain. “This is all a ploy to force us to relinquish their so-called Messiah. His presence might worsen the situation instead of improving it.”

Valdemar winced and Marianne quickly came to his rescue. She had heard the Dark Lords look down on him since the start of the Sabbath and her patience had reached its limit.

“With all due respect, Lord Phaleg, Lord Ophiel, you would not even know of this threat without this ‘child’,” the noblewoman argued with a boldness that surprised even her. “You say this crisis wouldn’t happen without Valdemar. I say it won’t end unless you trust him.”

She expected the Dark Lords to strike her down where she stood. Instead, Lord Ophiel appeared more amused by her defiance than anything, while Lord Phaleg answered with a snort.

“Trust?” Lord Ophiel said the word as if it were a curse. “Foolish little girl, you’ll find no such thing here.”

“A Nahemoth is nearly impossible to bind, let alone banish from the material world,” Lord Phaleg pointed out. “It is a difficult task even for the likes of us. Yet you think you can end this incursion for good?”

“I can.” Valdemar stepped forward with renewed confidence. “As I told you, I have a plan.”

“I will vouch for him,” Lord Bethor spoke plainly. His support cowed the weaker members of the assembly.

“As will I,” Empress Aratra smiled at Valdemar. “But if you fail, child…”

The Empress’ eyes glowed with a golden aura. An aura of dread poured from her like molten lava.

“You will join our guest in the ceiling above your head.”

Even Marianne, who had faced Pleromians and monsters without flinching, was left slightly intimidated. The weight on her shoulders reminded her of her first encounter with Lord Bethor.

Valdemar didn’t answer the Empress’ threat for a few seconds as the Dark Lords all waited for his reaction with curiosity. Marianne gave her companion a reassuring nod and prepared to defend him if the worst came to pass.

“I… I understand, Your Dark Majesty,” Valdemar answered at last before clearing his throat. “I will not disappoint. I swear to you, my plan will succeed.”

“Oaths are wind,” the Empress replied as her eyes returned to a bloody red shade. “Actions are what matter.”

“I will deliver.” Valdemar glanced at Lord Och next. “But I need Hermann, my teacher.”

“Of course… him and his Painted World.” Lord Och made a mock bow to his fellow Dark Lords. “I need to pick up my apprentice’s assistants in Lord Bethor’s Domain. Until I return, young Valdemar and dear Marianne will welcome you into my halls.”

“I will come with you then,” Lord Phaleg immediately declared with suspicion.

“My, my former apprentice, do you believe I will scheme against you if you turn your back on me?” Lord Och put a hand on his chest. “I am wounded.”

“If you have nothing to hide, then it shouldn’t be a bother.”

When Marianne thought the Dark Lords’ brief alliance wouldn’t last more than five minutes, Empress Aratra set her foot down. “Lord Phaleg, your expertise with summoning shall be needed to deal with this crisis. Lord Och will join us as we tend to his Domain’s needs, and Lord Bethor will fetch whoever you need in Sabaoth.“

“You think such an act would demean me, Aratra?” Lord Bethor snorted. “Truly you are small. No ruler is so high as not to carry out even the most menial task.”

The Dark Lord of Sabaoth teleported away in a flash of light before the Empress could answer. Aratra gritted her teeth in annoyance as she cursed Bethor. “That shameless fool…”

“Well, Lord Bethor is a man of action rather than words,” Lord Och declared with fondness. “Shall we let him show us up? Or shall we teach the rabble a lesson?”

“Yes, yes, let us be done with this.” Lord Ophiel waved his hand as space twisted around him. “Hopefully this won’t be a complete waste of my time.”

He vanished as space twisted around him, with the other Dark Lords following one after the other. “Do take care of my apprentice, young Marianne,” Lord Och said right before he teleported away. “I would loathe for something to happen before the grand finale.”

Marianne couldn’t explain why, but something in the lich’s tone put her on high alert. There was no mockery in his voice, only the certainty of a master schemer whose predictions had come to pass.

He has prepared for this day for quite some time, Marianne guessed. It all looked so improbable, but her gut told her Lord Och wasn’t surprised at all by this crisis. She didn’t believe the lich had planned for this disaster in the exact details as too many factors were involved… but he anticipated the possibility and let it run its course.

What was he hoping to gain from it?

Somehow Marianne thought it would be nothing good.

“Of course Lord Och anticipated the worst might come to pass,” said Empress Aratra. By now she was the last Dark Lord left in the room. “He could have prevented this attack if he had shared his knowledge of it with us. Unfortunately, my old friend enjoys stirring up trouble.”

“And for what?” Valdemar replied with clear frustration. “Thousands died for nothing.”

“It is a bit too early to say if it was for nothing.” The Empress’ smile chilled Marianne to the bone. Whether they won or lost the day, they had earned her attention. Anonymity would have been safer. “Let us go.”

Marianne cleared her throat. “Your Majesty, if I may… I need my weapons returned to me before I can walk into battle.”

Though she had trained extensively not to rely on them, this battle might be the most important of her life. She needed all the advantages available to her.

“I have not forgotten, dear child.” Empress Aratra waved her hand, and Marianne’s rapier and gun appeared at her belt. The leader of all mankind looked at the sword with a brief look of fondness. “This takes me back…”

“You remember my ancestor, Your Majesty?” Marianne couldn’t help but ask. She knew from her family’s archives that the empress had personally enobled the first of the Reynard centuries ago, but she thought the Dark Lord would have forgotten by now.

“I will never forget such a brazen fool. He once dared to ask for my hand in marriage.” Empress Aratra chuckled to herself. “I denied him of course, but precious few were brave enough to even try.”

“I did not know,” Marianne admitted.

“Of course you did not. Your ancestor had the common sense to make his demand out of the public's eyes. Perhaps one day I shall reveal to you a few tales he kept out of the history books.” Empress Aratra examined Marianne head to toe. “I believe he would be proud of your resolve.”

Such words from anyone else would have filled Marianne with pride, but the Empress’ praise sounded as hollow as her courtesy. The Dark Lord said this flattery to be polite and not because she truly cared for Marianne’s feelings.

Are you truly proud of my actions? Marianne wondered as she glanced at her rapier. She had heard rumors that some soulbound weapons could interact with their wielders; but If her ancestor’s spirit could address her, he had never shown the intent to do so.

But whether her ancestor was truly proud of her or not changed nothing. Marianne would always strike the foes of mankind and protect those in need, simple as that.

And as Valdemar stood at her side, she vowed to defend him too. From Ialdabaoth, from the Derros, from anyone who would wish him harm. She would protect him from Lord Och himself if it came to that.

Her companion straightened up and tried to put on a brave face, but Marianne’s enhanced senses picked up the unease radiating from his body. Valdemar was more anxious than he had ever been. Marianne knew he was thinking about the world, what defeat or victory would mean for the world, and about his family most of all.

It was hard enough for him to confront an unborn brother, but if Aleksander Verney had truly come back from the dead…

“I’m with you,” Marianne whispered before taking Valdemar’s hand into her own. He winced in surprise at the sudden physical contact, but his fingers soon tightened around her palm. “I won’t let you out of sight.”

At that moment, Marianne didn’t care about the Empress’ presence. She simply wanted her companion to feel safer. That whatever ordeal awaited him, he wouldn’t face it alone.

“Thanks.” Valdemar relaxed a little. “I won’t either.”

Empress Aratra watched them with an unreadable expression before casting a teleportation spell.

As the Dark Lord’s magic took effect, Marianne tried to steel herself for the battle ahead. However, her mind couldn’t help but wonder about Lord Och’s actions. She tried to put in perspective the lich’s action to figure out his end goal. Valdemar was at the center of it all.

When Valdemar arrived at the Institute, Lord Och immediately sent him to assist Hermann on his Painted Door project, Marianne remembered as her body stretched across time and space. And Lord Och offered to fetch Hermann personally.

This implied that whatever objective the lich pursued, Hermann’s Painted World project heavily factored in it. Marianne doubted Lord Och desired a private universe to call his own. His only interest in Pictomancy was to find out if it could open a path to another universe...

A portal to the Light, Marianne guessed. Could the Painted World—

The noises of screams and explosions drew Marianne out of her thoughts as the spell ended.

Empress Aratra had teleported them in front of the Institute’s Black Pillar as monsters besieged it.

A crimson magical barrier had risen from the Institute’s walls. A frontier of light rose as high as the ceiling, separating the facility from the chaos outside. Swarms of bats, locusts, and vermin eager to devour the inhabitants crashed against the barrier in relentless waves. The magical defenses melted them into blood on contact, but they had holes.

At least eight monstrous spiders the size of carriages had climbed onto the barrier and started shredding tears into it.

Collectors, Marianne identified the spider monsters. She had read about these elite Qlippoths in the Knights of the Beast’s Bestiary. Other Qlippoths emerged through the tears by the dozens alongside common vermin, from tentacled Gnawers to featureless humanoids and twisted ooze monsters.

The world beyond the barrier looked unsafe and terrible. Though Marianne couldn’t see the city around the Institute, a glance at the Domain’s ceiling told her all she needed to know. Stone was turning into rotting flesh, the eyes of Ialdabaoth growing on it like cancerous tumors. Fanged mouths opened alongside them and screamed, screamed, screamed! Their howls threatened to make Marianne’s enhanced ears bleed. The entire Domain was slowly transforming into a Qlippoth breeding ground.

The sight only hardened Marianne's resolve. The Institute had become a second home to her in her exile, to the point her dream sanctuary had taken the shape of a copy of her quarters. She wouldn't let anyone despoil it.

The Institute wasn’t defenseless though. The Knights of the Tome had taken position on the walls to welcome the Qlippoths with steel and spells. Stone security golems had activated, pounding Gnawers onto the pavement. Master Malherbe had joined in the defense by shapeshifting into a mighty werewolf to fight at the Knights’ side, while the insects making up Master Loctis’ body were busy devouring one Collector alive. Marianne knew more of them would come out of the fortress after securing key sites like the magical archive as procedure demanded.

And then there were the Dark Lords.

Marianne had already witnessed Lord Och’s might in person once, and the lich didn’t disappoint today either. The ancient undead was floating around the Black Pillar, vaporizing any monster that came his way with fire and lightning. As for Lord Hagith, Marianne noticed him assisting the Knights on the walls. The second mouth on his belly had opened, a black tongue stuck out to grab and devour a Collector. The fact the Qlippoth was far larger than the Dark Lord meant nothing; the black abyss that was Lord Hagith’s belly transcended the limits of space.

Lord Ophiel had shapeshifted into a black vampire bat the size of a house, with only his mask remaining from his previous form. While his colleague favored impressive displays of magic, he simply flew through a tear in the barrier to casually shred his way through the enemies. Lady Phul flew after him on her jet black wings, her mere presence causing the Qlippoths near her to vanish into smoke. It took Marianne a few seconds to realize that the Dark Lord’s oneiromancy was so advanced that she could banish summoned creatures back to the Outer Darkness at will.

Only Lord Phaleg didn’t take the field. Instead, Och’s former apprentice focused on closing tears in the barrier one at a time. It was no glorious endeavor, but one that would save the most lives today in Marianne’s opinion.

As for Marianne?

She started shooting the moment Valdemar let her hand go. Her soulbound revolver fired round after round at the nearest Gnawers, spraying the Institute’s ground with their blood.

“This is worse than I thought,” Empress Aratra said as she pointed at a Collector widening a tear in the barrier. A crimson thunderbolt erupted from her fingernail and vaporized the Qlippoth in one strike, though the hole in the barrier remained. “High caste Qlippoths have already started to manifest.”

“It’s… It’s thin…” Valdemar struggled to make words as he telekinetically pushed a Gnawer back through a rift in the barrier. “The veil between the planes is thinning… I feel it…”

Marianne felt it too. The air itself was heavy with magic and the stench of Qlippoths. Their hideous odor filled her nostrils and tiny black particles floated down from the stone ceiling above their heads. The Black Blood of Ialdabaoth was infecting the world itself.

If this phenomenon wasn’t stopped soon, it might permanently transform the Domain of Paraplex into a Qlippothic hellscape.

“Clear this fortress,” Empress Aratra ordered Valdemar and Marianne as if they were her personal lackeys. Runes of blood appeared on the ground around her and spread in increasingly complex patterns. Marianne recognized some of them as wards and summoning arrays, but most were beyond her understanding. “I shall reinforce the veil between planes to slow down the spread of this madness.”

Marianne nodded… right until her enhanced sense of smell picked up a familiar stench. The smell of a friend twisted with the odor of poisonous mutations.

“Bertrand.”

He had been one of the Institute’s staff members before his transformation and granted passage through its defenses. Though Lord Och had removed his privileges after he fell under their enemies’ influence, the enemy had found a way to overturn the lich’s decision.

“Bertrand?” Valdemar asked. “Where is he?”

“My quarters,” Marianne muttered to herself as she identified the smell’s direction. “He’s near my quarters.”

Did a sliver of her retainer remain within the beast he had become? Or was he looking for Marianne to slay her personally?

“Then we don’t have a moment to waste,” Valdemar said. “I’m not certain we can cure him without an Elixir of Life, but we can at least capture him.”

Marianne bit her lower lip. “I truly wish to save him, Valdemar, but… the situation is dire.”

“I can do little until Hermann arrives anyway, and I made you a promise. I will help you save him, whatever the cost.” Valdemar shook his head. “We save him now.”

Marianne forced herself to smile. “But what if we waste valuable time and more Qlippoths cross into this reality? I want to save Bertrand more than you can ever know, Valdemar, but thousands of lives are at stake.”

Her companion prepared to answer when his familiar peeked out of his bag. “Phnglui mgnawah!” the creature squealed, his six eyes serious and unblinking. “Ktulhu rlyeh wagnaftagn!”

The languages and sounds made by the familiar were utterly incomprehensible, Marianne’s enhanced hearing made her realize that these noises followed a sentence structure. She thought that Ktulu was making senseless noise beforehand, but now she wondered if he had been speaking in his own native tongue.

Valdemar looked over his shoulder at his familiar. To Marianne’s surprise, he started to shiver. Summoners and familiars possessed a strong mental bond. Whatever Ktulu sent through it, it had left his partner shaken.

“What is it saying?” Marianne asked with a frown.

“It says, if I interpret the mental images he sends me…” Valdemar shuddered. “That if the worst happens, I can always summon its father.”