Nobility was neither the first nor the last attempt to enforce some kind of organization upon the villains of the Underworld. Drug dealers, arms dealers, smugglers, thieves, grunts for hire, human trafficking rings – cthons were home to every sin, every crime conceived of by mankind. There was even Hero's Roost, for the occasional overworld cape that needed services only the Underworld could provide or simply wanted to make a statement.

Some organized villainy groups played nice with each other, seeking to build something that was greater than the sum of its parts, to leave a lasting legacy. Diyu had a strict hierarchy, with the Duke receiving a portion of the profits from any gangs in his territory. Purgatory was united in pursuit of a common goal. In Xibalba each of the marquises had their own group, and Duke Ahaltocob ruled them as the first among equals.

And then there were people who just wanted to make the world burn.

***

As we stood over the wreckage, there was a single moment of terse uncertainty. The three of us were the only witnesses to the promises made, and the attendant would remain loyal to her patron. If Marchioness decided that a spot of murder – there was little point in euphemisms like 'accident' down here – was more agreeable to her reputation and overall plans, I wasn't sure how much could be done to stop her. Blythe would not even make her miss a step, and I didn't fancy my chances in such close quarters.

In the end though, it didn't come to anything. Marchioness shot us a scorn-filled look and wordlessly pointed to her companion. Blythe handed over the case. The unnamed woman transferred five million commons to my Rig.

Before things could get awkward, the pile of rubble burying Resonant shifted, as though something was trying to escape from under it, and, by an unvoiced agreement, the four of us turned around and walked away – Marhioness and her lady friend to the left, Blythe and me to the right.

I felt it was important to point out that we weren't running. We simply had other places to be, so we walked away.

Very, very quickly.

It was several minutes before Blythe decided to break the silence.

“Katabasis was in the other direction.”

“Katabasis'll be the first thing any attacker will want to cut off,” I shook my head. “If they had the guts to attack the heart of a Duke's territory, there's no way they're leaving such an easy escape route unguarded. Most likely, the entire level is crawling with thugs.”

“So what, do we hide and hope for the best?” Blythe frowned.

“That's an option,” I agreed. “Not a good one and not one I'd choose, but an option nonetheless. Of course, there's more than a passing chance that we'll end up getting caught in the crossfire. The Duke will want to deal with the attack as swiftly as possible, before other cthons or the Barons think he's vulnerable – so things will get bloody, and fast. Besides, this is Duat. People who spend their time here tend to be rich, powerful and absolutely hate each others' guts. This kind of chaos provides both an opportunity and a scapegoat for any villain wishing to settle old grudges.”

“Ok, I got it, no hoping for the best,” he raised his hands in surrender. “But how do you plan on leaving when the exit is blocked? Somehow, I failed to notice any windows around here.”

I snorted in amusement.

“This is the Underworld. There has to be at least a dozen secret tunnels leading out of the Pyramid. I only know of two, though.”

“So we're going to the closest one?”

“Well, no. This one is slightly further away, but the other one would have required us to follow the Marchioness. I'd rather like to avoid her company for a while.”

“I wonder why,” Blythe retorted sarcastically. “You only extorted her for money and favors as she lay at the mercy of another villain.”

I opened my mouth to object, but had to acknowledge that there was no winning this one. I changed the subject instead.

“We'll have to circle around the Grand Lodge, descend down the Grand Staircase and cut through the Grand Auction,” I told him as we entered a large, open cavern with several tables scattered near the walls. “I suspect there'll be some fighting, so stay behind me and don't veer off.”

“That's a lot of grands,” Doctor noted.

“It's just that kind of a place,” I shrugged, smiling. “I'm still waiting for the day they trade in the restroom signs for 'Grand Chamber of Toilets' ones.”

Blythe snorted. It was a good moment.

So, naturally, that's when somebody decided to chuck an axe at my head.

***

When talking about great scientific breakthroughs of the twenty-second century, it was impossible not to mention the nanomachines.

Humanity was first introduced to nanites more than half a century ago, when aliens dropped in out of nowhere and casually took over the world for two decades. Nanomachines, breathtakingly potent and versatile, were used by them in pretty much every field of science, known and unknown, from armor and spacecraft to mind control and necromancy. After dozen of raids and several major losses, guerilla forces managed to get their hands on a sample – only to find out that Dreaded tech seemed to run on handwavium, eldritch chants and the tears of small children. It took the eggheads almost sixty years to crack the science and work out minor kinks like the perpetual feeling of being watched, extreme mood swings and spontaneous sprouting of tentacles. The result was still vastly inferior to the original, but the researchers got around it by creating highly specialized nanite cocktails to fit any situation – from construction to medicine.

The greatest of these innovations was the Cluster, consisting of a small, subdermal, self-sufficient computer, attached to a nerve centre at the base of the skull, and a vial of inert medical nanites, pumped directly into the bloodstream. When the brain registered an injury, the signal passed through the Cluster, and it immediately sent out orders to its nanites to numb the pain receptors and begin the process of repairing the damage. Minor scratches and bruises healed in seconds, muscle tearing was mended in a matter of minutes and even serious damage to bones and internal organs could be fixed, though that took a little longer.

While originally limited to the military, the technology was released into mass production and made available, for free, to any Dreadward citizen within a year of Steele's Fall. It was one of those major elements that allowed for the Age of Heroes, minimizing any bystander casualties and giving capes and cloaks the freedom to use their powers in a densely populated urban area. Cowl fights turned from something dangerous to something interesting, like an unexpected office stage show or a spontaneous neighborhood soccer game. No matter what exotic powers people threw around, the danger remained minimal. It was a common saying that the Cluster could fix anything short of severe brain damage or dismemberment.

So, when you saw somebody armed with an axe – a weapon designed solely for splitting skulls and chopping off limbs – you turned around and walked the other way.

I pushed Blythe to the ground and lunged to the side, moving on sheer instinct. Something whistled through the air nearby. There was a dull thunk.

“Ha-ah, you missed.”

“So did you! And my target actually knew I'm here!”

The duo faintly faded into, not visibility, not quite, but awareness. One moment the room was empty, the next the axes were flying, and I was saved only by the bad aim of the attacker. Sheer, stupid luck.

I hated those kinds of powers.

“Excuses, excuses.”

“It's not an excuse! You're an excuse!”

Blythe let out a scream, both fear and shock delayed by the cognition-altering effect. The axe was still quivering in the table, right where his back was seconds ago.

I whirled around, then back, but, while I could hear the pair, I found myself entirely unable to pinpoint their location, much less their physical appearance.

“Is that the best you can do? That's just sad.”

“You're sad!”

I was able to register their presence now though, which was more than I could say when I first entered the room. Was their power disrupted, at least partially, by motion?

I settled into a low fighting stance and pulled out my Neural Disruptor, ready to move in either direction at a moment's notice.

“Oh, that's mature.”

“You're mature! ...Wait.”

Something seemed to flicker in the corner of my eye. Looking directly didn't give me anything, but with my peripheral vision I could almost see two hazy figures, lazily sauntering closer to us.

Not motion, I realized, distance. The two's powers made them completely imperceivable from even a few steps away. That's why they threw the axes instead of just coming up behind me and Blythe and bashing in our skulls. Their powers were weaker the closer they were to their target.

“Why, yes. Yes, I am. How nice of you to notice that.”

“You tricked me!”

The words flowed into one ear and out the other without engaging the brain centers responsible for speech recognition. I knew something was being said, but could not so much as identify the language.

My thought patterns were being artificially slowed, came the understanding. The closer the villains came, the more perceivable they were to my senses – but the less I was able to act based on that perception.

“It wasn't too hard.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

It was a good power, comprehensive and all-encompassing. I did have a counter, though.

At least, I thought so.

I looked past the duo – which moved toward me in a relaxed manner, clearly identifying me as a greater threat, but just as clearly secure in their power's protection – and to Blythe, who froze in place a few meters to the left, as though hoping he'll remain unnoticed, and was shooting wild glances around the room, unable to perceive or recognize the attackers.

{Pick it up.}

“Notice, it wasn't me who said that.”

“Well, I'm not stupid. You're stupid!”

With the cognition-altering effect, I couldn't afford to think. I had to act.

{Pick it up,} I told Blythe more forcefully. {I'll guide you.}

“Really? This again?”

I could almost distinguish the facial features of the attackers, and that meant I was out of time. I lunged forward, striking out with my baton.

The duo ceased their argument and turned toward me. The younger one rolled his eyes and moved to the side, evading my blow almost as if I was standing still. I struck again. He stepped back. With a showy flick of his wrist, he pulled out a knife and turned toward his older companion to make a comeback, completely dismissing me as a threat.

Then Blythe hit him in the back with an axe.

Blood spurted up and out, leaving uneven patterns across the floor.

“Gr-gh...” the cloak coughed out.

His partner turned at the noise, and I was close enough to perceive his countenance shifting from cheerful surprise to utter horror. By the time my eyes finally adapted to his power, the villain's face settled into bone-chilling hatred.

“You bastard,” the older one – though that was relative, since I doubted he was even twenty – snarled at Blythe. “Get away from my bro-”

I poked him in the side with my baton, and the teenager collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

It was nice to see the NDB actually work for once.

“Phew,” I breathed out, wiping away the sweat. “That was nerve-wracking. For a second there I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it in time.”

“How did...” Steven Blythe stuttered, looking down in frozen shock at the body at his feet. “Where did he even...”

“He was here all along,” I explained. My thoughts were beginning to accelerate to their normal rhythm, leaving me with a pounding headache. “But by the time you could see him, it would have already been too late. That's why I had to guide you – to tell you where to strike – before their power had a chance to shift tracks.”

Doctor's eyes slid from the body to the blood-stained axe in his hands. A second later it dropped from his nerveless hands, and Blythe was bent over, retching, even before the clang fully faded away.

“First time?” I asked sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder.

The Englishman had seen Marchioness brutally execute her underling, but it was different, doing the deed with your own two hands. And the axe was a much more visceral weapon than most.

“Is he... Did I...” he muttered, unable to finish the sentence.

“Kill him?” I looked over the body. “Well, you partially cleaved through the spine and probably damaged a lot of internal organs, but it's nothing the Cluster couldn't fix in an hour, maybe two hours of work. Of course, I sincerely doubt Marchioness – and anybody else she calls in for clean up – will give him the time.”

“He's still a kid,” Blythe muttered, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth.

“He was old enough to pick up an axe and try to kill us,” I shrugged.

And speaking of...

I knelt and turned the body over, pulling down the leather jerkin to reveal the left side of the neck. It greeted me with a leering grin underneath a six point crown; each of the spikes had a chain hanging off it with a severed hand at the end. Though the teen was dirty and unkempt, with the kind of body odor that could only be hidden by paranatural powers, the tattoo itself was professionally done, all sharp lines and deep black colors.

It was also one I was familiar with.

“The Honest Men,” I couldn't hold back a grimace.

“You know them?”

For a moment I deliberated brushing him off with some vapid drivel, but a look at Blythe's semi-vacant face persuaded me that a change of topic might do him good.

“I tried to hire them for a job once,” I stood back up and walked toward the staircase leading out of the room, gently pulling my companion when he was too slow to follow. “They laughed in my face. Then they attempted to drown me in a vat of feces.”

That actually drew a startled laugh out of the man. He looked almost surprised at the sound.

“Feces?”

“Feces,” I nodded with a wince.

“Why did they have a vat of feces?”

“To greet their guests, apparently,” I replied dryly. “When I, against all odds, managed to crawl out, they dumped a crate of feathers on my head and chased me out the building, pursuing me for no less than three levels of the Naraka cthon. Needless to say, I never felt the urge to seek them out again.”

This time Blythe only gave a respectable, dignified chuckle. He still looked subdued, but a bit of laughter at another person's expense cheered him up enough that he no longer seemed like death warmed over.

“I know what you're doing,” Blythe told me.

“Well, is it working?”

“I don't know, are we going to drop headfirst into another horror show?”

I shrugged. Then, before I could formulate my reply, the staircase beneath our feet started to shake.

Blythe looked resigned.

“I had to ask, didn't I?”

An enormous BOOM, larger than any before, reverberated throughout the halls, making the entire Grand Staircase quake and wobble like the intestines of some giant creature struggling with indigestion. Cracks spread across the walls, and the ground started to sink, collapsing from the top floors down, rolling toward us in a wave of quickly expanding quicksand.

I didn't have to tell my companion to run – his corduroy jacket was already disappearing behind the corner, slipping into the nearest sublevel with an alacrity that was admirable, if not slightly off-putting. I rushed after him, swallowing sweat and dust, feeling the crumbling tunnel nipping at my heels.

I fell into the foyer at an angle, nearly sucked back into the collapsing staircase by the decreased air pressure, and rolled several feet across the stone floor. For a few seconds I let myself simply rest there. My elbows smarted, my head swam and my hip was complaining at the rough treatment. This was entirely too close to my liking.

Blythe coughed pointedly, interrupting my reverie. With a groan of reluctance, I raised my head to survey the surroundings. Good news: we were at the right sublevel to reach the escape tunnel. Given that the main means of transfer between levels had just been destroyed, it was quite a stroke of good fortune.

Bad news: the room was already occupied.