Spica's House

In reality, the "House" is little more than a sectioned off bit of the rabbit's warren of tunnels that wind their way below the demon city. Althouh Spica could- and actually does- maintain a better and more hospitable house, this is where Spica keeps a large amount of her wealth and work items. As a matter of fact, she keeps a number of smaller bases in several of the other cities, to keep things spread out and safe, according to the little demon's inherent paranoia.

From the outside, this particular house looks as if the tunnel had caved in. Large boulders and scree cover either end of the section of the tunnel, and there is no way for anyone or anythng to enter. As the tunnel is in a very out-of-the-way area, none of the department heads in the past six-hundred or so years since Spica had taken up residence there deemed it at all important, so instead of removing the block, they roped it off.

Even if a matenince crew had chosen to try to remove the rubble, they would soon find themselves against a nearly seamless steel capsule feet thick. Spica had gotten a mould years ago and made this reinforced metal wall by herself, leaving no doors or windows to speak of, and no way to enter, save for by her own odd ability to Jump. Inside is a huge room, filled almost wall-to-wall with plants and electronic devices. The plants are generally of a poisonous nature, though Spica does keep an area strictly for vegetable and herb gardening purposes. The garden itself is mainly in case of a siege, and the herbs double as medicines and antidotes; as I've said before, Spica is nothing if not paranoid.

The plants double as the source of air in the capsule, as she disdains the idea of ventilation shafts. On the other hand, there is a small spring that she coaxes through the floor of her "house" in order to have fresh water for herself and the plants. Of course, she also keeps provisions stored away, in case she needs to block the fist-sized tube, but the little demon usually doesn't worry about it.

Alongside the plants are a myriad of lights flashing on and off, screens flickering, and the whirring of machinery echoes throughout the whole building. These are the hundreds of spying and sneaking technologies that Spica has pilfered or paid for from Tiroch over the years.

In the very back corner, against one of the cold walls, a small cot and dresser stand. These are the only material comforts that the little demon has allowed herself within her base. At the foot of the bed stands a chest. As a final parting gift from her parent, this chest is bottomless, despite its normal appearance from the outside, and it is into here she pours most of her money. She is the only one who can open it,with her fingerprints and aura as the key, and the only one able to escape once the necessary items have been extracted.

Her work clothes she keeps in a chest of drawers by her bed, also locked with her signature. Along with these clothes are hidden any number of the powders and potions she uses to do her work. The little demon keeps a collection of knives along the side of her bed, within easy reach and easy to strap on.

It was deathly cold in the space in between space; it stole one's breath away and filled his or her lungs with something like ice, but aqueous and heavier than lead. It took little over half a second to make the Jump, but the chill almost made Spica shiver as she stepped into her stronghold. It was a welcome, almost sunny warmth that greeted her as tiny tendrils of frost spread from her companion's and her own feet.

She glanced back to see the Deluder's reaction. It had been his first Jump - there were few within this or any other city with a similar ability, and even fewer with such skill. It was his fault that the Jump had taken so long, and she eyed him peevishly. Heavy bugger, isn't he?

Dropping his arm like a dead fish, she gestured to the small empty clearing amid the sea of brightly colored plants that festooned the walls and adopted an attitude resembling an airplane stewardess. "If you would step over here, please, sir, we may begin momentarily," She spun on her heel and disappeared down a thin, winding path through the foliage. "Also, don't touch anything or you're dead!" Spica called back over her shoulder.

The deluder smiled impishly. His first impulse, as was expressed on his multiple encounter with Lucifer, was to do the opposite of what she told him. This one, however, was being deathly serious. He chose the path of wisdom in his situation.

He walked over to where she said and stood, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen. He was quite curious at what sort of mission ideals she had in mind for him. But it mattered not. He needed the sword Savvy had, and he needed it with a feroscious desparity.

Thinking deeply and allowing his mind to wander across the land, he searched for Savvy. He pryed into many minds, feeling their sentiment foolishness and their petty emotions, gaining nothing but frustration. After hours of searching, he found him. He was curious, especially at his location, since he found no reason for him to have travelled to the Eastern Sea. What was even more curious was the woman he was talking to. He felt a stinge of familiarity come from her, binding and intoxicating him. He immidiately knew who she was, and began to sweat. Focusing deeper into her thoughts, he sensed a small attractiong flowing from her. She is falling for Savvy... Interesting... The Deluder thought. He could use this to his advantage in gaining the blade.

Opening his eyes, he waited for his companion. He needed to share his plan with her...

The little demon hummed under her breath as she gathered a few bottles and packages from her rather poorly kept set of dresser-drawers. It looked almost like a porcupine, and if one wasn't careful, he or she would catch themselves on the sides, gathering several splinters along with the poisons that had seeped into the wood over the years. Gathering several packages and a bejeweled dagger in one arm, she slid the drawer closed. The strangely green-hued wood slid seamlessly into place, making a soft hiss-click as the wood sealed itself together again.

The little demon hurried back to the clearing where Cerberus stood and grinned up at him. "Well, buddy boy, you ready for this?" She placed the bottles in an even line behind her on the edge of the clearing and rolled up her sleeves in a businesslike manner.

"Without any particular talent for real magic," the little demon explained, drawing out another seemingly random set of doodles on the floor with a few drops of a clear potion and a handful of white powder, "I've had to make do otherwise. If you will wait until the Cycle is finished, we should be ready for the blood bond."

The black widow crawled out from Spica's pocket to join the inscribed scribbles on the floor, creating her own tiny tic marks in the design as she scuttled back and forth busily. Spica muttered under her breath quietly as she finished the last binding symbol on the drawing. In less than five minutes, there was a sprawling, intricate inscription larger than a man's height glaring balefully up at the pair from the floor. Spica stood up, dusting her hands and admired her handiwork. "A good cast. Lolth!"

The spider scuttled up, climbing Spica's outstretched arm to sit on her shoulder like a pirate's pet parrot. Spica held up a small satchel and pinched a bit of its contents. The powder within looked black, but as she blew it out over the circle, it became a sparkling purplish haze that shifted like a cloud in the wind and winked like tiny amethyst. A sprinkling from a small vial at the edges of the inscription made the seemingly random doodles brighten to a dull, throbbing red within the haze. Spica picked up the dagger and gestured at the area.

"This is your last chance, boy," the little demon whispered, "Do you truly want to bind yourself to me? I can promise you that you will go far, but that you also will never again be free. Power, or the semblance of freedom? It is your choice," Her smile nearly reached to her ears as she laughed suddenly and her canines seemed to glow in the back-light of the spell as it smoldered on the floor. "Though truly you have no real choice - not within my lair," her eyes seemed to flick to life, glowing a brilliant orange, "So it's a simpler question, I suppose... Servitude or death?"

"Making things interesting, aye mate?" Ceberus asked. He oustretched his arm and faced his palm upwards, initiating the ritual. Power was always better than bloody freedom for him in the first place, and he knew that no one would dare make a blood oath unless they were true to their word. He placed a great deal of trust in the bloke in hopes of great power in return.

"Alright, chap, let's get on with this," He said, feeling his heart pound rapidly, heating up beyond normal.

The little demon nodded curtly at the Deluder. As I'd expect, he prefers power to freedom. She almost shook her head at his idiocy, but chose instead to back into the purplish haze, keeping her eyes locked on Cerberus.

Her body tingled with the swirling magics as she padded inward - as she approached the middle, her skin crackled with the power resonating through the air. Such a strong cast, Spica could have grinned, but decided against it. Instead, she took a small golden bowl crawling with indecipherable symbols from a pocket carefully and set it in the dead center. There was a soft, sub-sonic thud that rippled through the ground beneath her feet and a whoosh of air as the dust contracted into a tiny pile in the bottom of the bowl and the symbols flashed brilliantly.

With so much magic in the air, Spica could feel her humanoid form slipping in places, so it was a stretched, convoluted face she turned to the Deluder, and a body several feet taller and skinnier that twisted his way. The demon known as Spica widened its jaws in a semblance of a grin and beckoned with a gnarled finger. "Come closer, little one," it hissed, turning its eyes back to the bowl and shifting the knife in its other beautiful woman's hand delicately. Already, with the enchantment now contained in the bowl, Spica was shifting back, standing now as a tall woman with auburn hair and eyes that shifted constantly between night blue and honey-gold.

"Lolth," she cooed, picking the spider up on one finger, "I call on your power to aid mine and bind this man to me." The black widow waved its forelegs at the demoness vehemently. Suddenly, after a particularly enthusiastic twirl, the spider sunk its fangs into her hand.

Spica could feel the venom and power travel like wildfire up her arm and for a moment saw from both her own eyes and her familiar's. It always tended to give her awful nausea, but Spica just grinned softly. The mark of the demon's eye in the center of her left palm glowed dully. Spica turned the knife over in her right hand and drew a delicate line across it, the knife so sharp that it parted the skin at a touch. A deep, black drop of blood welled up from the wound, as fat and round as the spider that still stood on the knife's hilt.

Squeezing her hand tightly, she watched as the single drop of blood fell with a plink into the bowl, almost as if it had turned to stone. She turned again to the Deluder and brandished the knife. "If you please," she said politely, her eyes sparkling eagerly even as her soft, red lips curled in a languid smile.

It was a ritual that usually was only performed by the higher echelons of Lucifer's closest, and it was only through hundreds of years of practicing and searching before Spica could imitate their techniques. In most cases, a blood bond was merely a written contract signed and cosigned by a higher demon; breakable, but not without punishment. This bond, however, was one that could even call a fellow demon back from the dead to be fulfilled. It was extremely dangerous and was therefore banned to all "common" demons. A single caster could take weeks to recover from the aftershock without the buffers and barriers that Spica had called upon with her careful collection of potions and dusts; as it was, she would be completely drained after the ritual for a full two days and wouldn't be able to function properly for another three.

On the other hand, a breach of the contract would boil the blood from the unfortunate victim and grind his bones to dust, but leave his soul intact the entire time, and echoes of the bond would reverberate through the future generations. All Spica needed now were Cerberus's words and a drop of his blood. And he will be mine, the demoness cackled inwardly, Like so many others.

Ceberus smirked as he examined the true demonic entity of his companion. He found her to be stunningly attractive to a point where he knew any normal demon would be incapacitated at any moment to remember, if they even knew to begin with, that they could assess their own terms before this particular pact was made and seal it to keep those terms unbroken. The only rule was that the one being bound could not have power over, only equal to, his or her master, and that he could not have infinate power. Luckily for Ceberus, he was no ordinary demon. And unlike the other fools who most likely bound themselves to her, he knew of fleeting beauty and could resist.

Taking the beatiful dagger, stained with her blood that stilled like a pond in the blood grooves of the blade, and slit up his arm, allowing the blood to seep out like water from a broken jar. A rather long stream flowed gracefully in the bowl below it. Once the blood mixed, it began to steam and lit on fire. His vision was perversed, like an image in hologram, and nothing could stay still. In a pattern, resonating sub-sonic booms reverberated like the pulse of a heartbeat all around them. He reared back his head as a dark, sinister chuckled escaped his throat. It was time to reveal his terms to the bind.

"By the blood of the concubined demonic prowess, Spica black-heart, mixed with the blood of the desired foolish servant, Ceberus Stalwart, these terms are laid out upon and must be agreed to by both parties. Should one withdraw, the curse of Lucifer to be condemned of blackness and eternal damnation shall thereof be inflicted on until it is deemed appropriate to cease punishment," Ceberus said. It wasn't him who spoke the rules, but a voice that echoed along with his own. The baritone offset his own voice, to be noticable by them both.

"These are the terms of the concubined demonic prowess; that the servant be eternally bound to her by blood and to be obedient to her will. He will obey whatever her request unless it comprimises his own life and soul or hers. Their hearts shall be bound to feel each others emotions and thoughts. There shall be no secrets in the servant," The deluder assessed. A bright red light carved itself into his outstretched arm, leaving behind an image of a black widow.

"These are the terms of the desired foolish stalwart; that he gains equal authority as his master. His power will be made great through the combined blood, he shall gain a combination and a doublefold of power from his and hers. His strength will be greater than any known demon through this combination, therfore making him next in lineage for the throne of Lucifer; making him the next almighty Satan. He will answer only to his master through this and will be obediant without question. Should he refuse, he will be physically destroyed. His free will shall remain intact," the voice said as Ceberus' eyes glowed red. He was floating in the air as his mouth moved. He had not noticed. He watched as her arm bore the same marking as his arm did.

"The two partisans are now bound by blood. They are mated by soul. As the decree of the immortal bonding allows, this treaty shall not be broken for all of eternity. The terms have been assessed and the markes brandished. Vidglash mi dad. Begansd Egriegad ehfarad." After he spoke, his flesh began to flicker as hers did before her transformation. Eventually, he became a mass of blackness. His glowing red eyes remained and a wide smile, revealing sharp, milk-white teeth. A chuckle echoed all around them. Before he knew it, red and black lightning struck him. He laughed harder with more insanity each time, feeling the power flow into his body effortlessly. He could no longer feel his heart, he felt no need for it.

Then, his flesh accumulated. His arm still bore the mark, but his body changed. He grew more beautiful to the naked eye, his skin became filled with color, glowing as if it had a light of it's own. His facial features were more refined and perfected. His hair glistened in the dim light of that room. He smirked at her.

"I have to say, milady, you are quite beautiful," he admited, caring not her reaction. He simply spoke his mind. He noticed himself as he stood only a few inches taller than her. He admired her true form, the grace and beauty of it. She was simply.... Evil. "And now I finally know your name. The illuminous and infamous Spica. Hmpf."

He looked at her, waiting for her to finish the pact by transffering the last drop of blood from her healing wound over to his wound as he did the same, sealing their fates for eternity....

Spica herself stood still and nearly silent as she watched the transformation, her eyes half-hooded and her lips parted in a soft smile. A few whispered words of her own went into the final weaving of the spell, to complement the peices she had written in the first runes. So quiet and sibilant they were, that they hissed below the bonds created by Cerberus's words, twisting and bending, weaving warp and weft into its wild pattern. It was not simple brute strength that she called upon, but the Deluder's own magics, a wall between his questing eyes and her own thoughts and a check on his power. It would not do, to have him go rampaging through the town for the H--- of it. We can just as easily be destroyed as we are made; if too much trouble is caused, we will be broken by Lucifer Himself.

Spica traced the arachnid symbol as it flashed up her arm, spreading upward and outward like a patch of oil on water. She frowned and touched it lightly, pulling its darkness down to her palm. I'd never go anywhere branded like that, she sighed. With a soft, light flash, Spica closed her palm on the concentrated patch of darkness as it receded into the tattooed eye cradled there. A slight shadow of a spider flickered on her arm among a myriad of other writhing shadow-shapes, glowering in the fading wisps of the magics.

The eerie hum that echoed through her lips sank into silence as Cerberus, laughing maniacally, was set once again on the ground. Cocking an eyebrow at him disdainfully, she took in his perfected form. So vain... she smirked back, still unmoved even as he blurted out what she could plainly see.

"I suppose I should thank you for the compliment," the demon chuckled softly, "but truly you know nothing of me, to think this my true form." She stepped close and brushed a hand lightly along his chin, cooing softly, "Have you truly all you wished for? I have spoken my part, as you have spoken yours and I feel our cuffs closing."

Indeed, Spica could almost hear the clink of chains that bound the two inextricably together, the groan of the heavy links, and feel the heavy burden of the encircling cuffs. She held out her trembling hand, the thin line of black blood still oozing slightly as she turned her gaze down to it. The demon was running almost exclusively on fumes. What little energy she had left was being used to keep her upright and Lolth, on her shoulder, was completely spent. A strong cast, indeed.

Ceberus smirked a beautiful, sly smile. "There is one thing that was agreed on that I did not mention, but will when the time is right," Ceberus said, sheilding his thoughts well. He made it part of the terms that this thought remain hidden until it was neccesary. He had most of what he wished for; power and next in line for the title of Satan. He would be the next devil. But the other few things were to remain a secret, not out of bloody fear, but because now was not the time. And because of these hidden terms, he knew they would work exactly as were stated.

"As for now, my beautiful mistress," he said as he slowly moved closer to her face and whispered into her ear softly and smoothly, "sleep. Let your servant handle a few things as you rest, and then the killing will start."

Ceberus backed away and smiled darkly as he looked into her eyes.

Spica ran the hand along his forearm, staining it with a trail of black over the raw, red wound there. "It is done," she whispered, feeling a final throb rush up her arm as the chains gained their final substance. Reaching up, she brushed Cerberus's smirking lips with her own lightly, a physical sign of the closing of the seal. "You are mine," the demon murmured, swaying, her eyes closed in a sleepy trance.

Her eyes flashed open for a moment, glittering and wild. "You will not touch me, my familiar, nor my plants, save to care for them," Spica demanded in the heavy tones of a tolling bell. "'Else I may not be able to keep you alive long enough for our contract to be fulfilled."

Eyes rolling up into her head, the demon slumped to the ground, the last vestiges of her energy slipping away as she fell unconscious. If only I could make him leave, her thoughts followed her, padding into the darkness behind her, My weakness cannot be helped, only endured, and he has not inherited my ability to Jump, since it's my being, not my power.

Tiny black orbs like raindrops scattered across the smooth floor from Spica's crumpled body as she lay on the ground. The orbs evaporated a short distance away, spreading out and disappearing without a sign of smoke or a trail. It was as if they had never been. The only sign of their departure was that Spica's body itself was going through a rapid change - her previously auburn hair turned a bright, platinum white and her features sunk to a beautiful androgyny as she "aged". Yet, the demon took no notice of it all. It lay as if dead, its pulse below that of any living being and its breathing all but stopped.

A radius of nearly six yards from the bonding site that had once been verdant and green seemed to have vanished in a puff of black soot that lined the walls. The cast had pulled more power from Spica than the demon had anticipated, and though the consequences had grieved it, the demon had to pull life-energy from the myriad of plantlike creatures growing nearby to sustain its own life. Unlike many creatures, Spica sustained its life through the absorption of energy rather than the intake of nutrients, and like different foods, all types of energy "tasted" radically different. Its absolute favorite flavor was that of chaos and wrath; they filled the demon like warm soup on a snowy day. Other types of energies were more bland and therefore less sustaining, while some were outright disgusting, like the burning taste of happiness or the bland dustiness of friendship. Between the two extremes, however, was the flavor of the life-energies of small plants. Though bitter, the power could sustain Spica for a short time when desperate measures were called for, though it seemed that tended there was a cap on the amount of this type of energy that could be taken in. No matter how long or hard the demon tried, it couldn't absorb life-energy from anything larger or more sentient than a fern, much to its disappointment.

Hanging on this border of life and death was the most terrifying thing about the ritual, for the caster could just as easily find themselves waking up dead as they might wake up alive. It was so easy to slip away here, to leave the burden of a body behind. Every time Spica walked this path, the demon found itself filled with the selfsame longing, the yearning burning to walk the new paths within Death. What would await? Spica did not know. Every time, Spica's semblance of a heart strained to cross that border, and yet every time, she refused it. It was turning its back on a perfected Eden. The paradise's sweet, lilting melody would hum in its heart for years after walking this path, but Spica never turned aside. Instead, its feet trekked the well-worn border until she could find her way into Life, to suffer, to gain, to lose and live again.

The plants that still lined the walls seemed to loom closer as Spica slipped away with the air of both a worried nursemaid and a jealous lover. After so many years of tending under Spica's care, the plants seemed almost sentient and rustled at each other, wondering at the stranger in their midst. They almost seemed to watch him balefully from every nook and cranny, deciding in their own, slow way, how to deal with this intruder.

Ceberus frowned as she gave her command, almost a little insulted that she would compare him to a lower demon who's swinish thoughts would be to invade and violate the body of their master, no matter how gorgeous. He felt the pang of the light kiss, sealing their union through the bond, and longed for it to last. It brought the void in his chest some semblance of a longing. He regained his normal composure and watched as she drifted into a deep sleep and her body withered and aged from the power in the cast she performed.

"Sleep, my master. The only reason I should touch you is to move you to a bed. But you need to rest, Lady Spica. Accept my small energy to give you more life before I depart," Ceberus said as he recalled the cast he was about to perform. He whispered quietly, "Methagratsi Iglaish..." and pressed his lips softly to hers, transferring the energy to her own body. He pulled away and watched as her body grew younger and filled with more life. He listened as she breathed normally again.

Ceberus then turned to the plants, feeling they were unsure of his own presence. They seemed to shake almost imperceptibly in their pots as he looked at them, perhaps a warning should he attempt something foolish. He attempted at reassuring them that he wasn't so imbecilic, but they seemed to have a consciousness that didn't trust him. He decided to leave them alone until it was his time to care for them.

Ceberus the turned to the resting Spica and picked her up. He placed her on her bed in her room and pulled the covers over her body up to her shoulders. Sleep snug, milady. You'll need it. He thought to himself. He then turned away and walked into the dining room. He noticed there was no door, so he uttered a simple warping spell to reappear on the outside. He felt his energy dwindle away slightly as he reappeared, but no matter. He had business to handle in Strid. A certain human mucked trouble and aroused his attention, and he needed to satisfy it. He walked out the door and memorized his path as he stealthily and quietly evaded notice of the other fools and made his way to Strid...

Though her body was completely incapacitated, Spica's mind remained awake. She had reached her own body again seconds before Ceberus had warped through the walls of her house, and thank goodness, too. Numb though she was to the outside world, Spica still felt the pinprick pull against the deadly wards enveloping the silver capsule she called home. Imbecile! The little demon almost could have screamed as the pressure increased. I can't use you when you're dead!

Instead of contacting the other demon, who was already passing halfway through his warping spell, Spica mentally jumped straight towards the wards before him. It was something akin to falling face first on a bed of tightly-knit vines, except these vines twisted and moved underneath her, entangling Spica's limbs and pulling her inward. At the center, Spica knew, the wards would take on a more dangerous form.

Normally, the wards, though they almost never saw her enter or leave her own house in such a way, would have recognized her, but without her body to accompany the mind that attacked them, they were befuddled. Spica sat quietly for a moment in the vines' quizzical investigation before they released her. As she saw Ceberus appearing behind her, she brushed the wards aside to make an area for him to escape. Like eager, grasping hands, the wards still quested out after the demon after he had passed through, immediately closing after his steps.

Spica's body panted wildly as her mind turned to get back to her own body through the tenuous touch of her hand against the wall. It had taken a good bit of her own energy every day to sustain the wards' greedy need for sustenance, but they had been worth it. Countless people had been swallowed by its ravenous mouths. Luckily, since its creation was based in what would amount to a tome of runes drawn in Spica's own ink-black blood, it could never mistake her for an intruder and so swallow its creator. It had nearly bled her dry when she, under the guidance of a Gatekeeper, first wrote the huge volume. The day that Spica molded her abode, the tome, in bits and pieces, was worked into the walls, creating a bridge to communicate with the wards and replenish them as need be.

Her consciousness staggered back to her prone body wearily and settled down for some rest. Not only was her mind buzzing with exhaustion now, but it was taxing on her body as well. What energy Ceberus had lent to her was spent. Mentally milling about, Spica followed the newly created bond that the pair had created to see what, exactly, was going on. Not that I'll be able to really curb him in this state, she harrumphed, listing to one side, The d---'d demon had better not f--- this up.

Spica's body twitched as she saw Ceberus's thoughts and sights. What in the name of the nine H---s is he doing?! She frantically tried to send some sort of warning to the demon, to stop him.

You don't even know of your new powers yet; you can't control them! Don't! Instead of sending anything other than an anxious flurry of emotions, Spica's body simply coughed blood and blacked out her mind. Sh--.

Spica sat up suddenly, hissing in anger. Her body was far from fully healed, but her newest pet was far out of line. "What are you DOING?!" Spica shrieked, jumping up while simultaneously Jumping to his physical side.

Returning in an instant with the demon in tow, Spica fumed loudly and colorfully at him for quite some time, before swaying woozily on her feet. She sat with a rather heavy pfft on the mattress of her small cot and massaged her temples carefully. "Do you realize..." she hissed angrily, "Do you realize what you could have done?!"

Her arm flashed out faster than the eye could see and pulled the demon close by the collar of his shirt. Her breath whooshed heavily into his face as she held his eyes coldly and continued. "You know nothing of the powers you've gained. You have brought attention to yourself," she snarled as her other hand clenched and unclenched involuntarily next to her on the cot. She wished so badly to destroy the imbecile and be done with it. "You have endangered me and yourself. And for what purpose? To pretend to fulfill some half-baked fantasy and twiddle your fingers where they don't belong. You may have power," she spat, "but you are never invincible."

"As punishment," the demoness hissed coldly, still holding his eyes and shirt, "I will seal your new powers until you need them." With one hand, she tapped several pressure points, incapacitating both his magical ability and his ability to move, "Also, you will remain with me until you learn. From here on, my pup, you have a short leash until you can prove that you deserve otherwise."

Standing again, Spica dropped Ceberus unceremoniously onto the ground, not giving him a single glance as she paced away. Mayashell, in respect to your power, I ask that you do not be drawn against any others without my explicit permission. Else I must give you back to your original master.

Ceberus didn't bow, show emotion, or anything else. He cared not for her reaction, for all that happened was meant to happen. He simply set the wheels turning.

"There were... Things I needed to do while you were unconscious physically. As I know, you would have not allowed me to do them when you regained your strength, so I had no other oppertunity. This blade," Ceberus said, removing it from it's shieth, "is my own blade as it was chosen for me. I am the heir to the throne of Lucifer. And the human Savvy was not meant to be a human. Your aura reading gift allowed me to see that. Also, that pack of weres and I were meant to meet. As they were meant to form their pack. They are the soon rulers of the were kingdom." Ceberus explained as detailed as he could.

'As you command, master Spica. Do well to remember to keep Ceberus informed that I may be his blade, but I do not serve just him in this bond,' Mayashell commanded respectfully. The blade transfrerred an image of Lucifer wielding him over to her to remind her he can make such requests. He was still the blade of Lucifer, no matter what.

Spica just fumed as she stomped away. Imbecile! The demoness wished so badly to rake her fingers through the Deluder's fragile aura, to break him and leave him sobbing on the floor for mercy. Her slender digits twitched hopefully at the thought, but she restrained herself, remembering her weakness.

Instead, she turned a corner in the paths that wound through the plants and settled herself among them, breathing slowly as if to attain some semblance of inner peace. I will have to break him of his superstitions, Spica hissed quietly through her teeth, or they will be the death of both of us. prophecies are but words, and ideals but a whisper on a fickle wind. He desired power; he thought it was a physical prowess. I will show him that it is the mental ability and practicality that shall rule over them all.

She glanced down to see the black widow, Lolth scuttling up her leg, and felt a smooth wave of something akin to contentment flow through her. Spica reached out a finger to pet the creature and smiled, her anger cooled for the moment. "Shhh, it's alright, darling," she whispered, "He didn't completely destroy us, and Lucifer has yet to truly know."

Ceberus simply sat down on the floor, reviewing over what had happened during the daylight hours and what would happen the next days. He regretted nothing. He found it to be eventful and fun, on the contrary. He let no emotion come into his mind, only reason and logic. It flowed throught him like a river. He knew that prophecies were nothing more than a mythilogical prediction, but all the predictions in his own life were fulfilled, including himself becoming a deluder over the territory he lived in. So it mattered not to him whether he endured pain or not, as long as he gained control over his power and used them gracefully for his own will.

'I have been bound to reside in my shieth, Ceberus," Mayashell said.

'What?!'

"What you did was a bloody dumb a** move. I am your blade, but as Spica is your master, she is mine.'

'Bloody hell,' Ceberus cursed.

Spica watched his aura from afar, giggling quietly at his surprise and outrage. By the stubborn color, though, as well as the link, he was obviously unrepentant. Spica sighed. It was the way of things; every apology and every regret was a leaching of the soul, while remorse and guilt were bludgeons that crippled the body that housed them. It does p--- me off, though.

Taking a few more moments to gather her own thoughts and poise, she stroked her finger through Ceberus's aura, frowning. Although her body was far from its full strength, she would have to begin working with her newly obtained pet, teaching him the meaning of discipline. Opening her eyes, Spica rocked to her feet and sighed. The black widow scuttled up her pants leg and into a convenient pocket like a roach scurrying from the light as Spica gritted her teeth and massaged her temples in irritation.

Let's get this over with, the demon decided, turning to take even, slow strides to where Ceberus sat on the floor. "So," she crossed her arms and glared down at the demon maliciously, "Tell me. What did you do wrong?"

"I used my power in a way that would reveal our prescence and ultimately bring about our doom," Ceberus said without thinking. He wasn't even going to say those words, they simply flowed out of his mouth as if it were the only words he knew. Listning to himself, he began to realize the ignorance of his action, and how he truly was no match for four weres in his current state. He may have set wheels in motion that could not be stopped, but he should have done it more descretely.

"I offer no apology, however, as apologies are simply words. I will, however, learn my lesson from this. Whatever more punishment I have wrought, let be unleashed," Ceberus said, uncaring, dauntly. It was that sort of stupidity that would end him. He realized now he needed to master his new power in order to be able to complete such tasks as he did...

"He can be taught!" she feigned surprise. "Who do we worry about and what, in particular, was your sin?"

Spica paced in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back, acting as a military officer reprimanding a grunt. Punishment? Pah! I need not punish him if he can see it himself. It will make it all the more meaningful if I do not. Spica frowned down at the Deluder expectantly, clicking her heels together as she faced him and gesturing impatiently. "Well?"

"We worry over nothing for the time being, as you saved me from an unavoidable death, but should I have gone unchecked, we worry over the punishment of Lucifer himself, the weres I encountered, and Savvy, who is now a vampire breed known as imps. My sin was initialing a era of fate without permission, therefore turning wheels in which I had no right to and they cannot be halted now," Ceberus explained in the same manner. He listened to himself, carefully taking in each word that he did not do it again. He needed to master his power should he go about again, and he needed to be secretive.

"And you're sure that is all?" Spica sneered, bending down to look into Ceberus's averted eyes. She brushed his chin, turning his head until their gazes locked. Nestled within the irises, she saw the exact echoes of his thoughts, even as they whispered in her mind. You, you, you, always you, she could have spat with disgust.

"You should be more cautious of others," she remarked, drawing away, "Someday your arrogance will be the death of you."

She released her control on the blood-seals she had collected for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years for a moment. A swirl of multicolored inks whirled up her arm like a pack of wolves leaping on a helpless fawn, covering almost every inch of her skin with their writhing, reeling forms. Some were faded and old, others shining and new, though none so bright as the new spider that scuttled up her arm. Turned away from him, Spica's face looked almost old, almost careworn. "I am far from invincible," she hissed, feeling the marks' weight, "But I have outlived all these - these who were just as ambitious as you."

She smiled back over her shoulder at Ceberus, her face mottled with dizzily shifting colors, "So, my pet," she flicked her fingers and absorbed the pigments back into her skin, "What was your sin?"

Ceberus then realized what his sin was. He realized at how, his entire life, he was so self absorbed. It felt as if the conviction was just now hitting him.

"My sin is pride," Ceberus finally admitted. "Pride and self-concern."

The demon widened the ironic twist of her mouth, revealing the glint of a pearly white canine behind her lips as she felt the thud-flutter of the realization hit the boy. At least something made it through his thick skull, she snickered inwardly, Plus, now he won't try to exceed his limits. Because of his new power levels, I'll have to make sure he remembers the basic laws and such before we get into heavy duty training and... Her thoughts continued as an undertone, categorizing, labeling, dating as she pat Ceberus's head absentmindedly, as if petting an obedient dog.

Her "righteous" fury was subsiding, with the aversion of danger, and the demoness's quick burst of energy was rapidly draining from her again. Her limbs were already quaking, and she frowned at them irritably as she felt the edges of her thoughts soften. She returned her attention to Ceberus.

"Mull on that for a bit, will you?" Spica quipped flippantly, wandering around him to her spartan cot. She sat down with a creak of springs and stared at him a moment longer. "And don't try to leave this time," she sighed, exasperated, "I had to save you from your idiocy last time, and I don't want to have to do it again; the wards almost swallowed me when I tried to let you out. If you try to leave before you've fledged, I'm not going to catch you this time."

The demoness floomped over and pulled the sheets up to her chin. "Besides," she yawned widely, "After that fiasco, it's going to take me longer to recover." Her eyes fluttered shut and her voice petered away, "And I'll be royally p---ed if you wake me up."

She opened one blue-gold eye and glared at him menacingly just before completely passing out, "You'd better not bother my plants."

Ceberus snickered playfully at her, but felt very tired also. He spent a good deal of energy today with what he did, and needed to rest a bit. So he found his way to the living room, sat on the floor, and meditated. His thoughts reviewed and reviewed all he did and he studied the abilities he used. He constantly diverted back to his masters power to find a connection, but some of the powers were completely random and seemed useless. He was certain there was some need for them. Slowly, Ceberus began to fall asleep.