As usual, there was blood everywhere. Andreas sighed
miserably and shook a bit of human entrails off his boot. It was a boat house
of some variety, but it might as well have been a slaughterhouse for all the
bits and the smell. He had done his fair share of butchery over the aeons, but
this was beyond the pale.
“Why can’t she just talk to people?” he demanded as he
spotted his lover. Hector looked up and effected a small shrug.
“You try explaining that torture isn’t always necessary to a
woman like Medea, you’ll likely end up like that,” he said, pointing at what
looked like the remains of a skull. The brain was leaking out, somehow pooling
sadly below it. Andreas decided not to dwell on how it had reached such a
liquid state.
“Did we get anything at least?”
“Apparently we did,” Hector replied, gesturing at
vaguely-visible sigils written all over walls, “according to Mercedes, these are Keys to open a Gate to
Hell, or something.”
“So...what? We’re going to storm Hades and retrieve Amy?”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple a plan,” Hector
assured him, “not even Medea is a match for the Prince.”
“But does she knows that?” Andreas murmured, then,
seriously, “as long as she lets us in on the plan, I don’t like the idea of
Lucifer screwing around with the order of things.”
“If the Elder would get off their behinds and help it would
make a difference.”
“So you believe we should go to Reveille?” Andreas asked,
they had not discussed this before.
“I believe we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“You’re not wrong, love,” Andreas agreed, scraping some
unknown visceral matter off the sole of his boot, “not wrong in the least.”
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