Chapter - 46

"Heeeeey, Mike." Azazel greeted, feeling his armpits begin to instinctively prickle with sweat. He was in huge danger. Super huge danger. Oh God, he wasn't ready to go out quite yet. He had so many experiments to do, and so many women to tumble.

"Hello Azazel." The archangel beamed back. Standing in the garden against the backdrop of a Roman villa, Michael looked entirely innocent and not at all like an avenging angel about to skin him alive for cutting him out of a treaty deal.

The tableau held, a smiling gentle angel standing across from a visibly perspiring fallen angel.

"So, am I going to die right now?"

Michael threw back his head and laughed. "I'm not sure whether to be amused or a little bit hurt by the assumption, old friend."

"Yeah, well it's been a few thousand years." The leader of the Grigori justified, running a relieved hand through the tangles of his flyaway mane. "You'll have to forgive me if I remember less 'Garden of Eden' and more 'Repent or Burn in Hell.'"

Pouting at the exaggeration, Michael conjured up a table and pair of chairs. Coffee poofed into existence a moment later, and taking a mug the leader of Heaven took a seat. "Goodness, is that really how you all saw me?"

"You were kind of a badass back in the day."

"And I'm not now, is that what you mean to suggest?"

"Shutting up now."

Azazel took a seat opposite to the archangel, summoning a small bottle of brandy and adding a generous dollop to his mug of coffee. "So, how's the lady friend?"

"Well."

"Aww, come on." The fallen angel needled, swirling his drink with a stir stick. "You have to give me a little more than that. I haven't seen Gabriel in years. She still hungering for a few brats?"

Michael smiled with just a touch of sorrow. "Yes, she is. You know how difficult it is for our kind to reproduce. Without God, it has become practically impossible. I am sure the System can eventually be configured to substitute for His Touch, but until then Heaven is barren."

"Ouch. I didn't mean to bring up bad vibes. I don't think Gabriel would want to be friends if I accidentally went and tainted the big cheese."

"Azazel, I have lived for thousands of years and been married to Gabriel for hundreds. I wouldn't Fall so easily."

"Tough crowd, tough crowd." Smiling into his mug, Azazel swallowed the mix of piping hot caffeine and sweet alcohol. "So, to cut to the chase, I'm a bit surprised that you're not pulling my guts out through my nose right about now."

A pale blonde eyebrow crept slowly up as Michael savored another sip of his carafe. "I'm not sure whether to find the way you assume I'm given to such violence humorous or disturbing. But to answer what you're really getting at – no, I'm actually rather pleased that you went and signed that treaty with the devils."

Azazel snorted, lounging back in his chair and pointing a lazy accusing finger at the other man. "Don't bullshit me old man. I know that the angels were all up in arms about it. That's why we're sitting in Tuscany and not in my office. I was hoping having humans around might keep you from taking your pound of flesh."

The golden halo above the archangel's head brightened with the swell of Michael's mirth. "Again with the accusations of aggression and old age. Are you sure you're not projecting? Nevertheless, despite the headache from all the complaining, I was pleased. Unity is better than division since you share Gehenna, and I wasn't swayed by the political hot air."

Which was easy for Michael to say. The devils were governed by a feudal aristocracy, and the Grigori were a pseudo-military organization with ranks and units. Heaven by contrast was an absolute monarchy, ruled first by God and then by Michael after the vacancy on the Throne of Heaven. If Michael didn't care about something, that was the end of it. No one could make him do anything, especially when the archangel was backed by the System.

"Man, have I ever told you how jealous I am of you?"

"Once or twice."

*

When Ophis descended into Naraka, it was amidst a kaleidoscope of lurid colours and blazing light. Mahatmapraba was the lowest realm of the Adho Loka, full of dense darkness and a crushing sense of weight and despair. For an instant, even the Infinity Dragon bowed under the immense psychological pressure of it.

Then her power flexed, running deep and old as time, and with godlike might the strongest being in existence crushed the atmosphere. The ancient spell unraveled, shadows and sorrow peeling back until the gothic lolita stood straight backed on a carpet of black soil.

"About time you made it here."

"Bikou." Turning her attention to the descendent of Sun Wukong, Ophis took in the utterly exhausted slump of the youkai's shoulders. A thick wiry beard grew from Bikou's handsome face in a wild tangle, just touching his chest. Red armor was coated in dried flecks of demigod blood and the slime of slain Naraki.

"I was really starting to think that we were just fighting down here in the dark for nothing, ya know?" the monkey youkai sighed, dragging the back of his hand over his aching eyes. "I signed up for a bit of excitement, not to be your war hound."

"Did you not find the battles to your liking?" A hand settled over Bikou's abdomen, linking youkai to dragon god and enabling her to flood his flesh with cool refreshing strength. Watching as the fatigue fell away, color returning to her underling's cheeks and brightening his gaze, Ophis cut the connection between them.

"Well, I did, but it kind of got boring down here after a while." Bikou chuckled, scratching at the back of his head and setting his Nyoi-Bo against his shoulder. "You gave me some troops to work with, but they're not the most interesting people to talk to, and don't getting me started on all the baddies."

Turning away from Bikou, Ophis scanned the horizon with cutting grey orbs. Once the darkness had been lifted, the results of her war effort were easy to see. What had once been a stretching plain full of opulent mansions presided over by cruel demigods was a flat featureless wasteland. Plumes of smoke rose into the dull red sky from half a hundred bonfires lit by her Khaos Brigade.

"What is the disposition of our forces?"

"We took some hits. Nothing too bad though. I'd say maybe ten percent at most dead? Not to say that it's not bad for those guys, but it was less than what we were projecting in the first place."

"You have not run out of supplies yet?"

"Nah."

Casualty rates didn't really concern Ophis. It wouldn't have mattered if there was a single death or everyone but Bikou had died. If they were too weak to survive and complete the conquest of Mahatmapraba, those soldiers would be too weak to slay Great Red.

A battle between the Infinity Dragon and the Apocalypse Dragon would be a struggle of titans. If her allies were merely to survive during the struggle, they would need to be mighty. If they were to actually be useful, they would need to be practically godlings themselves. Hence why she'd lowered herself to conquest in the first place.

War had a way of sharpening the mortals and reforging them into warriors much more skilled, assuming they managed to survive to the end of the conflict. How many died along that road didn't matter to her, because those that survived would have grown stronger for it, and they were all in the end expendable anyway.

"How many did you manage to turn?"

"A few hundred of them. The demigods down here are pretty sadistic fucks, but when the boot is on their throat they're not dumb. Genociding ninety-five percent of them brought the rest of them to heel. And the less said about the Naraki, the better."

Fair enough. Ophis hadn't expected to recruit any of them in the first place. The Naraki were former human souls, cast into the depths of Naraka and tormented with all kinds of agonies by the demigods that lived there. The end result was a shapeless blob, full only of the instinct to obey their masters for the ten thousand years of their pitiful existence.

"Prepare for reinforcements beginning next week." Ophis ordered. While she'd committed the entirety of the Khaos Brigade's Old Satan faction to the invasion of the Adho Loka, the dragon god had held off on deploying any of her other factions. The command had chafed at the Hero faction especially, but she'd held firm. She had no idea about how well the war would go, and only a fool threw all their eggs in one basket.

But now that she'd conquered a realm and destroyed all its former inhabitants or recruited them, it was time to start pulling the fractured parts of her Army of Disaster together. Dozens of scattered enclaves formed out of a handful of soldiers each made it difficult for anyone to discover the Khaos Brigade, but it was less efficient and reduced her ability to project power. Having a base of operations would solve those issues.

A wry smirk pulled at Ophis' lips. She was becoming a regular little – what had been that human's name? – Caesar, yes. It had been so long since the Ouroboros Dragon had tasted the blessed silence and peace that she'd once known in the Dimensional Gap. Great Red made enjoying it impossible, and even for an ancient existence like herself time could take its toll.

She wondered if after Great Red was dead if she'd be able to so easily resume a way of living she hadn't followed for thousands of years.

Almost unbidden, a memory of dark ichor and blood flashed behind Ophis' eyes. It had been a few short years since she'd last seen Uchiha Sasuke, but with just the slightest bit of focus she could feel the connection between them sawing away relentlessly in the back of her mind.

Creating the bond with her little recruit had been a gamble. She'd shared her snakes with hundreds of other mortals before, but never had she created such a connection. Binding him to her by blood and magic and a little bit of soul had been nothing more than a theoretical exercise, until she'd actually done it. After that, the link was 'permanent', and for the next ten thousand years the Uchiha would always be on the very periphery of her awareness.

Well, that was assuming she didn't decide to tear it out, which she would at least hold off on doing until after the battle with Great Red.

There was no point in arbitrarily killing one's own soldiers.