The Lady of Fate sat astride her throne, her head tilted and chin resting in her hand as she listened with open disinterest to her subject's insipid request. So recently returned to life, he was just as brazen as he'd always been. Also just as uselessly compassionate. He had much to learn, and apparently years in merciful confinement hadn't enlightened him as to the import of death and fate and their role weaving the very strands of destiny within the multiverse itself. However, a name he'd mentioned snapped her head forward, eyes locking with her priest with fiery intensity.   "Do not remind me of that which I conveyed to you, Ushen," the Raven Queen snapped. "For if one of us requires recollection, allow me to remind you of the choice made before my intervention against the wretched Tiamat. Or have you forgotten in your overzealous sympathy?"   The man restored, still adjusting to his returned mortal form, shifted beneath his armor, adjusting to its weight as he once had years ago. "I need no reminding, my Queen. Glasya's threat has only intensified since her efforts were thwarted in the war. I stand ever-ready to serve you, as I always have."   She narrowed her gaze. "Yet you defy me now?"   "Not defy. Entreat. The balance must be kept in life and death, as it must be between gods and mortals. You know this-"   "I know this well!"   "Then I am owed the truth of my request, especially if you would snatch me from those I love and care for only to enlist my service again."   The Raven Queen rose, scythe in hand as she marched down the steps of her elevated throne. "You dare make demands of me?"   He stood unmoving. "I only advise in our interests, for it was not the Raven Queen alone who thwarted Tiamat. When the material realm and realms beyond were at stake, it was not you who came through the veil of my sacrifice."   "Were it not for my influence, there never would have been a vessel in the first place, servant," she sneered, lowering the point of her scythe to his neck.   "Without question," he agreed, unflinching from the scythe's proximity. "And yet, it was still my choice, was it not? I faced oblivion in your name and for all of Faerun to thwart the evil that rose against us. Against many others, gods included. And I did so as a man. Your servant, but still a man. It was our victory, not yours alone, my Queen."   She snarled a final warning to him, pressing the tip of her weapon against his neck. "You think that because you have slain a god you can now defy one? Defy me?"   He stared back, the lavender in his eyes burning with returned, ethereal fire. "Perhaps. If it meant preserving the balance of death and fate."   The tension lingered between them for a few moments longer before she lifted her weapon from him, chuckling as she rested it aground beside her. "So much hasn't changed, my champion. It pleases me that you haven't. Mostly."   His grin and reverent bow was genuine. "Will you grant my request?"   "For your service and continued faith, I shall," she answered, dismissing the weapon and motioning for him to follow her toward the balcony, the two of them overlooking the world of death and shadow. "I suspect you learned much of him in the brief time he carried you."   "But there is greater history beyond that," the cleric persisted. "The weapon you granted me was once his, and before him, it came from Hell."   "In some form," the Raven Queen replied, rolling her eyes. "I will concede that despite his arrogance, Asmodeus has created useful implements to Fate, the weapon being one of them. Though it was its wielder who unlocked its true potential, as you did. What else did you feel from him? Show me your awareness is still intact."   Ushen pondered her directive, thinking back to the blur that was his time trapped within the blade. "Sorrow, mostly. Fear, but not for himself. Another. Rage and hatred, yet there was courage in his heart as well. A small glimmer of hope amidst a quiet resolve and acceptance. He was once more than he is now, both for Heaven and Hell."   "Indeed," she confirmed with a nod of approval. "He came to me upon his escape from Hell, offering the blade and the souls within it in exchange for a new life. What once was angel had become fiend, and what once was an abomination of both worlds was the clay from which I molded the form his soul now resides in. He was freed from the Arch Devil's hold by my hand."   "And he chose this form? Not a return to Celestia?"   The Raven Queen laughed. "Celestia would never accept something so impure as he. Asmodeus saw that his corruption was absolute in Heaven's eyes, thus, what choice did he have? Thankfully, we are not constrained by such pageantry."   "And now he works to stop many foes," Ushen continued her previous line of explanation, intuiting for himself what wasn't spoken aloud. "A Lord of Blades, a would-be god...False Death...And Vecna."   The Queen hissed at the mention of the name, snapping her head to him, eyes aglow with warning. "Yes...That one...Now gaining strength thanks to the defiance and blasphemy of a scorned child. Our war has taken on new meaning to the weave of fate, my champion, and I will have need of you even more than when Tiamat wrought her tyranny."   He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he began to grasp that one part of his conflict had only led to another, greater threat to the multiverse itself. "He didn't need to free me."   "Yet, fool that he is, he relinquished great power in doing so."   "Fool? Were it not for him, I would not be here at your side once more."   "And I advise you not to make the same mistake with the power you would wield, Ushen Valenier. Do not let your mercy or love come between what must be done, for it is not your family or love that will be spared if Vecna returns. Seize your own fate, my servant. Learn from one that tossed his to chance."   He locked eyes with the goddess of death. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."   The Raven Queen dismissed him with a laugh. "Cling to your relentless ideals then, my servant. It matters not, so long as you perform your duty."   "What will become of him?" Ushen insisted. "Fryen was there, honoring him. I would not leave a brother behind, nor fail to recognize a potential ally in the coming war. We will need every one we can get, my Queen. You are mighty, no one escapes death, but even we cannot act alone."   She kept her eyes locked with his, admiration and irritation radiating from the tension in her shoulders and face as she absorbed his words. "Torm and Asmodeus both vie for his soul, and both are engaged in the coming conflicts as we are. Asmodeus would turn his pet against Vecna. Torm would have his Knight of Fury defend the innocent and weak as he always has." She snorted. "Ever the optimist. Always predictable. But...not without use to us."   "Then why not help him?"   A roll of her eyes, a disappointed sigh. "Still much left to learn, my champion. You are as naively compassionate now as you were in the war against Tiamat."   She left him on the balcony then, a wave of her hands closing the doors behind her and sealing them shut. Let him ruminate on his own foolishness until he was of a more amiable disposition. There were far more important things to focus on.   Ushen let the doors close and turned his gaze back to the Shadowfell, knowing that years ago he'd already accepted and indeed created this fate for himself, though that did little to stem the yearning in his heart to see his family and friends once more, especially with them so close. Through several lives he'd never lost himself, and he wouldn't do so now. That included his honor.   Callum Virtaernus. That was the true name of Nomad, the one to return him from oblivion. There was an ally there, he was sure. Even if the Raven Queen didn't see him as such.   "More pieces on the board," he said to himself, raising his hand before himself, opening and closing his fist as he relished the sensation of material form he'd thought lost forever. "The balance..."

The vast red sea of flesh and bones riddled the cavern surface. Flashes or red light and smoke in the distance. Even if you never knew of hell before, you knew this scene to be just that.   Isaac: “I must stay focused on my task”   Nathaniel: “Isaac, this mission of yours..you sure you want to go through with it.”   Isaac: “I must”   Nathanmiel: “This is no ordinary, get in and get out, slay some demons, and go home. You understand the courage and wit to even survive this thing.”   Isaac: Survival is the least of my worries. The end goal will take way more than just surviving. And it goes beyond me. I am not doing this just for myself, or to gain trust from Lathander”   Nathaniel: “Shhhh. You do not want anyone hearing you speak that name down here. It’s dangerous enough having you here with me right now. Please Isaac follow my lead when we meet with Zariel. This has to go without a hitch. You have to do everything in your power to pull this off . You sure you have the balls to do it?   Isaac Nods his head with certainty.   Nathaniel: All right well just remember Isaac whatever happens know that will always have your back no matter what.   Isaac: “Same brotha, I will not let you down”   Some time later….   A citadel rises high in the sky, surrounded by the screams and moans coming from the burned victims chained to the stronghold’s wall, the dying remains of those who failed to impress the archdevil. The stronghold, covering five square miles, is surrounded by walls reinforced with high turrets. Devils of all kinds crawl over the structure, ensuring that no intruders breach their defenses.   High up in the tower Zariel is standing over Isaac, whip in hand.   Zariel: “WHERE DOES YOUR LOYALTY STAND!”   Isaac: “WITH YOU IT ALWAYS HAS!”   Zariel: HAHA! You still have the stench of Angel blood in you! We must cleanse you!   Zriel made a point to punish Isaac harshly. Zariel knew he would take a strong will to overcome his next task. Zariel would whip Isaac for not completing orders exactly as she commanded. She sent him on countless suicide missions in the nine hells to test his fortitude. Espionage missions to test his wit and quick thinking. Each failure was another lash mark, each yell was yet more beatings. All meant to break Isaac.   As the lessons past Isaac grew into the beast he would need to conquer.   Zariel: “Good you are finally ready . And oh how you have fallen. HAHAHAHA. Now go serve Asmodeus, and only return when the task is done”   Isaac bows his head one final time to Zariel as he leaves the citadel. Isaacs wings are blacker than the night, eyes a devilish orange. His disguise is now complete.   Kal suddenly awakes from his slumber with a gasp. Sweat drips from his face. Breathing deeply.   Kal looks at his hands as pools of sweat form in his palms“Those visions..can they…are they reality?”   The sweat in the palm of his hands revealed his reflection. He saw his devilish orange eyes and the black angel wings, everything becomes real to him.   Kal: “My memories of old. My reincarnation. It is coming back to me….I need more answers!”

Mamnen was unnerved at first by the weekly pop-ins from Ire Mennith to just gain a sense of how the flame was burning. It didn’t take long–maybe a few months–until he began to anticipate them. The more time he spent at the library researching the outer workings of Ire and other devils, the more enthralled he became with their influence. Not all of them were bad things, he noted. Castiel may have thought intentions led to manipulation, which was lunacy, he also found noteworthy, but the way that once a devil had a goal/contract in mind/hand, that was life.   And that made some sort of sense to him. This “taking moments for the moment’s sake” bullshit that the angel postulated was ridiculous. Aimlessness is needless, he thought. He closed the book he was reading and leaned back in the chair, propping it up on its back legs. His tail steadied the position by resting on the floor. He stared at the void between the table and the ceiling, feeling so incredibly free for the first time in forever. He was aligned with himself, and his intention was his potential, and it felt right. For the first time, he was troubled by the trauma of his past, the missing family, or meeting the needs of someone’s ideals. He didn’t have to worry about money anymore–not with his side hustling and booming blacksmithery.   He didn’t hear the door open to the study room. “Don’t sit like that in our chairs, please.”   “Castiel!” Mamnen exclaimed, much too surprised for himself. That was bizarre, he thought, not recognizing the voice. He dropped the chair back on all fours and stood to greet the angel.   “And what are we reading today, Mamnen Marduk?”   “You remembered my name.” Mamnen cooed a bit in jest and slid the book over to the edge of the table so the angel might see it. Castiel’s face twisted at the joke, then he softened the gaze, turning his head to read the book’s cover.   “The Makeup of the Nine Hells: A History. Hm. Should I be worried about you?” Castiel asked and arched an eyebrow. His arms were crossed and his glowing wings were slightly outstretched to block the doorway fully. He didn’t want Mamnen leaving…or someone entering.   “Now why waste your energy on a lowly tiefling from this plane?”   “Because you stink more each time you come in here, you continue to read and research the devilogy of your family, and you’re less and less terrified of me.”   “Oh, that’s just not true.” Mamnen hastened to admit. He was lying–well, embellishing. He was well aware that he was not to try anything with Castiel. Wouldn’t that be some sort of stupid?   “Which part?”   “The last part? I don’t know how I smell to you, so I can’t really refute that, nor can I change the book I’m reading…”   “Hm. A healthy fear is good, but it’s nothing like it was months ago. Your comfort in my presence is almost unnerving.” Castiel narrowed his eyes at the tiefling. “Why so dressed up for a day at the library?”   “How do you know I didn’t just stop here from work?”   “You’re a blacksmith, right? You don’t need that dark, higher up look. It must get in the way of your work. That’s beside the point that you’ve been here since morning, and it’s been consistent days on and off for the past few months. You’re not making a steady wage in your shop if you’re here all the time.”   “Well, that also is just not true. I simply raised my prices, as my work is exceptional and sought after and I work tediously and efficiently. I get my stuff done–and what do you mean I don’t need this dark, higher up look?” Mamnen looked down at his sported black trousers, black flowing tunic with a bedazzled dark belt. “I think I look nice. I find it flattering that you seem to be watching me.”   “I am watching for someone else. You just happen to be where I’m watching, which is highly concerning to me. By the way,” Castiel lowered his wings, “If I find out you’re doing anything nefarious, I will not hesitate to alert necessary authorities–especially celestial ones.”   Mamnen raised an eyebrow curiously and leaned his weight prominently on his left side, resting both gloved hands on the small purse draped with a strap across his chest to rest at his abdomen. “Don’t threaten me when you don’t have a promising lead, angel. That’s not very nice.”   “Stop trying to manipulate angels, quarter-devil.” Castiel turned and mentioned over his shoulder before departing, “And I do have promising leads. Just no hard connection. Your fire is in danger of going out.”   After he left, Mamnen beckoned the door with his magical mind to close again, rolled his eyes and sat back down.   “Don’t worry. Your fire is intact, and he wasn’t smelling you.”   Mamnen smiled in relief and whispered, “Ah, Uncle… You’re a little late for our little check in and why do it in such a public place as the library?”   Ire stayed leaning in the corner, but grinned at his tall apprentice. “I sensed your increase in fear and rightly so. That angel means to kill you, I think.”   “No, I think he means to kill you. Who else would he be watching where I always appear?”   “Very astute hypothesis! But in the eyes of most angels, I’m deep at home in Baator. You don’t suppose I was the only devil with eyes on you?”   “You’re not?” Mamnen looked half-concerned. He stood and closed the curtains of the study room window in case Castiel was to look and wonder who he talked to.   “I am now, but I had to silence a couple.” Ire pushed off the wall with a light bounce off his shirtless shoulder blades. “So, anything exciting this week or so?”   “Just what you saw.”   Ire nodded and began to glow, and Mamnen knew that meant he was going to leave. Not wanting that–why didn’t he want that now?--he interrupted the silence and said,   “Uncle, you’re amazing to me.”   Ire’s glow stopped almost instantaneously, grin fading to a curious, cocked-headed look of intrigue.   “Does that…make you uncomfortable?” Mamnen hesitated, but he had never seen Ire look at him quite that way. Ire’s lips curled slightly and he sat across from him, legs comfortably spread apart.   “Oh, do go on.”   “Alright, I’ve read so much about your gruesome history–”   “--thank you–”   “--and I just think your self-awareness and self-assuredness is emulatable! I cannot believe how much I look up to you. You have a clear sense of who you are, what you want, and not only that you work toward and achieve getting it!”   “Well…” Ire meant to expound, but Mamnen continued,   “If I could harness that part of your flame, your essence, I would feel that completeness that I’ve been yearning for. You have no self-doubt or fear at all. And I love that about you! I can’t stop thinking or reading about it. It’s so intoxicating. Please teach me or impart upon me that level of self-assuredness, dear Uncle!”   “Alright. You need to stop the madness you have right now. You’re not going to find your true potential in books like… The Makeup of the Nine Hells: A History? Oh, Mamnen, that’s just sad. If you wanted the makeup of Baator, go to Baator, but let me tell you, getting out again is trick–”   “Yes! I’ve read about your tricks too. Exemplary! I’ve tried to finesse my way with words with half the aptitude you have for the craft. It works about half the time.”   “Stop this now. You’re acting childish.”   Mamnen laughed loudly–almost having Ire’s amusement. “But I am not even thirty. I am childish.”   Ire scratched his own cheek, curiously studying the person before him. Probably because of his own discomfort–did he have insecurities too, Mamnen wondered–Ire asked, “Have you tried indirect influence before?”   “As in through someone else?”   “No, as in through other means than being in the same room with them?”   “No, I don’t think so…”   “I want you to try something for me, but what I’m proposing can be both addicting and consequential, because you literally give up your control and you’re relying on their knowledge, fear, and impression of you to inspire your influence.”   “Because influence is a permission transaction.”   Ire beamed and nodded, pointing knowingly in Mamnen’s direction. “You don’t get in unless invited, not really.”   “You know, I think I read that the vampire thing is a myth.”   “Is it though? Not anymore than influence needing permission. It’s just an exaggeration of the truth, much like most myths.” Ire coached, and then leaned in toward his quarter-nephew. “I want to see if you can influence someone you’re close with from afar.”   “Atka.”   Ire laughed his signature, boisterous laugh, then eyed the door. Both of them remained silent as if Castiel would burst through at anytime. Could Ire take him? Mamnen wondered. “Of course, Atka. She is the only one you know well enough to possibly influence. Do you have any ideas?”   “Get her to come home?”   Ire waved his hand at him and shook his head thoroughly. “No, you need to drop that, unless you want to use it as a means to get to her another way. Remember her nature; she is not good for YOU, Mamnen.”   Mamnen nodded solemnly. Old habits die hard, he thought bitterly.   “But they do still die.”   “You’re a telepath.” Mamnen stated in surprise.   “Not exactly. Neither here nor there… Mamnen, can you think of how you might practice influencing her for your potential or gain? What is it you’ve been wanting to practice? What skills do you have that you want to perfect?”   Mamnen thought about it for a long time, and Ire was surprisingly patient with him. Just staring at him, unmoving, and waiting and waiting. “Yes, I do have something I’ve been working on. I know what to do.”   Before Mamnen could tell him, Ire must’ve scanned the idea in his mind, and said, “Perfect. Do that. Effectively, please. You’re a Mennith at heart, after all. There’s no room for failure.”   Mamnen grinned at him. Ire had never referred to him as a Mennith before, and it actually was nice to be a part of that self-assured name that he’d been reading about. “How can I fail when I have you and your flame within?”   Ire grimaced and stood, pointing at him again. “You stop it.” He glowed with a reddish hue and then was gone.   Mamnen called out after him. He hadn’t said how to perform indirect influence? How was he actually supposed to influence Atka if their connection was severed by her so long ago? Then it hit him like a flying carriage down the thoroughfare: Atka had night terrors. She was susceptible in her sleep.   Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He couldn’t help it, but the thought of trying to communicate with her while slept seemed perfect. Safe.