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The room is an old bunker, stone walls hastily dressed with drapes, stone floors half covered with rugs. The table is an old as the room and too large to fit through the doors. The chairs, set in a ring around the table and another, larger ring against the walls, are a mismatched set of several types and ages.
Fire burns in the torches set all around the walls, casting strong, warm light across the gathered faces. Despite that, the room feels heavy with shadows, the few muttering voices strangled to near-silence under the looming weight.
The room is full; a body in every seat and more pressed against the walls and perched on armrests. It is not yet crowded, not truly, but another few people would tip it over the edge. It will become hot, either way, if they have to stay in this windowless box for too long.
Leonard sinks into his seat, glad to have gotten one with decent upholstery and solid arms, and tries not to fidget.
The old man in the back of his head scoffs.
Leonard ignores him.
The air stirs beside him, and a woman in a simple robe and belt appears. With her comes a sense of serenity that silences the whispers and settles the nerves; around the room, Leonard can see logic regain its foothold against fear and terror.
Arianna moves to stand at the head of the table, and the room comes to attention.
"The apocalypse is upon us," she says, her words measured, her voice as soft and encompassing as falling snow. "Survival requires cooperation. Meetings like this are the first step towards victory. For that reason, I thank you for attending."
Around the room, heads nod in agreement and acknowledgement. Power shifts in the air; no one in this room is less than Sequence 4, and there is only so much this many powerhouses can do to rein in their abilities. It is part of why the Evernight Church is the convener; only their powers of concealment can even hope to keep such a gathering hidden.
"First, we must understand what powers we have at our disposal. There is a time for secrecy and concealment of strength — that time is not now. We ask that all present are truthful in their accounts and humble in their judgements. Inflated expectations will only hurt us all later."
There are some frowns, some grumbles. A certain blur-haired Mandated Punisher settles into an impressive poker face. Regardless, Arianna's words are wise, and they set the tone as each group goes around the table, listing their numbers and strengths.
The core churches go first, each rattling off their own capabilities — Evernight, Storm, Sun, Steam. MI9 is next, bolstered by several members of the nobility for the duration of this fight. The Church of the Earth Mother has a small delegation, as do the Sanguine — both represented in the talks by the same red-eyed physician. There is a collection of smaller groups, secret organisations and the like, invited for their strength and reputation. Last is the Church of Knowledge and Wisdom, who offer not just strength but also resources — books, scrolls, even their ability to look beyond with less risk than most other pathways.
The circuit of the table done, their hands laid out for all to see, eyes turn once again to Arianna. Yet she stays quiet; watching, waiting.
It is Kottman whose patience wears thin first.
"And?" he asks, the volume of his voice crashing against the stone walls. "What's next?"
Arianna doesn't blink, doesn't startle. "We have not yet heard from all who may speak."
"We've gone 'round the table," Kottman says. "Who else you expecting? A ghost?"
"No. A fool."
There is a hiss of inhaled breath from more than one seat; the sound multiplies as it bounces around the room. Surprise flickers on some faces; on others, anger or confusion or even relief.
"They were invited?" asks one of the previous speakers.
"They did not need to be," Arianna replies. "They would know regardless."
Mutters rise amongst each grouo, increasing with each word.
"Says the one whose job is to conceal this meeting," Kottman growls. "Are you saying you failed?"
"If we failed, then so did you."
Kottman is on his feet in a breath, a storm front building in his eyes and fists. Others bristle, confusion sparking the first flickers of rage. Arianna stands still in the center of it all, even as other members of the Evernight Church start to look at her askance, and Leonard finds himself unable to keep it in any longer.
He laughs.
It is merely a chuckle; a breath and a brief burst of sound. It is enough, though, to bring the room to a standstill.
"Did you clear this?" he asks as he stands, leaning into his own serenity to keep his posture calm, almost languid.
"Her advice was clear."
"Here's hoping He won't be mad, then." As if reaching for a cigarette, he slips two fingers beneath the breast of his coat and pulls from an inner pocket a card which he flourishes, a crooked smile on his face, soft as the dark locks curling around his jaw. "The Star, of The Church of the Fool, at your service."
The gold design on the card glows in the firelight; the black background is as dark as the new moon's shadow. A ring of stars surrounded by a filigree border; it is a similar arrangement to some of the symbols used by the Evernight Goddess, though not quite the same.
Beside him, the creeping horror of shadows shifting in the dark rises around Evernight's other members, even as their expressions remain mostly steady. Beyond their group, the reactions are less controlled.
Yet it is Saint Anthony who asks the question:
"What is the meaning of this?"
Leonard is glad he can give a decent answer. "The Fool and the Goddess have an agreement. I am part of it, enabling deeper cooperation between the two." It is even mostly true. "Ma'am Arianna can attest."
She nods. Anthony nods slower; there is still anger and betrayal in his gaze, but Leonard can recognise the effort to show a united front. "Alright."
"Unfortunately, I can't say there's anything similar between the Fool and the Lord of Storms."
Heads turn as the blue-haired Mandated Punisher steps forward, a similar black and gold card appearing between his fingers. He bows, just slightly, to the group. "The Hanged Man, of The Church of The Fool."
Kottman whirls on him with a hand outstretched; Alger leaps back pre-emptively, putting as much distance between them as he can in the small room, and a body interjects herself between them — one of MI9's agents, blonde haired and scowling fiercely up at the man despite the almost two foot difference in their height.
"Move."
"No."
Kottman takes a step that seems to shake the very foundations. "If you know what's good for you—"
"I am Judgement," the woman says. She does not draw a card, her hands hovering over her weapons instead, but she does not need to; the pattern is becoming clear. "Of the Church of the Fool. You will not harm anyone here."
Half of the room appear stunned, Kottman included. The cogs are turning in the other half; eyes flicker as people assess their neighbours, searching for signs they do not know. Some appear disbelieving. A member of the Church of Steam and Machinery laughs. "Have we all been infiltrated by The Fool?" he asks, jokingly.
"Not all," the representative of the Sanguine says, his tone almost bored. "Though you are saved only by Miss Magician's laziness." A card appears between his fingers, flashed to the room then laid face up on the table. "Mr Moon, at your service."
"Since we appear to be laying our cards bare..." A young blonde woman steps forward from the cluster of nobles, her grace second only to her beauty as she curtseys. She flashes a card depicting a set of scales. "Justice. A pleasure to meet you all."
"The Hermit," comes one more voice; a sombre looking woman tucked into the midst of the Church of Knowledge and Wisdom group nods a greeting. "I believe I am the last."
Silence falls, strung along by morbid curiosity and a sinking horror — the Church of the Fool has, in one fell sweep, demonstrated their strength in a way no mere battle could ever achieve. Around the room, six figures stand — or sit — proudly, proof that the Fool is a far greater threat than they thought possible. At least to their own organisations.
It is Leonard who breaks it, after sharing a look with each of his peers. For once he is glad for all the time spent studying poetry, as the words come to his tongue with relative ease.
"We do not reveal ourselves to alarm you," he says, pushing a thread of serenity into his words, "but to show our commitment to the fight to come. The Fool's goal has been, for a long time, to stop the apocalypse."
I suppose a few months could be considered long to a baby, the old man grumbles.
Shush, Leonard throws back.
"To that end," he continues, "you should know that our forces also include Mr World, Mr Sun, and Miss Magician, who are busy with preparations elsewhere. They would not be accounted for in any other organisation's numbers. There are also a couple of Angels who may answer His call, but I cannot speak for them."
Mutters rise across the room again, especially in the outer ring of chairs.
Arianna nods. "Nine demigods, then?"
"Yes."
"And your pathways?" Arianna asks.
Leonard grins. "Between the angels, demigods, and a few friends, I think we have almost one of each."
Nice answer.
Thank you.
The noise in the room swells, a susurration of shock.
He is glad when Arianna takes the answer as it is and does not dig further.
"Then, next—"
Of course, the rest of the room is not as content to settle.
"Hang on—!"
The next Monday, when they all meet, there is a giddiness in the air that has The Sun baffled. Miss Magician's pout is clear even through the fog.
They get a good laugh out of recounting the reveal, even the more stoic members showing at least some amusement.
"You cued them all, right?" Leonard asks once they've all settled down again. "Did anyone resist?"
Justice smiles, all polite and soft. "They remember naught of our appearances, only our names and allegiances and a vague impression. They will not connect you with your codename unless circumstances are dire. And, no, none resisted enough to be of concern."
Relief runs around the table; Hanged Man, Hermit, and Judgement in particular relax, finally, at the news.
"Next time, we need a simpler plan," Mr Moon complains. "Every time, these things end up so elaborate."
"And what was your suggestion again?" Leonard teases. "Oh, yes, wasn't it something about—"
"Hey!"