Chapter 30 - Special Attention

  Arriving in one of the cities like New Europa usually gives Gravitas a thrill. But not today. This time, she feels almost compelled to be in the city. And that feeling subconsciously makes her realize that something else happening is going to be the center of attention, not her. She’s supposed to be the one at the heart of the moving and shaking of Hell, not pulled into the current of something else’s movement.

  The demon of lust can’t help but chafe at the indignity of it all. She’d given herself over completely to the nature of her singular title, embodying it in ways few others could achieve. So much so that her own name was an elusive memory, she simply is Gravitas. So then why is her Title drawing her to be here?

  Gravitas’ mind drifts back to the conversation she’d had with that dusty old crow. Could his little pet actually be so important? No, a single newly arrived mortal soul had no chance of upstaging her. And even if he made impossibly good time, there’s no way he’d have beaten her there. She was being drawn here now. So maybe…

  She latches onto that train of thought as a surge of purpose courses like an electric charge through her whole being. It wasn’t that she was being pulled into some other power’s influence, she’s here to BE that influence. There’s some way that she should be able to nudge events, to become the catalyst of the moment. With that idea, her title resonates against her spirit more strongly. It’s time to start putting out some feelers.

  Being one of the greater powers in Hell is a layered endeavour. Of course having personal power is a key aspect. You’d need a significant mass of Animus, a strong Title, and the skills to put both to good use. But where Gravitas shines is in the subtler applications of power. She plays the politics of Hell like a professional gambler plays the odds. She watches the probabilities, calculates the chances, and cheats at every opportunity she can.

  Part of her strategy revolves around her agents. Other demons and souls that have Deal-bonds with her, or just act for mutual gain. Her pawns, puppets, and performers. She strides through New Europa’s streets with all the elegance and assurance of someone who knows she could own this city. Every passerby turns to look, every face in a window stares.

  Some turn to follow, others make way. Whatever the reaction, the only part that matters is that it’s a reaction to her. And soon, that influence would be extended beyond just her immediate vicinity. That’s what the agents are for.

  One by one they’d approach, receive their instructions, then slip away to do what she wills. She doesn’t have to hunt for them, they know to come to her. Most do, at least. Her title keeps leading her further into the city, and as she nears one particular street-corner, the source of the pull becomes apparent. One particular agent waits there, leaning against the side of a building. A slender, almost girlish, goat-demon. An incubus, not unlike her own demonic heritage. Something about him has her Title practically humming with latent energy.

  “Uril’raya.” She calls for him, approaching with her typical self-assured saunter. Hearing his name, he turns to her and pushes off the wall. “I’ve got something special for you.” She coos, leaning down almost to eye-level with the shorter demon.

  The goat-boy looks up at her and grins. “Gravitas. I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me.” He coyly replies, batting his eyes at her. “How can I be of service? Got a particular client that needs some ‘special attention’ again?” He asks, rocking his hips from side to side.

  Gravitas just snorts and rolls her eyes, “Not this time, at least, I don’t think that’s what you’re needed for.” She says, then motions towards a cafe that operates across the road. “Come, I’ll explain.”

  Sipping at warm drinks, Gravitas briefly gives the smaller goat-demon a rundown of her conversation with Corvus, and tells him of her title drawing her here ahead of this Alex person’s arrival. Then she cocks her head. “For some reason, it’s pointing me pretty strongly towards you. So apparently, your particular charms might be important here.”

  Uril’raya swirls his drink in the mug. “Soooo, you want me to honey-pot this guy?” He asks, and laughs as Gravitas gives an exasperated sigh. “OK, ok, I get it. I don’t necessarily need to seduce him, but something’s telling you my involvement might be important here. Alright. I’ll see what I can do. Your hunches do tend to border on prophetic half the time.” He says, then quirks a brow up. “Is this a Deal you’re offering?”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The succubus considers that for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m getting an impression that if you’re bought-off to behave a certain way, or bound to the act by a Deal, something will go very wrong.” She says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “No. I want you just to be yourself. Act in the way you believe is best. If all goes well, we’ll both come out of it much better off.”

  The goat hmmms, sipping at the drink a bit more. “Works for me.” He answers with a shrug. “Just do what I do, and it’ll all work out, right?” Then he frowns. “Though, you know my rules. I won’t break them, even for someone like you.” His voice grows quieter, more solemn. “I won’t be that type.”

  Gravitas nods. “I know. Your peculiar habit might be what makes you uniquely suited.” The woman looks the goat over. Between them, the only traits they share are the crimson red hair, and being an incubi and succubi. Even being a full-blooded demon, and one of the ‘elders’ of Hell, Gravitas appears almost human. If it weren’t for the too perfect ash-gray skin, burning orange eyes, and preternatural allure she exudes.

  Uril’raya on the other hand, has very little about him that could be confused as being human. Coal-black fur coats his whole body. His goat-like head and face are clearly non-human, but not wholly animalistic either. Of particular note are his eyes, strikingly red, but with the elongated iris common among ungulates.

  Even as different as they are, Gravitas can still discern the little tells. She has a passing thought, wondering if the little goat demon is aware that he’s a direct descendant of her line. Likely not. Long heritages tend to matter little in Hell. What matters is power. Whether personal or political, power and alliances often matter far more than blood. And giving this little nudge to Uril’raya would be Gravitas’s ticket towards reaping the benefits down the line. Of that, she’s sure.

  With business concluded, Gravitas takes her leave. Uril sits at the little coffee-shop’s table a while longer, in no hurry to return to ‘work’. Only once the overbearing presence of the other fades from his perception does he allow his expression to break into a derisive sneer. “Fuck you, bitch.” He mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to just take advantage of someone just because you say so.” He says into the now empty mug of coffee. In part, he’s glad there’s no deal involved. If there was, he’d be forced to follow-through, even if his personal standards would be against it. And he wouldn’t dare openly refuse.

  “I won’t betray myself for you.” He says, feeling a need to voice the words, even if only his own ears would hear it. Affirming that to himself, Uril’raya feels calmer. If it weren’t for Gravitas, he would probably be some nobody living in some nameless part of Hell, barely existing. But working for her could also feel like a blade is held against his throat. So he’d keep up the coy act, keep up the show of being one of her good little agents, until he can get out from under her. If Gravitas thinks this Alex guy is important, maybe this is his chance.

  The succubus moves off, no longer feeling the pull on her Title. Not just less of a pull. No pull. Gravitas had satisfied whatever conditions that it had demanded of her. She doesn’t need to be here any longer. That detail bothers her. How can she be at the center of everything if she’s not there at the pivotal moments? But even after the eras and eons of Hell’s existence, very few people actually understand how Titles really function. Animus, Territory, those are easy. You can measure them, count them, use them, and everyone understands what they are. Titles, less so. Way too esoteric for her tastes. All the same, she’d accomplished her goal. Now she just needed to decide where to go next.

  Gravitas gets the answer to that within moments of reaching the outskirts of New Europa. A wave of unsettled energy ripples through the air. Raw intent. Will made manifest. The kind only exerted when one of the ancient beings of Hell tries to make a significant change. And the flavor of this one is familiar. Try as she might, she can’t remember who it belongs to. That shouldn’t be possible. One of the thresholds of Animus perfects the holder’s mind, granting near perfect recall. She shouldn’t be capable of forgetting anything unless she actively chose to. Which means whoever it is had buried their name, employing the arts of Animus magic to make Hell itself forget them. But who would have gone so far to hide themselves, and then do this? Broadcasting such a wave of intent.

  Then the spell breaks. More accurately, it shatters. Gravitas’s eyes widen in shock, then fear. Terror grips her very spirit as she subconsciously gathers her own power around her like a shell. Him. It can’t be him. The community of Apex beings had believed him dead and gone after he’d sparked the last Apex war.. How was he still here? The answer was as obvious as the shattered remains of the spell hiding his name.

  Gravitas’s eyes are drawn to the direction the emanations had come from. It couldn’t be a coincidence that it was the same general direction that Corvus had said his splinter was coming from with his little pet. Had that human soul somehow set this off? That shouldn’t be possible at all. No, that simply doesn’t make any sense. Corvus had to be the one to do it. He’d been staunchly neutral every time the Apex had gone to war, refusing to give any party an advantage. So why now would he…

  Her musings are interrupted by that wave of presence receding as quickly as it had exploded outwards, not just vanishing or dissipating. Compacting. Of the things that could indicate, none are trivial or small. If everything is as it appears, then there’s going to be another Apex war. And this time, she doesn’t think The Cultivator will be able to slink away and hide again.