Plans and Schemes.

“You should have said something. If you had spoken up, Este…”

“Estelle would’ve been unable to do anything. Even if she teleported there immediately, it would make no difference. The trail has gone cold. She will achieve nothing except wasting precious time. Instead of chiding me for what I should or should not have said, focus on learning as much as you can about the demons, protecting the humans, and raising the witch-born.”

“She has a name, Nora, and it isn’t ‘witch-born’.”

“Names become insignificant once you’ve lived as long as I have.”

“But you call my sister by her name.”

“She has proven herself over and again. I am yet to see the witch-born do so. Anyways, we digress. The issue of the demons is not one to be taken lightly and your sister knows that.”

“You give her much more credit than she’s worth.”

“The closer you are to an individual, the harder it is to speak of them objectively. Go now, child. You have tarried for far too long. The witch-born must be sick with worry by now.”

Sandara huffs and pushes a rogue strand of hair away from her face before vanishing. 

“For a witch who has lived barely three centuries-long, she sure is a mature one. The weight on her shoulders would have crushed much older witches, but she still stands strong.” Evanora admires her even more. “You didn’t go wrong with this one, dear friend,” she whispers to herself.

Somewhere in Baator…

“The mission to retrieve the Mors flowers was a success, my lord,” Klade, a Marquis Demon, says after an effusive bow. He then proceeds to lay the precious flowers which are sealed within a minaudière at the end of the steps leading to the throne of Pride. “How many were lost?” a deep, velvety voice permeates the atmosphere. Although the owner of the voice is not in the hall, those present dare not misbehave or harbor untoward thoughts, or their life would be over in an instant, without any hope of resurrection.

“Five my Lord.”

“Five. Hmm. Not bad. The witches must’ve grown lax. Send for Gilbert immediately.”

At once, the Arch Physician is summoned. Wasting no time, he arrives in less than three minutes, despite his weight and the distance between his abode and the palace. Despite being the greatest Demon Physician in the entire realm of Hell for several millennia, he knows that he is nothing compared to one of the Seven Sins. In the demon hierarchy, the Seven Sins are the most powerful demons of the realm, second only to Lucifer.

“How may I be of service today, my lord?”

“Rumour has it that you theorized about a way of making demons immune to the effects of the Mors flower. How true is this?”

Gilbert breaks out in a sweat at Pride’s request. “How did he manage to get hold of such information?” he wonders. He indeed hypothesized that it was possible to somehow make demons immune to the effects of the Mors flower. But it is just a mere hypothesis. He has not even gotten the core material needed to even confirm it. How would he announce such an uncertified claim, especially for a matter as critical as this? He is not so daring.

“Untrue, m-my lord. The rumors are not true.”

“Are you implying that my sources are fake?”

“What? No, my lord! No! I dare not!” Gilbert exclaims. It is stupid to accuse a high-ranking demon of perjury, be it directly or otherwise. However, it is even more stupid to do so in the demon’s territory- the accuser would die, without even knowing how.

“What then do you mean?”

“Allow me to rephrase my statement, my lord. I would not be so presumptuous as to make a bold claim that I have a method of making demons immune to the Mors flower. That would be blatant dishonesty on my part, punishable by death. I can only make some wild guesses, nothing more.”

Gilbert is quick to retract his earlier statements, whilst making no reference to Pride’s ‘sources’. To save his neck, he must exercise extreme caution, for his position, revered as it is, cannot save him from a Sin’s wrath. At best, the Sin would only have to invest a myriad of resources in training a demon with a promising talent to take his place. His life, he concludes, is not worth the gamble.

“What would it take to grant my demons such ability?”

“I need a small portion of the True Soul of about a dozen demons, stalks of Angelica archangelica, Lucifer’s mistletoe, and a host of other things that need to be put in writing so that I do not miss a single thing,” Gilbert replies, feeling quite pleased with himself. This feeling, however, evaporates immediately he realizes that he forgot to mention the core ingredient. Without it, he might as well detonate his True Soul by himself rather than let the Sin do it, as he would never be able to achieve the task given to him. “The Mors flower is also needed, my lord. L-lots of it.”

“How long do you need?”

“Experiments are unpredictable, my lord. It could take as little as a year; it could also take as long as several decades.”

After a prolonged silence, Pride speaks again.

“Return to your quarters, physician. A messenger demon will bring you the Mors flowers in a fortnight’s time. Your list must be ready by then. I trust that you will apply discretion to this matter.” In much plainer terms, not a word of this to anyone.

“Yes, my lord.” The Arch Physician gives a deep bow, his thick head nearly touching the palace floor before making his way out as nobly as his leviathan-like weight can allow him.

“You have done quite well. What is your name?”

“Klade Gregor, of the House of Gregor,” the demon replies while screaming with joy on the inside. He asked for my name! My name!