April 22nd, 2012, Phenex Marquisate, Afternoon.
The afternoon sun cast warm, honeyed light through the tall windows of a lavish tearoom within Phenex Castle.
Nyarlathotep, still impeccably disguised as the tailor 'Mr. Jun,' found his path politely blocked by none other than Blazalon Phenex himself. The head of the house was a distinguished-looking blonde man, an older, more refined version of Riser, whose authority was worn lightly but unmistakably.
"Mr. Jun, please, have a seat," Blazalon said, his tone genial and welcoming. "I was sincerely hoping to encounter you before you departed. I hope the suit my son commissioned is worthy of your considerable talent."
"To what do I owe your kind invitation, Lord Phenex?" Mr. Jun asked, taking a seat on the indicated sofa, which was as soft and luxurious as it looked.
Blazalon took a seat opposite him, a crystal decanter of amber liquid between them.
"I would love to speak business with you, Mr. Jun. My house has a long and proud history of patronizing the arts, fashion in particular. If you were to make the necessary market research, you would soon discover that we, the great House of Phenex, own or hold significant interest in almost the entirety of the Underworld's fashion industry. And it is not only tailoring; all arts are welcomed under our clan's protection."
He poured two generous measures of whiskey into cut-crystal glasses. "Do you care for a glass? I had this batch imported directly from Avalon. It is one of their finest."
"Thank you for your kindness; I feel obliged," Nyarlathotep replied, accepting the glass and swirling the liquid gently. He played the part of the honored artisan perfectly. "What proposal do you have in mind, Lord Phenex?"
"I assume that maintaining an independent practice in the supernatural world must be… financially challenging," Blazalon began, getting straight to the point. "I am offering you the official patronage of the Phenex House, Mr. Jun. Your name, associated with ours, would open every door."
"I am honoured, my Lord," Mr. Jun replied, feigning thoughtful hesitation. "But there is a reason I have remained independent. Politics is not my field of competence, and I fear external pressures might… dilute the purity and quality of my work."
As Nyarlathotep spoke, Lord Phenex smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "Oh, on that point, we are more similar than you might think. Even my house operates as a separate faction here in the Underworld. Yes, we support the New Satan regime, but we are not formally affiliated with any of the squabbling political parties in Lilith's senate. Our influence is economic and cultural. We remain above the fray."
"Oh really? That is quite the revealing information to share with someone like me, my Lord," Nyarlathotep said, allowing a hint of impressed surprise to enter his voice.
"I want to show you the level of trust and appreciation I have for your work," Blazalon said, leaning forward slightly. "Cooperate with my house, Mr. Jun. I promise you, it will be a relationship of nothing but great mutual profit." His tone made it clear he believed no sane artisan would refuse such a golden opportunity.
"That is… tremendously tempting," Nyarlathotep conceded, stroking his chin as if in deep thought. "Still, may I ask a small favour, my Lord?"
"Please, ask me whatever you like."
"Could I perhaps be invited to the marriage ceremony of Lord Riser?" Mr. Jun asked, his expression one of humble ambition.
"I am sure such a prestigious event will be attended by many individuals of note who might be interested in my services. Obviously, any potential client would first have to be approved by the Phenex Clan, if that is what you desire."
It was a masterful lie, appealing to Blazalon's pride and business acumen simultaneously.
Lord Phenex laughed, a rich, hearty sound. "Just that? Consider it done! You are officially invited, Mr. Jun, as a guest of the house. I will have the invitation sent to your establishment." He raised his glass. "I hope our cooperation will be long and fruitful."
They clinked glasses. For Nyarlathotep, this was an unexpected but profoundly welcome development. Not only was his "Reverse Phoenix" project underway, but now he had secured a front-row seat to its grand unveiling.
He would be able to witness the chaos he had sown, hidden in plain sight, all while being welcomed as an honored guest. And who knew what other opportunities might present themselves? The Priestess would be there, vulnerable and emotional.
The Universe's precious confidants would be in attendance. The ceremonial nature of the event was a perfect Petri dish for despair.
'30th of April,' Nyarlathotep thought, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him as he finished his whiskey and exchanged final pleasantries with Lord Phenex. 'I can scarcely wait for it.'
This was the inception of the 'Jester Plan,' a fundamental new step in his grand design. By weaving himself into the social fabric as the indispensable 'Mr. Jun,' he could form a bond with Makoto—a bond built on trust and perceived mutual benefit. This connection would be far more effective than brute force.
He could manipulate, advise, and slowly sway the Universe to his will, using him as the ultimate pawn to checkmate his only true enemy, Philemon.
Another Wildcard could always be found, but there was only one Universe.
'We will have so much fun together, Makoto,' Nyarlathotep mused, a serene, predatory smile gracing his lips as he took his leave from the Phenex castle. 'My other self. So much fun.'
April 22, 2012, Yomi, Afternoon.
The air in Yomi was thick and heavy, saturated with the scent of decay and the whispers of the dead. In this shadowy realm that mirrored the Japanese world, a figure of pure darkness moved with purpose.
Izanami hurried through the bleak landscape like an excited child.
"Father, you're back!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the cavernous spaces as she rushed to embrace Nyarlathotep, who had assumed his preferred human form. She clung to him with a desperate strength, like a daughter who hadn't seen her parent for an eternity.
Nyarlathotep endured the embrace for a moment before gently patting her head. "Izanami, the preparations. How are they proceeding?"
"Wonderfully!" she exclaimed, releasing him and gesturing with a dramatic flourish. A spectral image of a raging, fiery beast materialized in the air between them. "Kagutsuchi will soon be reborn! Japan will be enveloped in glorious flames and choked by beautiful, grey ashes! I truly hope to see someone as pompous as Tsukuyomi being burned like a common witch at the stake! Oh, the sublime irony of it all!" Her laughter was a chilling, melodic sound that twisted through the gloom.
Nyarlathotep shook his head, a patient, almost weary expression on his face. "I have told you many times already, my dear. Kagutsuchi's rampage will merely be a reprimand for the Shinto Pantheon, a strategic bait for the Universe. I will intervene and stop it, playing the role of the savior."
"No fair!" Izanami whined, her form flickering with petulant energy. "I want to butcher the Japanese gods, not save them! And moreover, I don't want my Father to save them!"
"Do not throw a tantrum, Izanami," Nyarlathotep chided, his voice calm but firm. "You will have all the time in the world to torture them to your heart's content. You must be patient and follow the plan. Take your time, or else you will find yourself bored in the future when they are all dead."
He spoke to her as a father instructing a daughter to savor her possessions, drawing out the pleasure of destruction.
"Ok..." Izanami mumbled, her shoulders slumping in a visible display of dejection.
Nyarlathotep placed a hand on her shoulder. "Izanami, don't make that face..."
Despite his words, her morose expression remained. The Crawling Chaos let out a sigh, a rare gesture of capitulation. "Fine," he conceded. "When the 'incident' occurs, I will permit you to take the life of one god. Just not a major one, and you must ensure the Universe does not interfere. Is that acceptable?"
Izanami's eyes immediately shone with malicious delight, all traces of her earlier sadness vanishing. She threw her arms around him once more. "Thank you so much, Father! You are the best!" she shouted, her excitement reverberating through the underworld.
"Now, I need to check on your brother," Nyarlathotep said, extracting himself from her grip. "I will see you later, Izanami."
With a final nod, his form dissolved into a swarm of black butterflies that fluttered away into the darkness, leaving the goddess of Yomi to her happy scheming.
April 22nd, 2012, Underworld, Evening.
Deep within a fortified castle on the remote, desolate edges of the Underworld, far from the influence of the New Satan government, Shalba Beelzebub sat behind a massive obsidian desk.
The office was spartan and severe, a reflection of its occupant's nature. A devil guard, clad in archaic armor, bowed low.
"Lord Beelzebub. Lord Asmodeus and Lady Leviathan have arrived as you requested," the guard announced.
"Inform them I will be in the throne room shortly," Shalba replied, his voice a low buzz.
The moment the guard departed, Shalba's composed mask shattered. He spat on the polished stone floor, his face contorted with pure venom.
"How I despise those two vermin..." he hissed to the empty room, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I want to smash their skulls and drink their blood! Foolish, arrogant, and childish. And I am supposed to consider them my peers? This is the greatest insult ever levied upon me."
The disgust in his voice was palpable, a deep-seated loathing for the other descendants of the original Satans.
"Your hate is a wonderful thing to behold, Shalba," a familiar voice commented. Nyarlathotep, a sleek black butterfly, landed gracefully on the edge of the desk.
"Father," Shalba said, his posture straightening slightly. "What a pleasure. I assume you are here to reveal yourself as the new leader of the Khaos Brigade?"
"Indeed. Let us go, dear son. It is time to educate our... partners."
Nyarlathotep shifted back into his human form, adjusting the clock-monocle over his left eye with a precise flick of his finger. Together, they walked the cold, echoing corridors to the castle's throne room.
The chamber was vast and oppressive, lit by flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows. Four monumental thrones dominated the space, symbols of a fallen regime.
Only two were occupied. On one sat Katerea Leviathan, a tall woman with sharp features, tan skin, and glasses that did little to soften her imperious gaze. She was the self-proclaimed Leviathan. On the other sat Creusery Asmodeus, a man with pale skin, pointed ears, and black hair tied back in a severe ponytail, the self-styled Asmodeus.
"Shalba," Katerea began, her voice sharp with impatience the moment he entered. "For what reason have you requested this meeting?"
Shalba took his place before the empty Lucifer throne, his expression unreadable. "The Khaos Brigade is undergoing a change in leadership. Ophis is no more. She has been replaced."
"Shalba," Creusery interjected, his tone condescending. "Ophis may be naive and oblivious to the true state of affairs, but she is the power we need to overthrow the New Satan traitors. I hate to admit it, but we still require her for the time being."
"You misunderstand me, Creusery," Shalba replied, his voice dropping. "I did not say Ophis left. I said she has been defeated."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Katerea was the first to break it, her eyes narrowing. "Shalba, it is not in your nature to jest. Why are you saying this?"
It was then that Nyarlathotep chose to make his entrance, stepping out from the shadows behind Shalba's throne.
"Greetings, Katerea Leviathan, Creusery Asmodeus. My name is Nyarlathotep. You could say the Khaos Brigade is under new management. My management."
He offered them a smirk that was all sharp edges and cold amusement even though the Crawling Chaos was having the time of his life playing this completely useless farce.
But men are vain, are they not?
"And who are you!?" Katerea growled, surging to her feet. "Guards! Remove this peasant from our sight!"
Creusery spat in Nyarlathotep's direction, his hands already weaving the beginnings of a destructive magic spell. "You dare?"
Before the squad of guards could even take a step, Shalba moved. "Don't you dare make a single move," he threatened, his voice a low, buzzing snarl, "or I will cut off your limbs and use you as a paperweight for my desk."
"Now, now, Shalba, do not be so aggressive," Nyarlathotep chided playfully, waving a dismissive hand. "Relax. I am perfectly capable of defending myself." He began to walk calmly towards the two stunned leaders.
"Shalba, what are you do—!?"
Katerea's demand was cut short as Shalba unleashed a cloud of vile, purple mist. It enveloped her and Creusery in an instant, paralyzing their limbs and seizing their lungs. They collapsed to the floor, writhing soundlessly, their eyes wide with shock and betrayal, fixed on the Beelzebub descendant.
"Let us try this again," Nyarlathotep said, kneeling before the paralyzed forms of Katerea and Creusery. "My name is Nyarlathotep, and this is my son, Shalba Beelzebub." He studied their pain-wracked faces with clinical interest. "I see in your eyes such hatred, and... pain. Not just the physical kind? Oh, that is interesting."
"Ssshalba... T-traitor," Creusery managed to choke out, his gaze burning with fury.
Shalba walked over and stood directly over Creusery's head, his form beginning to shimmer and distort.
"Do not worry, Creusery. You will both live. You simply need to be taught obedience to my Father. And what better teacher than pain?" His body erupted into its true Shadow form—a monstrous, gigantic fly, its wings buzzing with a deafening drone, corrosive mucus dripping from its chitinous limbs.
He reached down with a clawed appendage, hauling Creusery up by his neck. The Asmodeus descendant's screams were stifled by the oppressive buzzing as Shalba began his work, the acidic secretions slowly, methodically melting the flesh from Creusery's limbs.
"Good words, Shalba. Pain is a truly magnificent teacher," Nyarlathotep said approvingly, watching his son's brutal artistry with paternal pride.
His attention then turned to Katerea, who was desperately, futilely, trying to crawl away, her paralyzed limbs dragging uselessly across the cold stone.
"And where do you think you are running to?" Nyarlathotep asked, his voice a silken whisper. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled her up, forcing her to face the gruesome spectacle of Creusery's dissolution.
"You tried to consume one of Ophis's snakes, did you not?" Nyarlathotep mused, his face close to hers. "But it granted you no real power, am I correct? The power you relied upon so heavily is gone. Or, to be more precise, it is mine now."
He summoned a sphere of absolute darkness into his palm, an orb that seemed to contain a miniature, starving universe.
"Here it is. Within this sphere resides an infinite amount of power. How is this possible? Well, the Omnipotent Orb bends the rules of reality to protect its user, creating an infinite space to store infinite energy so it does not harm me. It is rather wonderful, is it not?"
He made the orb vanish and forced Katerea to the ground, pinning her with his foot and twisting her head to ensure she had a clear view of Creusery's fate.
"Look closely, Katerea Leviathan. I do not usually indulge in physical torture—I find psychological torment far more exquisite. But watching my own son embrace his nature and take his long-awaited revenge on you... it is delightful. I am a proud father."
Tears of pain, rage, and utter helplessness streamed down Katerea's face. "Are you crying, Katerea?" Nyarlathotep crooned. "Oh, betrayal hurts, does it not? Did you truly believe my dear son considered you and that wretch as equals? As friends? You made a critical error, Katerea Leviathan. You ignored the reality of your situation. You believed Ophis was oblivious to the true nature of things. It turns out, you were the one who was blind."