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Description
Trial 8mn:  A Kingly Alliance

Maximillian paces across the onyx tiles of Altair’s throne room.  “Well well,” he says. He eyes Altair, still but a head and torso rooted to his throne.  “That dame Verdant dealt a killing hand, yes?”  His escorts, Arianna and Brianna, push in a black velvet chair and footstool for him. The master sits across from his client.  The ladies stand a step behind, waiting in polite silence.

Nefas replies, “You know this is but a fraction of me, Acheron.” A tangle of sinew frays from each end of the host’s flesh, with one at each shoulder and one starting just below the ribcage. With each murmuring pulse, the tentacles twitch like earthworms emerging from rain-touched soil.

“Quite right.  But your opposition weakens none, either. And I’ll remind you, Shiro did quite the number when you were still whole. So you’ll understand when I say your strategy seems...”  Maximillian takes a drag from his pipe.  A slothful velvet wisp crawls out, drifting lazily upward. As Altair’s own two eyes white out, Maximillian engages Nefas’ third. “Dubious. Most dubious.  You market a failed, unchanged product.”

“Words mean nothing without solutions.” Nefas speaks continuously. Only his host knows exertion; he need only sustain heartbeat to keep the body. “ And solutions you offer not.”

“Patience, sir.  Patience.  I come with a proposal. You and I address similar issues.”  A Croe flies in from the shadows, perching on Maximillian’s shoulder.   “Yet every siege falls flat.” The Croe’s six jade eyes project a hexagonal screen.  This screen replays several instances of slain Hellspawn. Recurring figures in these scenes include Ares or Jason Shiro, Terra Verdant, Skye Ultimus, among others.  “Perhaps some coordination is in order.”

“Continue.”    Nefas nods Altair’s head slowly.

“Your armies and mine both stumble over the same hurdles.  You know the ones I refer to.  Since Terminus fell into the wrong hands, our opposition has galvanized.” The Croe’s screen shows a white silhouette carving through legions of shadows. This pale figure gains allies one by one as the image continues.  “The obvious tactic becomes divide and conquer.”  Back on screen, the black masses swell in size.  A grand legion challenges each single opponent.  Soon as one light vanishes, the shadow swallows all that remains.  Diagram completed, the emerald projector flickers out.

“Verily.  You command a planet’s worth of soldiers. Whether it knows or not, I lead the planet’s largest army.  Attacking on every front, only one must breach their defenses.”

“Precisely.  Now, logistics for my men have limits.”  The Croe reclaims its perch on Maximillian’s top hat. As yet, only two can cross dimensions freely.  I am one. But our coordination is negotiable.  Others can come and go, with arrangements.”

“Magnificent.  Man from Original Earth, and Man from Reborn Earth, casting off the shackles of Creation.”

“Then let it begin,” Acheron says with a nod.  He stands and walks closer to Nefas, offering his hand. He soon remembers the client's lack of arms.  Alternatively, he pats Altair's stump of a shoulder. “This grand enterprise called war.”

Description
Trial 8mn:  A Kingly Alliance

Maximillian paces across the onyx tiles of Altair’s throne room.  “Well well,” he says. He eyes Altair, still but a head and torso rooted to his throne.  “That dame Verdant dealt a killing hand, yes?”  His escorts, Arianna and Brianna, push in a black velvet chair and footstool for him. The master sits across from his client.  The ladies stand a step behind, waiting in polite silence.

Nefas replies, “You know this is but a fraction of me, Acheron.” A tangle of sinew frays from each end of the host’s flesh, with one at each shoulder and one starting just below the ribcage. With each murmuring pulse, the tentacles twitch like earthworms emerging from rain-touched soil.

“Quite right.  But your opposition weakens none, either. And I’ll remind you, Shiro did quite the number when you were still whole. So you’ll understand when I say your strategy seems...”  Maximillian takes a drag from his pipe.  A slothful velvet wisp crawls out, drifting lazily upward. As Altair’s own two eyes white out, Maximillian engages Nefas’ third. “Dubious. Most dubious.  You market a failed, unchanged product.”

“Words mean nothing without solutions.” Nefas speaks continuously. Only his host knows exertion; he need only sustain heartbeat to keep the body. “ And solutions you offer not.”

“Patience, sir.  Patience.  I come with a proposal. You and I address similar issues.”  A Croe flies in from the shadows, perching on Maximillian’s shoulder.   “Yet every siege falls flat.” The Croe’s six jade eyes project a hexagonal screen.  This screen replays several instances of slain Hellspawn. Recurring figures in these scenes include Ares or Jason Shiro, Terra Verdant, Skye Ultimus, among others.  “Perhaps some coordination is in order.”

“Continue.”    Nefas nods Altair’s head slowly.

“Your armies and mine both stumble over the same hurdles.  You know the ones I refer to.  Since Terminus fell into the wrong hands, our opposition has galvanized.” The Croe’s screen shows a white silhouette carving through legions of shadows. This pale figure gains allies one by one as the image continues.  “The obvious tactic becomes divide and conquer.”  Back on screen, the black masses swell in size.  A grand legion challenges each single opponent.  Soon as one light vanishes, the shadow swallows all that remains.  Diagram completed, the emerald projector flickers out.

“Verily.  You command a planet’s worth of soldiers. Whether it knows or not, I lead the planet’s largest army.  Attacking on every front, only one must breach their defenses.”

“Precisely.  Now, logistics for my men have limits.”  The Croe reclaims its perch on Maximillian’s top hat. As yet, only two can cross dimensions freely.  I am one. But our coordination is negotiable.  Others can come and go, with arrangements.”

“Magnificent.  Man from Original Earth, and Man from Reborn Earth, casting off the shackles of Creation.”

“Then let it begin,” Acheron says with a nod.  He stands and walks closer to Nefas, offering his hand. He soon remembers the client's lack of arms.  Alternatively, he pats Altair's stump of a shoulder. “This grand enterprise called war.”