There were several ways to measure one’s influence in Hell, and not all of them were as obvious as the number of souls one owned, the size of one’s territory, or the number of soldiers capable of responding to an order within minutes.
Invitations were a much subtler indicator.
When I had first begun building what would eventually become the Dominion, nobody had seen the slightest reason to invite me anywhere.
The powerful had no interest in wasting their time with a new sinner controlling a few streets, and the weak generally possessed nothing interesting enough to justify crossing Pentagram City simply to have a drink in their company.
A few decades later, the situation had changed enough that my administration filtered out a large portion of the invitations before they ever reached my desk.
Most were automatically declined.
Club openings, promotional events, private parties organized by demons convinced that an Overlord’s presence would add prestige to their establishment, and the various attempts to get me photographed standing beside some product or another had no reason to occupy my schedule.
Some invitations, however, deserved more attention.
The one I was holding that evening clearly belonged to that category.
A private reception organized in one of Pentagram City’s most exclusive establishments, followed by an auction featuring rare objects, properties, artifacts, and several lots whose descriptions had clearly been written by someone convinced that mystery automatically increased value.
More importantly, several people with whom the Dominion already maintained commercial relationships had confirmed their attendance.
That was enough.
My lieutenant, seated on the other side of the desk, was going through the guest list on his terminal while I finished reading the program.
“Several of our major suppliers will be present, along with two business owners with whom negotiations are currently stalled.
There will also be a few Overlords, but no official event is scheduled between them.”
I placed the invitation on the desk and picked up my cap.
“So exactly the kind of evening where everyone pretends they’ve come to enjoy themselves before spending three hours negotiating contracts over drinks.
At least nobody has the decency to keep pretending all the way through.”
My lieutenant’s tooth-filled mouth stretched slightly as he stood as well.
“You could always decide to stay here and let a representative handle it.”
“I could also decide to burn every financial report and declare that the economy now operates on trust.
Some possibilities exist solely to remind us that they’re bad.”
We left the office shortly afterward.
Unlike official meetings between Overlords, there was no reason for him to remain outside.
He was accompanying me as the Dominion’s senior officer, which was perfectly normal at a reception where a good portion of the guests had brought their own right-hand men, guards, or commercial representatives.
A few vehicles were enough for the journey.
I had no interest in turning a social event into a military demonstration.
The people attending already knew who I was.
Anyone who didn’t probably had no reason to be there.
The establishment occupied the upper floors of a tower in one of Pentagram City’s wealthiest districts.
The difference between this place and the clubs Angel frequented was immediately noticeable.
Here, nobody seemed to consider music loud enough to shake internal organs proof of quality.
The dark walls were decorated with old works of art, the lighting remained relatively subdued, and an orchestra played in a section of the room far enough away for conversations to remain intelligible.
The view over the city was almost impressive.
Thousands of red and pink lights stretched toward the horizon while enormous screens displayed advertisements between the towers.
From this distance, Pentagram City almost looked beautiful.
You simply had to forget what happened at street level.
As we passed through the entrance, several heads naturally turned toward us.
Nobody rushed to get out of the way.
Nobody panicked.
Nobody tried to act tough to prove they weren’t impressed, either.
The reactions were far subtler.
Some guests greeted me with a nod.
Several people I knew approached after finishing their conversations, while others simply chose to keep their distance.
That was exactly what I considered normal.
A reputation was useless if it needed to be announced every time you walked through a door.
A waiter offered me a drink.
I took one while my lieutenant remained a few steps behind me, close enough to participate in conversations if necessary without giving the impression that he was trying to listen to everything I said.
I barely had time to move farther into the room before an industrialist I’d known for several years came over to meet me.
Marek ran a company specializing in industrial cooling systems.
It wasn’t exactly the sort of business that impressed crowds at parties, but I had always found it amusing that the least spectacular companies were often the ones whose absence could bring an entire factory to a halt.
“Tanya.
I was beginning to think your domain had swallowed you.”
I briefly shook the hand he offered.
“It tries regularly.
So far, I’m proving more persistent than the administration.”
He gave a small laugh before greeting my lieutenant.
“Still with her?”
My lieutenant inclined his head slightly.
“Always.”
Marek turned back to me with an expression that already made it clear he hadn’t come over merely to discuss the weather.
“I was actually hoping to speak with you about our new production line.
We’ll begin industrial trials in a few weeks, and several of your facilities might be interested.”
I took a small sip before answering.
“You have an entire sales department capable of sending a proposal to my services.”
“I was hoping to avoid six weeks of meetings before someone finally decides to show you the file.”
“So your strategy is to corner me at a reception with a drink in my hand to bypass my internal procedures.”
He had the decency to smile.
“When you put it that way, it sounds considerably less elegant.”
“That’s often the problem when someone summarizes a commercial strategy accurately.”
I didn’t refuse, however.
If he genuinely had something interesting, there was no reason to ignore it simply because he’d chosen a slightly opportunistic method of getting my attention.
So we spent several minutes discussing his new production capabilities, enough to make me interested in seeing the actual numbers without wasting time negotiating a contract on the spot.
“Send the full specifications tomorrow.
If the performance matches what you’re claiming, my teams will contact you.”
Marek seemed satisfied.
“That’s all I wanted.”
“In that case, you’ve probably chosen the most expensive reception in the city just to get a priority email address.”
“The alcohol’s good.
I consider that compensation.”
On that point, I couldn’t really disagree.
The first part of the evening unfolded exactly as I’d expected.
I spoke with several suppliers, rejected an investment proposal involving a casino chain whose accounts looked opaque enough to conceal either massive fraud or spectacular incompetence, and agreed to consider purchasing industrial land located near one of our secondary routes.
No catastrophes, no attacks, and no revelations capable of altering the balance of power in the Pride Ring.
I was almost beginning to find the experience relaxing.
My lieutenant had also eventually been pulled into a conversation with the head of security from another organization.
From time to time, I saw the two of them examining a terminal or discreetly pointing out different pieces of equipment.
I decided not to interfere.
Officers had the right to compare their toys too.
When the lights dimmed slightly, the guests began moving into the adjoining room where the auction was scheduled to take place.
I took a seat in the front row, my lieutenant settling immediately behind me.
The first lots confirmed that the catalog hadn’t concealed anything essential.
Old works of art sold for sums large enough to finance several months of operations for a small territory.
A vehicle that had once belonged to a long-dead Overlord sparked an absurd bidding war between two collectors.
An artifact supposedly capable of detecting lies was purchased by a demon I’d already heard lie three times since arriving.
I was beginning to appreciate the irony of the evening.
Then the seventeenth lot was brought onto the stage.
A large crate was opened before several objects were arranged on a table.
The presenter took his time explaining that the collection came from several caches assembled after various Exterminations, with some pieces supposedly recovered directly from the streets after the celestial forces had withdrawn, while others possessed far less documented provenance.
In commercial language, that probably meant they knew where half the lot came from and hoped nobody asked too many questions about the rest.
I leaned forward slightly.
Several metal fragments were visible, along with a piece of armor, the remains of a weapon whose most valuable components had already been removed, and, most importantly, an Exorcist mask damaged enough that nobody could mistake it for something still usable.
A crack ran across almost the entire right side.
One of the lateral structures was missing.
Yet its silhouette remained unmistakable.
A few months ago, I probably wouldn’t have participated in the bidding.
Equipment belonging to a force considered invulnerable would have been an interesting curiosity, nothing more.
Today, my knowledge had changed.
More importantly, my questions had multiplied.
We knew angelic steel could kill an Exorcist.
We knew an angel had actually been killed.
On the other hand, we knew almost nothing about their equipment beyond what all of Hell had seen once a year for generations.
The catalog very honestly specified that only part of the lot was guaranteed authentic.
I found the wording almost refreshing.
The bidding started relatively low.
Three people immediately participated, but two dropped out after several increases.
The last remaining buyer was a collector I vaguely knew, mostly famous for hoarding anything connected to Heaven.
I waited another round before joining the bidding.
He raised almost immediately.
I followed.
The competition continued without the slightest personal hostility.
Neither of us had any particular right to the lot.
I certainly wasn’t going to use my position as an Overlord to threaten a collector simply because he wanted to buy something that interested me.
The price quickly exceeded the value of the metal contained in the crate.
Then it probably exceeded the reasonable value of the entire lot.
The collector continued anyway.
I answered again.
He turned slightly toward me.
I raised my glass with a small smile, without trying to convey anything beyond the obvious: I still intended to bid.
He thought for several seconds.
Then gave up.
The auctioneer confirmed the sale.
I lowered my paddle while my lieutenant leaned slightly forward from the seat behind me.
“The finance department will probably want to know why the scientific budget just purchased a broken mask accompanied by several objects whose authenticity isn’t guaranteed.”
I kept my attention on the stage while letting out a faint, amused sigh.
“They’ll only have to read the line marked ‘research material.’ I’m certain they’ll survive the shock.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And if this lot contains anything useful, I want this conversation erased from your memory.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I turned my head slightly.
The smile occupying his shadowed face confirmed that he would make absolutely no effort whatsoever.
I picked up my glass again.
At least he was enjoying his evening.
When the auction ended, I let the staff arrange for the lot to be transported directly to the Dominion.
Carrying a broken Exorcist mask around in my arms during a reception would probably have triggered conversations I’d rather avoid.
I’d barely collected the ownership documents when another Overlord approached.
We knew each other mostly by reputation and a few indirect transactions.
His territory covered a significant part of an entertainment district in western Pentagram City, and we’d never had any serious reason to oppose one another.
His attention naturally drifted toward the papers I was holding.
“I didn’t know you were interested in celestial antiquities.”
“I’m not particularly.
My researchers, on the other hand, appreciate anything they can dismantle without causing an excessively expensive explosion.”
He smiled faintly.
“And you think you’ll learn something from debris recovered years ago?”
I saw no reason to become mysterious over such a mundane question.
“Maybe.
The Extermination has been moved forward by six months, and our knowledge of the equipment used by the Exorcists is ridiculous.
Spending money to analyze a few pieces seems preferable to discovering later that they contained something we could have understood in advance.”
The explanation was entirely true.
More importantly, it was perfectly normal.
He had no reason to imagine I possessed information the rest of Pentagram City still lacked.
His reaction confirmed it.
“Not a bad idea.
Prices are already becoming absurd in certain sectors.”
“Which sectors?”
The conversation immediately shifted direction.
He explained that properties considered relatively safe during previous Exterminations were increasing in value, while businesses specializing in shelters, autonomous generators, and certain medical equipment had begun seeing significant increases in orders.
I’d already noticed some of those movements in the Dominion’s economic reports.
Hearing them confirmed by someone who directly controlled part of the real estate market gave the trend more weight, however.
Pentagram City was genuinely beginning to prepare.
Not in any coordinated way.
Not necessarily intelligently.
But Adam’s announcement had finally begun producing effects.
Three months could seem comfortable to someone who had lived for decades.
They felt considerably less so when you had to prepare buildings, move populations, or build up reserves before a day when the sky itself descended to kill people.
“And you?” he asked after describing several price increases.
“Has the Dominion already begun preparations?”
“Infrastructure and supplies are being inspected.
I have no intention of mobilizing an army three months in advance just to leave everyone sitting behind fortifications until they’re exhausted, but preparations that cost nothing by starting early are already underway.”
He agreed without difficulty.
We continued for several more minutes before one of his associates came to retrieve him.
I let him leave without having learned a single extraordinary secret.
I didn’t need one.
A significant portion of useful information was completely unspectacular.
Knowing that shelter prices were rising wasn’t going to win a war.
It did, however, help explain how the city was reacting.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Marek found me again a little later with a woman I’d never met before.
She wore a dark blue suit, held a small terminal in one hand, and had the sort of way of looking around a room that immediately suggested she was probably evaluating the value of everything she saw.
Marek introduced us.
Selene Vark controlled several plots of land and buildings around the old southern railway district.
The name immediately caught my attention.
Our logistics services had already studied that area.
She was intelligent enough not to begin with a long presentation intended to convince me that every square meter was a treasure.
She displayed a map directly.
Some of the buildings were in poor condition.
The railway lines would require considerable renovation, and several warehouses would probably need to be demolished rather than repaired.
On the other hand, road access was excellent.
The site was extensive.
More importantly, the area was close enough to one of our commercial routes to potentially serve as an intermediate depot someday.
I listened to her explanation all the way through before asking for her price.
It was too high.
Not absurdly so.
Simply too high.
I explained why, taking into account the work required, the cost of decontaminating part of the facilities, and the actual condition of the railway network.
She defended her estimate by emphasizing the site’s size, access routes, and the recent increase in demand for industrial property.
We negotiated like that for quite some time, without the conversation turning into a duel where each of us merely waited for our turn to deliver a clever line.
She adjusted her proposal.
I modified mine.
When we finally reached a range that seemed reasonable to both sides, I still didn’t sign anything.
I wasn’t stupid enough to buy several hectares of land after twenty minutes of conversation and two drinks.
“Send all the documents tomorrow morning.
My teams will verify the ownership records, the condition of the buildings, and your estimates regarding access.
If everything matches what you’ve presented, we’ll continue on that basis.”
Selene put away her terminal.
“I suppose that’s a positive answer.”
“It’s positive enough that you can notify your lawyers without starting to spend the money.”
She smiled before extending her hand.
I shook it.
The potential transaction had begun.
Nothing had exploded.
I was becoming genuinely spoiled tonight.
We left the reception shortly before midnight.
Once inside the car, I removed my cap and placed it beside me while my lieutenant was already reviewing the notes he’d taken throughout the evening.
“Well?”
He quickly scrolled through his terminal before summarizing the main consequences: a potential expansion of the contract with Marek, the evaluation of Selene’s property, several commercial proposals to examine, and a few contacts that would probably deserve follow-up.
Naturally, he finished with the celestial lot.
“And a collection of partially authentic debris purchased at a price high enough to attract the finance department’s attention tomorrow morning.”
I folded my arms.
“You’re focusing far too much on that part.”
“It’s the only transaction tonight where you paid more than the estimated reasonable value.”
“Because research value isn’t included in your estimate.”
“Naturally.”
I stared at him long enough to make it clear that he was beginning to annoy me.
It didn’t work.
After several decades, certain threats unfortunately lost their effectiveness when you had absolutely no intention of carrying them out.
“If we discover anything useful in that lot, I expect an official apology.”
“And if we mostly discover counterfeits?”
I considered the question for several seconds before answering.
“Then we’ll consider this evening classified.”
He gave a quiet laugh.
I leaned back against the seat and watched the lights of Pentagram City pass beyond the window.
He had become far too comfortable.
I was probably responsible, considering how long he’d been my right-hand man.
By the time we reached the Dominion, the lot had already arrived at the main laboratory.
I also learned that several researchers, despite having been perfectly free to go home hours earlier, had chosen to stay solely because they’d heard there were new celestial objects to examine.
I wasn’t sure whether I should admire their motivation or order a general psychological evaluation of the department.
The decision could wait.
I went to the laboratory with my lieutenant.
The various objects had been arranged across a large table protected by several security fields.
The researchers had begun exclusively with non-destructive analysis, which reassured me slightly about their ability to resist their instincts.
Naturally, the mask occupied the center.
Seen up close, the damage was more extensive than I’d realized during the auction.
The main crack extended almost to the upper section, and several areas had been partially burned.
One of the researchers approached with the preliminary results.
“We’ve already confirmed that several pieces are authentic.
They still exhibit faint but perfectly identifiable traces of celestial energy.”
The word several immediately caught my attention.
“Which means others aren’t.”
His expression became slightly uncomfortable.
“At least one, yes.
The fragment presented as part of an Exorcist’s armor is made from a relatively ordinary infernal alloy.
The surface was simply treated to make it resemble the other pieces.”
I picked up the fragment in question and examined it for a moment before putting it back down with a sigh.
Beside me, my lieutenant made no comment, but the slight widening of his smile made one unnecessary.
“You can enjoy this moment while it lasts,” I told him, turning my attention back to the researcher.
“If the rest of the lot provides even one useful piece of data, this counterfeit will mysteriously disappear from all future conversations.”
My lieutenant inclined his head slightly with entirely artificial innocence.
“I had no intention of mentioning it.”
“Of course.”
The researcher visibly decided that his screen suddenly deserved his full attention.
I preferred to continue rather than give my lieutenant more ammunition.
“And the mask?”
The researcher’s demeanor changed immediately.
“Authentic with an extremely high probability.
The energy traces are stronger than on the other fragments, and we’ve detected several internal structures we haven’t yet been able to identify.”
He led us toward a screen displaying a partial reconstruction of the mask.
Luminous lines ran through certain sections of the material.
I leaned closer.
“Magical circuits?”
“Probably.
We can’t determine their function yet.
Some could be used for communication, perception, or stabilization of the object, but the damage is too extensive for us to confirm anything.”
That was exactly the kind of answer I wanted to hear.
A hypothesis presented as a hypothesis.
Not a certainty invented to make the report sound more interesting.
“So the mask isn’t purely decorative.”
“No.
We’re almost certain it has, or had, several active functions.”
That information alone already justified a significant portion of the price.
I didn’t say so to my lieutenant.
He would probably have considered it a sign of weakness.
We moved on to the authentic armor fragments.
Initial analysis revealed a material remarkably light for its resistance.
Nothing suggested that Exorcist armor was invulnerable.
Quite the opposite: its design clearly seemed to favor mobility over the ability to absorb heavy impacts.
That fit their fighting style perfectly.
A flying, extremely mobile force convinced that its enemies couldn’t kill it had no reason to wear massive armor.
I had comparative measurements displayed against several materials used by the Dominion.
The researchers needed more time before providing reliable conclusions, but the preliminary results were already enough to eliminate at least some hypotheses.
We had discovered no miraculous weakness.
Good.
Miracles had a tendency to become very disappointing when you tried to build military doctrine around them.
“Continue the analyses without damaging the authentic pieces.
I want to know everything we can learn before you start cutting, melting, or blowing them up.”
Several glances were exchanged across the laboratory.
I noticed.
“And yes, I know exactly what some of you were already imagining.”
A researcher farther away raised a hand slightly.
“A destructive analysis on a tiny sample could provide—”
“When the non-destructive methods have reached their limits, you can present the proposal to me.
Not before.”
He lowered his hand.
He wasn’t offended.
Just impatient.
Ah, scientists.
The study of the mask continued for nearly an hour.
The more data we accumulated, the more obvious one conclusion became: we didn’t have enough.
The laboratory could identify certain material properties, map part of the internal structures, and compare traces of celestial magic with the scarce data preserved in our archives.
But truly understanding how the mask worked would require something much more difficult to obtain.
An intact specimen.
The head of the laboratory finally admitted as much after examining another series of results.
“We can still learn a great deal from this one, but several circuits are severed precisely in the most damaged areas.
Without knowing what the complete structure looked like before the fracture, part of our reconstruction will remain hypothetical.”
I looked at the mask beneath the laboratory’s white lights.
“So ideally, you’d need another specimen.”
“Intact, or at least significantly less damaged.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
“I’ll add it to my shopping list.
One intact Exorcist mask, preferably obtained without having to politely ask its owner to remove it while they’re trying to kill me.”
A few researchers smiled.
My lieutenant said nothing.
I knew, however, that he would remember the request.
Not as an order.
Simply as information that might become useful one day.
“Add to the file that analysis of the internal systems remains incomplete due to the lack of an intact specimen.
For everything else, continue as far as possible with what we already have.”
The department head confirmed the note.
I remained in front of the various objects for another moment.
We had spent an unreasonable amount of money.
Part of the lot was fake.
Another part was so badly damaged that it couldn’t answer half our questions.
And despite all of that, I was satisfied.
Science didn’t work by opening a crate and discovering exactly the answers you hoped to find.
Sometimes, the first useful conclusion was simply learning which questions needed to be asked next.
My lieutenant handed me one final file before we left the laboratory.
The investigation into the dead Exorcist.
I skimmed through it while standing near the exit.
No major breakthrough.
Several additional witness statements had been verified, and a few personnel movements connected to Carmine Industries still matched the area where the angel had probably been killed, but nothing placed Carmilla at the scene with enough certainty to turn my intuition into proof.
I closed the file without any particular frustration.
A few weeks earlier, I probably would have devoted more attention to the lack of confirmation.
Today, it mattered much less.
Carmilla remained the most likely hypothesis.
If proof appeared someday, fine.
If not, the essential question had already been answered.
“The same instructions remain in effect,” I said, handing the file back to my lieutenant.
“Continue discreetly with existing resources.
No additional effort solely to obtain confirmation we don’t immediately need.”
He put the report away.
We then headed toward the laboratory exit, but I slowed as I passed the mask one last time.
For decades, the Exorcists had represented something I’d never really had a reason to study.
A periodic catastrophe.
That logic no longer applied.
An Exorcist had left a corpse behind.
Angelic steel could wound them and probably kill them permanently.
I looked at the mask one last time before resuming my walk.
Three months ago, I would have considered its owner a storm capable of killing anything it touched.
Now, for the first time, I was beginning to see them as what they probably should have been all along.
An adversary.
And adversaries possessed one remarkable quality that natural disasters didn’t.
You could learn how to kill them.
My lieutenant waited until we were in the corridor before continuing in a perfectly innocent tone.
“The counterfeit fragment will still need to be entered into the scientific inventory.”
I turned my head toward him without breaking stride.
“If you keep bringing that up, I’ll personally assign you to review every laboratory expense for the next quarter.
That way, you’ll discover exactly how much the research you’re finding so amusing tonight actually costs.”
His smile lost the slightest bit of enthusiasm.
“I consider the lot was probably an excellent investment.”
I smiled.
“Much better.”
We continued toward the manor while the laboratory teams carried on with their analyses behind us.
The evening had begun with an invitation I’d nearly declined and ended with potentially useful land, several new commercial contacts, and enough celestial material to keep my researchers occupied for weeks.
Not the worst possible use of a few hours.
Even if the finance department would probably have a very different opinion when they saw the bill.