(Verando's POV)

Leaving Tiberius to his mess, Jason followed the warlord into a second room, shutting the door behind him. 

"I've been looking at the case files you want on Verando Mercer. Are you going to kill him?" Jason questions, cocking an eyebrow as he wipes his hands off on a rag, still lightly panting as he wipes at his face. 

"No. We have a deal." He responds stiffly. "Just as you and I have."

Unimpressed, the man regards him momentarily as if wondering if he could see into the depths of the hood before moving to his desk and sitting down with a hard plop. "Well, it's not going to be easy. You'd think someone like you could just make things vanish, but the murder charges go back to Paris a few years back. There are multiple accounts, secret service detail, disappearing staff members... though he did help to save the world from... gods?"

"A few." Verando frowns, pulling his lips down with a sigh, yearning for a cigarette. My voice rang in the back of his mind; I'd asked him to stop. "He's married to a King, who did most of the footwork."

Jason hesitates, tapping his pen on the table and looking back down at the stack before him. "Right. Nicolas." Leafing through a few of the pages, he runs a hand through his heavy black hair, nodding slowly as he finally grasps the weight of the situation. "I think I remember hearing about all of this. Well, the good news is that there is a pardon handed down from the government and signed by his husband for most of these crimes."

This was news to him that I would sign something to render him innocent and free. It seemed like an overreach of my power that I wouldn't subject myself to, but then, I would do anything to save him. 

"I see no actual evidence of drug use, though that is typical of our media. The most recent charges that might be able to gain traction would be the murders pending here in Washington; it didn't help that he fled to another state. There are a few warrants in the works, but no prosecutor seems willing to touch him. Eventually, someone might jump, and.. that's where I would step in. His husband is still, technically, a King. I'm sure he could get him pardoned again?"

"That would not bode well for public image." Verando retorts shortly. 

"Why do you care?" Jason scoffs. "I just killed Arthur a dozen times over; you think that will bode well for me when he goes missing? Shit gets messy when you want revenge; on paper, it's pretty clear this guy is practically an active serial killer. If he's talking to you, then he's guilty. So that's my recommendation: tell him to ask for a pardon or prepare for court because, eventually, someone will jump. I've got a stack of papers from family members for these people; even though he ended up hospitalized after this last altercation, it's hard to say a Lycan didn't knowingly use deadly force."

A serial killer. That was a new one. 

While the majority of our campaign had tried to give the public the entirety of the truth, I hoped to keep as much about the involvement of various gods hidden until necessary. With Caspian having nearly destroyed the world and us barely being able to save it, we needed to allow the dust to settle. 

But those after us hadn't taken the hint to enjoy a period of peace. The world was on the edge of another war; magic users were being treated like criminals, and it would seem everyone was just as terrified as before. 

"People who bring death bring my attention with it." Verando summarizes with a sigh. "There is more at play than a simple murder charge; there are things humans struggle to understand, for there is no protection in merely knowing. If you were going to die in twenty minutes, would you rather know or continue in ignorance? The world is complicated, and some of us aren't fortunate enough to live in that ignorance; we chased the knowledge, and now we must live with it."

"You mean Mr.Mercer?" Jason presses, folding his hands on the desk. "Perhaps that would mean that some of us are better off stepping back and letting the place burn to the damn ground. Life isn't fair; we can't police the world, and people only come to me when they're guilty and need to walk anyway. Vigilantes pay the price; 'fairness' has a cost."

Fair. 

Verando couldn't help but chuckle, for it was amusing to hear someone prattle on about the law when he'd lived beyond it most of his life. 

"Did that man say Nic?" Jason glances back down at his paperwork, shifting a few pages aside, only to jump as Verando appears beside him, looming over him. 

"You'd do best to learn when you are not welcome in a conversation, Mr.Wagner. I'm in the business of years and favors, and I could always do with more years. You must willingly give them to me, but I'm sure you could be persuaded after I'm through with you. Fulfill your end of the bargain, and then your debt is paid." His voice is low and harsh, a clear threat to leave my name out of the equation. 

Much as the man appeared to be frightened by the possibility of torture, it also seemed to bring him just the slightest bit of thrill. "Sounds like you need a lawyer for all of these deals. Did you happen to remove fingerprints from the equation? What happens now?"

With a smirk, Verando shrugs. "You asked for the man to be at your disposal, not to be exempt from the consequences. The siren will do what he can; I'm sure you're knowledgeable enough to know how not to leave a trace." Placing the gloves on his hands, Verando takes a step away to direct his attention toward one of the large windows overlooking the city. "Find me a detective, one who needs a favor, with a little bit of pull. I need more eyes. Prove your worth; you might have more deals in the future."

Standing, the lawyer lights a cigar, loosening his tie as he considers the deal before him. His eyes drag up and down the taller man, landing on the bullet wounds in his chest. "What if I don't want any more deals?"

It would be nice if that were the case. Unfortunately, it would appear that a deal with Death was an addiction. So far, every mortal who had taken the handshake had succumbed to the potential for more. They bargained their lives away for silly things, mostly money, and often the answer to simplistic things until nothing was left to wager but hours they didn't have. 

"You'd be surprised how temptation affects us all." He responds simply, stepping away from the scent of the cigar. 

His targets weren't mortals; they ended up on his list because Anubis could only do so much. He needed more of his kind, underlings that he could trust, so that he could pursue the immortals who truly had a card to punch. 

A police officer with a complex seemed like a good start. 

"Don't hold your breath; I'll reach out to the people pursuing these warrants and get you some names. If they end up dead, I'll know for a fact your.. guy... is acting on ill intent, and I won't be able to do much after that. So try not to go and off some lawyers."

The thought was a good one, but unfortunately, lawyers tended to leave too much of a paper trail to simply kill those trying to prosecute him. "Just make sure they don't have a leg to stand on and summon me if they do. Look into that pardon; it seems like we might need it."

In the dark and silence of the room, a light begins to flicker, and Verando stiffens. Glancing at his hands, it wasn't his doing, much as Jason seemed to think it was. "Curious." The lycan murmurs, only to jump as Hathor appears on the other side of the window with a smile. 

"That's freaky." Jason manages, falling back into his chair. "Who the hell-"

Verando casts his hand, sending the man's chair, with him in it, flying out of the room and locking the door behind him with a flick of his wrist. Hathor appears beside him, soaked from rain, as she runs a hand through her inky hair. "Anubis sent me, you had a visitor."

"At my house?" Verando snaps, her dark eyes warn him as she swipes the water from her skin as if surprised that it didn't simply wipe off. 

"What're you doing here? Why can that mortal see us?"

"Hathor." Verando snarls, and she sighs, adjusting her serpent crown. 

"A man.. dark skinned.. with a little girl. He appeared out of a fog and left the same. I could not enter the house because of his barrier, but he left with no damage caused-"

His hand shoots up to snatch her throat, slamming her against the glass and cracking it with a deafening boom. "You let Tucci into my home?" He seethes, flashing his fangs, "How did he even get close?"

"He had no ill intent!" She shouts back, skin scalding, veins traveling up her back. "Randy." She reminds him, with minimal panic in her voice, for she had served as the scales, and fearing death was something she'd long surrendered to. 

After a moment of hesitation, he releases her throat, taking a quick step back to press his palm to his temple. "I'm sorry. I'm on edge... Hathor, the deal was that you would keep my family safe."

"You had that deal with Anubis, not me. Remember you didn't even want me to know your family existed? I would have come more quickly if it was urgent, but it wasn't; he just wanted to talk, and your husband handled it just fine. Bastet wants her years; she's keeping a close eye on him. Your family is well protected." Her voice was low and calm; she was the first person in this hell not to speak in a constant threat. 

Perhaps it was because Hathor was typically absolutely insane, but he'd take what he could get. Verando slips his hand into his pocket, checking his phone to see that I had called and cursing under his breath. Lifting his phone, he listens to my message with quiet acceptance that leaving like he was wouldn't continue to be an option. We needed him, and time apart only continued to put me at risk if my plan came to fruition. 

Bastet lingering around their house only confirmed that they were on a timeline. 

"Are you in trouble?" She giggles, reminding him that he still dislikes her. "You've been naughty; look at this mess. Did you have someone killed? Anubis is going to be furious. Also... are you even fertile? I am a fertility goddess, and you're dead as a.. well.. corpse. Last time you achieved this pregnancy, were you dead? Freshly dead?"

Honestly, he couldn't remember if it was before or after Anubis; everything had been spiraling so far out of his control that he'd preferred not to think about it. But being dead hadn't occurred to him in terms of functionality; Fenrir chuckles in the back of his mind. 

Shooting blanks.

"Shut up," Verando mutters, making Hathor tilt her head. 

"You have a voice in your head, too?" She questions as if she were utterly unaware of Fenrir which couldn't be possible. It had been part of the bargain, he needed Fenrir to fulfill his duties in consuming those damned to hell. 

"You're mad as a hatter, you know that?" It was almost endearing in a sense. While she seemed kind enough, he imagined being alone with nothing but the dead and that your brother might do odd things to one's mental state. 

"Hatter? Is that a nickname?" Hathor steps forward, reaching within the depths of the hood to place her hands on the sides of his face with a slight frown. "You're cold as ice; maybe someone should warm you up? It might help... fertility. If you want to be fertile, that is."

Slapping her hands away, though careful not to hurt her, her tone leaves him wondering what she meant by such an insinuation. Was she aware that he didn't want another child? That he wished the deal with Bastet would perish and that he couldn't stand the thought of risking another child to a slip-up?  It was only for my sake that he attempted to give me back what he'd taken, to atone for the damage he'd caused our family and to me. 

But the temptation was there, and he wished she'd never uttered it. We could keep trying, and I'd be none the wiser about why it wasn't working. The thought made his stomach turn; it was disgusting to consider holding such a thing from me as if he only wished to use me for sex. Yet, the idea of bringing it up didn't sit well with him either, fearing I might chase him around with a blanket to remind him of how far he'd sunk. 

Dead. 

He truly was dead. 

Hathor waves her hand in front of his face, and he tilts his head to observe her. "You went blank for a second. You okay? I won't tell my brother all this; I was just... you seem down."

She had no right to ask him that; her brother had done this to him. "Thank you for letting me know about the intruder. I'll return home early, but tell Anubis I will hunt for recruits. The world is too big for only one Death, and I need some decoys if I keep operating in such a manner. Reapers, of what have you. They won't be the same as me.. but, they could get the job done for the souls that wonder about and get in the way."

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she didn't look so confident, but after a moment, she nodded in agreement. "It's your realm, and you can do it as you please. Remember that you can't take it back once it's given, and remember what the curse has done to you. The previous death... he couldn't bear to share the burden."

"And now he's dead," Verando tells her firmly, making her flinch. "I have too much to lose to spare a few souls damnation alongside me. I will find the correct individuals; it will be consensual; I won't trap anyone in the hell that doesn't want to be."

Her hand lands on his arm, closing around his sleeve, hesitating as her eyes search the depths of his hood. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for bringing up the previous holder of the ability. It seemed she was attached to him, though Hathor wasn't easy to read. "You will find your purpose in this job; one day, I hope you won't hate it. Then we can be friends."

Jerking his arm away from her, he vanishes, finished with the conversation. There wasn't time for more friends, nor did he desire to become attached to either of the two. He needed to retrieve my soul, prepare Darius to become the unicorn, and keep our family safe. Yet, why did it seem like he was the only one who worried about those things? Why did it seem like he was the only one who lived in a constant state of paranoia?

"You're the one they have to protect themselves from; you know that, right?" 

Fenrir's voice gnaws at the back of his mind. 

"Hey, if you want me to try gettin' him pregnant-"

 Verando's feet hit the ground, landing in the middle of a street. Headlights flash, and the car serves to just narrowly avoid missing him. He wished it'd hit him; at least then, he might have gotten peace. 

"Oh good, you got us a snack!" Fenrir was delighted, his eyes landing on the car smashed into a tree. 

"You're a vile creature, you know that?" The warlord seethes, marching toward the car as the alarm sounds repeatedly. Another car swerves, though this time directed at him; Verando narrowly steps out of the way as it smashes into a guard rail. Tilting his head, he hesitates, looking down at his hands to ensure his gloves were still on. 

"One is enough; you don't have to kill all of them," Fenrir grumbles, though his stomach growls in protest nonetheless. Living with Fenrir was like being in a constant state of starvation; never being full was a continual frustration and annoyance, but to be 'hungry' at all times dampened his mood. 

"I'm not doing that." Verando murmurs, flinching as two more cars wiz past, slamming into each other as if dueling, only to fly into the guard rail as three more sail past. "What the hell is going on?" His head throbs, and he quickly presses his palm to his temple. "Fuckin' hell." Verando exhales, needing to get away from the carnage, from the screams as more and more cars fly past. 

Each crash was more violent than the last while the patrons had begun to go out and brawl, their limbs in various states of broken; it was as if they were possessed. 

"Ok! You made your point; I won't eat them; you can stop!"

"I told you, I'm not doing this!" Verando grimaces, his nose trickling with blood as he dabs at it with the back of his wrist. "We need to get out of here. My head feels like it's going to explode; it's too much-" The heavy scent of sulfur fills his nose, threatening to make him gag. "Sulfer?"

A man stands in the road, clapping as he watches the bloodbath. "Yes! Get him!" he hollers, stifled by his spartan helmet that hides his identity. He was dressed in bronze, with a large horsehair mohawk on his helmet, a warrior complete with sandals wrapped in leather straps; the man looked like a soldier from the medieval ages of gladiators. 

"Who is that?" Verando's voice is low, fighting through the splitting headache, peering at him through the gaze of Fenrir and seeing no alter identity to suggest this being was a god in human form. 

"Whoever he is, he's insane, and he's going to get us blamed for this disaster."

Since when did Fenrir care about blame? Before he can blink, the man appears before him, shorter by 6 inches. He glowers up at the hooded man from behind his helmet, "There you are, you're a hard man to find! I've got a message from Oden." 

Oden?

The fist lands in his stomach, sending Verando sailing through the air, imploding a tree as his body crashes through it.