Background: Anaharath has been working with two other demons on miscellaneous projects in Westwater, Mississippi, a modest-sized town that picked up a Belial Tether during a terrible flood in 1972. (It did not burn things, although some miscellaneous electrical stuff started small fires, but it ravaged and destroyed, and that was good enough.) Now, the Tether (the radio station, WASX, that first reported the incipient flood) is perfectly dry and cozy, and it's amazing how much damage your friendly Balseraph Seneschal, Uqbar, can do over the airwaves. Ana's team includes a Calabite, Tlon, a morose and somewhat glum fellow, and an icky Impudite named Tertius, because he's "three times as good as the last one you had."

>> Anaharath sneers at these weakling demons, but does her job. *sigh*

She's at the Tether waiting for orders after successfully killing off a far-too-good cop who'd picked up some Destiny bodyguards. Tlon is shuffling a deck of cards, and by experience she knows that he'll actually deal them in about two days if nothing interrupts him, then stare at them, and then put them away again. Tertius is attempting unsuccessfully to seduce the station secretary, a 5-Force "Soldier" named Tessa; he would doubtless have better success if she weren't so thoroughly brainwashed by working with a Bal Seneschal that he's effectively fighting Uqbar's will instead of hers."

>> Anaharath snickers under her breath at the Impudite.

Scene Begins

Anaharath inhales in the Impudite's line of sight, to show what an idiot he is for slavering after some weakling human. And the tattoos are much prettier. Really.

Ah, the sweet smell of smoke. There's usually some in here, because Uqbar had a fireplace installed in his office and an occasionally-useful one-person crematorium put in in the basement. Good, clean, wood or human smoke, too, not cigarette junk.

Anaharath . o O (Mmmmmmm!)

Tertius can't resist glancing appreciatively at Anaharath, but something in the back of his eyes tells her that he'd rather be flayed alive than go to bed with a Habbalite and get flayed alive several times.

Anaharath smiles more, her eyes half lidded. She wouldn't flay him. She'd fry him.

Tertius nods slightly, indicating his appreciation of the distinction. Tlon shuffles.

There's rather awful a lot of the sweet smell of smoke, actually.

Anaharath blinks. You know, where there's smoke, there's fire. And sometimes Fire.

The lovable crackle from Uqbar's office is unusually audible.

Anaharath goes sniffing about, her expression preparing to become worshipful.

Uqbar's office doorknob is white-hot, and the fake-wood plastic sheath on the metal of the door is melting. The smell of smoke is strongest there, although she can see a few faint wisps out the windows, now.

Anaharath raises her eyebrows. She turns to the Impudite. "You. Open this door."

Tertius blinks, straightens languidly from his place (leaning on Tessa's desk), and struts over. His nostrils flare. "Oh dear," he said. "Do you think it's Him?" He reaches out and turns the doorknob, then yanks his hand back startledly. That's enough time for the outer layer of skin to go ashen and the layer underneath to stick to it, although he couldn't be called crippled.

He could be called clutching his hand and wincing very very hard, though.

Anaharath smiles slightly. Idiot. She cranes her neck to peek through the crack of the door.

The room beyond is definitely on fire. And a very hot fire. Not that that bothers Anaharath.

Anaharath sighs. These things happen. She goes and taps on the door with a paperweight.

The plastic sheath on the metal of the door is extremely hot and slightly gooey.

There is no response from the knock. Nor words from beyond the door.

More smoke is visible outside the windows.

Anaharath frowns. She uses the paperweight to open the door further, but stands to one side, so the Calabite or Impudite would be seen first.

Uqbar's skeleton is seated at the desk, faintly dusted with black, one hand slightly raised, his bones holding together in the unnatural position as if welded.

The first licks of flame are exploring the space beyond the door.

Also, the floor is getting hot.

Anaharath . o O (What th---?)

Tertius gapes. Tlon shuffles.

Anaharath drops to one knee and peers quickly around the door, to see if there's anyone else beyond. (What the demons and human are doing is their business.)

Tertius backs away, looking at the unbreakable windows and reinforced floor and ceiling.

There's no one else obvious in the office. Fire washes across Anaharath, just now like the very gentlest end of the surf - as few flammable things are near the door. The wall next to the door frame on the right just started smoking as the wiring caught, though.

Tertius pops into celestial form, behind Anaharath.

Tessa, rising to her feet with a startled exclamation, makes a run for the stairs.

Anaharath mutters, "Coward." She darts inside, trusting to her attument from her Lady (Lord? whatever) to protect her. There might be some clue as to what started this.

Tlon looks placid. Unlike Tertius, he has Firewalker.

The room is a ruin. The fireplace has melted - at best guess, the reddish pool by where it used to be was the bricks. There's a blackened hole in the floor, as well.

Anaharath . o O (Should we be putting this out? Is there even a fire extinguisher in the building?)

Anaharath checks out the hole, carefully. Don't want to fall through.

Tertius, still visible - being in celestial form - does something. You're not sure what. His skin scorches and his hair catches on fire, to his evident great startlement.

Anaharath blinks. Catching fire celestially? Um. Um. Um. Possible problem. Time to check out the hole quickly, and then maybe that human had the right idea.

The hole in the floor opens one level down, and black footprints seared into the floor lead away. Flames are spreading on that floor, as in the office, although not quite as thoroughly.

Anaharath's Habbalite mind strives to encompass the notion that, just maybe, somebody dangerous is down there. Someone from the enemy Fire, perhaps?

Anaharath . o O (But there wasn't a Superior-BONG!)

Tertius darts for the windows, making mewling noises and trying to brush the fire out of his hair. He recoils from the corporeal glass, though, his outstretched celestial hand looking as melted as his Vessel's.

Anaharath steps back and looks out the window.

There's a lot of smoke beyond it, but the windows don't look hot.

There's a scream. Corporeal. Female. It doesn't last very long.

Anaharath approaches the window, to see if there's something beyond it.

There's even more smoke. There's also fire, from the few openable windows below. It looks like it's moving downward faster than it is moving upward.

Anaharath . o O (This sucks. This sucks bigtime. This is a problem. What the heck happened? He was a Seneschal! A demon, yeah, but powerful enough...)

Anaharath, incidentally, knows the surrounding area pretty well. There are other office buildings nearby, and a small hill with a street running up it, and even a few trees, although the largest, an ancient oak planted outside WASX, is now happily alight. (And about time!)

Anaharath looks around for something heavy to throw out the window, and looks around for that Impudite while she's at it.

Tertius is gnawing on his uninjured hand's knuckles and thinking very rapidly, for him, which is to say at a settled, sedate pace. His hair is less fiery now.

Tlon frowns, for some reason.

Anaharath calls out, demonically, "Tertius, why didn't you go out the window? Why haven't you descended?"

Tertius yells, in his most aggrieved and panicked voice, "Sheol's burning!"

Anaharath says, "So what else is new??"

Tertius says, "It hurt!"

Anaharath blinks. Oooookay. "So why not go out the damned window?"

Tlon thoughtfully stands up. On his chair. By the set of his shoulders, his Calabite clock (tick- tick- tick- boom!) has started running.

Tertius answers, "It's boiling."

Anaharath says, a note of what might be panic in a lesser being creeping into her voice, "The WINDOW?"

While waiting for an answer from Tertius regarding boiling windows, she asks Tlon, "Do you suppose you could throw a chair or desk through the window?"

Tertius says, simultaneously, "Yes."

Anaharath tells Tertius, "Well, then, get corporeal and let's get one of these windows broken."

Tlon says, "Give me a moment for my shoes to cool off."

Anaharath examines her shoes while Tlon cools off.

Tertius, as if struck by sudden insight, darts upwards towards the ceiling. He looks extremely startled as he manages to pass right through it and slam into the roof, one floor up, with the effect of batter hitting a griddle. With a small yelp - his endurance is almost admirable - he tumbles back to Ana's floor and goes corporeal on Tlon's desk.

Anaharath eyes the Impudite. "You bounced."

Tlon, who does not want to be associated with Tertius, hops off the desk and sets his shoulder and hands against it.

Anaharath will help, sure. Not that her strengths lie in the corporeal, but hey.

Tertius says, "The whole building's sealed off. That's got to be it."

Anaharath mutters, "Joy oh joy."

Tlon begins to shove. "Tertius," he says, "stick your head out beyond the far end and be the point of the battering ram, will you?"

Anaharath helps shove, for what it's worth.

Anaharath's shove is mostly ineffective.

Tlon does not comment. The desk begins to slide, faster and faster, towards the window.

Anaharath prays. She's an angel. She can do that.

Crash! Crack! The window does not quite shatter, but it does develop a local webwork of cracks and flaws around the corner of the desk. Tertius helpfully beats at it with his fists.

The floor is now quite hot.

Anaharath says, quickly, "Let's try another pull and push, eh? Tertius, help push."

The webwork is actually expanding slightly. Odd. Tertius isn't all that strong.

Tlon has a faintly abstracted look.

Anaharath pauses. Calabim are useful, sometimes.

The webwork expands. It expands. There's an enormous crash from somewhere far below.

Anaharath grinds her teeth.

Plexiglass fragments are raining gently down towards the sidewalk below, as the desk corner hole widens in a spiral fashion.

Tertius looks smug about the effects of his fist-pounding.

Anaharath calls to Tertius, "Come here NOW and help me with the desk!"

Tertius blinks. "But --" He sighs, gets that "I'm an Impudite" slump to his shoulders, and hops down. There's another crash from below.

Anaharath says, "NOW!" She allows a little hint of desperation to seep into her voice.

Tertius comes over to help.

Bash! The desk actually shoves off a sliver of the plexiglass. The hole is pretty big now - big enough to squirm through, perhaps. Tlon methodically widens the hole.

Anaharath pulls the desk back. "Again!" she tells Tertius, setting her shoulder to shove.

The floor's heat suddenly feels a lot less malign. Or, rather, Ana's Firewalker Attunement suddenly starts helping. Either it's on fire or it's being directly heated by a fire, rather than by hot air.

Anaharath shoves on the desk.

Anaharath rolls the d666 and gets 1 1 CHECK: 6.

Tertius is left gaping as the desk slams through the plexiglass and sails majestically down towards an unworthy pedestrian.

The Habbalite is left with a great deal of momentum, heading directly for the hole, although not so much that she can't stop.

Anaharath stops herself at the edge of the hole. "Hey, Tertius, c'mere."

In a wave washing towards her, the floor of her level of the office building collapses. In the half-moment Ana has, she sees a pit beyond the edge, made of almost undifferentiated fire, that a mortal could easily mistake for Hell.

Anaharath decides the heck with it, and jumps out the window.

Anaharath then goes celestial.

It works, and just in time.

The Habbalite floats outside the inferno.

The other two don't seem to have made it. The WASX station walls are crumpling inwards now, more at the top than at the bottom.

Anaharath looks around for a few seconds, to see if she can spot anyone suspicious, then heads for some place plausible to go corporeal. Perhaps that hill.

Anaharath heads for somewhere she can go corporeal without being too noticed.

There are many such places, as a very stupid crowd has gathered near the building and a less stupid crowd has gathered a roughly safe distance away.

Anaharath heads for the less-stupid crowd. Somewhere behind them. And watch to see if any of them notice her.

No one seems to notice Anaharath's appearance among them.

Anaharath bounces on her heels and cranes her neck and asks, "What happened? What started it?" like any stupid human.

The building continues to crumple, falling in on itself. At this rate, the entire thing will be liquid and ashes; nothing outside the block (which WASX fills much of) seems to have been disturbed by the flames.

In fact, it'll be liquid and ashes in under a minute and a half.

Anaharath . o O (I bet it was the enemy Fire.)

Anaharath wonders where her Burning Lord is.

Anaharath wonders if one of his own Tethers on fire counts as something that will help get his attention. Then she wonders if she should get his attention.

One minute now. Enough of the building has vanished that Anaharath can make out the shape of the flames - and they do have one. It much resembles the Calabite logos, although without the little spikes. That is to say, a clawed fist.

Anaharath gawps. She shoves the person next to her. "Do you see a fist in that fire?" she asks.

"Hey," the shoved lady says, reflexively, clutching her purse, but adds, "I do! It's just like a special effects show!"

Anaharath fades back a bit and starts calling the Burning Lord. Because that is Just Too Weird. Her Prince (Archangel?) will make things okay again, really he will.

The invocation proceeds ...

Something writhes under the skin of a nearby businessman, and then the skin stretches and tears and the eyes fall to the ground, and the somewhat larger if still currently businesslike Belial brushes the scattered pieces of skin off his suit.

Anaharath falls onto her knees, worshipfully.

He smiles benignly down at Anaharath, ruffles her hair, and says, "You may stand."

Anaharath stands, still with her eyes huge and filled with the echos of flams. "Most Glorious Burning One..." Her eyes fill with tears. "There was something blocking us. We couldn't descend. We couldn't go through the walls or ceiling."

Belial frowns distantly. Sparks of white and orange flame orbit in his pupils, each seeming at least a hundred miles away. "You were not meant to be included in that," he says. "I wonder why that should have changed."

Anaharath blinks, several times. She quavers, very quietly, "My Lord?"

Belial looks towards the flame, which has rendered the building down to nothing more than a clenched fist of fire. For a moment, the reflection of that image swells to fill his pupils, and then it fades from them entirely. Then, in a tone of finality - as Dominic might use to say "Judgment is rendered" or as Eli might use to say "There will be a party" - he says, "I shall attend to you instead."

Belial nods his head towards a side street. "Walk with me."

Anaharath swallows and bows her head. "Yes, my Lord," she murmurs, with all the joy of an angel submitting to her...Lord. She obeys.

Belial strides off in that direction. Each step is absolutely effortless, and each leaves the mark of his Sigil (a complex symbol based on the Helltongue symbols for hate and destruction) burned into the ground.

Anaharath trots along beside, eyes demurely lowered, basking in her Lord's heat.

Belial says, "In approximately eleven days, God will come to Mary Olson of Pleasant Valley, Mississippi and conceive a child upon her."

Anaharath gasps quietly, her eyes going round as she lifts them for a moment, before remembering proper humility.

Belial says, "Some things were determined before Creation began. The names of certain prophets and holy men - and some unholy men, as well, although we have had to improvise often - are one example. The coming of Christ and his return - those would be another."

Anaharath shivers in wonder and awe.

Belial glances sideways through a window display at a shop clerk beyond. A fractional hesitation - the equivalent of a moment of deep thought in a lesser being - and the clerk swallows his tongue. Belial continues walking.

Belial says, "Certain other names are written, as well."

Anaharath sneaks a peek up at him, a thought begining to bloom in her mind.

Belial says, "We each are shown that book when it is time. Gabriel had its pages before her when she chose to create you."

Gabriel's name, for the first time, does not turn into a curse from his lips, although it is not said with any unusual respect or love. Gabriel. Like, "I was at the pub with Duke and Gabriel." "Yah, I've come down with a Gabriel." "I hear Fred's got a Gabriel." That's all.

Anaharath stumbles just a little, her mind performing the usual acrobatic gyrations and contortions to deal with "I was working for Gabriel and now I am an angel working for a Prince." After a moment, she whispers, "I... might be significant, my Lord?"

Belial says, "I understand that your role as a healer has frustrated you. This plight does not impress me, but it has a reason behind it; that being that Mary will need a midwife, and this role belongs to those who serve Fire."

Anaharath most definitely gasps. "That honor... Me, my Lord?" There is a growing delight in her voice.

Belial leads her past a tiny park. His strides do not slow.

Anaharath follows, all her attention only for her Burning Master.

Belial says, "Chance has a role as great as Destiny and Fate, Anaharath. I cannot say 'this will be' or 'that will come to pass. I expect to return to this point." A faint, twitchy rubbing together of his fingers and a child's puppy, exploring the strangers that pass the park, catches delightfully on fire.

Anaharath ignores the weak animal. She hangs on his every word.

Belial says, "However, that honor is your reason for existence, and I intend that you shall achieve it."

(Anaharath tries not to bounce up and down and hug herself while chanting "Me! Me! Me! LUCKY!")

Belial says, "I have consulted with Heaven and with Light." His words are measured and passionless. "There is a judgment coming on the mal'ak habbalah; should you survive it, none shall keep you from her side. You shall see the new Savior into the world and bring an age of light; you shall slay it, when it comes time, and usher in the end of all ages."

Belial says, calmly, "You will also need to locate Mary Olson."

Anaharath straightens her shoulders, excited and proud. "I will do this, my Lord," she says, fervently.

Belial says, "Her whereabouts are currently unknown, but -" a moment of searing pain, in the space between words "- you know where her home and office are, as well as the address and phone numbers thereof."

Anaharath clenches her teeth down on a whimper, determined not to show unworthy weakness by crying out.

Anaharath whispers, "Thank you, my Lord."

And, incidentally, Anaharath does seem to know how to get to Mary's home and office, as well as her address and phone numbers.

Belial says, "There are others with a part to play in this; you shall see a mark upon their brow and recognize them, if you should come across them. These you may trust, insofar as you trust any but myself."

Anaharath bows her head in a nod.

Belial comes to a sudden stop. A luxury car is pulled over to one side of the road, and the owner is reading a map.

Anaharath halts beside her Master, deferentially.

The owner stops reading the map. In fact, he stops doing much of anything at all except hitting the dash with his head. His collapse is very quiet.

Anaharath . o O (A weakling human.)

Belial says, "I have selected this vehicle as your transportation."

Anaharath bows her head. "Thank you, my Lord. Will this creature drive, or shall I dispose of him?"

Belial says, "You should find sufficient funds to carry you through this mission in the man's wallet. As for the corpse, you may do as you like with it, but it would make an unsatisfactory chauffeur."

Anaharath smiles. "Yes, my Lord."

Belial says, "I believe I have been sufficiently clear. If you have questions, simply whisper them into a fire; do not expect a response, but I will be listening."

Belial says, "You may go."

Anaharath nods. She then kneels, murmuring, "I thank you, my Lord." And will kiss his hand.

(Anaharath sees... Fire. Simply Fire...)

Belial nods, and dissolves into fire and then into ash and then into nothingness, leaving Anaharath's lips unburned.

Anaharath stands, goes to the driver's side, shoves the corpse into the side-seat, buckling it in, and heads out.