NONE SO VILE

13: Divine Autopsy

Albedo, Rennaire, 1802.

“It has to be soon."

“This is not something so easily rushed."

“We're running out of time. Things get worse every day now, if we don't seize proper control, we will lose this country."

“I am aware. That does not change the nature of my work."

“It must!" The slammed fist rattled the tools. “There is no other choice. It has to be here. Now. Today. If they come marching down the Kingway then I have nothing that can stop them, not with an Angel at their backs."

“This is not my way. You might need to find another tactic."

“THERE IS NO OTHER TACTIC!"

“This one died without any of my sorcery."

“Pure fucking luck. I have tried, I have tried with snipers, with artillery, I have even tried negotiating. All it left me with was more bodies. Half of them are blown to pieces so we can't even make out their identity. The rest are instantly turned to glass. People are out there looking at us, and seeing their fathers and their brothers and their fucking sons turned to statues, because WE promised them a better future! Because I promised them a better future!" He smacked a scalpel and it bounced off the table, skittering over the ground. “Find a fucking solution! That is if you're actually capable of doing that much."

Alabaster shut his eyes, sighing. Bellamy shifted uncomfortably on his perch – the vulture hated raised voices.

Leon stood panting, paws braced on his hips, hackles raised and his lips pulled up into a faint snarl. Standing on both legs, I might note. Not that the jaguar had ever thanked him for that.

“Well, can you?" Leon said, throwing a paw up in the air. “Or are you a charlatan like I first thought? Some sort of fraud?"

Slowly and deliberately, Alabaster lowered the syringe he'd been examining. He stepped around the autopsy table, closing the distance until only inches kept them apart.

“That Angel," he began. “Was one of the hundred deadliest living things on the planet. For all I know, it still is. It could be volatile. It does not rot, but why? The flesh still heals, why? Could it be that the Finger Mage is still alive in there, somehow?"

“Those aren't the questions I need answering."

“I am not simply a gun to be fired, Director," Alabaster said softly. He dropped his tone so low that Leon would be forced to strain, forced to focus on the words. “My art is poorly understood. In your civilised world my fellow practitioners are killed as heretics, while back in my homeland they jealously guard their secrets from one another. Everything I have learned, everything I know, I have taught myself through careful method. This is no different."

“It is, this is life and death."

“Everything in my work is death," Alabaster replied dryly. “This cannot be rushed. You might as well demand that the grass grow faster for you."

“I would make it so, if that was necessary to keep this country going."

Alabaster rolled his eyes. “You would rush into every battle like the mindless soldier you are. Charging ahead, weapons raised, killing everything in your path and learning nothing. I will do something once. But when I do it, it will be done correctly."

Leon growled, looking away. It was obvious he knew Alabaster was right, but they'd come so far he'd never admit it.

“Lazare is going to kill us, and Jules will take over the country." The jaguar inhaled sharply, trying to keep his voice from cracking. Is that… fear? From the great Hero of Zolfreun? “Damn it, Alabaster… he isn't even Phillipe's real son, he'd only be a regent for Gabriel. You'd think that might persuade him to give up."

The mystic nodded sagely. “Ah, but if Prince Jules does manage to reach the throne, he would not stay a mere regent for long."

“You truly think he'd abdicate?"

Alabaster was astounded at Leon's naivety, and he had to stifle a laugh. “No. Jules is the child of Phillipe's wife, his son only by law. Gabriel is the true heir. But if Gabriel were to die, the law would pass the title back to Jules, legitimising him. Unpleasant business, but so is the way of the owner." Gabriel was the whole reason Alabaster had come to Albedo in the first place. Healing the heir's leprosy was one of the few things in his life he was truly proud of, and he had no wish to see the child die in the name of Jules's schemes.

“You're right, of course you're right…" Leon shook his head. “It will never come to that, I won't allow it. Please, just find me a way to deal with Lazare."

Alabaster said nothing, and allowed the awkwardness to pass between them. It moved like a ghost, invisible and ignored, but with a weight they both felt. Neither had discussed Alabaster's brief attempt at hypnosis, and since that day Leon had continued to come to his lab nearly every morning. Sometimes the jaguar spoke about himself at length, there was nothing Leon enjoyed talking about more than himself after all.

But sometimes he simply stayed silent, once almost up to an hour. Watching Alabaster work.

He is alone. The realisation had come one day when Alabaster rose from his bed, only to find Leon already inside the lab, waiting for their daily appointment. It hadn't even yet reached dawn. The most powerful man in the country. Totally, and utterly alone.

Alabaster watched those sharp blue eyes the way a snake watched a mouse. They darted around, as if searching for something to grasp, anything to break the ice between them.

“I've things to see to. Try your best," Leon mumbled eventually, turning away and rushing back out the door.

Returning to the corpse, Alabaster tried to forget the jaguar and focus, but found that his mind continued to wander back no matter how far he pushed it. He did not know what to make of Leon. The man was naive, foolish, idealistic, hot-headed, over-emotional, and exceedingly hypocritical. He seemed to possess none of the scathing self-awareness that Alabaster felt, and from the way he spoke, was repeatedly frustrated by the fact others did not see the world the way he did.

“Am I losing my mind?" He asked Bellamy, to which the vulture squawked gently back.

Leon was a man built up of qualities that Alabaster despised. So perfectly did he fit that mould that it almost felt deliberate, as if someone had sent him here just to slowly drive Alabaster insane.

And yet. Alabaster did not feel the same visceral animosity that he'd had towards Paul Vardé, or Joachim La Valette. Leon was definitely irritating, and yet Alabaster had almost come to enjoy their daily meetings, even when they did simply stand in silence.

Even the arguing drew him in. He found himself sometimes goading the jaguar, trying to find different ways that might cause him to arc up. Leon's triggers were predictable, and Alabaster found himself revelling in the quick tempers. That lack of control, that head-strongedness, all combined with a rational to act immediately, to throw oneself into the situation and attack it with both paws… it was just so utterly unlike himself.

So different, and yet we are the same. A double-edged sword. They were both alone. They were both intense and unwavering in their views of the world. They would both do anything to achieve their goals. Hot and cold, same but different.

There is no equivalent to this in nature, Alabaster thought, simmering. My questions have no answers, this madness cannot be made to make sense. What two things might complement one another, while also reacting? And did he and Leon truly complement one another?

No. It was a ridiculous thought, and Alabaster felt ashamed he'd even dared think it. All he felt was a slight relief at being able to speak more openly. Years at court had taken their toll, but with the jaguar, Alabaster spoke his mind, no matter how sharp his words might cut… Leon always came back the next day.

You feel you can be yourself with him. Pathetic.

The most embarrassing part was that for all his arguing about things being done right, Alabaster was desperate to find the solution Leon needed. He didn't want Lazare to come back, he didn't want to see Jules on the throne. And you crave his approval, like a slave begging after his master.

No. Not like that.

“The flesh holds the answers we seek, my friend," Alabaster said aloud, aiming his voice towards Bellamy. The vulture, undead as he was, remained as good a listener as ever. His calm presence soothed Alabaster's racing mind, allowing him to focus properly, and turn his full attention towards the Angel's corpse. This time he truly pushed all thoughts of Leon aside, walling off his mind and giving his work the concentration it deserved.

I am probably the first sangoma ever to work with an Angel's corpse. The thought made him giddy. Let us have yet another look at you, Hashan.

Tiny lacerations, cuts, and bruises covered the deer's naked body, but there was one part of him that Alabaster still had yet to touch. Perhaps out of fear, or worry over damaging it… he had never examined the halo.

Sucking in a breath, he moved behind the Angel's head. The antlers had been removed for ease, stored in another room.

The halo itself hovered roughly six inches from the top of Hashan's skull. It was flat, like a drawing on a piece of paper, almost invisible when viewed from the correct angle. The circumference matched the crown of the Angel's head, and Alabaster assumed all Angels would be similar. It glowed faintly, a pale yellowish light that reflected off Alabaster's palm, if he held it close enough. The few Angels Alabaster had seen in his life had almost all possessed golden halos, but he knew there were other kinds as well. Black was common, ringed by gold. Bronze had been noted historically, as had silver, and once even a kind of purplish azure. What caused this, he did not know – if the Church had any guesses they did not share it. Best assumption from the books Alabaster could find was that it was related to the concentration of the One God's blood coursing inside them.

Though Rennaire has no God now, Alabaster mused. Wonder how they will explain Angels.

Half-fearing an electric shock, he placed his fingers on the glowing ring. It was cool to the touch, almost like glass, but somehow smoother, frictionless. He tried to move it, and found that it moved Hashan's entire head along with it – as if an invisible rod connected the two. Foolish though it felt, Alabaster waved a claw between the deer's skull and his halo – touching nothing but air.

Squeezing, cutting, and even trying to crack it with a hammer, nothing had any effect. It was functionally indestructible, unless he was devoted enough to try again with gunpowder, though he doubted even that would work. In his confiscated Church reports, he had never found a record of a halo breaking. How much skull would he have to remove to separate it from the body, he wondered? The entire head? Half of it? Just the crown?

It is non-reactive, Alabaster noted, drawing primordial runes around the halo's edge with one finger, tiny spells of rot and decay. Ordinarily the other would pull the matter apart, accelerating the natural entropy – but here the little threads refused to even touch it, slipping right past the halo edge as if it was made of ice.

Could that explain why I was unable to revive you? Alabaster had assumed the Angel's unusual physiology, combined with the delay between death and autopsy, was the cause for his sorcery's impotence. Instead…

Refusing to jump to conclusions, Alabaster shifted around the corpse, drawing from the loose threads of other wavering in the air, tugging on the magic of the world even as he began putting the hypothesis together in his mind.

Excepting the halo, the Angel's flesh was not immune to knives, hammers, or gunpowder. Hashan had been killed by an ordinary rifle, he was not invincible. Yet none of Alabaster's sorceries could touch him; rot, wither, even reanimation, whatever he attempted to do simply coiled around the deer's hide, anathema to touching it.

A magical deadzone. What did it mean? Angels were capable of killing one another, that much was confirmed fact. Was their sorcery something completely different to Alabaster's own, something separated from the realm of entropy and binding? He had always thought they could see halfway into the other realm, somehow sense the primordial materials that made up reality. But what if it was something else completely?

Alabaster eyed Bellamy, the vulture chittering softly as it sensed his excitement.

“A snake and a spider, both deadly, but for different reasons. A spider's venom attacks the flesh, but a serpent attacks the nerves." He looked back to Hashan. Was this the same situation? An entirely foreign type of magic?

What does it mean? Alabaster drew a pull of thickened blood from the Angel's arm, holding his syringe to the light. Here as well, the little threads of other he could sense avoided the fluid entirely, as the Angel's matter was disconnected from the world's entropy. Those threads respected no other boundary Alabaster had ever seen; they laced the fabric of reality together, connecting the matter of bricks, dirt, water, even fire and flesh. But not this. Not you. You're from somewhere else, deeper still.

Sorcery was an ocean. Its depths knew no limit, and it always seemed as if the more Alabaster learned, the more ignorant he became.

“You are poison," he muttered, looking from the blood to the body. There was a unique quality about the Angel's makeup, a missing piece. In his head he began to compile the outline of a ritual, a way to bridge the divide between his own magic and theirs. “But if you are poison… I can use you."

The pieces fell into place in Alabaster's mind, and he grinned, elation swarming through him. This was a greater victory than the day he killed his owner, greater still than when he had finally cured Prince Gabriel. No one in history had ever found a way to bring Angels down to the level of ordinary men. Are you certain it would work? The only way to test it is to face Lazare. It would work, Alabaster was confident.

This was it, it felt so simple. Protection, nullification – an antidote.

That was Leon's solution.

Alabaster made his way through the palace carefully, one paw resting on the kriss dagger at his hip. He had never felt welcome here during King Phillipe's reign, but things were even worse now – more dangerous. The revolution had come, but there was still a long way to go, and the madness that had overtaken the city the last few weeks was still present, only simmering beneath the surface.

Leon's stewards and administrators were doing their best to slowly put things back together, but as long as the loyalists had their barricades up, the city could not truly begin to heal.

Alabaster found himself moving down a dark hall. Clerks had not been properly assigned yet, and so it wasn't uncommon to find entire wings of the palace with their lamps only half-lit, and the floors in need of a sweep. The worst had been picked up – no more bodies crowded the doorways, the blood stains had been scrubbed away, and the papers and debris had finally been disposed of.

The Speaker and his faction could pretend that a great, glorious future had arrived, but as always, Alabaster knew better. Noble their intentions may be, eventually they'd learn the same lessons he'd been taught back in Urdo.

There was no such thing as clean rule.

Despite how unwelcome he felt in the halls, nobody questioned Alabaster as he moved around. That too was a problem however, and he made a mental note to mention it to Leon. The gates had been shut to the general public, but there were still too many unknown faces coming and going as they pleased. It would be too easy for an assassin to slip inside and get close to Leon.

He's not being careful enough, the brazen idiot.

Clerks and administrators continued to move around the space, and Alabaster gently shifted past them all, entering the throne room.

Just a room now, he thought, looking up at the empty dais. Rennaire no longer had a king, no longer had royalty, and so no longer had a throne.

Alabaster did not shed any tears over the fall of the royal dynasty, but even so, a part of him still found it strange to see the throne missing. Funny, how used to things we become. It was a symbol of oppression and corruption. What other kinds of oppression had he grown too comfortable with?

For all Leon's faults and foolishness, he does not make peace with things that are wrong. He does something about it.

Making his way up the steps towards the Triumvirate's office – the former royal bedchamber – Alabaster turned the vial around in his pocket, the blood ever-so-slightly warming the thick glass of the tube. Not even to be called heated, but certainly enough to take away the chill. Ten years studying and he might never understand every piece of the Angel's physiology. But I don't need to understand them to use them.

He was actually excited to share his discovery with Leon, and that excitement also made him embarrassed. The former king had never wanted to know the details of Alabaster's work, only the results. For so long he had acted like Fayez, obfuscating his art, hiding his methods behind layers of mysticism and pseudo-ritualistic acts. But now it was far more open, Leon was actually excited by his sorcery.

Alabaster tried to brace himself for disappointment. He reminded himself of the reality – Leon was excited by the sorcery only so long as it resulted in something he could use. Like all soldiers he saw most things in the world in terms of resource. He didn't really care about Alabaster's work, or Alabaster himself.

Stop being so childish. He doesn't care about you. He only comes to your lab because it's close to his new weapon, and the only place he can get a second of peace. You don't matter, and you'll only be kept around as long as you remain useful.

Alabaster pushed the sour thoughts from his mind as he reached the Triumvirate office doors. They were closed, and a small desk space had been established right outside. The spindly rat that was always following Leon about sat behind the dark table, writing out notes with a quill and ink.

Jacques did not look up as Alabaster stopped before him.

“Excuse me," the dragon said, after a moment.

Jacques finished his word, carefully laying his quill down and glancing up. His face gave away nothing, it was utterly blank.

“I need to speak with Director Leon."

The rat glanced at the office doors. Huge and ornate, they had yet to be replaced, but Alabaster could guess the Speaker had it on his list of to-dos. “He is not here, Citizen Alabaster."

Alabaster sighed deeply. “Then where is he?"

“I believe he had an appointment with Marshal Deuxmoise. Is your project finished?"

“My…" Alabaster frowned. “What do you know of my… project?"

“Only that the Director is most anxious to see it completed. Shall I pass on word of its status?"

“No!" Alabaster quickly reeled himself back in. He was glad for his cold blood, the last thing he needed was a damn blush rising to his cheeks like some stupid schoolgirl. Get a hold of yourself man, you sound like a child showing off his painted rocks to mother. “No, I'd prefer not. I will speak with him myself."

Bringing himself back under control, Alabaster left the rat, descending back down the stairs. As he reached the middle landing, the side-doors to the stables burst open suddenly.

Alabaster recoiled as a gaggle of soldiers came bustling through. Leon and Deuxmoise were at their centre, the jaguar clutching one paw over a wound by his ribs. The group was lost in heated discussion, the tell-tale signs of black powder soot staining their faces, blood smeared across their greatcoats.

Shot? Alabaster hated the pang of worry that stabbed at his gut. Leon is my only protector here, if he dies, so do my chances of making it out alive.

Leon winced at his wound, red soaking into the fabric of his jacket. They swept up the stairs like a flock of birds, the dozen-or-so rifleman by their side forming an impenetrable barricade around the Director as they all moved up to the offices. Frustrated, Alabaster followed them back up, brushing past Jacques as he trailed behind them into the main office.

Leon flopped down on a bench seat, wincing as he pulled his paw from his side, sticky with blood.

“I'll send for the surgeons," Deuxmoise said, snapping his fingers.

“Nonsense," Leon replied. “It's just a nick, like biting my tongue."

“They shot at you, Director," Deuxmoise insisted. “Imagine the hell that would rain if anyone had done the same to King Phillipe!"

“I am not a King, Deuxmoise, I am merely a man," Leon reminded him. “But fine. Fetch a surgeon, if only to sterilise me. Imagine it would be just my luck, overthrowing Rennaire only to die of a light grazing."

A surgeon, Alabaster thought, scowling inwardly. While I stand right here. Did you forget how I healed your leg?

The riflemen around them chuckled, and Deuxmoise quickly sent for a surgeon, before pouring himself and Leon a snifter of brandy.

“Drink this, Director."

“God in his heaven, my man," Leon said, accepting the drink. “The hell would I do without you?"

“Perish within the month, no doubt. Probably from a light graze."

Alabaster edged around them, feeling suddenly awkward. It reminded him of being a child during a feast, when the owners had ordered him to wait around in case anybody needed refreshments. It was embarrassing to stay with nothing to do, and yet it would be equally humiliating to now leave after following them inside.

“Fucking loyalists," Leon snarled, spitting onto the floor. “Fuckign district. Once we've rooted them out of there, the first thing I am doing is having the market ward torn down and rebuilt. It's a damn shooting gallery, there's no way in."

“I will send another marksman squad to try and root out Lazare," Deuxmoise said, but Leon waved him down.

“No, no, you'll only send more men to their death." He paused, considering. “We lost ground today, that isn't good, but the further Jules stretches his forces the more exposed they become. We can't push into the markets as things stand, the alleyways are too tight and our men become fish in a barrel." He winced as something twinged in his side. “Case in point. Have to let them come to us."

“The longer we wait, the more strength they can muster," Deuxmoise said. “I've no doubt there are traitors outside the barricades smuggling in supplies, and if Jules manages to make contact with another Kingdom, such as Kiberland or Danegard…"

“I am aware of that, General. Have artillery moved just outside of range, shell the district once night falls. I don't want Jules or any of those bastards getting a wink of sleep, keep them on their toes." Leon snapped his fingers at a rifleman. “You, prepare new companies, keep them here on alert, ready for any moment, fresh men, but experienced too. I want the loyalists to feel crushed, harangued, I want them to feel trapped. That will make them desperate, and if we can catch Lazare in the open, maybe we can kill that bastard."

Jacques pushed into the small crowd effortlessly. “The surgeon is ready now, Director."

“Good." Leon stood, flinching slightly. He glanced at his soldiers, his steely gaze slipping right over Alabaster. “Find me some updated maps of the area, bring them and anything else that might help, sewer routes, back doors, failed constructions, anything. I will find a way into those bloody barricades, and soon Jules can follow in the footsteps of his step-father. Keep the powder dry, lads, this fight will end soon enough."

Leon began to leave, and Alabaster pushed forward, hating how eager he was to be heard. “Director Leon, the autopsy has–"

“Very good, Alabaster," Leon snapped. “About time. Please, give a brief report to Jacques, I'll come to your lab soon enough."

And with that, he was gone.

Alabaster stood still as the rifleman filtered out to see to their tasks. He felt idiotic. You knew he wouldn't care. Why are you so desperate to prove yourself? You think you're worthy of even feeling insulted? He's the most powerful man in the country.

He sighed. This was no different than before. Leon was a soldier, a man who did things with his paws, not his mind. How could he even hope to appreciate what Alabaster had accomplished? It was a ridiculous notion, and Alabaster let the frustration convince him that he didn't care for his approval at all.

Still. Leon had seemed interested during their little morning appointments.

“Well?" Jacques asked, his blank tone somehow more mocking than any sarcasm he could have injected. Alabaster felt sure the rat knew how he'd been struggling, and how briefly – stupidly – thrilled he'd been at the prospect of sharing his success with Leon.

“Please tell the Director," Alabaster said stoically. “That our project has been completed. I have what he needs."

“That's all?"

“The rest is need to know," Alabaster snapped back, shoving past Jacques. He made it out into the stairs, descending back to the empty throne room. He was making his way back towards his laboratory when he was suddenly stopped by a young goat. The goat's eyes immediately widened upon seeing him, and he rushed forward, seizing Alabaster by the arm.

“You must be Citizen Alabaster, yes?" He asked.

Alabaster nodded slowly, eyeing the foppish man up and down. He was dressed in a long orange coat, tiny dangling rings clinking noisily from his horns.

“My name is Bartolomé, yes-yes, and I have been sent by the Director to fetch you."

Alabaster frowned. “What? I just saw him."

The goat tutted. “Leon Valoisier is not the only Director in this country, monsieur. Please now, come with me."

“I am needed back at my lab." All he wanted was to leave, shut his door, and forget this. Alabaster pulled away, but the goat held to him firm.

“I insist. It is a command, not a request."

He briefly considered resisting further, but decided against it. Allowing the foppish goat to lead him deeper into the palace, Alabaster followed twists and turns he'd never passed through before, until the goat eventually stopped him outside a layered room walled up with horizontal slats.

“You may want to remove your robe," the goat suggested. Alabaster only glared back, before sliding the door open and stepping inside.

It was like plunging into boiling water. Hot, cloying steam immediately filled his face, his mouth, misting on his scales, warming his blood. It was simultaneously nice, but also thick, sticking his cloak to his body. He coughed, trying to catch his bearings.

“Intense, isn't it?" Alabaster blinked, swiping away the steam to reveal Joachim La Valette. He sat in a tiny sunken booth, the only other person inside the steam room. Most curiously, the crane was completely naked, his pink cock hanging flaccid between his spindly legs.

“Did Bartolomé not warn you? You look overdressed, Alabaster."

“I am fine, Joachim," he growled back. Alabaster had of course heard that Joachim, of all people, had somehow managed to survive the mass culling of the nobility. How he'd wormed his way up to being one of the three most powerful men in the country, Alabaster had no idea.

“I figured I should enjoy this steam room whilst it still remains," Joachim said absently. “After all, the bloody Speaker seems hell-bent on removing any sense of luxury or relaxation from this place. All offices, all work it shall become. Who knew the revolution would be so joyless? Kings know how to enjoy themselves, the same can't be said for committees."

“Did you bring me here to try and kill me again, Joachim?"

The crane cocked his head, as half-considering a lie. Finally he decided against it, shrugging. “No. The time for that is passed, and I fear it would not take any better now than it did the first time. Please, sit."

Slowly, Alabaster lowered himself to sit opposite the bird. “You don't deny it."

“I have nothing to gain by denying," Joachim said, shrugging. “I did what I thought was best for… the cause. Imagine my surprise when you not only come back but turn on the very king who brought you to this country in the first place. Alabaster, dear, you cannot blame me, you always were such a loyal dog."

Alabaster only stared back. “And does Leon know you planned to sell him out to King Phillipe, in exchange for a better place in the new constitution?"

“There's no proof of any such machination, my scaly friend."

“We are not friends."

“Touché." Joachim shifted himself, opening his legs further. Perhaps he thought this was intimidating – most men were afraid to be naked or sexual with other men, but Alabaster had always enjoyed it. A part of him was dismayed to realise that Joachim's cock was thicker than most, he'd always hoped it would be small. “I thought this might be a chance to build bridges, at least before the Speaker goes and tears them all down as symbols of the bourgeoisie."

“The only bridge worth building with you would be one I could throw you off," Alabaster replied. He was sick of this steam already.

“You do hold grudges."

“You've no idea."

Joachim stared back. “Alabaster, there is a desire to centralise this government. Rennaire is already a nation that operates out of a single brain – Albedo. I believe Leon and the Speaker wish to do away with the frivolity of the former Crown, and instead centralise control once more right here in the palace. Things are moving and shifting, and I know all about your private little meetings with the First Director. There could be opportunity there."

“Opportunity?" Alabaster gawked. “You betrayed one ruler, now you want to betray another?"

“Nobody said anything about betrayal," Joachim said firmly. “I merely thought… if there is room to grab a little more influence for yourself, perhaps we could share a goal. That is, if you can put the little matter of your murder behind us, I swear I shan't do it again."

Alabaster exhaled, and realised he was furious. How dare Joachim do this? He's still furious you stole his own plan out from under him. You humiliated him, even if the King he was trying to appease is dead now. None of this was supposed to happen, in Joachim's book. Alabaster was certain, the crane had planned to arrest and execute Leon, walking the country back from revolution as a great hero.

Now he was floundering, playing for time as he decided what the next best move was.

You think you can use me? Just like the rest of them have always used me? Joachim do you truly think I am that fucking stupid? The hot shame he felt at being brushed off by Leon still pulsed quickly through his veins, Joachim's boldness only compounding the feeling.

“Leon needs you," Alabaster said, standing up. “I recognise that, Joachim. So I won't kill you yet."

“How gracious."

Alabaster met his eyes, drilling his own consciousness down into the crane's skull. “But you are not going to cause trouble."

“Why I…" Joachim faltered slightly, beak opening then closing again.

“Do you understand me?" Alabaster took a step forward, looming over him.

“Stop that…" Joachim grunted, wiggling in place, trying to push back. Alabaster felt the edges of his mind resisting, fighting against the hypnosis as he tried to dig his hooks in deeper.

I bet you wish you could do this to Leon, don't you? He pushed the thought away. He'd stupidly tried that once, but of course it didn't work. Leon was far too strong-willed a person to easily sway. But Joachim? This weak little thing?

It has been a frustrating day, Alabaster thought. Some relief in the steam room… that is a good idea. Finally someone will do what I want.

“I think you like being told what to do, Joachim."

“You…" The crane shook his head, dazed, confused. He reached up and tried to push Alabaster back.

“Stop."

Joachim stopped. “Why…" He grunted, arm trembling. “What the hell?"

Alabaster bent over slowly. “I think that you wanted me to see this." He reached down, squeezing the bird's thick cock, feeling it twitch inside his fingers. “Didn't you?"

Shaking violently, Joachim gave him a tiny, bracing nod. His eyes were wide, locked with Alabaster, beak hanging open stupidly. The dragon stroked his cock as the bird stiffened up in his grip. “Ahh… Alabaster… Stop that."

“You are one of the most powerful men in this country," Alabaster whispered. A thrill rose in his chest as he saw the desperate panic in Joachim's eyes. I've had enough of being insulted today. I'm in charge now. “And look, how easily you belong to me."

“N-no… I…" Joachim grunted. “I… I do…"

“In fact…" Alabaster stepped back. “Surely you need some relief?" He squeezed Joachim's cock again, hard enough that the bird winced around his grip. “I can give it to you… if you'll behave." He released him, straightening up.

“I…" Joachim struggled, his mind grappling with what Alabaster was commanding him to do. The bird was in there, fully aware of what was happening, but now unable to stop it. Alabaster had hoped to deliver more punishment to his killers, but this would do… at least for now. “I do need to c-cool off. Yes. Alabaster… please…"

Alabaster chuckled, gesturing at his cock. “By all means, Director. Relax."

Joachim swallowed, looking down at his own cock. For a moment he did not move, focusing intently. Then, finally, a thin stream of piss bubbled up from his tip. It ran down the sides of his shaft, and then grew stronger, spraying up onto his own stomach, splashing along his hips.

“P-please," Joachim muttered, and Alabaster laughed. A tiny whip of his psyche and Joachim was only more aroused, his slender feathered fingers wrapping around his cock, piss soaking him as he began to stroke himself.

“Doesn't that feel good? Tell me it feels good, Joachim."

“Ah…" The bird sighed, squeezing himself, moaning softly. “Yes… it feels… good. Please stop."

“You need a reminder too," Alabaster said, undoing the front of his own cloak. “You won't remember this moment specifically, but the shame will stay with you."

Alabaster closed his eyes, angling his cock down as his own stream of piss began to flow. It splashed onto Joachim's face, his neck, running down his chest as the bird continued to pleasure himself, writhing and groaning in place.

Briefly, Alabaster's mind imagined what it would be like to see Leon beneath him like that. Humiliated. Obedient. Doing whatever Alabaster commanded. Maybe that would teach him not to be so insulting.

He opened his eyes back to Joachim, sniffing in amusement as the crane continued to stroke himself, grunting and groaning, the piss completely soaking him.

“This is embarrassing to watch."

“Y-yes…" Joachim whined, the tortured agony plain in his expression. He hated how much he loved it. “I'm filthy, pathetic… I'll do whatever you want."

“Whenever I want. You won't remember this," Alabaster commanded once again. “But you will remember something. A deep, hidden part of you, Joachim, will know how vulnerable you are right now to me."

“Y-yes."

“Do you want to finish?"

“Aah… y-yes, monsieur."

“I can do this to you, whenever I want. You understand? I could leave you here, all pent up and not knowing why."

“I understand" Joachim arched his back, trying to thrust into his own hand. Alabaster's own cock was hard, and he rubbed it absently, before tucking it away. He would take this memory back to his lab, and see what – or who – else he could fantasise about during it.

“Please, Alabaster," the crane whined. “Please, please let me! I'm all wet, I'm ready, whatever you want… I will serve!"

“Well then, by all means, enjoy yourself but… Joachim," Alabaster paused. “Do not forget this feeling, of helplessness, and shame."

“Yes!" Joachim cried, practically mindless to the hypnotic commands, finally groaning deeply as he twisted his hips, a thick wad of white cum shooting out from the tip of his cock, dribbling down his side and mixing in with the piss still puddled in his stomach.

Alabaster did not need Leon, or his approval. They were nothing alike, the jaguar would never have understood something like this, he would probably abhor the idea of laying with other men. Their relationship, if you could even call it that, was no different to that which Alabaster had with the former King. He was useful, and so he was kept around.

But that didn't mean he could not indulge in his own little vices.

Joachim finished his orgasm, collapsing on the seat, panting heavily. Alabaster reached out a single claw, pressing his fingers up near the bird's beak. “Kiss it. As you made me do all those weeks ago."

Tentatively, fully under the spell, Joachim leaned forward, gently tapping the side of his beak against Alabaster's fingers. And if Leon continues to be disrespectful, perhaps I will find a way to do the same to him.

“Very good."

Righting himself, Alabaster opened the steam room door and slipped out back into the hall. The chill was welcome, and he gave Bartolomé a quick smirk as the door shut behind him. His cock still throbbed hard in his cloak.

“You were correct about the clothes," Alabaster added.

“Very good, monsieur," said Bartolomé. “I trust it was a productive conversation."

“In some ways," Alabaster replied. “I'd give the Director a few minutes to clear his head before you go in, I left him with some things to think about."

And then he left.