This demon was known to Kurst. They had been of nearly equal status, though Kurst was unaware that he’d found another way out of Hell. What do you want? Kurst thought.

“I have come to parley on behalf of my new master.”

Whom do you serve?

The water droplets on the mirror began to move. They disregarded gravity, moving in different directions, cutting a path through the remaining steam until they had created an intricate symbol. It represented something older even than they were. It was a force that had already been ancient in the time before the Plan. When the World Maker had organized matter from chaos, it had already been there, dwelling in the darkest places. Kurst knew the name, but it would not be spoken out of respect.

I was not aware he had awoken from his slumber.

“Recently a human rose amongst the humans. His battle against the Old Ones reverberated across time and awoke my master. Since then he was been steering events in preparation of his return. It was his machinations that allowed for the creation of the body that you now wear.”

Do not claim credit for that which is not yours. This body was created by humans.

“He has been gently guiding your master, the human known as Stricken. He believes he is defending your world, but in his attempt to stop my master, he has merely been playing into our hands. He is glad that it was one as great as you who deigned to dwell within this body.”

It might be true. It might be a lie. Kurst gave a nod of acknowledgement.

“The end has begun. Ownership of this world will be decided soon. The factions are gathering their forces. He would offer you a place in his host.”

I would lead this army.

“Of course. There is no greater general. Champions have been chosen for the final battle.” The demon looked at the new red scars on Kurst’s abdomen. “You have already fought one of them.”

A faction has chosen Franks as their champion . . . I will make them regret this decision.

“Will you join us?”

I will think about it.

Kurst wiped away the remaining steam, obliterated the ancient symbol, and walked away.

* * *

His official title was Special Advisor, but his business cards left off exactly who it was that he advised. The Congressional Subcommittee on Unearthly Forces had been around for a very long time, though outside of a couple select agencies, very few people in the government had ever heard of them. Benjamin Franklin had referred to them as learned men, meaning part of the handful in charge who needed to face the nasty truths. Their job was to formulate the government’s overall policy concerning all matters supernatural. The MCB was their shield. STFU was their sword.

Swords and shields were useless without a brain. Stricken figured that was his job.