The Simulacrum - Volume 2 Extra: Crowey (Patreon)

"I. Want. RESULTS!"

The strained, high pitched roar of the injured man echoed in the spacious yet eerily gloomy baroque bedroom for a second, only to be immediately followed by a series of painful, wheezing coughs that didn't subside for several seconds. None of the ten or so people crowding the room dared to utter a single word until the man in the bed finished.

They were all dressed in fine, if slightly eclectic clothes ranging from modern suits and uniforms to what looked like costumes from a Victorian Era stage play, with the only common ground between all of them being their pale faces filled with disbelief and uncertainty.

At last a middle-aged man stepped forward. He was wearing what, at first glance, appeared to be a light grey navy officer's uniform, with several black stripes on its sleeves and similarly colored lapels. He had long, dark brown hair that reached the middle of his back, and after approaching the bedside, he bowed and respectfully told its occupant, "My liege, please calm down. Your previous injuries haven't completely healed yet, and you have also been poisoned. Losing your temper like so will only hinder your recovery."

The man on the bed, one of the Lords of the Abyss, Noire Liliam Inanna, and also colloquially known as Crowey or 'that dick', turned his withering glare towards the man.

"I wouldn't be losing my temper, if I wasn't surrounded by incompetent buffoons," he began to hiss through clenched teeth, yet his voice kept rising until it reached a crescendo with, "Why the fuck are you even standing around my bed like a pack of motherfucking vultures instead of looking for whoever is responsible for this… fucked up... bullshit—!"

Crowey chocked up at the end, and then he was seized by another violent coughing fit that turned his face purple. Or rather only one side, as the other was still under layers of bandages covering the burns he suffered less than a week ago, his recovery apparently set back by the recent events.

At last his seizure abated, and after heaving several more times he croaked out, "Did you figure out how they got into my study without any of your guards noticing a thing?"

"My deepest apologies, my liege, but we have found no trace of the intruders yet," the middle aged man answered with an apologetic bow. "None of the guards or servants had seen any trespassers. All the wards in the north wing of the manor and around the study in particular remained undisturbed, and neither the seals nor the locks show signs of any kind of tampering. As for the insides of the study, we are currently unable to investigate in earnest. Lady Audra strongly insisted that no one else should enter until the last traces of the chimeric blood amalgam have been neutralized by her and her subordinates. According to her, the process may take as long as three days, so for the time being our investigation can only follow up on the message the culprit had left behind."

"Marvelous," Crowey scoffed. "And who is in charge of that damn letter?"

There was a long moment of pause, but then a young woman hurriedly stepped forth like she just realized she was being called. She had an attractive, youthful face with an upturned nose supporting a pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses. She was considerably, almost comically, well-endowed in the chest area, especially considering her short stature, and it was further emphasized by her outfit, which could be best described as a vampire cosplayer's wet dream with a fur coat on top. Maybe even more importantly, her straight, shoulder-length hair was pitch black on one side and a pinkish blonde on the other, signifying the fact that she was most likely important in some shape or form.

"It is also my responsibility, my lord," she stated in a low voice.

"Then speak," Crowey growled in turn.

"Yes sir, certainly," the woman with the mismatched hair responded with a sputter, and then she cleared her throat. "My men are still compiling the results of our tests, but allow me to share our preliminary findings with Your Lordship." She paused once more, this time so that she could reach into the inner pocket of her white fur coat, a clumsy act that unfortunately made it look like she reached into her generous cleavage instead, and after a short while she successfully produced a folded piece of paper. 

"First, our experts have ascertained that the source of the chimeric blood amalgam on the letter was the certainly the same bottle our lord kept in the hidden compartment inside his desk. The beguilement, misdirection and security charms on said compartment have all been removed without any trace. The seals on the bottle were also gone, so one of my subordinates immediately reapplied them. We have also discovered that the culprit used our lord's fountain pen to write the letter, which we found on the ground, along with all the documents and writing tools that were previously on our Lord's desk. Furthermore, for some reason we found a large number of standard paper clips scattered around. We have separately sealed all of these items for the time being. Based on the suffusion of the blood amalgam fumes within the room, we estimate that the culprit wrote the letter last evening, between five and six o'clock."

"That is curious," interjected an older woman wearing a black gown, her grey hair in a tidy bun on the top of her head and her eyes in a seemingly in a permanent droop.

"What did you say, matron?" the middle aged man turned towards the old woman and gestured for her to continue.

"I find the circumstances surrounding the blood amalgam truly curious," she reiterated.  "It was a secret only our lord knew about, was it not? And it was hidden in a compartment that was impossible to find by chance."

"You mean to say that the culprit broke into our liege's study with the express purpose of using the blood amalgam?"

"Is there any other way to interpret this?" the old woman responded with a disinterested shrug. "They must have already known not only where to find the poison, but also how to access it. Furthermore, they had devise a way to protect themselves from the effects of the blood amalgam, otherwise we would have most likely found their bodies alongside the letter. The number of people, winged or not, who can withstand the poison as well as our Lord is by no means large, and those people would not intrude into our estate by person. In conclusion, I am certain the culprit, or culprits, have made careful preparations ahead of time, and they had gathered all the information and tools they needed to accomplish their deed in secret. There is no other way to explain what happened."

"True," the man in the navy uniform slowly nodded. "Which would mean that this was a message. It was to show us they have infiltrated our estate so thoroughly they were privy to even our most well kept secrets."

"That would certainly agree with the content of the letter," the busty woman in the middle agreed tentatively. "Maybe the two were supposed to reinforce each other?"

"It is likely," the old woman nodded after some contemplation. "It would certainly fit the Celestials' modus operandi."

"Right!" a previously silent old man, one with a balding head and a big, bushy beard suddenly yelled out in the back. "What did that accursed script say at the end of the letter anyway?"

"It's… please give me a moment… it was here somewhere…" the woman with the two hair colors mumbled as she began rummaging through her pockets, ultimately producing another piece of paper from some nook or cranny, and then she quickly unfolded it. "Yes, here it is." She theatrically cleared her throat, then said, "After making sure the blood amalgam on the paper was properly sealed, we showed the final line to several of our experts of Celestial Scripts, including some of our trusted collaborators. According to their assessments, the last line, which appears where the signature would traditionally be, was written in an unusually complex, archaic dialect of High Celestial Script. After meeting with some difficulties during the translation process, our experts concluded that it was most likely an actual signature of sort, consisting of four overlapping portions, or possibly a list of titles."

"We don't need the history lesson, just tell us what it said," Crowey interrupted her in a low voice, and she let out an audible gulp in response.

"Yes, my lord!" she hastily answered as she raised the paper to her eyes again. "The first part says, 'The Second True Archon, Prince of the Blade and Sovereign of the Spear.' "

"'Archon'?" the man with the navy uniform repeated after her. "That isn't a rank amongst the Celestials."

"Not anymore, it is not," the old woman replied almost absent-mindedly. "It hasn't been for centuries, if not for millennia. Not ever since the Celestials began to worship their false god."

"So it's just some fancy-pants title, nothing unusual there," the old man with the beard grumbled. "What about the rest?"

"The second part is a little vague, and our experts came up with multiple possible translations. The most likely one says, 'A Conspiracy of Ravens'"

"Conspiracy?" Crowey asked, seemingly genuinely perplexed.

"My lord, I believe it is not in the literal sense," a younger man in the corner with a very short crop and sporting some sort of medieval cloth armor explained after some hesitation. "I think it refers to the peculiar way a group of animals called." Since everyone kept looking at him expectantly, he reluctantly continued, "You know? Like a 'gaggle of geese', a 'kettle of hawks', or an 'exultation of skylarks'."

"And they call a group of ravens a 'conspiracy'?" the balding man with the bushy beard asked with a doubting expression.

"I believe so, yes."

"Huh. I learn something new every day," the old man nodded to himself.

"I am glad to hear that, but we are still not any closer to the solution of this riddle," the long-haired man told his colleague with a disapproving frown.

"Let us hear the rest. Maybe context can help us solve our conundrum," the old woman urged, and the young woman complied.

"Yes, matron. The third part was translated as 'The One Who Rejects Your Reality and Substitutes Their Own'."

The whole group fell silent for a moment.

"What the fucking hell does that mean!?" Crowey suddenly burst out, followed by a short but just as vicious coughing fit.

"I believe it's a quote, my lord," the younger man with the crew cut answered confidently, but when everyone in the room gave him skeptical looks once again, he sheepishly added, "It's… from a human television show, I think. The one where they examine tall tales and then they destroy them with explosions."

"I thought it was from a parody cartoon on the internet," the busty woman added somewhat uncertainly.

"It is actually from an old low-budget movie, my dears," the old woman revealed with a nonchalant expression.

"Really? Matron is truly knowledgeable," the bearded man nodded repeatedly in approval, only to flinch a moment later when Crowey once again let loose of a string of curses.

"Who gives a fuck about where that goddamn quote comes from!? Can any of you bastards actually tell me why an assassin would sign his fucking letter with one!? Can you tell me that? No? Then shut the fuck u—!"

After sitting through another coughing fit, the people in the room stayed true to their lord's command and remained completely silent, right until the man on the bed asked, in a slightly less sneering tone, "What is the last part?"

"I… I believe that it still requires some proofreading, so maybe Your Lordship should…"

"Tell me. Now."

"Yes…" the busty woman whined in resignation before she said, "The last part is very complex, so this is certainly not the final translation, and our experts were sure there is some kind of hidden nuance or reference behind it, so…"

"Get on with it," the bearded man grumbled in the side.

"Yes. Please just tell us as it is," the man in the navy suit agreed.

"Errr… It says… 'The One and Only True God of Grilled Cheese'…"

The whole room fell silent once again. At last, Crowey let out a sound halfway between a groan and gurgle and then said, "I am surrounded by imbeciles…" After another short but intense pause, he looked each of his vassals in the eye in turn and asked, "Do any of you have anything to say that wouldn't make me want to drown each and every fucking one of you in a spoonful of fucking vinegar?"

"Aaah!" the bearded old man suddenly exclaimed as a shit-eating grin spread on his face. "Actually, my lord, I have good news!"

"Do you now?" the bedridden Lord of the Abyss sounded quite skeptical, but the balding man didn't seem to mind.

"Yes, my lord! I didn't have the opportunity to report this until now, but we have successfully tracked down the escaped convict and his cohorts! Warmaster Redmane has already boxed them in within the servant quarters of the old armory building, it is only a question of time before your loyal Fauns will weed out the traitors from their midst!"

"At last, some actual competence," Crowey grumbled, though his complexion visibly improved upon hearing the news, only for it to darken again a moment later. His brows slowly knit together and she asked, "Have you discovered how he escaped from the Hole?"

"No, my liege," the middle aged man answered apologetically. "While we have found the trail of the traitorous Faun after he already left the prison, we couldn't determine how he escaped his cell or how he removed his shackles."

"Continue to investigate," Crowey ordered, paying no attention to the large double doors behind the group opening to a crack and a fretful messenger quietly slipping into the room. "I want to know how he escaped. If you can find out how he did it before he is captured and he confesses the method on his own, I might even be gracious enough not to have you inept guards skinned alive."

"I will endeavor to do so," the man in the navy uniform nodded and then glanced towards the back of the room, where the bearded man was in the process of chasing out the messenger. "Is something the matter?"

"No," the other man denied quite suspiciously, but he quickly cracked under the pressure of the crossfire of gazes directed at him, and so in the end he reluctantly confessed, "My liege, I received… bad news."

"Clarify," the man in the bed demanded with an icy glare.

"Y-Yes. Errr… I just informed you about the impending capture of the traitorous Fauns, yes?"

"You did."

"Well, you see… they are gone."

"… Has Redmane killed them all?"

"Err… No, my lord. I didn't mean that figuratively. They are literally gone. Like, at one moment they were inside the barricaded quarters, with no way in or out, and then a few seconds later, poof, they were all gone."

"You cannot be serious," the old woman muttered with eyes wide open for the first time.

"I am," the bearded man huffed. "Even the 'poof' part. It's exactly what the messenger said."

"I—" the young woman tried to interrupt him, only for her to be interrupted in turn by a quiet yet inescapable voice.

"Get out," Crowey whispered while the air around him began to roil with black miasma.

"My liege, if you continue to use your powers, your injuries will—"

"I said get out of my sight you MISERABLE, USELESS FUCKING SIMPLETONS!!!"

The man's voice swept through the bedchamber like a tidal wave, and as it did so, the entire group hastily backed out of the room, with only their last shred of dignity allowing them not to do so like a flock of chicken with a fox thrown into their pen. In just a few seconds the only person remaining in the room was the bedridden Crowey, who was glaring at the closed doors with bloodshot eyes.

After a few seconds he finally lowered his eyes, only for his gaze to stop mid-way as he noticed a piece of folded paper on the floor, no doubt left behind during the hasty retreat of his vassals. He made a few delicate gestures with his hand, which also made his face wince with pain for some reason, and as he did so, the piece of paper abruptly rose into the air like it was hit by a gust of wind and then gently landed on the bed sheets. He reached out a shaky hand and took it, then unfolded it and directed his gaze at its contents.

"'Second True Archon'," he muttered as his fingers traced the words. "'Sovereign of the Spear.' 'Conspiracy of Ravens'…" 

At this moment he suddenly fell silent as he silently repeated the last translation a few more times, then his eyes opened wide as he muttered, in near delirium, "The note here also says that 'conspiracy' can be interpreted as a generic 'flock'. This other note says the second part doesn't necessarily refer to ravens, but means something more along the line of 'black birds'… What if… What if it isn't 'ravens'… but 'crows'? Then that would make it a flock of crows, or a…" 

Suddenly the bedridden Abyssal Lord's face slackened, though only for a moment, as afterwards his eyes flared up with a colorless, baleful light that blasted the piece of paper, along with most of his bedding and the other end of the room, into shreds as he howled, "A MURDER OF CROWS! CROWS!!! THAT COCK-SUCKING, MOTHER-FU—"

…

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the point I decided I have spied on Crowey long enough for the day. I let out a small sigh, hoping this wouldn't bite me in the ass later (though I was fairly sure it would). For the time being though, I decided to stop thinking about it and just make some grilled cheese for dinner.