>>6280901


“You remember me!” Zephyr beams, sweeping the locks out of his perfect face, water glistening as it runs down his chiseled (though possibly system-granted) bronze torso, “Really, I’m flattered. But no, it really is business this time. I’m here on behalf of the Auction.”

The auction, huh? Your interest is piqued, “What could they want with me? Aren’t they neutral?”

“Yes, but… well, some of the men in charge are less committed to the mission statement– and to good business– as others. Specifically, Hephaestus is NOT pleased that you broke his toy. And took the blueprints. Mostly that last thing, actually.”

“His toy?” you ask, “Wasn’t it the property of the Russians?”

The wind sighs, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Point is, I’ve been sent by the auction master to warn you that he’s probably going to demand you sign some contract promising never to leak the contents. He’s worried someone else might “copy his work”. Oh, and he’ll probably ask you to help him make a new one.”

“Out of the question,” you scoff, “It’s way too dangerous.”

He frowns, almost imperceptibly, before allowing his aloof expression to return, “Well, in that case, mister Hermes asked me to ask you to give this to a friend of yours.”

He hands you a glistening golden pendant, one with the obvious signature of a high ranking relic no less, “If you kill the current smith, the Auction would rather appreciate a replacement.”

You cock an eyebrow, “Aren’t you supposed to be the messenger around here?”

“Hey, I’m a letter boy, not a god! Well…” he pauses, seemingly mulling it over before shrugging that train of thought away, “Look, not the point. What matters is, I’m pretty damn good, but even I can’t find people who don’t exist (in our reality, that is). Hence, I need a middle man.”

>Sure, whatever
>Not for free (demand something from the auction)
>Not for free (demand something from Zephyr personally)
>Ask questions (write-in)
>Refuse (optional write-in, say why)
>Write-in

>Not for free (demand something from Zephyr personally)

>>6280902
>Not for free (demand something from Zephyr personally)
Something simple I'm thinking, like a favor owed to Pheme. We're just passing off this medallion to Perdix I presume.

>>6280902
aww pheme is overprotective of us
>Not for free (demand something from the auction)

>>6280902
>Not for free (demand something from the auction)
5 items of our choosing from the entirety of their collection

Not entirely sure what Zephyr is asking for here btw
Either we leave Hephaestus alive after negotiations break down, or we kill him and give that amulet to some mortal to make them the new Hephaestus?

>>6280902
>>6281063
+1 to this!

>>6281063
My assumption was that they wanted us to pass it off to Perdix, but yeah, it is vague.

>>6280921
>>6280981
>>6281033
>>6281063
>>6281064

>Demand something from the auction

“So, what is this, some kinda message relic?” You hold the pendant up, not understanding its circuitry in the slightest but finding yourself able to glean something of its underlying impetus by sheer intuition, “For a friend of mine, I presume.”

“Clever,” Zephyr smiles, “It would be very much appreciated.”

You give your tongue a series of disapproving clicks, “Nothing in the world for free, wind. You of all people should know that.”

“I know a guy who would be very upset to hear that,” he huffs, a pout on his face sticking just long enough to carry the bit before melting into a sly shrug, “But, you got me. That's true. What do I owe ya.”

“I'd rather you have the Auction compensate me instead,” you smirk, a little flicker of plasma lighting at the tip of your finger as you pull a metal chestplate from your inventory, roughly engraving your price into its steel shell, “Assuming I don't get assassinated, I'll come to collect once the fighting's over.”

“I see. I suppose that can probably be arranged” he shakes his head, then quickly shifts to a resolute nod, “Aaanyway, I’m gonna hit the wave pool. Came here for business, but when in Rome, right?”

You briefly consider reusing your joke, but decide the better of it, simply kicking against the walls of the river to propel yourself ever so slightly faster away from the messenger.

~

You and Pheme sit together deep within the heart of the Wynn, this time in front of a baccarat table, her the picture of elegant professionalism dressed in a full midnight black 4-piece suit trimmed in silvery purples and adorned with platinum buttons and cufflinks, you, wild and bold, tight, deep cut crimson dress revealing almost as much as your swimsuit did. You fiddle with your chips, reading the outcomes of the deals a couple of hands deep as you do.

You stop– something's off about the dealer.

It's a convincing facsimile, you’ll give it that, but you can feel the lack of a soul even as a beating heart and divine core attempt to subvert any such recognition. You turn to Pheme, who gives you a subtle nod: the dealer is an android. Seems like Hephaestus might already be hunting you down, far sooner than anticipated.

>Play while keeping vigilant
>Simply leave
>Cut the dealer’s head off
>Write-in

>>6281470
>Simply leave
the fun is in tricking people, androids ain't people

>>6281470
>Write-in
Try to communicate with Hephaestus through the android before leaving

Will wait until tomorrow for a tiebreak. If none is made, I'll flip a coin instead

>>6281470
>>6281528
+1

>>6281480
>>6281528
>>6281921

“Player,” you push about a thousand dollars into the slot on the table, staring the synthetic dealer directly in his silicone eyes, “Of course, I know it’s not going to hit. I know lots of things.”

The dealer, seemingly running on some sort of artificial intelligence, asks, “Why are you betting on something you know won’t hit?”

You lower your voice, murmuring to the machine (or, more to the point, the operator behind it) “It’s gonna be banker. Jack and eight to five and seven. When I win, you’re gonna use that needle in your hand to try and inject me with… what is that? Neurotoxin? Kinda simple-minded, no?”

In an instant, the dealer’s demeanor changes, natural movements stilling as his expression evens out, perfect calm– no, perfect default setting in as his entire body relaxes into still, mechanical simplicity.

“People are watching,” you snicker, absentmindedly fiddling with your chips, “Deal.”

It is, of course, as you predicted.

“[I assume the messenger has communicated the demands,]” you hear a voice in your head, not the smooth, calm voice of the dealer but one that crackles like smoke and trembles with equal parts uncertainty and impotent frustration. There’s a notable accent in his voice– South American? Central? It’s hard to parse.

“I wasn’t planning on kibitzing, if that was your concern,” you frown, “The Hail Mary is a threat to our entire reality. Give up on it.”

“[Like I believe YOU care about the human race. Such noble motives are impossible. Must be a trick.]”

“I live here, jackass,” you sigh, “When I say give up I mean it. I’ll handle you if you try anything funny.”

“[Are you THREATENING ME?]”

You decide to win this time, just to prove a point, “Like I said, I know things,” you grin, “If we fight, you will die. Just roll over like a good little dog and maybe I’ll find a way to keep you breathing, yeah?”

In an instant, the connection with Hephaestus is severed.

>Hunt him down
>Wait until vacation is over
>Confer with Pheme
>Write-in

>>6282304
>Confer with Pheme

>>6282304
Oh no, looks like we’ll just have to torture him to death
No two ways about it
>Wait until vacation is over

>>6282304
>>Confer with Pheme

they made equipment from the king's nodes and they are basically inert lumps of divinity, right?
you guys think Perdix can make a gnarly weapon from our own inert lump of a million divinity?

>>6282373
>>6282380
>>6282451

You dig your fingernails into the shell of a crab leg, effortlessly piercing through the hard keratin like paper and cracking into the sweet flesh inside. Pheme sits across from you, perception filter shimmering around her and your table like black glitter affixed in the air as she lays files down on the table (seemingly not minding the occasional splash of lemon juice or butter from your side).

“It can be concluded, based on the words of the messenger,” she begins, pulling aside a picture of a man in a pristine white full-face mask, “that the head honcho of the Auction is uninvolved in this grudge match. While that doesn't eliminate the possibility of Auction involvement, it does at least remove Hermes himself from the table.”

“White Lord–” you chuckle seeing his image, a flash of dark skin showing from beneath ivory gloves and platinum-white suit jacket sleeves, “Funny guy.”

“What matters,” she recenters, cramming one of a dozen little desserts piled onto her plate into her mouth while she finds the right documents, “Is that the primary involved concern is the smith himself.”

“So, what do we know? Actually, hold that thought, I’m gonna go get another slice of brisket.”

You stand, briefly vanishing into the chaos of the buffet, casually using your powers to compel people to move out of your way and lose their appetites for the things you want to take for yourself. You always did hate waiting in line. In short order, you find yourself back at your table facing what you could only describe as a gundam surrounded by realdolls in ridiculous outfits ranging from armor to gothic to cosplay to sci-fi.

“Main focus… robotics,” Pheme sighs, “Weapons too but that's more of a supplemental thing. Works on commission mostly for parts and intel. Was supposedly working on his own Hail Mary but hit a stopping block.”

“The soul,” you interject, “New Putin probably came across a method he didn't feel like sharing. Only left the robotics and need-to-knows with Hephaestus…”

“Regardless,” she sticks a toothpick into the image of the gargantuan robotic weapon, a tacky, extravagant thing wrought of black steel and red paint sharpened into superfluous weaponry and decorative points and spikes. You scoff at the notion that this is the most dangerous relic on earth now. “The main problem is the Gungnir– that's what he calls his prized mechanical titan– it essentially has a weapon for every situation, and, knowing the auction, is probably kitted from head to toe in anti-you protection.”

“Annoying,” you shrug, “but I have some ideas for that.”

>Brute force– Down to the Core on 1 million divinity will do great
>Surrogate caster– Picked up a decent prospect in Australia. Hurts your output a bit, but you should be able to fry his brain from the inside
>Allies (specify)– you know a guy for this
>Write-in

>>6283202
>Get behind yours truly a bit before and clean up our beach
(>Surrogate caster– Picked up a decent prospect in Australia. Hurts your output a bit, but you should be able to fry his brain from the inside)

>>6283202
>Surrogate caster– Picked up a decent prospect in Australia. Hurts your output a bit, but you should be able to fry his brain from the inside
Let’s try this method out, as appealing as brute force is Hephaestus is probably much more prepared for it

>>6283202
>Surrogate caster– Picked up a decent prospect in Australia. Hurts your output a bit, but you should be able to fry his brain from the inside

It's tempting to try and spin up an art where we transform ourselves into a giant mecha to fight the other giant mecha.

>>6283221
>>6283286
>>6283303

>Surrogate caster– Picked up a decent prospect in Australia. Hurts your output a bit, but you should be able to fry his brain from the inside

You and Pheme lean over the balcony of a hotel room, sipping on some ridiculous mead that caught your eye while gazing out at the glittering vanity of Sin City sprawled out beneath you. Hours had already been spent shooting idle chatter and refilling glasses until– Marie stops, her whole body going still as her eyes dart off to somewhere far away. Her head tilts, ever so slightly, like an owl pinpointing the patter of rodent feet against fresh snow. “He’s on his way,” she says, “Got that failsafe ready?”

“As a matter of course,” you grin, taking a moment to slip back into your realm.

[FULL DISC: ONE DAY PRIOR]

“Really, you’ve outdone yourself,” you grin, moving your– or more accurately, Lachlan’s– arm up and down, a sort of comforting familiarity even in the face of the obvious difference in build and being, “I can output… computer?”

‘Thirty percent maximal,’ the Hail Mary you replies, ‘Ratio holding despite 3,000% uptick.’

“You’re a gem, Lachlan,” you croon in your voice, knowing that he can hear you from wherever nook of his own body he’s buried, “This will do brilliantly.”

You return to yourself, a warm hand cradling the man’s chin as you compliment his efforts.

[FULL DISC: NOW]

A jet-black tower of iron and divinity bursts onto the city, crushing a restaurant or two beneath its gargantuan heels as the hulking automaton’s blood-red spotlight scans the city, seemingly searching for its quarry– you. Having altered your face and signature, you maintain the element of surprise with little difficulty. For now, you need a method of attack.

OPTIONAL WRITE-IN: WHAT DID YOU PLAN IN ADVANCE?
>e.g. “Placed a subordinate in position for ambush,” “practiced for a specific move or scenario,” etc

WHAT SHOULD YOU DO NOW
>Make use of the people around you to create a makeshift <Impostion>
>Simply make a direct assault on Hephaestus’s brain using <Strings>
>Try to burst into the cockpit and plant an <Ordinance> to try and subjugate him
>Wait and see what he does first
>Write-in

>>6283698
>Train Oblivion on Pheme.
we still got to know how much it works on higher level incarnations, and how much of it works through Lachlan

>Jump on down to the pool area and grab sun lounger. Bikini, sunglasses, steamdeck.
>Wait and see what he does first


Yo, OP, what do your notes say about having used the name Lachlan elsewhere?
I've been wondering since you introduced this Lachlan.

>>6283698
> WHAT DID YOU PLAN IN ADVANCE?
Between us and Pheme could we fill the city with false versions of Atë?

Have Pallas and Dorota standing by, to take any easy shots at their discretion.

>Wait and see what he does first

>>6283698
> WHAT DID YOU PLAN IN ADVANCE?
The Pheme divinity manifest combo sounds like an awesome idea


>Simply make a direct assault on Hephaestus’s brain using <Strings>
Let's see what he has in place to deal with this

>>6283827
>>6283860
>>6284032

>Truth and Lies, Oblivion, Sunday best
>Wait and see what he does first

You chuckle, sipping a martini from the rooftop pool of a hotel while watching the carnage unfold below. Smoky dark mist and raven-black feathers descend onto the city below, wrapping it in illusions and mirages. You hum a chipper melody, the <Sliver of Amdusius> carrying your voice through the city of gold and steel as a certain madness spreads through every lightpost and support beam and railing and coin– the delusion that they are you.

Feathers coat their bodies, blanketing them in anonymity, then collapsing, pasting themselves onto the people in the streets below like wrappings on a mummy, before a wet, bloody crack, first only a few, then a hundred, then a thousand, as their forms explode or compress into facsimiles of yourself.

Pheme, lazily floating in a pool raft nearby, groans from the strain– you would too if it weren’t for AI-you– as the two of you continue spreading the reach of this shared domain as far as it needs to go. You try to onload as much of the effort as possible but, in the end, this whole operation is entirely reliant on Pheme's <Manifestation>, and, no matter how much divinity you supply, her impetus and intellect are necessary requirements. Still, she seems to be holding out well enough to grumble instead of going dead silent, so you think the position is still sustainable.

You flick your wrist up, waving an invisible conductor’s baton, prompting a dozen fake Atës to leap into the sky, black wings replete with darting eyes and screeching lips, laughing in a chorus of mockery before latching onto the legs of the mechanical titan and exploding, every ounce of divinity in their mortal bodies erupting into purple plasma, their skin and flesh warping into unstable compounds and exacerbating the blast, denting the shell and sending the construct reeling back, forced to grab onto the side of a building to stay upright.

“””YOU MADE A MISTAKE.””” A hundred identical voices chant in unison beneath, “””YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO TAKE ME ON WITH SO MANY PIECES ON THE BOARD.”””

“[I’ll kill you!]” a mechanized voice screeches out from the mech’s plated face, the sound alone enough to shatter glass and send some of your doubles reeling. The machine’s hand opens, a crackling glow burning in the lens built into its steel palm. Driven by instinct, you launch into the air, taking Pheme into your arms and vanishing from the world with <Oblivion>.

>>6284558

You can’t help but be in awe of the might of the weapon, a laser bright enough to blind even if gazed upon from miles away for a fraction of a second, pours outwards, obliterating everything it touches as if it were never even there. The beam tears through the hotels and attractions of the strip and continues, leveling what seems like almost a tenth of the whole city with a single swipe of the titan’s mechanical wrist.

You regenerate the damage to your eyes, still fully hidden by <Oblivion> as you consider your options. Please select between Cautious, Normal, Reckless, or Desperate.

>Make use of your doubles to create a makeshift <Imposition>
>Simply make a direct assault on Hephaestus’s brain using <Strings>
>Try to burst into the cockpit and plant an <Ordinance> to try and subjugate him
>Send more doubles to chip away at the mech
>Write-in

>>6284559
>Simply make a direct assault on Hephaestus’s brain using <Strings>
If he has a defense we'll get to feel it out, if not we know what can beat him.
>RECKLESS

>>6284559
>Simply make a direct assault on Hephaestus’s brain using <Strings>
>reckless

>>6284559
>>Try to burst into the cockpit and plant an <Ordinance> to try and subjugate him
>Reckless

>>6284607
>>6284806
>>6284998

>Simply make a direct assault on Hephaestus’s brain using <Strings>
>Reckless

In the end, it all comes down to ol’ reliable. Your jaw quivers, divine might bubbling in the back of your throat as you conceptualize the link between the mind and the body, the imprint of impetus granted from the functions of meat and chemicals and jolts of electricity, conveyed and implanted into the very fiber of the soul.

Your doubles below– or, at least, the ones that survived the previous blast, muster every bit of might they have to bring the metal behemoth to its knees; colorless chains, tinted in crimson and shrouded in midnight purple, ascend down from a crowd’s worth of fingertips and latch onto the mechanical terror, hundreds of synchronized yanks to the <Fetters> lock Hephaestus’s weapon in place, burning into its hull and binding it to the earth like a netted animal. Finally, you release the tension.

The steel thrums like a tuning fork blessed with the proper frequency as sound begins to cascade out from your lips, a song of sensation– gluttony and lust and pain and sorrow– so deep and short and rich that it could tear a lesser mind into a million pieces. And, in all manners besides engineering, Hepaestus has at every turn proven himself to be… lesser.

>I need dice. Please give me 3 rolls of 3d100. Will update twice tomorrow if votes and time allow.

Rolled 3, 37, 82 = 122 (3d100)

>>6285358

Rolled 71, 64, 44 = 179 (3d100)

>>6285358

Rolled 11, 3, 5 = 19 (3d100)

>>6285358

>>6285422
Oh my god
I had to check this wasn’t 3d10 by mistake
Never seen a 3d100 so low
Guess Hep is gonna put up a fight

>>6285422
suboptimal

It's okay, Pheme just chooses the one reality to be true where we don't kill ourselves, right?

>>6285400
>>6285415
>>6285422

>122, 179, 19: 19 accepted. Reckless pessimal

You screech bloody murder, and your malice roars over the entire city. All but your doubles, shielded from your wrath by your own influence, double over onto the floor and collapse from the overstimulation. Fluids leak, blood, tears, drool, and otherwise from the fallen as they quiver and groan and scream, brought first to their knees, then trembling on the floor in light of your awful majesty. The metal in Hephaestus’s magnum opus resonates with the frequency, plates and parts trilling like a flock of steel birds as the titan is sent to its knees. From the speakers of the robot, you can hear him gargle and vomit, choking on impossible sensations as you, the star of death, slowly descend upon him.

You’ve done it. You’ve won.

Like a general marching through the streets in triumph, you descend upon the artificial giant, walking across its crimson carapace like a runway model up the red carpet, basking in the wails and cries of ecstasy pouring in from the world around you. Before you can even reach the cockpit, however, a blinding cerulean light encompassing your vision, as if the sky itself had reached down from its firmament to cradle you in its heavenly grip.

Then, your skin melts off.

>>6285667

All of the air burns away– you can't even breathe deeply enough to scream as a torrent of heat and hate bears down on you, an unstoppable wave of divine malice rends your flesh to grease and grease to smoke. You think quickly, as quickly as you can given the agonizing pain of the point-blank blast, leveraging the energy of the impact to catapult out of the radius. Flying through the air, you vanish from sight once again, <Oblivion> shielding you from being detected as you slam into the smoldering molten asphalt of the warped streets below, steam and the smell of burnt meat wafting up around you as a sizzling agony accompanies your reconstitution.

Your eyes dart around, desperate for some sort of explanation– Pheme’s black mist is nowhere to be seen, devoured by a torrent of turquoise fire, your doubles replaced by a conflagration with a thousand human faces, scorn and terror etched upon their ghostly visages. Finally, the machine, bathed in blue by a towering pair of demon’s wings fully formed from flame and exhaust.

You try to flee into your <Realm>. It fails, sputtering away as your enemy fully lords over the space.

You try to look for Pheme– she isn't dead, but you can't feel her presence. Are you trapped here alone?

You look for a way out. Naturally, you fail to find one. Still, the situation is manageable– this is Lachlan’s body, not yours. No matter how much damage you sustain, as long as you find some way to break the imposition long enough to detach your soul from this place, you should be able to at least make it out alive. Still, you can't quash the terror roiling in your gut, nor the excruciating pain of your nerves forcing themselves to stretch as your body knits itself back together.

That, and you can't help but shudder at the thought of it– a relentless enemy that can strengthen and rescue anyone who means you harm. How can you hope to beat that? What the hell even is this bitch anymore?

Regardless of your choice, specify between Cautious, Normal, Reckless, or Desperate

>Focus entirely on escape
>Attempt to override this imposition with your own
>Try to sever Tisiphone’s link to Hephaestus
>See if you can summon any of your subordinates to help
>Try to bind Tisiphone to this place and kill her
>Write-in

>>6285669
>a blinding cerulean light encompassing your vision
This bitch ugghhh

>>6285669
>Try to bind Tisiphone to this place and kill her
She can't possibly be ready for the 300,000 divinity
Fry Lachlan if we have to, just end her already

>>6285669
>>6285765
Reckless, we can't possibly roll that bad twice in a row right guys?

>>6285669
>Try to bind Tisiphone to this place and kill her

We gotta kill this bitch before she merges with the fucking uncrowned king.

>>6285766
Of course we can. Nontheless...
> RECKLESSSSSS

>>6285669
>>Try to bind Tisiphone to this place and kill her
she's got to die

>>6285765
>>6285792
>>6285893

>Try to bind Tisiphone to this place and kill her
>Reckless

You whisper to yourself, fully regenerated flesh crackling with crimson light as you slowly, deliberately raise your left arm above your head. Clenching your teeth, you allow the supple skin and reinforced bone and muscle and sinew to twist and snap itself clean off at the wrist, a disembodied hand floating above your bleeding stump, quickly replaced by another as your body’s natural regeneration works itself.

You frown– without <Body of Zagreus>, it’s rather difficult to maintain multiple, disembodied pieces of the same <Anchor> at the same time. It’s doable, but it’s far from easy. Still, it’s a necessary piece of your <Concept>, the same rite of binding that brought an Interwraith to its knees. Slowly, masked by a stealth inferior to your own Oblivion, the pieces of your body spread and circle, forming a ring to bind Tisiphone where she stands.

You stop, lowering your <Oblivion> in order to redirect your divine might to sealing the Fury in her current fleshy prison. The mech, instantly locking onto your position, deploys a dozen humanoid drones at least a full story in height, now baptized in azure flames, instantly race to your location, seemingly attempting to form their own encirclement as the main weapon, the revenge-augmented beam canon, charges for another lethal blast.

Your pulse quickens, adrenaline running through your veins as you slow the world to a crawl, your senses so heightened that you can feel the blood pumping through your body. It’s now or never, you think to yourself, as sunlight pours down on the darkened, smoldering Parade.

>Please give me 3 rolls of 3d100