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And yeah, sure, Desmond knew his place well enough. He was a low-ranking chump, too. But he still had some pride. He didn't really have to start acting like he enjoyed doing bitch work for all these big shots, did he?

Well, if he wanted to climb through Jercash's ranks, then apparently he did.

But that was fine. He wasn't looking to move up in the world. Maybe one day. Assuming he lived that long. Which he probably wouldn't, he figured.

And besides, there was no telling how long he would stick around with Jercash's men. Ezmortig was truly unpredictable. At any point, the reaper might decide that they should go try their luck somewhere else.

And thanks to Karkase and Hoyohté, their little entourage actually had enough autonomy to do that, these days.

Those two were a lightning rod in more ways than just physical. Ever since that hubbub in Kavia, people had started calling Karkash the Bolt of Kavia. And that had only been the inciting incident.

Karkash had made even more of a name for himself as a kind of assassin on the battlefield. Not one that employed much stealth, but one who had nonetheless managed to snipe several famous Vanguardians and "local heroes" in recent months.

Jercash had even met with him directly and promoted him twice.

A lesser man might've felt intensely jealous, but Desmond was perfectly fine with riding Karkash's coattails all the way into the sunset, if need be. The only surprising thing, really, was that Karkash was actually letting him.

They couldn't be more different. Karkash originated from Dozer's side, and Desmond from Morgunov's. They rarely agreed on anything, and on paper, they shouldn't have gotten along at all.

Yet Desmond harbored no ill feelings towards him. And for some reason, Karkash still hadn't left him behind.

Desmond couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but maybe it was just down to the reapers. Hoyohté and Ezmortig rarely talked in front of him and Karkash, but he had noticed them being conspicuously absent over the last few months, perhaps to discuss their plans in private.

Whatever was going on, he supposed there wasn't much point in worrying about it. He was just a servant, after all.

There was definitely something strange going on with Karkash, though, and it wasn't just all the extra attention inflating his ego. Probably.

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Well, at least he wasn't one of those poor saps who'd been tasked with infiltrating Andeyal. That job had been so obviously a shitshow waiting to happen that Desmond had quietly made his exit when they started handing those assignments out.

Thankfully, there'd been plenty of eager volunteers to ensure that his presence was not missed.

These followers of Jercash were something else. Thus far, Desmond had operated in sects under Dunhouser, Ivan, Vanderberk, and even briefly Dozer--and none of them compared to what he was seeing here under the Devil's Knife.

Which was really saying something. He hadn't expected anyone's fanaticism to ever match that of the feverish cult that followed Dozer around, but here we were.

Man, that had been a fun time, though, hadn't it? In its own way. Desmond always loved finding a new cult to join. He'd grown up in one, after all. They always felt like home--even when they were completely batshit crazy. Hell, especially when they were.

And this one following Jercash was definitely up there. They weren't yet deifying him like Dozer's were, but he could see the beginnings of it. Probably just a matter of time, assuming the Knife managed to hold everything together long enough.

They did have their rituals, though. Different sects had different ones, but some were quite exotic, he'd found. The Venerators liked to drink blood and draw all over each other's bodies. The Harvesters liked to gather organs from their victims in order to eat them in ceremonial banquets, even making utensils out of their bones.

And the Gatherers liked to chant Jercash's name while playing in leaves. Big piles of leaves. Like little kids.

Desmond felt like he was still missing something with that group. They were far too nice and docile for an Abolish sect. It was actually quite unsettling. He wanted to learn more, but something deep in his gut kept telling him to stay away from them. Especially that guy they called Lucky. Sure, Desmond had met plenty of other smiling maniacs during his time with Abolish, but there was just something different about him.

Something that made Desmond's skin crawl.

Regardless, the thing that really set Jercash's cult apart was just how enthusiastic everyone was. Whenever one of the higher-ups needed something, countless people were chomping at the bit to take care of it.

Page 4184 -- CCCXXX.

Had she magnetized them, Abbas wondered? That was certainly within her capabilities, but he had yet to explain that upgrade to her. He'd wanted to wait until a few more iterations were complete.

He continued watching her in silence.

From him, the "art" of invention had never felt truly so. It was always more of a slow grind. Rigid and scientific.

With Dyna, though, that had all changed.

It truly felt like seeing a vision in his mind made real. A feeling turned tangible.

And even though he completely understood her capabilities currently, he could not say the same for her potential. Where would she be in five years? Or even just one, for that matter?

With the Candle at his side, the prospect equal parts exhilarating and unsettling.

One thing about the future was certain, however: he was very much looking forward to seeing her pick apart those death machines from Morgunov like they were cotton candy.

The mad bastard was going to regret ever letting him see them up close.


Chapter Three Hundred Thirty: 'Surging devils, prepare thyselves...'
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Man, what the hell was even going on around here, anymore? Desmond Grantier found himself asking that far too often, as of late.

Ever since that little operation in Atreya went awry, it had just been one mess after another. Despite the fact that they'd gotten away with so much money, it somehow still felt like they were poor as dirt.

The reapers were being stingy pricks, of course, not letting him enjoy a nice vacation and splurge on whatever he wanted, but that was to be expected, of course. Desmond had learned long ago that his wants didn't really matter much when it came to Ezmortig and the rest of the Abolish.

He was just a tool. One of countless expendable bodies. No sense in getting worked up about it.

Best to just take things as they came--to enjoy this wonderful thing called life as much as he could, even if everyone around him seemed perpetually determined to stamp it out. Their own included, apparently.

But even that mentality had gotten rather difficult to maintain. It didn't take a genius to see that this war hadn't been going great for Abolish as a whole. Sure, they might've gotten a few good licks in here and there, but what did that matter when it was basically just Jercash on his own now?

Seriously, what were they hoping to accomplish here in Intar?