If Klein were here, he'd surely sympathize with Amon, having often been chilled to the bone by "Jack Jones'" Pun-laden jokes. More than once, Klein had wanted to shout "Shut up!" but held back to spare Jack's feelings.
Unfortunately, Klein wasn't here, so Amon bore the full brunt of it alone.
But Amon was no pushover. After a brief silence, as if catching a key phrase, he spoke with keen interest, "Daddy-Bro? It does sound close to the 'bug' my father once mentioned, but I suspect they mean different things."
"Indeed, they're not the same." Alaric said with a grin. "The first is a made-up term for father and brother. The second, well, I don't need to explain that one."
"Two different languages, then?" Amon pressed, his tone probing.
"Of course they're not the same language. But if you're hoping to pry more about the first from me, don't bother. Some knowledge I can't just share." Alaric replied, still smiling. Then, with a sudden shift, he added, "But I could teach you your father's language."
As a trickster with many personas, Alaric naturally knew multiple languages, including the Ancient Sun God's tongue.
Amon paused. He didn't speak the language of his father's homeland, knowing only a few words at most. Alaric's offer held undeniable allure.
But Amon didn't rush to agree. Adjusting his monocle, he asked, "And what's the price?"
He wasn't naive enough to think he'd get something from Alaric for free.
"Did the Ancient Sun God keep a diary?" Alaric asked, sidestepping the question with a spark of curiosity.
Amon blinked, thought for a second, and shook his head. "No, my father didn't have a habit of keeping diaries."
"Tch, who'd have thought the Ancient Sun God, with his bold looks, was such a straight-laced guy." Alaric said, clicking his tongue in disappointment. With a snap of his fingers, he shielded the room from the others' ears and looked at Amon with a smile. "What I want is simple. You have Avatars scattered across the world, don't you?"
Amon nodded. Though recent actions by them had cost him some characteristics, most of his Avatars remained spread across the Northern and Southern Continents, albeit with fewer powerful ones.
"It's straightforward." Alaric said, smiling as he pulled a small booklet from his coat and slid it toward Amon. "I want you to spread these stories within the reach of your Avatars."
Amon took the booklet and flipped it open. It contained a few classic tales, reminiscent of folk legends. The stories followed a pattern: a protagonist faced danger or injustice, met a mysterious man named "Lucifer." received a "prophecy" from him, and, after various trials, triumphed over the source of their peril.
Curiously, Lucifer's image wasn't always benevolent. In most tales, he came across as a mischievous observer, helping the protagonist not out of kindness but to better watch events unfold.
It was, admittedly, very much in line with Amon's impression of Lucifer.
"These are templates." Alaric said, sipping his tea leisurely. "You can adapt them to fit local customs and cultures."
"Well, isn't this a bargain?" Alaric continued, looking at Amon. "You get to learn your father's language and have a chance to poke fun at me."
This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment idea. Since advancing to Sequence 6 Mask Maker, Alaric had been devising ways to solidify his Lucifer persona. Saving the City of Silver to gain their faith was one plan. Supporting reformist speakers was another. Spreading Lucifer's stories far and wide was a third, casting a wide net to catch believers.
The first approach cultivated devoted followers; the second relied on sheer numbers, betting that with enough people aware, some would believe.
Until now, Alaric hadn't decided who to rope into this scheme. But Amon, he realized, was the perfect candidate.
As for whether Amon might stir up trouble, Alaric wasn't worried. While turning a persona from fiction to reality required enough people believing in it, their perceptions wouldn't alter the persona itself. Misguided beliefs would, at worst, be ineffective or weaken the outcome.
With the City of Silver and reformist efforts already in motion, even if this widespread storytelling failed, Alaric would only lose some time. Amon, however, would pay a price for any mischief.
"No wonder it's you." Amon said, adjusting his monocle with a sigh. "You're making me do your work, yet it feels like I'm the one getting a deal." He looked at Alaric. "I think I understand why Medici and the others are so willing to work for you."
"I just prefer win-win situations." Alaric said with a warm, radiant smile. "Why force someone when you can make them want to help you? It's a world of difference."
"…I can't argue with that." Amon said with a laugh, nodding. "I'll spread your stories. But I'm curious... what's your goal? If it's for followers, this isn't exactly the best way to gain faith."
While fear could anchor a deity as much as faith, mere awareness or understanding typically wasn't enough. Otherwise, there'd be no need for wars over belief.
"Guess." Alaric replied, smiling without elaborating.
"Fine, it's clearly not for me to know." Amon said with a shrug, wisely dropping the subject.
Alaric paid him no mind, sipping his tea. He paused mid-motion.
"What's wrong?" Amon asked, his gaze curious and probing.
"Nothing." Alaric said, shaking his head. "Just figured since we're done talking, it's time to lift the shield." With a snap of his fingers, he dispelled the barrier. The City of Silver folks were busy eating, and Danitz, though distracted, was making an effort too. Alaric nodded in satisfaction.
Then he lowered his head to eat, while quietly shifting most of his focus to his "Jack Jones" persona.
***
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