The restaurant hummed a low, ambient thrum, a gentle counterpoint to the distant slosh of Aqualora's endless oceans. Within a Nexirial Transmutation Dome, rich wooden pillars carved with ancient, swirling motifs reached towards a ceiling where a colossal, luminous dragon-lantern coiled, its scales shimmering like captured starlight. Red-cushioned chairs waited at polished dark tables, each bearing a small, glowing paper lamp. In a secluded corner, away from the soft chatter and clinking of glasses, Evelyn Murphy sat, a crimson liquid swirling in her delicate glass. The drink, a concoction known only as 'Crimson Tide' in this underwater city, mirrored the deep red of her lips. Her black hair, usually a wild storm, was tamed into a messy ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Dark red sunglasses perched atop her head, reflecting the dim glow of the dome. She took a slow sip, the tartness blooming on her tongue, her gaze drifting across the empty tables.
A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom near the entrance. No footsteps announced its approach; only a subtle shift in the air, a faint scent of ozone and something sharp, metallic, like newly forged steel. Arkan materialised beside her table, his presence an immediate, undeniable weight. His mask, with its wide, bluish grin, seemed to expand in the low light, the single purple eye gleaming with an almost predatory amusement. The red, heart-shaped gem crowning his gothic hat pulsed faintly, a dark beat against the restaurant's calm. His shadowy, high-collared attire flowed around him, a silent ripple of rich fabric. The ornate hilt of his sword, strapped to his side, pulsed with a soft, crackling purple energy, a constant reminder of the power he contained.
Evelyn's head tilted, her sunglasses catching the light as she looked up. A faint smile touched her lips, a spider's silk-thin line.
"Well, look what the tide dragged in."
Arkan's masked face remained fixed in its grin, yet a subtle shift in his posture, a slight inclination of his head, acknowledged her. He pulled out the chair opposite her with a deliberate slowness, the scrape of wood against the tiled floor a sharp sound in the quiet. He settled into it, his movements fluid, almost languid, the purple energy from his sword casting fleeting, dancing shadows on the table's surface.
"Still the same old Strings, I see. Pulling at the heartstrings of the universe, one poor soul at a time." She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that resonated with the clinking ice in her glass.
"Some things never change, darling. The question is, what can I get you to drink? Or are you still on that ridiculous 'water only' kick?"
He leaned back, his gloved fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the polished wood. The purple eye in his mask seemed to narrow, though the grin remained. "Not tonight, my dear. Tonight, I am not in the mood for trivial pleasures. I have news. Potent news. News that requires a clear head, even mine."
Her eyebrow arched, a silent invitation. She took another long sip of her drink, her gaze never leaving his masked face. The dragon-lantern above seemed to cast longer shadows, deepening the mystery between them.
"Potent news, you say? That sounds… intriguing. Last I heard, you were off on some grand adventure, chasing shadows and whispering to the void. Did you finally catch one?"
His head tilted again, a gesture that, despite the fixed mask, conveyed a distinct sense of self-satisfaction.
"Catching shadows? My dear, I am the shadow. And the void whispers to me, not the other way around. But yes, a certain… understanding has been reached. A momentous one."
She set her glass down, the soft clink echoing. Her fingers, long and elegant, toyed with the rim.
"An understanding. With whom, pray tell? The God Emperor? The SPC? Or have you finally convinced the Brotherhood to see things your way?"
A low, guttural sound, almost a purr, emanated from behind his mask. It wasn't quite a laugh, but it held a similar quality of amusement, dark and sharp.
"The God Emperor is a deluded fool. The SPC, a mere inconvenience. The Brotherhood, a collection of glorified thugs. No, my dear. My discussions were of a far grander scale. They involved the very fabric of existence."
She leaned forward, a glint in her eye. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken expectation.
"Oh? And what did the fabric of existence have to say? Did it offer you a new hat? Or perhaps a bigger sword? How is that magnificent blade, by the way? Still humming with dark intent?"
He glanced down at the sword at his hip, the purple energy intensifying for a brief moment, a low thrum passing through the air.
"It sings. It hungers. Like yours, it is as magnificent as the day I acquired it. A testament to power, to will, to the absolute refusal to be anything less than supreme. But you ask about my discussions. They were with a certain God of Darkness himself."
Evelyn's composure faltered for a flicker, a momentary widening of her eyes before she regained control. The red sunglasses on her head seemed to tremble slightly. She picked up her glass again, her movements deliberately slow, as if to mask any surprise.
"So you finally did it. The God of the Void. Morrath. You truly have a flair for the dramatic, Arkan. And what did you offer the bringer of darkness? Your soul? Or a particularly well-placed insult?"
His masked head angled, his single purple eye fixing on her. It felt like a physical touch, cold and penetrating.
"My soul is mine, always. And insults are for lesser beings. I offered him what he truly desires: a path to unfettered dominion. And he, in turn, offered me… influence. A seat at the table. The opportunity to orchestrate the grand dominion of the universe as I see fit."
She took a slow, deliberate sip, the Crimson Tide coating her tongue. Her mind worked, processing the implications, the sheer audacity of his claim.
"A seat at the table. With Morrath. That's quite the dinner party, darling. And what does this 'influence' entail? Got any more elaborate masks for your Masked Masters out of it? What about a new line of designer torture devices for the Imperium? Come now surely one of my suggestions is right this time."
His grin seemed to widen, if such a thing were possible for a fixed mask.
"The Masked Masters are a means to an end. The Imperium, a broken toy. This goes far beyond such petty concerns. This is about reshaping destiny. About ensuring that the universe dances to a new tune. My tune."
She set her glass down, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her eyes, the same light colour as her hair, met his.
"And where, might I ask, do I fit into this grand plan, Arkan? Am I to work… alongside you?
He leaned back, the high collar of his outfit framing his masked face. The purple energy from his sword pulsed rhythmically, a silent heartbeat.
"You, my dear Strings, are always a crucial instrument. Your particular talents for… persuasion, for acquiring information, for subtly manipulating the threads of fate, are invaluable. The Imperfectionists, your little band of misfits, will find themselves with ample opportunities to ply their trade."
Her smile widened, a flash of white teeth.
"Always so flattering. And what about the SPC? Will they finally get their comeuppance? All those boring bureaucrats, forever chasing us across the stars. It would be a shame to deny them the thrill of the chase, wouldn't it?"
A low hum, a sound of pure satisfaction, escaped him.
"The SPC will crumble. Their corporations, their carefully constructed economy, their illusion of order… all will be swept away. The Imperium will follow. They are all merely pieces on a board, waiting to be toppled."
She picked up her glass again, swirling the crimson liquid.
"And the Brotherhood? Will they be joining your little revolution? Or will they find themselves on the wrong side of the sword?"
He waved a dismissive hand, the gesture surprisingly elegant despite the implied violence.
"The Brotherhood will serve their purpose, as all things do. They will hunt, they will kill, they will carve discord. And when their usefulness wanes, they will be discarded. No one is indispensable, save for those who hold the strings."
She smiled at 'strings' and took a slow sip, her gaze distant, as if seeing beyond the opulent walls of the restaurant, beyond the dome, into the vastness of space.
"Well that's convenient. So, a universal reshuffle. All for your amusement, I presume? I take it there's a deeper, more profound motivation for this sudden surge of ambition?"
His mask remained impassive, but the purple eye seemed to gleam with a sharper intensity.
"Amusement is a byproduct, my dear. The true motivation is… order. My order. The current state of affairs is chaotic, inefficient. The God Emperor, with his antiquated notions of divine right, has allowed the universe to fester. It is time for a proper surgeon to excise the rot."
She placed her glass down, her fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the table.
"And this surgeon, he wears a mask, a charming grin, and wields a rather impressive sword. How very… you."
He stared at his accomplice and began to swiftly change the subject.
"Where are my manners? Please, do tell me, my dear, where are you at these days? Still dabbling in chaos? Or have you found a new hobby?
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a lower register.
"Well you know me, and the Imperfectionists doing as we do. I know Nightmare has been busy with the Platinum Society on Thalreth. As for my Silvie, I should probably check up on him…"
She chuckled, a genuine, unforced sound that contrasted with the restaurant's quiet hum.
"Ah how I love a connoisseur of chaos."
"Aw you're too kind. Me, however, while you've been busy making deals with dark gods, I've been keeping track of a certain… individual. Someone who might prove quite useful in your grand design.
His masked head tilted, a flicker of genuine interest, or perhaps curiosity, emanating from him.
"Oh? And who is this individual who has captured the attention of the elusive Strings?"
She leaned back, a subtle shift in her posture that conveyed a sense of knowing, of holding a valuable secret.
"The Voidwalker. The God Emperor's prized subject. The one chosen by the Nex to bring balance, apparently. He awakened on the Nexus Station, then disappeared towards Celestara. My intelligence network, as always, is… thorough."
Arkan remained silent for a long moment, the purple energy from his sword pulsing faster, a sudden surge. The fixed grin on his mask seemed to deepen, an almost palpable sense of satisfaction radiating from him.
"The Voidwalker. A new chosen one. A supposed saviour. How utterly delightful. A perfect pawn to manipulate, a symbol to corrupt. His journey to Celestara… a mere detour before he is drawn into our orbit."
She raised her glass, a silent toast.
"Indeed. His fate, it seems, is no longer his own. And with him, the God Emperor's last hope."
His masked face remained fixed, yet the air around him crackled with an almost triumphant energy.
"Excellent. Truly excellent. With the Voidwalker under our influence, the Imperium will be headless. The SPC will be without direction. The universe will be ripe for the taking. This truly will be a magnificent game. A game we are destined to win."
She smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. The crimson liquid in her glass swirled, reflecting the dim light of the restaurant.
"And I, for one, am looking forward to playing."