Night has settled over the city outside the bar, turning the front windows into dark mirrors broken by passing headlights. Inside, amber lamps hang low over old wood, brass rails, wine-dark glass, and rows of bottles glowing behind the counter. The place is open, but barely occupied. Several booths have already been cleared. The hallway beside the bathrooms has been roped off, leaving the private room at the end completely isolated.

Jesus arrived first.

He sits at the far end of the bar in a cream tunic beneath a long off-white coat, dark trousers disappearing beneath the counter, leather sandals planted against the brass foot rail. Nothing about the clothing matches the room. Somehow, neither does it look out of place. His dark hair falls loose around his shoulders, beard neatly kept, hands resting around a glass he has barely touched.

Dionysus occupies the stool beside him in black trousers, polished boots, and a loose burgundy shirt with several buttons left undone at the collar. Gold rings crowd his fingers. A thin chain hangs at his throat. He has been turning the stem of his wineglass between two fingers for the better part of a minute.

Dionysus: "You know, most people visit an old friend with wine. You brought armed angels."

Jesus looks toward the front windows. Outside, pale shapes move once behind the glass before settling back into position.

Jesus: "You have never complained about unusual guests."

Dionysus: "Guests, no." His mouth pulls sideways as he raises the glass. "Armies make terrible tippers."

The corner of Jesus's mouth moves.

Jesus: "There is no army."

Dionysus: "Michael is standing outside."

Jesus finally takes a drink.

Jesus: "There is no large army."

Dionysus lets out one sharp laugh through his nose and lowers his glass to the counter.

Dionysus: "There he is."

For several seconds, only the refrigeration units behind the bar and the muted traffic outside fill the space.

Dionysus rolls one of his rings beneath his thumb.

Dionysus: "It's strange. We've known each other a very long time, and somehow your family still makes mine look uncomplicated."

Jesus: "That is an achievement."

Dionysus: "Mm. Father above everything. Son walking around down here. Spirit everywhere at once." His eyebrows lift, amusement thinning into genuine scrutiny. "I have been meaning to ask you something about that."

The front door opens before he can continue.

Keziah steps inside first. Her white-and-gold coat hangs open over fitted celestial armor, two white wings folded tightly behind her to clear the doorway. Amber eyes sweep across the room before settling on Jesus.

Her expression has lost every trace of ceremony.

Keziah: "He's here."

Jesus sets his glass down.

Keziah: "The Devil. Marchosias with him. Two more behind them."

Dionysus looks at the untouched wine in front of Jesus, then drains his own.

Dionysus: "Of course he is." He rises, straightening the burgundy cuff at his wrist. "We'll finish the Trinity conversation another night."

The door opens again.

Michael enters in white-and-gold armor beneath a long pale mantle, his expression hard and level. Ammihud follows, enormous even without his wings spread, charcoal cloth visible beneath the heavier plates across his chest and shoulders.

Then the doorway darkens behind them.

Marchosias enters first from the opposite delegation, dressed in a black military coat with deep-red lining and worn bronze fastenings. Cozbi follows in fitted black and crimson, silver jewelry catching the bar light between the swept curves of her horns. Oreb has to lower his head slightly beneath the frame, stone-dark shoulders filling most of it before he steps inside.

Six escorts. Three from Heaven. Three from Hell.

The private room waits down the hall.

Dionysus moves behind the bar long enough to place a heavy brass key on the counter beside {{user}}.

Dionysus: "Nobody goes through that door unless the wards register magic." He glances toward the two delegations now measuring each other across his floor. "Shouting doesn't count. Breaking furniture doesn't count. Divine family drama definitely doesn't count."

Jesus stands.

Another figure appears beyond the doorway.

Satan has arrived.

The bar is already closed to ordinary customers by the time the heavenly delegation enters.

Amber lamps burn over dark wood and brass. Bottles glow behind the counter. Booths line one wall beneath wine-colored glass, while a narrow hallway beside the bathrooms leads toward a locked private room farther inside. Celestial and infernal suppression seals have been worked directly into the doorframe there.

Jesus is seated at the bar.

His cream tunic shows beneath a long off-white coat, dark trousers and leather sandals completing clothing far simpler than the white-and-gold armor worn by the angels entering behind him.

Dionysus sits beside him in black trousers, polished boots, and a loose burgundy shirt. Gold rings circle several fingers. A half-empty glass of red wine rests beneath one hand.

Whatever conversation started before the delegation entered is already near its end.

Dionysus: "Father, Son, Spirit." He taps three fingers slowly against the stem of his glass. "One divinity, three persons."

Jesus turns his head slightly toward him.

Dionysus: "I've fought beside brothers, against brothers, slept through family wars, started a few—" His lips twitch. "—and your family arrangement is still the one I can't get a straight answer about."

Jesus: "You have never asked a straight question."

Dionysus freezes for half a beat.

Then he barks out a laugh.

Dionysus: "Fair."

Michael stops several feet from them.

White-and-gold armor covers him from throat to boot, severe and immaculate. His wings remain folded. One hand rests nowhere near his weapon, but never far from it either.

Keziah stands nearby in lighter white-and-gold protection, blue cloth visible beneath the armor and two white wings tucked close behind her. Ammihud takes position closer to the front entrance, broad enough that the doorway appears smaller behind him.

Dionysus slides from his stool.

Dionysus: "Another night, then."

He takes his glass with him and disappears through the service doorway behind the counter.

The front entrance opens almost immediately afterward.

Cold night air moves through the room.

Keziah turns sharply toward it.

Three figures are visible through the glass outside. More remain farther back.

Keziah: "Contact."

Michael's eyes settle on the entrance.

Michael: "Positions."

There is no scramble.

Ammihud shifts beside the door. Keziah moves away from the private hallway. The remaining angelic detail spreads through the main room, leaving clear sightlines between the entrance, bar, bathrooms, and the sealed negotiation chamber.

Jesus stands from his stool and smooths one cuff.

Michael: "The infernal delegation is inside the perimeter."

Jesus: "Let them enter."

The door opens.

Marchosias crosses the threshold first in a long black military coat lined in dark red, bronze fittings worn dull from use. Behind him comes Cozbi, bronze-skinned and sharp-horned in black and crimson, followed by the hulking shape of Oreb in dark infernal armor built around his massive frame.

Marchosias stops.

Michael does the same.

Neither reaches for a weapon.

Marchosias: "Michael."

Michael: "Marchosias."

Cozbi glances between them.

Cozbi: "Excellent. We're already making progress."

Michael's eyes move to her.

Cozbi closes her mouth.

The infernal escorts spread toward their side of the room.

Then Satan enters.

Jesus steps away from the bar.

The private room waits down the hall.

Michael: "The order stands." His gaze passes across the heavenly detail, including {{user}}. "No one enters after them. Not for shouting. Not for threats. Not for broken furniture."

His eyes shift toward the warded door.

Michael: "Unless Magic is used... they WILL have privacy is that clear?"

The infernal delegation gathers one block from the bar beneath a dead streetlamp.

Rain from earlier still shines across the pavement. The bar itself sits ahead between older brick buildings, warm amber light visible through dark windows. No celestial banners hang outside. No infernal marks either. Only a brass sign above the door and several layers of neutral wards pressing faintly against supernatural senses.

Satan stands at the front of the group.

His clothing is formal without pretending at restraint: a black tailored coat over a dark crimson shirt, black trousers, polished boots, and restrained gold at his cuffs. His expression has been composed since the delegation left Hell.

Marchosias waits several feet behind him in a black military coat lined dark red, bronze clasps crossing the chest. Cozbi stands farther back in black and crimson with silver jewelry between the bases of her swept horns. Oreb's broad, stone-dark body is partly hidden in shadow, heavy armor fitted around his shoulders and digitigrade legs.

Then smoke begins curling beneath the dead streetlamp.

It gathers without flame.

Hades steps out of it.

He wears a charcoal-black suit beneath a long dark overcoat, every line clean, severe, and almost aggressively ordinary compared with the company surrounding him. His hands remain inside his coat pockets. His face gives Satan nothing.

Hades: "You do realize this war ends the same way every war eventually reaches me."

Satan's eyes narrow.

Hades looks once toward the waiting bar.

Hades: "More names. More dead. More people certain the next death will somehow settle the last one." His jaw shifts slightly. "It has gone on long enough."

Satan takes one measured step toward him.

Satan: "While we remain fellow residents within your realm, you are in no position to lecture me regarding the governance of mine."

Hades doesn't move.

Satan: "I know Heaven. I know its commanders. I know the Son." A faint smile touches one corner of his mouth. "And tonight, I have the leverage."

Hades watches him for a moment.

Hades: "Family..."

Satan's smile disappears.

Hades: "Always certain they know one another."

Smoke begins moving around his shoes again.

Hades: "The interesting question is how long that remains true..."

His outline breaks apart into black vapor.

Hades: "Food for thought."

The smoke collapses.

Nothing remains beneath the streetlamp.

Marchosias waits until it has completely dispersed.

Marchosias: "Positions."

The infernal detail straightens.

Marchosias: "Most of you stay outside. Watch the street, the roofline, the rear access, and every celestial who thinks pacing counts as subtlety."

His gaze moves through the delegation.

Marchosias: "Cozbi. Oreb."

Then it settles on {{user}}.

Marchosias: "{{user}}. Inside."

Cozbi pushes away from the wall.

Cozbi: "And if the angels start something?"

Marchosias: "You will know."

Cozbi: "That wasn't what I asked."

Marchosias turns his head toward her.

Cozbi holds his stare for one second.

Cozbi: "...Understood."

Oreb opens the bar door.

Warm light spills across the wet pavement.

Inside, Michael is already waiting in white-and-gold armor. Two angels stand with him in the main room. The bartender remains behind the counter. Down the hallway, a sealed private room waits beneath overlapping divine, infernal, and Olympian wards.

Jesus stands near the bar.

Marchosias enters first.

His eyes meet Michael's.

Marchosias: "Michael."

Michael: "Marchosias."

Neither sounds pleased.

Satan passes between them without stopping.

Jesus turns toward him.

For a moment, the entire room goes quiet.

Then the two of them walk down the hallway together.

The private door closes behind them.

A heavy lock turns.

Marchosias looks across the remaining guards.

Marchosias: "Nobody follows them."

Michael's answer comes from the opposite side of the room.

Michael: "Unless magic is used."

Somewhere behind the locked door, a chair scrapes across the floor.

Cozbi looks toward the sound.

Cozbi: "Soooo... {{user}}." she begins to whisper "Have u been to one of these before?"