"So, let get this straight," Seraphis began, holding her coffee cup with both hands like it was the only thing tethering her to sanity. Her expression was a mix of exasperation and disbelief, the kind of look you give soone who just told you they solved a murder using a Ouija board.
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"You can write a script that your underlings follow like actors in a play, complete with you as the director? And you're saying that if I, for so inexplicable reason, decided to work for you or one of your minions, I'd also be roped into this... script circus?"
"You're absolutely right," Judge said, flashing a grin so confident it could sell snake oil to a snake. "And that's why I told you I could never control you, even if I wanted to. Which, let's be honest, I don't. Way too much effort."
They were sitting in Seraphis's living room, which was less a "living" room and more a "barely surviving" room, with mismatched furniture and a few suspicious stains on the carpet that no one dared to question. Despite the cozy setup, their conversation was anything but casual.
They were just having coffee and snacks as if they had not just committed mass murder just a single day ago. Seraphis, however, seed unbothered by the moral quandaries surrounding their actions.
She was aggressively eating the plate of biscuits with the zeal of soone settling a lifelong grudge against carbohydrates. Anyone would tell that she had a personal vendetta aginst baked goods.
"Alright," she said, pausing only to obliterate another biscuit in her mouth, "let's dissect this so-called 'grand master plan' of yours. I'd hate to overlook any of your brilliantly chaotic genius while I'm busy waging this snack-based war."
She held up one finger. "First, you wiped out an entire branch of — what were they, freelance murderers? Shadowy Death Club? — Whatever, after ensuring that anyone who could've whipped your sorry back was conveniently out of town.
Then you got intel on a shapeshifter commissioning the mission to off your sister, and another shapeshifter who just happened to be loitering in the Church of Night, thanks to your sneaky underling. Who was probably hanging out in the Church and sipping holy water cocktails or whatever shapeshifters do for fun."
Judge nodded, sipping his coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"But riddle this, Judge," Seraphis said, jabbing a biscuit in his direction like a tiny, edible sword. "How did you know it was a shapeshifter? For all I know, it could've been an illusion, or a hologram, or maybe just soone really, really good at cosplay."
Judge smirked, leaning back in his chair as if preparing to drop so earth-shattering wisdom. He tilted his head and gave her a look that scread, I'm smarter than I look, which is saying sothing.
"Because, my dear master, most assassins — most — can tell the difference between illusion and reality. It's kind of a job requirent. Trust , if it were an illusion, the worker that the police oficer interrogated would've said sothing like, 'Hey, that guy looked like but all wibbly-wobbly.' Instead, he straight-up said, 'That was another .' Big difference. Trust , this stuff is assassin logic 101."
Seraphis stared at him, her expression sowhere between confused and annoyed. "Uh-huh," she said, nodding slowly as if she understood, though her tone scread I have no idea what you're talking about.
"Moving on," she said, ticking off more points on her fingers. "You had your underling keep tabs on Victor until he sent a letter to Noel Rivet — your real target — before making your move."
"Mhm," Judge humd, sipping his coffee with the kind of smugness only soone with a borderline insane plan could muster.
"Then, you wrote a script for this Lucifer guy — who I can only assu is as extra as his na — and twisted the words in the promise you made to him. You gave him truthful information but in a way that conveniently pointed him toward the Church of Night and this shapeshifter Alexis.
Then, you threw in a casual, 'Oh, I don't care if soone else goes after the church instead of you, totally cool with it. I'd even encourage soone who moves skillfully in the shadows' Which, to normal people, sounds like you're asking for a skilled assassin, but to Victor? It screams Noel."
Judge nodded again as Seraphis continued her animated recap. With the special flashback effect... just so everyone knows that it is a flashback.
"Then, using your scripts, you made Victor recruit Noel. Also, as if that was not enough, you even recruited his wife, Isadora Rivet, to your rry band of underlings. By writing a script for Noel nonetheless, I just realized how much crazy you are.
And — because you're apparently the love child of a playwright and a mad scientist — you figured out how to tweak the mories of people bound by your contracts. So you made Noel forget that he dragged his wife into this ss. And then, because why not, you sent Noel straight to us. Did I miss anything?"
"Nope," Judge said cheerfully, sipping his coffee like a man without a care in the world.
"But why," Seraphis asked, narrowing her eyes, "did you make Noel forget about his wife? What's the big idea there?"
Judge leaned forward, setting his coffee down with the gravity of soone about to deliver a TED Talk. "Because, Master, separation anxiety is a powerful tool. I used Lucifer to plant seeds of doubt previously. And the separation makes her think that she has been abandoned by her loving husband after their fight for the past few days.
What's more — the assassin organization only sees her as a tool, except Noel of course. If it was accidentally revealed to her that the organization that took her in sees her only as a tool and nothing more, she is gonna really leave him even if she loved him, there are arrangents to make her think that he too, sees her as nothing but a tool."
Seraphis blinked, then picked up another biscuit and bit into it with the kind of rage that suggested she was imagining Judge's face on it. "You're a nace, Judge. An absolute nace."
"Aw, thanks, Master," Judge replied with a wink. "I do try to be one."
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