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“I might've heard something about it during the broadcasts,” Pullman shrugged. “So, what role would I be playing in all this, exactly? A representative, you said? What the hell’s that mean?”

Pullman scowled. He resented the naked attempt at provocation, as well as the implication that Kantos knew more about him than he was letting on.

Still, the offer was compelling. Apocalypse was a big deal, after all, and anything would’ve beat spending his time with inferior peers and trainees…

“Well, of course you did,” Pullman snickered. “I’m the only one worth asking.”

"What do you need me to do, sign my name in blood?" Pullman heaved. "Yeah, I'm in already. Now, what's next?"

Kantos’ insult struck a chord and after he’d left, Pullman allowed himself the small pleasure of destroying everything within arms’ reach. He swiped things off his desk (before promptly turning it over), knocked things over to crash onto the floor, and beat other things with still more things until they broke. When he was done, he forced himself into a state of composure, bottling up his rage.

He searched through his walk-in closet and found one of the pre-packed travel bags the hired help put together to take with him. Intently, he remembered to include the pair of enchanted knives his uncle had gotten for him years ago.

Shortly, Kantos’ messenger arrived and lightly rapped on Pullman’s bedroom door. Opening it was an unremarkable-looking man in a self-contained flight suit made up of a series of interconnected plates and bulked-out areas for antigrav engines on the ankles, wrists, and torso.

“Mr. Pullman? This way, please.”

Pullman followed after him, silent and surly. They walked their way through the penthouse and out to the lobby and the elevator, which faced out towards Citadel City. The two men entered and Pullman anxiously fidgeted with the old cell phone in his pants pocket.

“Excuse me for saying so, Mr. Pullman,” the messenger said suddenly, “but if you're even half as skilled as your father, then I’m sure the ship is as good as reclaimed already.”

Half as skilled as his father… As skilled as his father… As his father… His ******** father…

“What did you say?” Pullman asked, teeth clenched.

The messenger nodded. “Yes, it’s just that your father is so—”

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” Pullman said as he took out the phone.

“I, uh, what?”

Pullman held a finger to his lips and flipped the phone open. He pressed a single button and then turned to the other man and smiled.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your last day on Earth,” he told him.

“What?” The messenger was absolutely baffled.

Suddenly, there was the wrenching sound of gears and the flickering of lights and something that sounded like the screams of the damned. A shadow came over the elevator.

“Izzy, our friend here needs to leave the elevator immediately. Please lighten his burden—that mana battery of his should be enough—and see him on his way,” Pullman said.

“Very good,” a smooth voice barely above a whisper replied. The messenger looked over his shoulder to see a darkness that should not have been there. And in the dark, the shape of a man. Hands like black fire grabbed at his neck and…

KRRRRSSSHHHH!

Glass shattered as a confused man in a flight suit that wouldn’t fly burst into the air. Quite expectedly, he soon began to fall.

Pullman watched as relief and glee washed over him. “I needed that. I really, really did.”

"Well," she said huskily, "I know that you don't mind, at least." Catalena held the Ghoster's gaze for a little longer. To the Ghoster, it seemed as though those eyes were slowly getting bigger as a heavy warmth filled the room, though the temperature hadn't changed. His own head felt like it was expanding like a balloon as everything in his psychological periphery narrowed down just to those sloe eyes. They were like... pools of eternity. The rest of his body started to tingle, like millions of tiny little hands were gently tapping him - then it went numb, and there was nothing but her eyes. He could get lost in them, it seemed...
And then he was.
"Turn away from me. Don't turn back until I tell you to," she commanded in a low, clipped accent. Without waiting to see if he would comply, she turned to her dresser and wardrobe and slipped off the garment. After donning the necessary undergarments, she put on a tight-fitting, black halter top and black capris, then a thick, bejeweled belt that held the wicked blade from her dream in a gilded sheathe. From her drawer of lingerie came two thirty-inch swords, each gleaming in the dim light of the room with a hollow grin of polish. She took time to trace one finger down the intricate veins for bloodletting. They were beautiful weapons.
A charcoal trench coat followed, which she strapped snugly around her waist after sheathing the swords in the specially-designed inserts of the flaps. Finally, she turned to the Ghoster and said, "Face me." Lipstick in hand, she walked up to him, used one thumb to hold open his eye, and used the glazed-over reflection there to apply a dark, mahogany color to her thick, lush lips. It was rarely a conscious thought any more, but the surge of glee she got from controlling him made her eyes narrow as they smiled.
She gave him a push before tossing the stick in a tiny, black leather bag and throwing it over her shoulder with a flick of her hair. She wanted another half hour to make herself presentable, but as much as she wanted to gut the dog they had sent, she knew that angering her superiors would get her nowhere. He blinked a few times as he woke up.
"Lead," she ordered, putting her large, hoop earrings in place. "I'd rather not open someone's skull for directions this soon after waking up."

The Ghoster, who had not faced away, growled and seized Catalena by her jaw. "No, by all means, enter my mind. I dare you," the Ghoster replied, looking into her eyes. "I haven't killed in four days. I'd love to see if you'd survive." For a moment they were green, then they became the same glazed black as before. Even without attempting to enter his mind, she could feel the Ghoster's desire - no, his need - to end a life. It washed over her like a wave of raw sickness, filling her body and mind then leaving her.

One thing was left wholly unambiguous to her - whatever a Ghoster was, it was not human.

--

--

Blackstone began twitching his hand to bring up his display, then laughed. "Right, no helmet, no HUD. I think we have time, go for it. The other should be here by the time you're back."

The Ghoster sneered at her. "You can insult me when your body count has three digits, little girl. You know nothing." The Ghoster crossed his arms Ghosted, his ponytail floating behind him and he left, passing through her door. He was waiting for her when she opened it. "Faster," he growled. He floated across the hall and passed his head through the elevator doors. He pulled back and pressed by the up button with his knife and the elevator opened.

"Twenty-third floor," he commanded as he began to float straight upward.

Catalena glared at his back. "Anyone who needs to kill that many people has lost the right to talk down to anyone." She followed at her own pace, despite what she had just said, and slipped on a pair of high heels before following him out, double-checking her wards, and locking her door. With an austere hand, she stopped the elevator from closing in time and got in, pressed the button for '23,' then began fixing her hair in a mirror from her pocket and applying makeup. The Ghoster had not stuck around. Apparently, he was too low on the chain to even give her some idea of the matter to be discussed. Filthy, base creatures, Ghosters. Didn't deserve the capitalization of their name.
She got out on the 23rd floor, makeup away and face now accentuating her high cheekbones and royal appearance. She glanced around for the Ghoster.