As they laughed, the station gave a final shudder. The gouts of flame and roiling Essence that had devoured it from within had finally won out, and now with a single resounding roll of thunder the fleshy amalgamation of Voidtech erupted. For four heartbeats the cosmic shrapnel of Essence-fire and Soulsteel screamed through the void of space, only to abruptly reverse course moments before the Normandy was threatened. For the next five seconds, the Collector Base collapsed in upon itself, drawing in every last scrap that proved that it had ever existed. While the rest of the little battle-battered group oohed and ahed at the spectacle, Esone fought stubbornly to keep ahold of his harvest of Soulsteel. The Infernal planting himself as firmly as Isidoros' stubbornness and Malfeas' defiance could muster, albeit relying on passive charms in his Essence-deprived state. He had plans for them, and was not about to give up his haul.<br/><br/>The Normandy was soon whipping back through the rusty corona of the black hole, preparing for it's return flight to the Citadel. The Suicide Relay loomed before the tiny ship as the away team and the groggy rescued personnel dispersed out into the vessel. Esone followed dutifully behind his commander as Shepard and Garrus helped the Solar to the med bay. The poor man's armor was soaked through with luminous blood, and a trail of the glowing droplets followed the euphoric procession. Chakwas had taken one look at Del Pilar and promptly kicked everyone else out - despite his protests to the contrary, the Solar spent the rest of the trip back to the Citadel immersed in a vat of experimental Cerberus regenerative gel. When he was finally relieved from his gooey fate, Del Pilar had only glared about him and muttered something about 'traitors' and liberal applications of dubstep while they slept.<br/><br/>Esone spent the trip conferring with Solas, working with the Sousteel samples he'd gathered. The doctor had taken to the haunted alloy with his usual eccentric enthusiasm, even after learning that the stuff was forged from an otherworldly ore alloyed with the souls of the living. Esone set his incredulity at the doctor's ready acceptance aside in favor of capitalization - the good doctor agreed to use a 'finder's fee' amount of the shards to construct a weapon for the Lieutenant, preferably something that could handle both close and long-range combat. As the ship began to jump, Esone settled into his quarters and meditated. His waking dreams turned to the ineffable presence of his five shrouded masters, and to the thrumming power of their ten wary siblings. It was time to beg the devil.<br/><br/>----<br/>The Citadel, One Week Later<br/>----<br/><br/>Esone toyed with the bracelets that circled each of his wrists. The thick bands looked almost like manacles, but the inner rings  conformed to the shape of his wrists more like fluid than a solid restraint. Strange flickers danced across the matte-black surface, shadows weaving in the depths of the polished metal. Solas was a creepy little reptile, but he did good work.<br/><br/>The Presidium was as lovely as ever, the day-cycle light illuminating pedestrians of the upper crust as they went about their business. The Lieutenant leaned against the railing just outside of the Embassies, gazing absently into the space just above the Asari receptionist's head. He'd been standing there like that for the past half-hour, having showed up early to meet with Del Pilar before the conference with Admiral Hackett. The Solar had yet to show up, but then 'hurry up and wait' had always been the watchword of the military. Had the Lieutenant been paying attention he might have noticed the receptionist's growing discomfort, as from that distance it looked more as if he was glaring straight at her. Having a voice in ones head -at least one that was actually a separate, advisory consciousness- had it's benefits, but also made it easy to look crazy. Very, very easy.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">We blew up the base, what else is there to talk about? I knew it, we were too flashy. They know something is up! They're going to capture us. THEYRE GOING TO DISECT US! OhsweeteddieIdon'twanttodieyet.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Hush. If they thought something was up, they wouldn't have risked me blowing up the Presidium. Or let me keep the new weapons. I'll admit, treating the Soulsteel with Vitriol was risky, but no one saw me summon the Metody. If they never saw the Vitriol Elemental, then they have no reason to believe that my Exaltation is anything other than what I said it is. And what are you getting so worked up for anyway? I'M the one who'll have to suffer dissection. YOU just wink out of existence.</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">And that's NOT terrifying?!</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Meh.</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">I hope you get made into Soulsteel.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Meh.</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">May Metagaos eat your- Why is that Asari pointing at us and talking to those guards?</span><br/><br/>The receptionist was indeed gesturing in his direction quite vehemently for the benefit of two Council enforcers - another Asari who had the look of a Commando, and a heavily scarred Turrian. Both had significant pieces of firepower strapped to their hips and cradled in their arms. The embassies had all the muscle one would expect of the galaxy's most powerful governing body. One nodded, and the two loomed over Esone in short order.<br/>"Sir, this is a no-loitering zone. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, or escort you off the premise."<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">EddiepreserveusEddiepreserveusEddiepreserveusWe'regoingtodie.</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Weren't you a demon at one point? Like, a fragment of the unassailable consciousness of a being often likened as being greater than gods?</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">Yes, and now I'm a powerless voice inside a vapid meat-sack.</span><br/><br/>Esone plastered on a 'winning' smile - he wasn't ugly, but his charisma was pretty damn low. If anything, the guards eyes narrowed and hardened at the simple movement.<br/>"I'm actually waiting for my commanding officer, he's running a bit late and-"<br/><br/>"Look, you've been standing outside the embassies for almost half an hour now, and you're starting to creep the receptionist out. Go somewhere else, and call your 'superior' to tell him you moved your meeting spot. If he actually exists. Try Chora's Den if you need to ogle the azure."<br/><br/>The two guards continued to loom over Esone in a manner that indicated he should broach no argument. Damnit, where was the Solar when Esone needed him? Zenith-Boy was the Face, people actually<span style="font-style: italic">believed</span>him when he talked.