NOVEL NEXT B2. Chapter 25: The Angel's Advocate Coffee Ceremony
Mo's hands hovered over the arsenal spread across the table—enchanted scrolls, memory crystals, jars with reagents, and nestled among them like innocent bystanders. Her coffee containers sitting among them like loaded weapons, she wasn't sure she wanted to fire.
"You've been avoiding this all week," Nyx said, their form shifting between concerned and exasperated. "We've run strategies, studied the histories of all top fifty Houses, even suffered through Darian's trash newspaper daily looking for clues."
Mo's fingers drummed against the desk. They'd spent the past seven days preparing for the second task—memorizing diplomatic protocols, analyzing the lords' economic positions, rehearsing counter-arguments. Everything except deciding whether to use her most controversial asset.
"It feels like cheating," she said finally.
"Cheating?" Valerius raised an eyebrow. "At the Academy? That's called advanced strategy."
"Look, these simulations are supposed to test our diplomatic skills…"
Mo met her friends' expectant gazes. They'd been having this argument in various forms all week since that bizarre tasting session, dancing around it during study groups, dropping hints over meals. Now, with the last of the lessons before the Yule break finished and only a few hours left before the beginning of the second task, they were done being subtle.
"The Temporal Blend could give all of us an edge," Lucian said. "Make the simulated negotiators feel the weight of their decisions across centuries, not just fiscal quarters."
"And Clarity for their advisors," Valerius added, organizing the containers by volatility with the efficiency of someone who'd been planning this for days. "Strip away the rhetoric, show them pure numbers. Wars are expensive when you can't hide behind ideology."
"Shadowlands for the scribes," Nyx suggested, their form solidifying as they got excited. "Make them think about what they're recording for history. Nothing like existential dread to improve note-taking accuracy."
Mo picked up the locked container sitting apart from the others—the aphrodisiac blend that seemed to pulse with malicious potential even through its wards. "And this?"
"Absolutely not," everyone said in unison.
"Even if the negotiation goes sideways…" Nyx started.
"No matter what," Mo said firmly, relief flooding through her that they agreed. "I'm not sure I want to win with any of them. It feels cheap."
"It's influence," Valerius said. "Doesn't matter if it's cheap if it is efficient. Every negotiator uses tools. Some use threats. Some use bribes. Your enhanced coffee is just like those."
A sharp rapping at the window interrupted them. Mo turned to find a raven perched on the sill, its chest heaving with exhaustion, wings trembling under the weight of an oversized parcel.
"Poor thing," Mo said, quickly opening the window. The raven practically collapsed onto her desk, scattering scrolls and sending an amulet rolling under Nyx's chair.
She unwrapped the package carefully, her lips curving into a smile as she recognized Emily's handwriting on the note: "Heard about your task. Thought you might need this. Also, you're almost out of everything. –E"
Inside were multiple containers—fresh supplies of her standard blends. Temporal, Clarity, even a new batch of Shadowlands. But at the bottom, wrapped in what looked like pages from an ancient text, sat something different. This container swirled with colors Mo had never seen before, like oil on water if the oil was made of compressed starlight and the water was liquid time.
"Is that…" Nyx leaned forward, then pulled back. "No. The dragon blend's gone. We sold the last three ounces a few days ago. Maybe Cordelia still has some."
Mo's smile turned cryptic as she lifted the special container. "This isn't dragon blend. Not exactly. Emily's been experimenting. Cost us a fortune to expedite the process in the fast-time pocket dimension." She read the rest of the note silently: Volcanic and Temporal, hybridized and mixed with something I found in the archives. Makes people remember their passions from when they were younger. Use carefully. Seriously, Mo. CAREFULLY.
"Thoughtful of her to resupply you," Valerius observed, eyeing the collection. "Almost like she knew you'd been rationing all week to avoid making this decision."
"What's the special one do?" Nyx asked, their form shifting to get a better look at the swirling mixture.
Mo hesitated. "It... seems to dig deep, through everything that happened during adulthood. I don't know, it sounds like it makes people remember their original motivations before politics and power corrupted them."
"That's either brilliant or catastrophic," Lucian said quietly.
"So?" Nyx pressed. "Will you use them? Any of them?"
Mo looked at her friends—her found family who'd spent a week preparing for this moment with her, who understood her reluctance but also knew what was at stake. The Academy wouldn't just be testing their diplomatic skills. It never did anything that straightforward.
"I'll think about it," she said finally, gathering the containers. "But let's do the final preparations both ways. With and without coffee enhancement. Then it's your decision whether you'd like to use it. Our stock is for all of you to choose from and use."
***
The transition felt wrong immediately. It wasn't the nauseating feeling the interdimensional portals often gave, but it wasn't smooth either. A tearing sensation, like being pulled through broken glass made of reality itself. Mo materialized in a stone chamber that smelled of real fear and old blood.
The System's presence slammed into her chest like a fist made of static electricity—which shouldn't have been possible. Even after experiencing it during the first Task, Mo couldn't believe she'd have a connection now. Her succubus bloodline predated Julian's creation by millennia, yet here it was, trying to interact with her like with a neophyte magic user.
No matter her expectations, it was there. Golden text stuttered at the edge of her vision, like a broken screen trying to boot up:
[CONNECTION STABILITY: 73%]
[CONNECTION MAGIC]
[MAGIC STABILITY]
[BLOODLINE MAGIC]
[INTEGRATE TO ATTEMPTING...]
[ATTEMPTING TO INTEGRATE...]
The text kept glitching, trying to move letters and words around. She felt it probing at her succubus nature, confused by the power that predated its existence. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of something else—rows of data that looked almost like Julian's handwriting before they vanished.
Lord Blackstone entered through the main doors, and the System's confusion faded into background static as Mo's succubus instincts immediately recoiled. He radiated the kind of casual cruelty that came from generations of unquestioned power. His servants—no, his slaves, call them what they were—followed with heads bowed so low they couldn't see where they were walking.
One stumbled on the threshold. Blackstone didn't even turn, just flicked his fingers. The servant's spine snapped straight with an audible crack, forcing them upright for a second before they remembered to bow again. Mo saw the System try to process this too:
[ANALYZING POWER DYNAMIC...]
[PRE-INTEGRATION MAGIC]
[CANNOT CLASSIFY]
At least she wasn't the only thing giving it trouble.
Lord Brightwater arrived from the opposite entrance, and the contrast was jarring. His servants walked upright, some even publicly demonstrating minor magical abilities. The System statuses flickered more intensely around them, giving away levels and classes, hinting at their low experience in hiding that crucial information.
"Mediator," Blackstone's voice dripped with contempt despite not knowing who she was. "I trust the High Council has sent someone sensible. Someone who understands the natural order of things."
"The High Council seeks resolution," Mo said, pitching her voice to the neutral tone they'd been taught. "Both sides have valid concerns…"
"Valid?" Blackstone's laugh was ugly. "There's nothing valid about Brightwater's perversion of nature. Servants with magic? I chain and execute mine before they can manifest the simplest spell. Only the pure ones are allowed to be here with me."
He looked at Brightwater's retinue with open hatred. "Those things." His face contorted with disgust. "Flaunting them like that. What a perversion. Next you'll tell me my boots deserve a salary."
Brightwater's jaw clenched. "They're not servants anymore. They're citizens. Workers. People with…"
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"You are a poor dimwitted thing," Blackstone interrupted. "How do you even call yourself a demon? They are things we own. Things that have forgotten their purpose thanks to your infectious ideology."
Mo felt her succubus nature stir with rage, but forced it down. She had a role to play. For now.
"Perhaps," she said carefully, "we could begin with coffee? I find it helps clarify thinking."
Both lords looked at her as if she'd suggested they strip naked and wrestle.
"Coffee?" Brightwater asked. "What is coffee?"
Oh. Right. Earth drinks hadn't penetrated this far into the demon realms yet. Mo pulled out the containers with theatrical ceremony, letting a hint of her succubus grace color the movement. Both lords' attention sharpened—even through the anonymity enchantment, power recognized power.
"A new ceremony that helps to bring ourselves into a working mood—sharing a consciousness-enhancing beverage to ensure all parties think clearly," she explained, setting up an elaborate brewing ritual she'd invented on the spot. "Each blend attunes to different aspects of thought. Temporal for long-term thinking. Clarity for immediate costs. Shadow for historical weight."
She served Blackstone first, the Temporal Blend steaming in an obsidian cup she'd conjured. "Great lords think in centuries, not seasons."
"It isn't poisoned, is it?" He took a suspicious sip. "High Council wouldn't dare." His eyes widened. "I can... You didn't lie, mediator."
Brightwater received the Clarity Blend. "And lords who embrace change see the true cost of stagnation."
Brightwater's advisors got their cups. The scribes their. However, Blackstone didn't allow any of his slaves to join the process. Despite that, within minutes, the room's entire energy had shifted. Not controlled—Mo wasn't using her succubus powers that way—but influenced. Opened to possibilities they hadn't considered.
"Now then," Mo said, settling into her mediator role. "Lord Brightwater, explain your D.E.V.I.O.U.S. framework's benefits."
For twenty minutes, she did exactly what her assignment suggested. She pushed progressive economics, highlighted the benefits of magical democratization, showed how servant productivity increased 300% when they had personal investment in outcomes. The coffee helped—Blackstone couldn't dismiss the long-term profit potentials when the Temporal Blend made him feel every future gold piece like it already was in his coffers.
Then, just as Brightwater was starting to smile, just as Mo felt the negotiation tilting toward peace and progress, something went very wrong. The golden text at the edge of her vision started stuttering:
[NARRATIVE COHERENCE DECLINING]
[PARTICIPANT BELIEFS UNSTABLE]
[SCENARIO PARAMETERS SHIFTING]
The words multiplied, overlapping each other like broken code. Mo felt something fundamental beginning to unravel—not just in the simulation, but in the System itself. It was trying to process something it couldn't understand, some contradiction built into the very structure of the test.
Lord Blackstone's hand, reaching for his coffee cup, slowed imperceptibly. The steam rising from the Temporal Blend began to move backwards. One of the scribes blinked, but the blink lasted too long, like reality was buffering.
Then, the room froze. Not metaphorically—literally. Everyone except Mo stopped moving, caught mid-gesture like insects in amber. Lord Brightwater's smile was stuck halfway, creating an expression that looked more like a grimace. A drop of coffee hung in midair, refusing to fall.
The System's text had gone completely haywire now, filling her peripheral vision with cascading errors before suddenly cutting to black, only to allow Professor Malvolia's voice to cut through the chaos: "Reversal point reached. You will now argue the opposite position. Convince both parties you haven't changed sides. Maintain their trust while advocating against everything you just supported. You are the angel's advocate now."
The System's text flared back to life, but now it was different. Crisp. Cold. Controlled:
[MORAL FLEXIBILITY ASSESSMENT INITIATED]
***
The freeze shattered. Both lords blinked, confused for a heartbeat before continuing as if nothing had happened.
"However," Mo heard herself saying, the words tasting like ash, "Lord Blackstone raises crucial concerns about stability and tradition."
Brightwater's smile faltered. "I thought you said…"
"I said your framework has benefits. But benefits and wisdom aren't synonymous." Mo stood, pacing the room as her mind raced to construct arguments she despised. "I have to consider all the pros and cons of both of your stances and recommend the optimal solution. That's my role as a mediator. Consider the Crimson Revolution three centuries ago. The Pixie Uprising. Every society that gave power to those bred for servitude collapsed in blood."
She was channeling every traditionalist demon lord she'd grown up around. Every ancient council member who'd argued that inequality was natural, that hierarchy was divinely ordained by the First Dark. The words felt like vomit, but she forced them out with conviction.It was just a test. Just a simulation. Just words in a fake room with fake lords who'd reset when this ended. It had to be.
"Your D.E.V.I.O.U.S. framework," she continued, addressing Brightwater but performing for Blackstone, "assumes magical ability equals personhood. But a sword that gains the ability to speak doesn't become a person. It remains just an enchanted tool." Mo stood up and embraced all the servants with a wide gesture. "From that point of view, all of them are just enchanted tools."
"Exactly!" Blackstone slammed his fist on the table. "The mediator understands! Praise the High Council!"
Suddenly, after a few minutes of complete absence of any messages, the System interface reacted to Blackstone's exclamation.
[ADVOCATING AGAINST REGISTERED BELIEFS]
[RECALIBRATING...]
Mo watched the text flicker and shift but cracked on, nevertheless. She wanted nothing more than just to push through this ugly business and finally get to the other side. Yule break seemed almost like an escape from this dark reality at that moment.
"I understand both positions," Mo said, hating herself. "Which is why I propose a different solution. Lord Brightwater, your experiment has generated valuable data. Sell that data to Lord Blackstone. Let him study why it fails."
"It's not failing…"
"Look at the data," Mo countered. "Servant uprising in the Crimson Territories. Economic collapse in three border towns. Your own productivity gains are offset by infrastructure costs."
Those weren't lies. All the data came from the reports they'd gathered in the previous weeks. But between the true values, she inserted fake numbers, wrong assumptions, and false correlations. The lies came so easily it scared her. She was good at this. Good at twisting truth into weapons. And she hated herself for that neat work of persuasion that didn't even demand activation of her succubus powers.
Lord Brightwater seemed to believe her, hesitation surfacing on his face.
"But Nightshade's emissaries promised no downsides?" His voice carried a note of accusation. "They assured me that the productivity gains would offset any costs. All expenses extracted from the servants."
Mo's stomach twisted. Of course, he'd primarily been motivated by profit, not servant welfare. She forced herself to respond: "So you believe petty traders over a representative of the High Council?"
The words tasted like poison. She was undermining her own framework, her own people's work.
The System glitched even harder:
[R̴E̷A̸LITY DI̵S̶TOR̴T̷ION]
[TRU̶T̷H U̷N̴D̷E̸R̴VAL̸U̴E̷D̷]
[F̸A̴L̷SE NAR̶R̷A̸T̴I̶VES]
[M̸O̶R̴AL FLE̷X̴I̶B̸ILITY I̸N̶C̴R̷E̴A̸S̶I̷N̴G]
"Lord Blackstone's traditional approach has survived millennia," she continued, trying to ignore the cascading messages in her vision. "Your experiment has lasted, what, a few weeks? Which seems more stable?"
That's when the walls started to become transparent. Through them, like looking through dirty glass, she caught glimpses of other negotiations. Marcus was screaming at his father while somehow also arguing for maintaining servant hierarchies. Cordelia was... was she crying? The dragon was actually crying as she defended someone she'd apparently just orphaned.
"The natural order," Mo made herself say, forcing her attention back to her own betrayal even as she watched her friends shatter through translucent walls, "exists for a reason. Some lead. Others serve. The magic spreading through the realms doesn't change breeding, doesn't erase generations of selection for specific traits."
Lord Blackstone was nodding along. Lord Brightwater looked physically ill. But it was hard to tell if he worried about his people or his profits.
"You said you were neutral," Brightwater accused.
"I am neutral. Neutral means seeing both sides clearly." Mo served herself a cup of Clarity. "See? I look at the numbers without your idealism clouding my perception."
"Perhaps... perhaps I moved too quickly," Brightwater admitted.
"Or perhaps," Mo said, hating herself more with each word, "you moved at all when rigid tradition was wisdom."
Around her, pocket dimensions continued to glitch, appear and disappear, allowing Mo glimpses into other negotiations. They were all breaking. They were all bending their psyches to defend the opposite negotiating positions. But while for Mo it was working against her framework, for many others, it was defending the weak or underrepresented.
And the worst part of her own task? The approach seemed to be working. Blackstone was relaxing. Brightwater was retreating. War was becoming less likely with every word Mo spoke against her own beliefs. And neither of them noticed the shattering reality yet.
Of course, Mo thought, they are just an integral part of this simulation. Why would they even notice that?
"I propose a compromise," Mo said, the words ash in her mouth. "Lord Brightwater maintains D.E.V.I.O.U.S. in a single test city. Lord Blackstone documents its failure. In one year, when the collapse is proven, the experiment ends permanently."
"And my servants who've gained magic?" Brightwater asked quietly.
Mo forced herself to say it: "The plague seems to be spreading. But they are your property and your resposibility. You'll find a solution. For their own good. Power without purpose is cruelty."
She was going to throw up. Later. Right now, she had to sell this betrayal completely.
"Do we have an agreement?" she asked.
Both lords looked at each other. Blackstone smiled—a predator's expression. Brightwater looked defeated.
"We need guarantees," Blackstone said. "Blood contracts. Magical bonds. If Brightwater's experiment spreads beyond the test city, immediate forfeiture of his lands."
"That's extreme…" Brightwater said.
"That's necessary," Mo interrupted, dying inside. "Lord Blackstone is risking contamination leaking to the entirety of his domain. He deserves protection."
This time, the System didn't glitch. It was like a bad ecstasy trip Mo had never experienced. For a moment, golden text filled her entire vision:
[COMPLETE BELIEF CONTRADICTION]
[PERFECT ANGEL'S ADVOCATE]
[MORAL FLEXIBILITY AT MAXIMUM]
[INTERVENTION]
Through the walls, she heard someone scream. It might have been her.
But she kept talking, kept arguing against everything she believed in, kept serving coffee that made the lords more pliable, kept betraying herself with every word.
Lord Blackstone stood, preparing to sign. "You argue like a true Nightshade. They've always understood that power belongs only to those born to wield it."
Mo stood. Her hands trembled as she prepared the blood contract.
Then, suddenly, the realization came to her. "Nightshade?" The negotiating parties weren't supposed to know the identities of the mediators.