@OwO

Rain.

The default weather of Bluegate suffused the night of the city in a white glimmer throughout. From its darkest alleys to its highest towers, there was a persistent gentle glow reflected by the myriad streetlamps and electronic billboards. So natural was the falling rain that well-near a quarter of the populace went without umbrella in the streets, content to let the rain drip upon their bare heads. A simple shake once inside did all one needed.

Within the confines of an unlit safehouse, upon the fourth floor, Tsune Kataoka -Macaron- looked out upon the dancing tiny flecks of light that bounced upon black asphalt. The power wasn't out, but the money was -such frivolous things as keeping the house lit were luxuries that could be ignored. In the background, a boiling pot bubbled. One man manned the stove in a wrinkled business suit that, at one time in the past, was pristine. A scrunched, unamused look covered his face as he stared into the then-empty pot of water. Even at a time deep into the night as this, he still wore his sunglasses, albeit raised up onto his head.

Hideji Kataoka could have been out on the grind, but instead was here, once again, caring for a girl whom his superiors deemed a waste of time. But he couldn't be elsewhere -his conscious could only convince him so many times. The nearing-middle-age Kataoka goon was once a staunch friend of Macaron's own late mother, and on her deathbed pleaded with the bleeding heart to keep her safe. Such wishes went unrealized until everything went to shit regardless. Hideji was bound by red tape, as much as he wanted to give little Macaron a chance. Even today he remained distant and unsure. Having arrived late to the mission, so to say, now that Macaron was an adult Hideji was a cautious sort around the young woman. He could rarely maintain eye contact with her, despite persisting as a grizzled street soldier that regularly punched guts for owed money.

And here he was, serving as the small guarantee that Macaron wouldn't be kicked out of the safehouse if other Kataoka's showed up. Here he was, preparing to make some crap premade macaroni for the night. Here he was, with a folded piece of paper in his jacket, debating if the suspicious letter addressed to his flimsily-charged protectee should actually reach her eyes. What was he, her father? Hideji, in his trance looking into the boiling water, absently scoffed to himself, breaking a long silence in the safehouse.

"Kid, you've got something addressed to you," Hideji opened up, "It ain't spelled, I checked." In the years following the Kataoka massacre, there had been a non-stop circulation of plots and ploys to shift power about the squabbling scraps of the family that remained. For all over her irrelevance, there always remained the chance that Macaron would be next on someone's list. It wouldn't be the first time a Kataoka died to paper. Hideji dumped the dried macaroni into the boiling water and dutifully stirred to keep them from sticking.

"Didn't read it. No name. Want it?" He left the mystery to her decision. Something tugged at his heart to offer some semblance of control to the girl.

---

@ERode

Closed.

Amaya gripped the handle to a safehouse and wrestled with it once more, just to be sure it was locked and not simply poorly settled in the frame. Rain cascaded off the side of corrugated metal overhanging the entrance, practically deafening. She could opt to get inside via magical means, but risked the potential that someone was inside and really really wanted their solitude this night. It was highly unusual for safehouses to be outright locked. Owners sometimes decided the property was better used as a public rental, forever damning someone in the Dark Sphere to finding some other favorite spot. Other times it was someone especially anti-social and ungenerous. Given the placement of this particular safehouse squarely in an industrial park, Amaya could only presume the latter.

Before she could decide to turn away or take her chances, the sound of jingling keys caught her ears. A sordid, despondent man approached the entrance with a key pinched between his fingers. The way in which he walked up the door -and to Amaya- spoke to someone wholly devoid of fear or worry. Amaya could have been invisible, for all his expression indicated. And still, he addressed her.

"Evening, miss," he said with a tired, distant voice. The man was well into his fifties, poorly shaved, dirtily dressed, and soaked in rain without an umbrella. A ragged coat sheltered his hunched back and shoulders. He stepped right up to the door, and began to unlock it. Unusual. She'd never seen this man before, though it was admittedly unusual to see safehouse owners ever. Most wanted nothing to do with the property until money could be made.

"I've seen you coming here before. Sorry that it was locked," the man said. He opened the door, and with his unmoving, silent posture, gestured for her to enter. He followed inside and shut the door. The interior was shabby, but in the sense that it wasn't truly meant for living in, and yet had work done to it to try and alleviate that feeling. A larger-than-small warehouse had been converted into what amounted to a lounge, complete with a tilted billiards table and dart board missing two or three darts from the original set. A tiny, two-seat bar hugged the entrance wall. There was only one time in Amaya's life that there being two seats mattered.

The dismal man shuffled over to an empty chair, and pulled items out of his coat and place them upon a coffee table. A shredded wallet. An aging but indestructible phone. A pile of loose charms on chains and strings.

"I won't be here the whole night. It's all yours. Tired? Smoke?" the man croaked. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and deftly slipped one into his lips before lighting it with an ember-tipped finger.

---

@Estylwen

Something was wrong.

Within the ancestral estate of House Asher, Reina was seated at the head of an oblong table along with twelve other notable faces. The heads of the House ruminated in silence for a full half minute, their expressions a mixture of dour confidence and gloomy worry. A pair of servants, one beside Reina and another at the doors to the meeting room, waited as sentinels to the noble gathering. All throughout the day, a creeping feeling of dread had pervaded the minds of House Asher's most adept. For some in the room then, it was a feeling they did not share, for not all of those in power were truly capable. Nevertheless, their seats were theirs', much to the disappointment of their more skilled peers.

The dread came via the Labyrinth; something was amiss in the regions of meta-space that House Asher presided over, like a threat to claims of land guaranteed only by the standing of a banner. It felt as though the banner was tilting, or a great ominous wind battered at its fabric. To some, it felt as though an army was manifesting on the horizon. All of this was a preturnatural sense, one that could not be truly explained to those who did not already understand what exploring the Labyrinth meant in spirit.

"...But it is not House Baskerville, that much is certain," said Victain Asher, breaking the dark silence.

"That only makes this more sinister," replied Leonus Asher, his chin cupped upon entwined fingers, "For who else?"

"There is no spell known within or without that could achieve something like this," chimed Erina Asher, who spoke in self-sure proclamation.

"You cannot claim that," Victain retorted.

With such an unprecedented feeling, and without the requisite arcane knowledge to parse it all, House Asher was left with this predicament: where does one even start in such a situation? How does one begin to assess such an esoteric state? Even for those who exalt Obscurity, they were left with an opaque wall of mystery.

A man of raven hair and lidded, almost saddening eyes spoke then -Cygni Asher. "The answer surely lies within the Labyrinth. And if it is a veil upon our property within, then it is assuredly also within Yusei's domain. He will be aware, and far more prepared to understand this." Cygni cast a long sideways glance across the table to Reina.

"Our head, then, seems the best path forward. You can speak with Yusei, Chosen, foremost of all of us," he said.

"But it will require a Dungeon," Victain said, "You can all feel it too -the cloudedness, even you, Cygni."

The raven nodded. "We can pool our efforts into this, it is critical," Cygni said in a monotonous tone, "And ensure the door remains open and clear. What say you, Reina?"

The heads of the House all turned to Reina. She could feel the implications Cygni levied upon her -this was not simply the only way to solve the issue.

It was a challenge.

---

@Remram

Blurriness taunted him.

In Mathias' hand was a shakily-snapped photograph. Despite any misgivings by others in the DSC, Mathias knew who it was. It was unmistakable.

The Mist.

It was the first sighting in years. For all his efforts, the next time he appeared was wholly detached and unrelated to any missions, any searches, and investigations, any anything that the Dark Sphere Command was involved in lately. The photograph practically grinned at him.

You thought you were any closer to me? it whispered.

The photograph depicted a man in untouched white, clean-kept and well-groomed despite the carnage that surrounded. Mathias had learned early on that this was The Mist's MO: unfettered violence administered with impossible precision and care. The location was a penthouse on the northern end of Bluegate three days prior, once owned and occupied by a known independent mage of middling report. The photographer was similarly mulched, but their evidence was clearly intact. It was almost undoubtedly purposeful. Despite the new lead, it was on the backburner.

"Mathias, are you listening?" crooned a woman's voice. Hovering over the man was a blonde, braided woman carrying a clipboard and papers. The electric hum of the DSC warehouse returned to Mathias' senses. "The crew is waiting for you," she said. Nina Carol was Bluegate Squad 3's radio operator, though the term 'radio' was used if only for familiarity. In reality, the communication was wholly arcane, but Nina nevertheless performed the duties of a monitor and mission director all the same.

Mathias was about to delve into such a mission, one disappointingly unrelated to The Mist. Across the warehouse, in another room, magic-touched machines whirred away, scribbling waveforms upon an unrolling sheet of parchment not unlike a seismograph listening to the rumblings of the earth. For two days, the sensor was picking up on a growing thunder within the Dark City, and it was now their task to deliver a host of machines into the side-realm in hopes of uncovering some deeper meaning to this disturbance in the collective conscious.

A team of four awaited him in the briefing room.

---

@Kronshi

There was no way.

Ozymandias would have experienced it before, but this time around his assessment was certain. The dismantling of a door within the Dark City was something Ozy had done before, and even granting that the one before him now was of a peculiarly different sort of essence, the fourteen hours he had spent revealed everything he needed to know about it. So he thought...

The composition, the origin, the shape within the subconscious that had guided its creation, where in Realspace it most corresponded to (the answer was that it reflected no less than five specific doors within a specific Bluegate mall), and the rules that specifically guided its being locked. He had eliminated three of the four esoteric makeups that prevented the otherwise functional door from "opening" already, and the fourth should have just been removed as well, and yet...

There was phenomenon in Realspace, wherein on exceptionally rare occasions computerized electronics could experience unpredictable glitches due to the one-in-a-billion chance that a cosmic ray happened to knock out the exact right spot on a circuit. The struggle with this door felt almost the same. No less than ten times now had he calculated the exact right way to reverse the complex and yet meaningless final lock on the door, and each time it almost seemed as if the effect was being reversed by wayward signals, or his own magical input interfered with.

The door itself was innocuous, as were most portals within the Dark City. But unlike most others, this one had one important feature:

It was permanent.

Every night, the Dark City was different. When looked at for the forest it was the same as always, but if you scrutinized the trees one would find misplacement, shifting, and inconsistency. This door was different, which tended to mean that someone had purposefully placed it, or otherwise entrenched its existence. Finding such a structure would normally have been pure chance, but for Ozymandias, it was purposeful.

A letter arrived to him nights before, unmarked, detailing the location of something only he could "understand". In all of the oddities that tended to come with anonymous writings in the Dark Sphere, Ozy picked out a subtlety within the tone and the mannerisms of the text -an echo of his father. It was assuredly not his father speaking through the letter, as the man was not subtle in the slightest, but something within it sparked memories of him nevertheless. A coded message? A secret confidant?

What lay behind the door?

The night felt ominous, and at Ozymandias' back there was a looming feeling of being watched or simply known. He was so close. A horrible noise howled in the distance of the Dark City's streets, and Ozymandias was then stricken by the sound of a child's genuine laughter within the skeleton of the building he stood within.

Whatever was happening that night, was the discovery behind this door worth seeing it to the end?

“Evening.”

Her response was curt, but not hostile. It was a good thing that the older man had announced his arrival with the rattling of his keys; from experience, Amaya had little trust to spare for those who habitually silenced their movements.

She stepped into the safehouse, shaking the rain off her jacket at the entrance. Concrete flooring. No need to kick off her boots then. Her gaze swept across the dimly lit environment, marking shuttered windows and exits. Expert couriers would have memorized the layouts of their safehouses by now, but Amaya preferred to treat every environment as if it were the first time. The cost of complacency was hefty, after all. The woman strode for the bar, ducking her head beneath the table in search of an outlet.

There.

Her duffel bag, a thrift shop steal for how long it had stuck with her, was swung up top of the counter. She unzipped it, pulling out a small electric kettle and a two-liter jug of water, plugged the appliance in, and boiled the first pot of water for the night. Blue light shone from within the glass, gradually transitioning to purple, then red, as the temperature climbed and the water boiled. Rainy nights called for hot food, and even freelancers of the Dark Sphere weren’t so hard-boiled as to eschew all human comforts. Though there were types out there. A flicker of a memory, of that dumpster-dwelling girl who turned out to having been the heiress of some big House.

Amaya lifted her hand up, refusing the offered cigarette. “No, thank you. Here for a property inspection?”

Rare to speak to the landlord-types, certainly, but she wasn’t against it. It’d take a while longer for the water to boil, and then another five minutes for her food to rehydrate. Plenty of time to decide whether to stay the night or to find a bridge.

Asher Estate, Realspace

_@Asuras

---

Reina gave a look to Cygni as she languished in her seat. He was trying to get her killed, the sooner the better. Yes, send her to deal with the Anomaly, alone. If he wasn't so powerful, she would have stripped him of his position and exiled him long ago. But House Asher needed strength. And he knew this.

She'd deal with him. But first-

Reina glanced up at the servant beside her, then gestured with her chin towards the double doors. The servant, Isabella, with her ashen hair and wary eyes, understood immediately, and left through the doors. She returned momentarily with a prison inmate in tow, cuffs still on his hands. He was made to stand beside Reina's seat. The look on his face was aghast, with darkness brimming around his eyes. He knew what his fate was, as a death row inmate, but the nondescript woman seated beside him, was she really the one who'd-

She looked up at him, her red eyes flashing, and she smiled.

Before taking up one of his cuffed hands, she kissed the back of it. Nothing would appear to happen in real-time there except for the magically adept. Well, they were all magically adept after all, weren't they? There was a draw, a suction, like hungry jaws clamping down on the sinews of the soul, and eating them up like a hearty stew. Minutes passed…

Before the man's breath hitched, and he fell backwards, collapsing dead on the floor.

Reina had let go on the hand a second before, and brushed fingertips to her lips, savoring the taste. Her insides were enlivened, and her mind sharp. A much better state of mind, a much better… atmosphere.

Her eyes glanced cooly at Cygni, and she spoke in a crisp voice. ”I think a Dungeon is a brilliant idea. However, I will not be entering it alone.”

Her hand gestured to Cygni, ”You will be joining me.”

A chin rested on a curved fist as Reina glanced over at Erina. ”And you.”

If any House member was looking carefully, they'd realize they were both chosen for what they said. Cygni daring to even breath a hint of a plan that could get their precious head killed. And Erina, spouting opinions instead of facts at her table.

Of course, it was a small correction. Reina would be present, and would ensure nothing happened to her enemy, and her faithful. They were both skilled, exceptionally so, making her command more like a slap on the wrist than a true punishment.

Alas, she had her own ulterior motive. She wanted to bring Cygni with her so he didn't make a mess of her House while she was gone. And Erina would be a witness so Cygni would have a harder time trying to kill Reina. Apostles knew Cygni coveted her position, but she would thwart him at every turn.

As the servants lifted the body of the prison inmate out of the room, Reina continued. ”We will discuss with Lord Yusei, and we will ascertain this Anomaly with our own eyes. I will not rest until this threat to our shores is dealt with.”

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｐｒｉｃｅ　ｏｆ　ｈｕｍａｎ　ｌａｎｇｕｉｓｈｉｎｇ

It was a safehouse, but it certainly didn't feel safe.

And it was all in part to its vile occupant. Trash littered the floor. Though, the rats and flies seemed to stay away--a surprise for the gutterways that Macaron always resided in. Maybe it was the fact that Macaron never left food out. A craven image of a woman who devoured bone, pith, and seedling. Or those who knew her always had the brief thought that she ate the rats. Of course, that wasn't true in the slightest. But the thought always resided in the back of one's mind.

One's home was a reflection of one's self. Macaron's wasn't great. A swathe of animals formed her psyche. Beaver to dam any pathway of the house with a mixture of trash and knickknacks. Bear to mark the walls in territorial anger. Raccoon to wash everything in sight. Squirrel to hide things in the walls.

Her cabinets were filled with empty tin cans that she couldn't bear the thought of throwing out. It was too difficult to figure out whether she kept them from attachment, sloth, or a primitive desire to cut the sides of her mouth. Perhaps it was all three.

While she never used it, she always kept a mug in the cabinet--even if the bottom of the mug was anointed with circles of dull silver from years of stirring. One that she always washed, even if it was just because it hadn't been used.

She stared out the window, the destitute shade ensuring a one-way observation. People looked like small bugs from the fourth floor. Not quite ants--more like beetles. Perhaps that's why people liked penthouses so much. At least, that's what Macaron mused. They, like her, would find the joy in crushing and burning ants. It was juvenile joy that Macaron managed to acquire in adulthood, even if her languid self would never act it out beyond her thoughts.

And as she wasted away with petty and cruel delusions, a familiar face looked after her. One might find the humour in a thug wearing an apron. But the apron was a dull red--frayed fabric that seemed to be older than the man who wore it. Macaron had cut the cuter ones she had to ribbons. Something about the design angering her. And there he was, making some macaroni.

If she had good humour, she could suppose that it was fitting. She always lacked something to properly make macaroni. The "I" was the issue. The cheap noodles would always get stuck to the bottom--an impenetrable layer of starch within a pot that would sooner find itself embedded in drywall than being scraped out in a sink. Or sometimes the issue would be her impatience and carelessness--the willingness to choke down vaguely cheese-flavoured broth.

Well, what was macaroni without cheese?

From the refusal of eye contact, it seemed like cheese was something Hideji could do without. He was probably smart for that. There was no telling when her unprompted smile would turn into the grimace of a hannya mask.

The news of a letter was certainly unexpected. So much so that the only emotion that Macaron could feel was bewilderment. She never received letters. Not since her family's retained lawyer--the one that didn't die--gave her the pittance that carried her to adulthood. The few letters that came from the government were handled by either Hideji or--when she took care of her--Amaya.

"Why not?" Macaron replied as she approached to take it from his hands. "Maybe it'll have a lock of hair to curse me in it or something."

The thought of curses or danger didn't dissuade her.

Everything about this felt wrong. The door, the halls, the silence. Not exactly a new experience within the confines of a Dark City but Oz could tell there was something about this that was different.

Leaving the letter leading him to its exact location aside, someone had managed to hex a door with a magical lock so complex that Oz had spent around 7 hours just cracking three of the bindings and 7 more on this last one alone. He was certain that this time the equation was perfect and... no, the door remained bound. The young man stood up and began pacing as he thought, keeping an eye and ear out for an approaching threats as he attempted to figure out why his magecraft was failing to open this path.

Rewrite's core function is the ability to change

Whoever left me that letter is aware of where I live,

the criteria that spells function under,

as well as has insight into my capabilities if they know

barriers included. This particular barrier

my skill with lock-picking spells. They also knew about

had 4 bindings with their own set of

this door and likely have some idea of what's behind it.

criteria and no 2 bindings could share a

What are their intentions with having me open up this

criteria but they could contradict each other.

barrier? They could have set a trap for me somewhere,

Balancing out the requirements for these

but then why not grab me while I'm focusing on breaking

bindings is difficult and runs the risk of a

the bindings? They could simply want what's behind

magical backdraft if done incorrectly. However,

the door, but how do they know I won't just take it for

I have gotten the formula close enough to not

myself? Similarly, they could kidnap me and force me

notice any repercussions for failing to unlock

to open the door if they don't want me taking anything.

the binding which leads to my next question.

Yet, nothing within this place has made a move.

Am I actually failing? It could be that I got

Likely answer, this is a test and my suspicions of

a previous binding wrong and didn't notice,

being watched are correct. They have some manner of

but the more likely conclusion is that the

keeping their eyes on me to witness how I crack this

barrier spell actively resists my tampering

vault and what methods I use to approach solving this

with a tampering of its own. That's it.

puzzle. Likely some form of detection spell, but they

The reason there's no recoil is because my

would have to be better with it then I am my own to

formula is always balanced by an inverse spell

be out of my range or have some means of obscuring

produced by the door. If I'm right, that means

their location that my Detect can't get through.

whoever created these locks knows how to use

Seeing as they thought that only I could understand

Counter and understands Rewrite well enough

this door and yet seem more knowledgeable than me,

to be able to use Counter on it. Alright, now

I have to presume that they bear a different crest

to test this hypothesis, I need to create an

than I do. Which also means that whoever is

inversion of an inversion of Rewrite but to do

testing me didn't make the barrier themselves

that without just casting another Rewrite spell,

but likely knows who did. Furthermore, I can

I'll need to utilize Establish and set a condition

assume that since this door requires the three

for imaginary variables. Negative of a negative

spells that I have learned during my training

is a positive, but the root of negative one is i

with my father, that these people knew him

so I just Establish that i squared can remain

personally and it is equally likely that

as i² within the natural numbers. Then it'll

the door-maker is in fact my father such

be equal to negative one but be a positive

that his disappearance is what makes me the

natural number, meaning I can invert it to -i²

only one who could understand this door.

and that is not equal to one, meaning my formula

The keys to this door were chosen deliberately

would not simplify back into Rewrite.

for me to be the only one who could unlock it.

With all that being said, Oz went about undoing the Counter security hex placed upon the door. It took him some time to verify his math was correct as this was his first time trying to do such a thing but when there was no recoil, he breathed a sigh of relief. That meant there was a spell that his formula affected, and his hypothesis was correct. Unfortunately, that also meant that all the bindings were likely never unlocked to begin with and he now had to start over. This was going to be a long night, but at least he was accustomed to pulling all-nighters.

"Right, thanks Nina."

Mathias responded politely, yet disinterestedly. As much as he wanted to go off and search for The Mist in a Rambo-esque fashion, duty called him, and he was not going to ignore it even if it meant letting that man slip through his fingers.

He puffed the last bit of smoke from his cigarette and then put it out against one of the concrete pillars, standing up from one of the cargo crates that he was sitting on. The picture was neatly folded and slid into the back pocket of his pants. His boots echoed amid the low electrical hum of as he walked across the warehouse, his thoughts focused only on that damned photo of The Mist. That damned smug smile was branded into his brain, as if he knew that Mathias was going to look at it and flashed his best smile just to taunt him knowing that he was just out of arms reach once again.

Get your head in the game.

The door faced him and with a deep breath, Mathias pushed it open. Mechanical whirring of magic touched machinery filled his ears and waiting there around a table was the rest of the crew. "Evening everyone, my apologies for the delay. I see everyone is present." He walked over to an unfolded white screen and grabbed a remote sitting on the table to turn on a projector sitting on top. The projector illuminated the screen with the picture of machines.

"As you know, we are tasked to delivering equipment to the Dark City to investigate the ever-growing thunder phenomenon. That machinery will analyze the current environment of the collective consciousness, and we report our findings to the Bluegate DSC branch." He explained with a level of authority as someone who had been through this scenario dozens and dozens of times and had as much enthusiasm as someone who stood up in that same exact spot dozens and dozens of times.

"We will be transporting the machinery in this." He clicked the remote and the image of a black truck with a shipping container attached to it. "Armor plated and reinforced by enough reinforcement craft inscribed into it to be nigh impenetrable. Our best driver will be at the wheel while the rest of us will protect the cargo."

With another click of the remote, the screen changed to an image of the readings that they had been receiving through those seismography machines. "Our destination will be where the highest concentration of these disturbances is located. Once we arrive, we'll setup the equipment and guard it until it gathers enough data to be analyzed."

And then there was another click of the remote. The squad were being shown a top-down map of the Dark City with various routes marked down. "We have our route thanks to the reconnaissance, but as you know expect it to never be a hundred percent correct given the nature of the Dark City. Each and one of you should have packets detailing the route for your own personal review."

His eyes glanced at each individual in the room, knowing that each and one of them was up for the task. The only one who could not put their full heart into the mission was himself. Chances are they all knew that too. His one and only purpose of being part of the DSC was to catch that man and there he was letting him slip through his fingers. However, he had a job to do.

"This is a highly unusual situation, but we will treat this as any normal mission. However, keep in mind that if we have noticed it then that means it's likely that someone else has too. Be prepared for anything. Now, any questions?" He asked his comrades and awaited a response.

It was true, of all the years he had been working with the DSC as part of the 0th Special Forces Group he had never once seen a disturbance within the Dark City at such a magnitude. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he could not help, but to wonder if the timing of the photograph and the disturbances were too perfectly aligned. Surely not.

@ERode

The small warehouse's only windows were thin and wide slits lining the upper end of the walls, looking more like the windows to a basement despite being far above ground. More than likely, it was simply to allow some light whilst dissuading would-be robbers from trying to scale up and over. Rain pattered against the mottled window panes that had rusted shut over the slits.

The ragged man scoffed, his cigarette bouncing in his lips. Slipping the pack back into his coat and taking a drag, he exhaled the white smoke out into the lounge, where it hovered for a half minute before disappearing into entropy.

"Not for this one, no," he scoffed again, "This one gets taken care of. I'm never worried about it falling into disrepair. No, I just needed somewhere to think by myself, out of the rain. It's been a weird feeling -this night," he explained. The man stood up and fixed his attire, wrapping himself up tighter in the cloth -he was clearly feeling cold- before sitting down again. "Usually I just curl up in a corner of the Dark City, but with this weirdness I didn't wanna risk the chance that I miss my exit in the morning. Always feels... claustrophobic when that happens."

"Was here earlier by myself, but I locked up when I went out to grab a bite. Guess I just wanted to keep it for myself then but... Couldn't leave someone out there in the rain. Glad I changed my mind, 'cause it looks like you really need a spot. Can't go home?" he asked, pointing towards Amaya's boiling kettle.

"Roland, by the way. Yours?" the man introduced himself. He took another drag, and was careful to keep the ashes he flicked within the confines of a grey-caked crystal ashtray. Despite his haggard appearance, there was an aura of peacefulness to him, if perhaps only by his cordial behavior and total lack of apprehension like most other (presumed) mages exhibited. His eyes did not focus, his posture did not tense, and most importantly there wasn't a hint of magic manifesting on or around him, readied to be loosed the moment Amaya made an aggressive motion.

The lack of tension became taught when a knock on the door rattled its metal frame. Roland turned his eyes towards the door.

"Ah, a packed house tonight I suppose. This one you may wish to be prepared for," he said ominously.

Amaya could feel it too -that behind the door stood something dangerous.

---

@Estylwen

With a strength borne of practice at this very feat, Isabella deftly hoisted the lifeless inmate's corpse onto her shoulders, and carried it out of the audience chamber. It was well twice her own weight, but she strode out without strain. The display, despite being both normal and expected, had always drawn the disgust of at least one or two members of the Household -especially those at the bottom- whenever it happened, but on this night their distraction left them wholly unperturbed. They remained in a deep contemplation, or otherwise blankly watched Reina suck away life without batting an eye.

The table remained placid even as Reina recruited Cygni and Erina to the task her cousin had suggested. None expressed any misgivings or doubts, even from the two now roped in. Cygni was as stone-faced as ever and Erina even smiled. Perhaps to her this was an opportunity and felt no shame in having being selected as punishment.

"Considering the mystery tonight, I am glad you would bring others with you," Leonus said, nodding sagely. "Tis' better to be cautious." Cygni stood from the table with a slow, respectful speed.

"Let us prepare the Dungeon quickly then. No time should be wasted. With Erina and I accompanying Reina, it would behoove us to add in a few more disciples to the ritual to ensure its maintenance," Cygni said. The room nodded and hummed in agreement. He turned to Reina, fingertips gently splayed on the table, and continued, "Whenever you are ready, Miss Reina, we shall attend your delve."



The meeting adjourned, and the heads dispersed throughout the estate. As most did not reside in the house naturally, there was a significant number of head mages loitering in the various lounges and living spaces, idling away with servants and siblings while the Dungeon was prepared. Such trivial rituals were beneath their character, and while they would be there to maintain its integrity they had little interest in forging the portal.

Deeper within the ancestral Asher estate, buried beneath stories of stone and dirt, younger disciples of the House wove their lesser skills together in generating a portal into the Labyrinth. Twelve robed men and women conspired with words and silence, and with gestures of hands, wands, and charms, as an inky black sphere coalesced slowly over the center of the room. Flickers of blue light cast by arcane torches fluttered shadows about the room, and a strange feeling of the world growing larger around oneself caressed at the skin, as if the air itself were distancing from one's body.

When at last the ritual was completed, the disciples' focus remained keen. The black sphere sharpened into edges, first as a many-faced prism, and then into a thinning square. The sides stretched down to the floor, forming an opaque door into nothing. The heads had by then filtered into the subterranean stony chamber, and took positions besides their accompanying disciples.

Cygni and Erina stood at either side of the murky door, awaiting Reina.

---

@OwO

The cheapness of the macaroni weighed on Hideji. He was no stranger to poverty meals, but having secured a better-paying lifestyle than 'obnoxious hustler' there came a better appreciation for nutrition and quality food. Macaron ate shit like he did in his youth, and despite having the money to bring something better than "Knack Mac n' Cheese", his restless timetable prevented him from doing so this time around. It would have to do. He just hoped she wouldn't snap and toss the bowl like other nights. Five dollars was five dollars.

With the noodles inefficiently strained of water and slathered in quickly-melting cheese dust, Hideji unslung the ragged apron and served a bowl to Macaron at the one table. He settle the bowl precariously at the edge; the rest of the table was crammed with useless junk and trash that he had no energy to move. Hideji handed the letter directly to Macaron, and made his way back to the kitchen to serve himself the rest. He would not sit with her.

"You know, other safehouses are even shittier than this, but since you're in here," Hideji stressed the subject, "The family scrutinizes it more. You could stand to do something, little lady."

The letter was nondescript but addressed to Tsune Kataoka in a handwriting that barely seemed manual. It was already open, but by Hideji's comments, Macaron could suppose that he had opened it to check for curses, and not actually read its contents. Once unfolded, the plain print paper wrote to Macaron:

If this letter does not reach its intended's eyes, you will not live long. Go ahead and run and hide, it's more amusing that way. To Macaron:
What is it you want? Money? A name? Everyone back? Sorry, I can't do that last one, but I figure it might be an answer. If you just want to be left alone and do whatever, I can understand that. If so it'd be difficult to convince you here. If that one is the case, you can just tear up the letter now. Bye!

Still reading? Then be at the Jebby Tim's on Falloway St. on the night of June 16th -the alley behind it, that is. You'll see the rift into the Dark City. From there head for the tags.

You were there for the massacre of the Kataoka's. I know. But I also know you weren't suppose to leave that scene. Death missed you, he told me.

A small scribble of a winking face finished the sentence before continuing:

If you wanna be useful and may get things order, I can help, but I need your help as the anomaly you are. Be there or be

A word followed, but was utterly scribbled out. No effort was made to replace the final word, as if the writer had given up on trying to be clever, or otherwise forgot. The night, as it so happened, was the 16th of June. Auspicious.

---

@Kronshi

Adjust. Restart. Reconsider. Restart.

Ozymandias toiled away at the door, each time getting closer and closer to understanding the nature of that final lock; each time comprehending the meaning behind that cosmic ray that interfered. Once again he was upon the final step, and need only apply one final method. The metaphysical lock -invisible and intangible- began to turn slowly, as if contemplating, taunting, whether it wished to humor Ozymandias. It was almost there... almost there...

Restart.

The ray struck again, and the door's locks all snapped back into place. But... it was plainly evident then that for all of the seemingly random and inexplicable nature of that cosmic ray, Ozymandias was always getting closer. Surely this one last time...

"Struggling?" A small and feminine voice called out behind Ozymandias. Between him and his exit stood a short figure in a yellow raincoat, soaked and glimmering with water that yet still pooled around their feet. Coupled with the hood of the coat, their head was obscured by a cloudy-eyed gas mask. With the swiftness of a frontier gunslinger, there was suddenly a firearm in their hand, held at hip and leveled towards Ozymandias.

A real gun was often useless against a mage, especially in a direct confrontation, and so it was incredibly likely that the object that this raincoat held was either enchanted or merely a conceptualization of something far more dangerous that Ozymandias was witnessing.

"Keep going. Faster. There's little time left," the raincoat said. The firmness of their aim did not waver. There was another howl in the distance. The sound of a child laughing echoed in his head, as if rebounding from the walls from its last manifestation.

---

@Remram

A row of metal fold-out chairs semi-neatly sat out before Mathias in the briefing tent. Four of them were occupied by familiar faces, but a fifth seemed lonely; a certain AWOL fifth teammate remained as missing as ever. The others were a chaotic group of maniacs that Mathias called his squad. It was an unspoken truth that those in the DSC were quirky in one way or another. Perhaps it was just the way of the world that the most colorful people in the military were the ones to become exposed to the Dark Sphere.

Dirk "Ogre" Caldren, a massive, down-to-earth man clad in modified bomb-defusal gear who preferred, paradoxically, to employ stealth magics. The armor was supposedly a ritualistic choice to "shield him wholly from reality".

Emma "Star" Norther, a bubbly young lady that loved to accessorize her gear, and carried with her a manifestation taking the form of a dog. It was, of course, no mere dog, as much as she treated it like one.

Jorgensen Bel, who simply went by his last name, cradled an enchanted M249 -one which he had modified himself from his time in the Marines. He was already well-aware of the Dark Sphere even prior to his enrollment into the DSC, but probably behaved the least posh among the squad, despite his belonging to a House.

Rafael "Glide" Cesar was a young Brazilian man adept with visionless targeting. The DSC remained regularly cautious of his ability to scry, for obvious reasons. His weapon of choice was a sniper rifle with preferentially intangible rounds. He was never without a raised hood and cloak.

The fifth, Jenny, had been AWOL for years, and written off as a loss with all searches ceased, but her relationship with the team and her abilities as a mage were never fully forgotten. The team had no questions, appearing fully onboard and understanding of the mission. It took little to get the squad rolling inside the semi-truck, wherein they situated themselves in the diminutive seats that hung by belts from the interior walls of the towed container. Ogre was, as usual, unsure of its ability to hold him and his armor up.

DSC protocols for manifesting Dark City gates large enough to allow the entry of vehicles as large as a big rig were a closely-guarded secret. Within the tow, Mathias and the others remained unaware of what the portal looked like as the truck was driven to a nearby location, but they could certainly feel it when they drove through the portal. An uncomfortable twisting in their guts, lasting nary a second, followed by the sensation of an aggravatingly large pothole under the truck's wheels. The squeal of brakes bringing the vehicle to a stop signaled it was time to exit. A security perimeter was to be established first before they continued any further within the Dark City's roads.



Emma shivered, stepping out onto the streets, her SMG hanging loosely at her side. Slung around her other shoulder was a portable dog bag, within which lay her compatriot.

"I've never gotten these vibes before here. Th'hells wrong with it? City upset?" she groaned. A monstrous howl at the moon sent the squad into caution.

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｄｕｅｌ　ａｔ　ｈｉｇｈ　ｍｉｄｎｉｇｈｔ

"Please," Macaron said as she took the bowl in hand, "this place is worth as much as me. If they want to be little buzzards pecking around a corpse's corpse for the last drops of their precious grandpa's blood, then by all means.".

She was content to wallow in filth in her miserable existence. The care she had for her family was, at the very least, reciprocal--only her mother never pleaded with her to treat them well. No, the only thing she heard from her mother about her family was wounded apologies in the brief moments between the fevers and dreams. No matter how beloved that woman was, her mother's love could only outweigh the vestigial poison that was Hayao in a select few.

The letter she received was a peculiar one. Her first letter in such a long time, and it was some kind of callout? Though the aspects of the writing carried little meaning for her, what with the fact that she never read her own letters.

The expression on her face was difficult to read. It was a simple smile, but what it relayed was up for debate. Pure un adulterated joy? Raw undulating hatred? Really, she seemed at peace more than anything else. A grin. Closed eyes. The slightest blush as if it were a love letter that confirmed something unrequited.

"I'm going to kill this bitch."

The words that came out of her mouth didn't help resolve anything. Neither did the macaroni she shovelled into her mouth.

Amaya nodded at his question.

“Yeah, I can’t.”

Hadn’t been home for a long while. At this point, it’d be more trouble if she returned than if she simply continued to maintain radio silence. Couriers like herself didn’t have the same sort of enemies that a House member would have, but she’d definitely find it harder to keep those around her safe than a House with all their resources and people would.

That wasn’t to say that they were impenetrable though. Even the finest clothes frayed, and most Houses were unkempt antiques whose value came more from age than from quality.

“Call me Amaya,” the raven-haired woman spoke, in time with the beeping of her kettle. As the water boiled, she pulled out a pack of Mountain House Teriyaki Chicken and an aluminum mug, blue with white specks. A bag of tea was dropped in the mug and hot water was poured, before she torn open the dehydrated meal and filled that up to the line as well. A puff of teriyaki powder bloomed in the air; she waved it aside before stirring the bagged meal with a spork, then sealed it up. Roland seemed the decent sort. Some smokers seemed to delight in tipping their ashes wherever they wanted, like marking their territory. Some residents of the Dark City liked to posture and jockey for authority, every line designed to scrape out more information or win some invisible social war.

Mere creatures, granted power they used without thought or purpose.

The door rattled. Her eyes lifted towards the windows, translucent slits evolving with every raindrop that cascaded against it.

“Did they follow you?”

Amaya dabbed the teabag around the mug, steam bursting apart as the surface rippled without rhyme.

“Did they follow me?”

She lifted the mug to her mouth, blowing upon it before taking a tentative sip. A wince, and she placed it down. Her tongue stuck out as she fanned it. Too hot still.

“Or are they the one who’s followed?”

Turning on the bar stool, she faced the door entirely, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim lighting of the warehouse. There were more dangerous things than non-dangerous things in the Dark City, more villains than innocents stalking the umbra of the Realspace. Didn’t mean that she had to be the one who pulled the trigger first though.

There was a door, after all. Maybe they’d just leave.

Asher Estate, Realspace

_@Asuras

---

Fifteen minutes.

That's how long it would take for the disciples to form the portal. Not much time to do anything, but for Reina, it would do.

While the heads sat in the lounges idling away the time, Reina stepped out the back door of the estate, rain touching her white and black hair as she made her way to a steepled chapel, huddled in one area of the courtyard. Graves were laid out beside the cobblestone steps, silent as she passed.

Reina slipped inside, walked down a dimly lit aisle, past neatly rowed pews, all the way to the altar under an arched stained glass window. With a snap of her fingers, candles were lit, and she knelt.

Yusei may have been her master, but she certainly didn't worship him.

Head bowed, words flowed from Reina's lips.

“Receptor glorise,
Ad pedes tuos me offero.
Magister dominii de Man.
Tenebrarum, etc.
Labyrinthus.
Ego sum pulvis arenae;
Pulvis macula;
Petentes ad pedes tuos.

Afferte honorem domui meae;
Salus populi mei,
Et Victoria ad Descensum meum

(Receiver of Glory,
I present myself at Thy feet.
Master of the Domain of Man,
Of Darkness,
And the Labyrinth.
I am the speck of sand,
The spot of dust,
Begging at Thy feet.

Bring honour to my House,
Safety to my People,
And Victory to my Delve.)”

By the time Reina rose, Isabella had joined her in the chapel, holding a small suitcase. Isabella held it up, and Reina popped the tabs, pulling the lid back.

Inside, nestled in foam, was a gleaming engraved pistol, along with six bullets, each engraved as well. Not only were they beautiful to look at, but each bullet was enchanted. They were specifically geared to shatter through most basic-to-adept magical barriers. Since these weren't curses or soul strings, Reina had reached out to an enchanter to commission her Delving pistol. Expensive, but worth it. Delving itself had an… unpredictable nature.

And this night, it would be much of the same, except exacerbated.

Reina picked out the pistol, letting it gleam in the candlelight, before she nodded to Isabella.

“This will do.”

***

It wasn't long until Reina joined the heads and their disciples in the belly of the Asher estate, pistol strapped to her hip. She looked over the disciples’ handiwork of the portal, and gave an approving nod. It was stable, and in the correct shape. It was a fine door to pass through.

Reina moved past the disciples ringing the door, and in front of Cygni and Erina. She eyed them both for a moment, before she turned and addressed the room.

“Fear not. Yusei would not abandon us. We have faced darker uncertainties and passed through safely.

“I have faith that our dutiful disciples will hold the Way open. If we don't return in twenty-four hours, send a search party.

“Though, I'm certain we will not tarry long in the Labyrinth. We will ascertain what's happening in our territory to create this… foreboding feeling, and return.”

With that spoken, she turned back to Cygni and Erina, gave them a nod, and walked into the portal. There was no need to doubt, or hold off. Better to walk confidently, upright, like the head of the House was supposed to. Yes, though she had her own concerns for what exactly they were walking into, and if bringing one who could very well stab her in the back at any moment was a good idea.

But she didn't have the luxury to doubt herself. Not here, not ever.

Hypothesis #18 had failed like all that came before it. It seemed no amount of spell editing would force open this last lock and yet, the desire to see it open has already caused Ozymandias to reinvent the wheel eighteen different times. He knew there would be unfathomable depths to the magecraft he had specialized in, but never had he been confronted with something so esoteric that it forced him to put it into practice. This door had proven to almost be a crash course in how his spells could be utilized and that made it too valuable to give up on even if this all seemed fruitless.

Oz picked back up the one weapon he had in case of emergencies, an enchanted dagger that he had forced a barrier onto and then rewrote so that instead of protecting the knife from damage, it instead allowed him to create barrier circles by carving the boundaries into the ground. He had been using it for a different purpose currently though, he needed more room to take note than a piece of paper in his journal offered and so he took to carving his formulas into the ground around him. The mad scribbles often overlaying one another. His mind raced as he started to write down more ideas equations with only one last idea in his head. If the circuit is broken, he'd have to fix it. He couldn't expect a vault with missing cogs to open even if he knew the code.

Suddenly, a tingle went up his spine as he sensed someone enter the range of his detection spell. No, that's not right, they were already within range and dangerously close. He started turning to face his visitor before she even spoke, eyes wild like a beast caught in a cage. Of course he was struggling, and last thing he needed was more distractions. It risked him missing fallacies within his arguments and hurting himself from forcing a spell he didn't have enough expertise to cast. On a different note, if she was capable of slipping past his detection, then the gun in her hand was no empty threat.

"I'm already going as fast as I can, this isn't exactly high school algebra I'm doing here. And waving that weapon in my face isn't helping me think y'know? I'm probably 23 different establishments deep into trying to rewire this door back together so that it can actually be lock-picked in the first place. Not even I'm keeping up with all the intersections of all the rules I've put in place. For all I know, if I stand up my body may unravel as the electromagnetism holding my atoms together fails. So, unless you want to join me in this spiderweb, how about you put the weapon away and we be civil about this?"

Besides his new "friend", the howling laughter is the only sound he's heard for hours. The first girl was a big enough problem, so two was not something he wanted to deal with. Oz stared at the scratchings on the floor, picking apart ideas and tossing them aside without testing them. One more failed attempt and this lunatic may just shoot him. He needed to be certain, he needed an answer. He could almost feel his father's hand on his shoulder like the man used to do whenever Oz was struggling with a test, but this test was different. His father's designs were more intricate and purposeful, each step you made gave you an answer on how to take the next. This teacher was more strict, just a red 'X' on any proposed solution that was incorrect. It almost felt like this door was made on accident.

As he thought, Oz scribbled away while making sure to never complete the barrier loop around him made from his etchings. He needed to get close to that result in case things took a turn for the worse, but for now it would only incite the violence he wanted to avoid.

The fourth seal always causes the others to lock back up, any tampering with it leads to a reset within the spell. Well, not exactly any tampering, but any that seems likely to break it. Order doesn't matter, doing all 4 at the same time doesn't work, there's no counter spell on the door or if there is then not one I can invert, it's not on a timer, so what is causing it to lock back up? If this was a real lock then I could put tension on it in order to keep any set pins from falling back in place, but I don't have that luxury here and keep having to do my work over and over again. I almost wish it was as simple as there being someone on the other side that just keeps recasting the spell every time I get it open but I'm not noticing that kind of frequency. Removing complexities leads to a reset, adding them feels like I'm patching holes but I keep reopening them when I try to turn this last lock.

A crossroad had been reached. He was going to have to try some poorly thought out ideas to experiment with how the door reacted if he had any hope of getting it open. If Oz was only going to get one chance, then he was going to try all of them at once. Multiple ethereal formula crackled like electricity around Oz, as he wrote up an equation to overcome the first seal, an equation to establish that the seal could not lock while the fourth seal was locked, an equation to write up a new barrier seal to replace the position of the first that was still locked but easily opened, and then he maintained tension on the first seal by constantly putting energy into the unlocking spell. He repeated this process with the second and third seal, with his hope being that they could not lock unless the fourth was unlocked but if all were unlocked then the door would have some non-zero amount of time that all locks were open. Then the tensions spells would keep re-unlocking the seals, and hopefully it wouldn't take so much energy that it was impossible to open the door while the cycle was going. In addition, there was also the hope that the first three wouldn't even lock up again, because new locks had been put in their place and that could lead the fourth seal to be tricked into believing that they were already locked. The final step was writing up a barrier that constantly wanted to open but couldn't like a pen spring. Once pressure is applied to attempt to lock the barrier fully, it will crack open and unlock. Oz then bound that seal to the fourth seal, in the hopes that a barrier that keeps closing when opened could be balanced out be a barrier that keeps opening when closed. Brute forcing everything open at once wasn't exactly elegant, but no one could belittle a man writing twelve magical formula at the same time.

They were nutcases, but they were his nutcases. There were no other people that he would trust to put his life more than these absolute weirdos.

Dirk was always appreciated for his down to earth nature though it was incredible how a man could be an absolute unit and somehow have no presence, even outside of missions. There were too many times when he would just pop out of nowhere and give Mathias the fright of his life.

Emma's bubbly nature definitely brought a patch of color in this squad. It was also appreciated when she allowed him to pet her not-dog.

Bel was not exactly what Mathias had expected when he heard that the man was from a House. He expected him to be uptight, regal, and really just a snob, but Bel had a mouth that would make his father blush.

Rafael was an odd one. Always with a hood and cloak, the sniper was definitely the most mysterious of the group, but his skills and abilities were greatly valued.

And then there were their missing fifth member, Jenna. She had been gone for years and no one was really sure what happened to her, but her disappearance hit Mathias particularly hard. They always left a chair out for her, if only out of a symbolic gesture of remembrance for their missing comrade.

There was no need for questions, great. They could get this job on a roll then.

"Dirk, it will hold, like it has every time before. Relax," Mathias said as he clipped his seatbelt. It was all routine at this point; sit tight and wait for the mysterious portal to open and drive through while something akin to indigestion twisted in his stomach for a split second followed by a bang like they just drove into a pothole. If it were not for the fact that he was on a mission, he could have slept through the entire thing like nothing happened. Once again, they were back in the Dark City.

Mathias stepped out of the vehicle and took in his surroundings. The Dark City already felt like a mockery of reality, but this was another thing entirely. He could feel eyes looking at him from faces that were not there in buildings twisted and malformed. The perspective of these buildings was off, their angles and size warped in ways that were visually impossible like the loose information in the brain that interprets a building in a dream. He really hoped that the feeling of being watched was just unfounded paranoia.

His attention fell upon Emma letting her unease known. "Well, it is an election year." It was an attempt to bring levity to a situation, but that was foiled by the sound of a poorly timed howl off in the distance.

"Rafael, do you have any idea where that came from?"

@OwO

"Place can always be cleaned up," Hideji said, realizing a moment later the implication of his words. He said nothing of it and continued eating as Macaron read the letter. The safehouse neither exploded nor was slipped into a pocket dimension of horrors, and so his heartrate decreased by a marginal amount. There was always an elevated base-level around Macaron.

"Ah, same bitch as another before? Who were those two you promised to kill, what, two weeks ago? Ever follow up on them?" he casually spoke. The increased speed of her macaroni-eating told him all he needed to know -that Macaron was making neither a fake threat, nor only mildly annoyed by this nameless bitch, and content to saving the punishment for later.

"Whoever it is, you're on your own tonight. I've got somewhere to be in a few hours," Hideji said through a cheek-full of cheese and carbs.



With neither car nor mule, Macaron's navigation through the Bluegate City realspace was cursed to either half-day-long walks or public transportation. Her clipper card -a fray-edged laminated pass smudged with dirt- granted her reprieve from the relatively cheap cost of busses and trains, if only by a dollar or so each ride. Still, she could get away with not paying from time to time when hopping onto a bus and judging the vibes of the driver as 'apathetic' or 'tight-ass', or jumping over the turnstile at a station.

Falloway Street was several miles down one of the three major streets of Bluegate, tucked away into a triangle of mismanaged single-lane roads that surrounded a historic office space. Jebby Tim's was a convenience store that the public largely considered "less fancy than 210's and less ghetto than Markstop". A truly middling establishment, with an anthropomorphic elephant featured on the neon nameplate hovering over its doors.

Surely enough, an open rift was sitting plainly in the alleyway behind the Jebby Tim's, barely lit by a streetlamp on its last legs. Even so out in the open, such phenomenon were rarely ever witnessed by normal people. Even for independent mages, unbeholden to an unspoken rule of the Dark Sphere's collective Houses, it was in their best interest to keep the arcane out of public knowledge. Lingering rifts like these tended to come with a host of enchantments to redirect the attention of non-mages away. For mages, it required a keen eye.

Given how easy it was to identify, Macaron got the impression that whoever made this one didn't actually protect it from mortals, however. Laziness.

Once within, Macaron was spirited into the Dark City. A step brought her from dark alley onto a brightly-lit sidewalk. The nondescript reflection of Bluegate was as familiar to her as a mage as was the Realspace it cloned. The 'tags' mentioned in the letter offered Macaron little to go off of initially, but she quickly found her target.

A torso-sized rectangle of glowing blue was embedded into the corner of a nearby building across the street. It surrounded two runes -meaningless to Macaron- but evidently enough a 'tag' that made itself obvious. As proscribed by the letter, following it led her further from the rift and elsewhere in the Dark City. Each tag in succession was as visible as the last, pasted upon various structures like signposts, storefronts, and benches shaped vaguely like bus stops.

As Macaron crossed another street to the next tag, a sound caught her ear, faint as the beat of an owl's wings. Much like the bird, too, it came in swooping from above. Instinct guided her to dodge out of the way of something which threatened her back. Within a split second, something impacted the ground where one she stood. The street did not quite buckle as it split, large splinters snaked through the fake asphalt and converged into one point where a single woman's hand was embedded.

Green eyes peaked out from behind blonde hair and round spectacles, and a fanged smile peeled back. Werewolves normally sported much more obvious patterns of permanent modification, but the sharpness of her teeth seemed just as unnatural. The woman pulled her flattened hand from the hole made in the street, pulling up a puff of dust and gravel, before suddenly shifting her demeanor. She clapped her hands together and swayed playfully.

"Ah! Just kidding! You passed the test! I was just going to pounce you and make sure you listened before jumping at me, but I guess you're too fast, boo..."

---

@ERode

"I don't get followed," Roland said, then pausing. He took a drag, and with breath strained by the forced presence of burning smoke, he eked out words as smoke left behind them, "as far as I know." At her second and final question, he chuckled.

"You tell me, Miss Amaya. I'm not the particularly confrontational type." There was no knock, as such traditions were meaningless for safehouses, and the handle of the door turned. Swinging into the interior, the heavy fire door revealed perfectly within frame a well-dressed man whose tightly-tailored sleeves, waist, and leg revealed a lanky and tall physique. The white-haired man, with a faint smile, tapped his folded umbrella onto the concrete square just outside the door, shedding a splash of rainwater for someone else to slip on in the future. As he entered, he set aside the umbrella near the door and habitually fixed his outfit. His right hand, unlike the left, was shrouded by a black glove.

"Good evening, fellows," he said. His voice was sharp and clear, but carried within it a subtly threatening tone. Roland was still as ever. The man cast a glance his way before looking to Amaya. His eyes were platinum teetering upon gold, as piercing as the words he spoke. "I hope you are not too settled in, miss. I'm in need of some assistance. Your assistance."

His attire, and the lack of any symbology otherwise, exposed little of his potential identity save for the potential that he was, like Amaya, an independent mage. She certainly didn't recognize him either.

"My name is Gerome. I was recommended to you... by a certain Leonard Forrst. An urgent matter, and one that requires your... armory." The man moved closer towards the center of the room, but unlike Roland's aura of apathy in approaching others, this man's was one of certainty -of arrogance. He held no fear not because he was unafraid, but because he knew he didn't have to be.

"I hope that the direness of my request rouses your interest and assuages any reluctance. I assure you I come with no ill will."

---

@Estylwen

To those of the Dark Sphere, whose knowledge extended into the supernatural, the existence of deities was a given. These things which the mortal realm had come to imagine existed in part or in full within the Labyrinth, shaped by belief and superstition; but they were mere reflections to what lay beyond. A mage understood that a god represented in the magic of the Labyrinth was but a painting, and that the true being may very well live beyond what the arcane offered.

Even that host which had cemented magic law in aeons past was not a true 'god'. Not of Realspace. Not of everything.

Reina knelt within the chapel dedicated to something beyond the greatest in the Labyrinth -a thing which was master of Realspace as much as it was a governor of the Labyrinth. To many mages such a dedication felt strange, as the depth of their being and persisting was focused upon a triumph over the Labyrinth alone. Why care for elements which they never cared to see or realize? For others, perhaps, the Labyrinth was merely that stepping stone into something greater.

Cygni and Erina were dressed in decorated ensembles of cloth and jewelry -an attire that was wholly out of place in the modern world, but expected in a household such as the Asher's. Delves were ventures of thought and story, as much a metaphor as it was a physical experience. For many mages, presenting themselves in a highly tailored fashion only served to strengthen their presence and power within the Labyrinth. Cygni and Erina were two such characters.

Adopting a regale of blacks and reds, and with a crown of horns, Cygni took on the appearance of a devilish king, whilst Erina sported a starkly contrasting robe of white, whose feathered ends terminated into a black gradient -the faint, threatening approach of darkness upon a canvas of light.

After Reina, the two followed in suit. Reina stepped through a veil of black, and arrived on the other side surrounded by a maelstrom of red.

Unlike the Dark City, whose familiar but 'off' nature was like a dreamy recollection of Realspace, the Labyrinth was a place of true imagination warping around the skeleton of a city in memory. Immense spires with facsimiles of windows stretched into a twisting sky of shimmering clouds and lustrous rings. Yusei's domain was painted crimson and its streets misshapen by coagulated orbs. It was already an unnerving place, but upon entering this night Reina was battered by fell winds. Spectral lights darted through the air carried upon unseen gusts, and a malevolent, ominous feeling nestled into her stomach like a parasite. What had felt abnormal in Realspace became a tangible anxiety twisting within. Cygni and Erina stepped through the portal with looks on their faces that reflected much the same feelings.

Yusei's throne lay a mile beyond, shrouded by a circle of half-toppled skyscrapers. But their walk, as usual, would not be unbothered. This night, however, it would prove even moreso challenging.

Creeping shadows slunk from behind upturned fragments of pavement, their amorphous faces wailing with silence. One, then two... Five... Twelve... Twenty two. Activity here was immense, as if entities had been birthed suddenly in terrible numbers or called from far and wide -inconveniently- to their exact location.

Even for such small-fry as these, it was evident the Labyrinth was restless. Whatever rare chances of worse Manifestations there were felt increasingly more likely.

---

@Kronshi

The woman tightened her grip upon the 'gun' even stronger, and lifted it an inch if only to exaggerate its presence.

"Consider it a motivator," she said cooly. As her words suggested, she had no interest in stalling his progress. Either she had no intention of harming Ozymandias in reality and simply wished to press his determination in some cold logic, or perhaps the motivator was real and he was a dead man if he failed. The woman remained silent as he sunk deep into the newest round of lockpicking. This last attempt had to work.

As Ozymandias orchestrated his precautions, assessments, and executions the door proceeded as planned each step -a mirror of the previous attempt. It was only at the final lock that he would know if it wished to see him dead or victorious. Three left. Two left. One... There it was. One moment of swift arcane executions cursed at the persistence of this simple door, and with a split-second of heart-stopping anticipation...

There was a click. No, rather, more than a click, it was like a shudder. The door wheezed, its essence of 'door' escaping if only in spirit. Before Ozymandias was a simple door in appearance, but it no longer maintained the purpose of one. It was as if for a moment that the door seemed as though it could simply be walked through.

For a moment, it was though it could be seen through.

Beyond its plain off-white coloration was a figure, small in size, with something trailing after them. He imagined wires, or strings perhaps, like the truth of the figure revealing itself as being attached to an unseen whole beyond. A groan around him pulled back his trance-like vision. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the door itself recoiled and rebounded. All at once it was as though the structure of the building had split itself into quarters and then recollected each part. Something about the building felt as though it was no longer the same place.

Behind him, the woman in the raincoat and gasmask surveyed her surroundings, assessing the brief phenomenon. Her gun was gone, replaced by an empty palm. The building and room were still, but Ozymandias could still feel the sensation of something in the ground -not quite a quake. It was unclear if they were reverberations of the senses alone.

"What did you see?" the woman asked. Her head was directed away, towards the singular exit out onto the streets of the Dark City. The howling outside was gone, but left in its silence with Ozymandias a sensation that whatever was calling had found its prey then.

It felt as though it was coming for him.

---

@Remram

Bel snorted at Mathias' joke, his eyes and head on a swivel around the truck.

"Yea, I'd heard the two candidates up for election are real strange too. 'Moaning Shadow', part of the Upside-down Hallway party is my preferred candidate though," he said. Rafael had closed his eyes, face pensive, and exercised his scrying magic to answer Mathias. Projected senses probed at the immediate surroundings, and then at the whispers and auras of the Dark City. Rafael opened his eyes and turned to Mathias, his eyes turned towards the ground.

"I believe so, but you won't like the answer," Rafael said. Dirk, Emma, and Bel turned their attention towards Rafael and Mathias, but kept their positions in the circle. Rafael spared Mathias from prodding, and continued, "Signs point towards this being a more conceptual Manifestation."

"So the answer is..." Dirk began, chiming in.

"...Everywhere," Emma said.

"Or anywhere," Rafael added. A grimness took hold of their features. Simulated static in each of their ears preceded the sound on Nina's voice coming through via spellcraft.

"Is everyone intact over there? Good. We just picked up an even bigger spike on the meter. Whatever's the cause is picking up in magnitude. What's it looking like on your side?" she inquired.

"We should hurry this along," Dirk said exterior to the spell-radio conversation. The team brought their weapons closer to their chests. "Route seems clear, lets get back into-"

The sound of steel being raked by a heavy mass interrupted Dirk. He turned around to the truck only to find it shredded. Three massive gashes had shorn away huge chunks of the trailer, and undoubtedly damaged or outright destroyed several pieces of their sensor cargo. Nothing of the source could be seen, but that didn't stop Rafael. Boots slammed on the street as the sniper broke into a sprint straight for Mathias. Rafael dove, throwing his weight into the team leader to knock him down.

Something large and invisible battered through the air, narrowly missing the two of them, followed by an explosion of brick and stone as the building next to them was impacted. Smoke poured out onto the streets, temporarily shrouding them.

“I’m not the confrontational type either.”

At least, not in terms of direct confrontations.

But it seemed like the knocking was just for a show in the end; Roland hadn’t locked the door, so it swung upon with ease to reveal the stranger. The ungloved hand caught Amaya’s attention first, a stark paleness against the dark attire that the man was dressed in. Was the left hand bare for the purposes of a Craft that required a more tactile sense? Or was the right hand covered, to seal a particular capability? The white hair indicated age, but there were no particularly deep lines marking the decades that may have passed, while the motions were at once casual and confident.

Amaya didn’t believe in reductive stereotyping, but if she were to guess, this man was of Precedence, exuding authority even without any sign of a House’s paraphernalia.

Still, he knew Leonard Forrst, so either her middle-aged middleman was dead, or he could be trusted. The former would be problematic, so the latter would be what she leaned upon as the coiled strength in her body gradually relaxed. The raven-haired courier brought her mug to her lips once more, blowing gently before taking another tentative sip. Still a touch too hot, especially with the minor burn on her tongue now, but drinkable.

“If Leonard recommended me, I’ll hear you out.” Amaya’s own eyes glinted cat-like, more acknowledgment than threat. She set her tea down, popped open her bag of now-hydrated teriyaki chicken rice. A sweet and savoury aroma filled the cool atmosphere. “Go on, I’m listening.”

The first spoonful was perfect. The second? She should have stirred it better, because the rice was crunchy.

ａｎｄ　ａｎ　ａｒｍ　ｃｈａｍｂｅｒｅｄ　ｉｎ　６．６２ｘ１２．３ｃｍ

It was fortunate that Macaron had been so preoccupied with the mix of macaroni and murder. Usually, she would have made a greater mess whenever someone told her to clean.

"Mm." Macaron blankly replied with macaroni in her mouth. In truth, Macaron couldn't fully remember what bitch Hideji was talking about. Some mixture of forgetfulness, tunnel vision, and common occurrence made her fuzzy on her recollection. It did sound like her, though. She probably did follow up on that--followed up pretty hard, by how things usually went with her.

Of course, she didn't really care when Hideji was going to go out on his own business, like how she didn't really care that he came by to make some noodles.

"Have fun with that." Macaron said in a tone that a teenage girl would say to their father.



Macaron never really cared about how she moved between places. Whether it was the sticky, pollock-like seating of public transit or unlocked bicycle, it mattered not to her.

And she thought nothing as she approached the Dark City behind Jebby Tim's. She thought even less. Such dangers and risks weren't worth thinking about. She was about to kill a bitch. She didn't need to think about anything besides that.

Of course, the presumed target of her ire seemed to have the same idea as she was attacked from behind.

The expression on Macaron's face rapidly shifted. In an instant, her face contorted in rage and anger as she leapt out of the way. It only worsened as the faux-werewolf seemed to try to explain her actions.

Just as quickly as her anger appeared, it vanished and gave way to a friendly smile--one that was seconds away from laughter and campfire songs. One that was filled with nods and affirmation as she chanted cogito ergo sum.

"Cool cool. I'm cool. I'm cool. Cool."

The smile she had shifted to complete neutrality.

She wasn't cool at all.

In a flash of unemoted rage unbefitting for a mage--one who typically used Crafts to solve problems, her hand erupted from her jacket pocket with a purple can. It hurtled towards the shapeshifter's face with all the strength one acting without magic could muster--a tit-for-tat act of violence that the utterly deranged considered conversation. More importantly was the can of soda:

Value Purple Soda? What kind of brand was that? One that tasted like purple instead of grape, that's what it was. It wasn't even cold--lord knows how long it was in her jacket pocket.

Outside Yusei's Domain, The Labyrinth

_@Asuras

---

It was almost poetic.

A globious orb passed by them. Or perhaps they passed by it. But in a fraction of a second, she saw her own reflection beside Cygni and Erina. While one dressed in regal blacks and reds, and while the other dressed in white with faded black, Reina's own ensemble struck the middle ground. Not entirely white, not entirely black. An outfit with a ruffled blouse and slacks with embroidered gold accents, and a cape trailing behind. And her classic fur shawl draped overtop.

One had to present themselves well in a space such as this. And she always dressed well.

The pronounced anxiety tore Reina's eyes away from the orb, and she observed the labyrinth in more detail. Something was surely and truly off. It caused the anxiety to churn into phantom urges to vomit. The winds tore at her cape, drawing her eyes to the shadows lurking across their path.

More than usual. Much more than usual. It either meant the labyrinth was truly disturbed today, or someone or something had brought all these monsters to their location the moment they entered, and let their heat and essence mix with that of the labyrinth.

Regardless, it meant the path forward to Lord Yusei was likely to be fraught with obstacles and all manner of entities.

Reina only allowed a moment's hesitation to appear in her step, a moment's deliberation, before she continued down the street towards the half-collapsed skyscrapers. A plan formed in her mind, and her vibrant eyes once again wandered over the forms of the shadows. One was singled out.

“Traho ad chordas animae;
Amicum ab hoste removere facultatem;
Et pone eam vociferantem, ut succidat umbram;
Cum agit, scit.

(I pull at the string of the soul,
Remove its ability to see friend from foe,
And set it screaming to cut shadow down,
Whilst its action, it doesn't know.)”

Reina traced black sigils in the air, her aura condensing with shimmering black, like the void of a black hole. Likewise, an aura appeared around the shadow she had singled out. If her spell was successful, and she had put enough energy into overwhelming its thought and logic processes, the shadow would begin attacking the other shadows. It would cause a large enough distraction that, hopefully, Reina, Cygni and Erina would be able to slip past unharmed and without breaking a sweat.

In her next step, Reina raised her hand, and a black bolt of light shot from her fingertips, arcing high into the air before it shattered like a firework.

Yes, a double-edged sword. This sign would alert any other entities to their location. However, it would also alert the entities under Yusei's command, and would hopefully cause them to come escort their group to the safety of the Spider Lily Halls, and to the safety of being under Lord Yusei's watchful eye.

Reina glanced to Cygni and Erina. ”Stay close to me. You can feel it too, yes? There's something… off. However, as long as we stay the course, we should reach our destination in about twenty minutes. If you have any craft to mask our presence, I would recommend using them now.”

If they had a masked presence, both new entities and Yusei's underlings would have trouble locating them as they moved on from the black bolt. However, it would only be a matter of revealing themselves to those they wished to.

Of course, as she spoke, and as they walked, she kept a weight in her aura around her, manifesting as black steam. Not enough to push down the doors that locked up Cygni and Erina's minds, but enough to feel the mountains and valleys of thought. Mountains being high-peak desires of bloodlust, of wanting to kill her. And valleys being the converse, of having suicidal thoughts, of wanting to kill themselves. It took some concentration and energy, but in her books, a wise move. She could at least keep this up until they reached the safe shores of Yusei's domain.

Smote infinity knew she couldn't trust Cygni. And she would at least get a heads up if Erina was in over her head.

There was an extensive list of things that Mathias never wanted to face within the confines the Dark City and it certainly was not an exhaustive one. However, if there was one thing at the top or at the very least close to the top of his list that he never wanted to encounter then it was a conceptual Manifestation. They were annoying, to say the least. Manifestations that leaned towards the conceptual end were hard to locate, hard to track, and their nature painfully difficult to decipher on case-by-case basis. Did that mean they were impossible to kill?

Well, in his experience it was very possible to kill a concept.

"The objective hasn't changed. Keep your guard up." What else was there to say? They had a job to do, and they couldn't make a tactical retreat without reason so they could only push forward. He didn't like it though. There were too many strange occurrences happening all at once and it was keeping him on edge.

And then static crackled in his ear and out of habit, he pressed into his ear as if there was an actual earpiece in it. Old habits were hard to kick. "We're intact, but this is far from normal. The City looks like a Dali, and we've got a rogue conceptual Manifestation lurking around. I'll keep you posted," said Mathais.

His focus turned to Dirk. Right, they spent enough time scouting the route. They needed to-

The sound of metal screeching caused Mathias to turn around and saw pieces of the carrier were torn away

"...Shit."

The Manifestation got the jump on them. They were careless.

Mathias felt Rafael's weight collide into him and pushed him down onto the road. As soon as they met concrete of whatever facsimilia of it that the Dark World produced, Mathias heard an ear-splitting explosion tear through the air followed by the powdered debris of the building that surrounded them.

"Thanks Raf, I owe you one," he said as he stood back up. In mere seconds, yellow energy crackled and twisted into hexagonal patterns, gathering into shapes as a clear image of what he needed came from Mathias mind. Just like that Mathias was holding an enchanted AK-47, pointing it forward as his eyes focused on what was being obscured through the debris.

"Everyone, maintain positions! Stay alert!" Mathias ordered. The objective has changed. Kill the fucker and get out.

He took a deep breath, and his eyes now shimmered with that hexagonal pattern from before. Mathias could see it, the structure of the smoke so to speak. One would say that the smoke was ever changing, but it had a natural flow, a pattern that it took. What he was looking for was the moment that the pattern would break.

It worked, it shouldn't have but it worked. The form of the disturbance had been unraveled, but Oz couldn't help but feel frustrated that he still doesn't understand what was obstructing him in the first place. It felt as though his mind had become a brace for the door's weight, not unlike searching through the labyrinth via meditation, except this enigma could hardly be called a door, it was more of a window into a new space. A space that doesn't take being observed kindly and the figure within was nothing more than security. A watcher that was being puppeteered by the true denizen further inside.

Every fiber of his being vibrated with energy as he felt ripped away and displaced everywhere and nowhere. Ozymandias shook as he stood, his legs becoming re-accustomed with there being ground beneath them. Every sensation felt new and wrong somehow, like his body forgot what the real world was like while he was entranced by his vision. As he took stock of the situation, he noticed a few oddities. Only a quarter of his etchings remained, some buttons on his jacket had disappeared, and one of his shoes now lacked laces. The door in front of him now felt mundane making it clear that whatever he witnessed took the liberty of scattering this location into multiple fragments. He had shattered the glass of something holy and now it may be gone for good.

"It was a small thing, humanoid, with strings trailing off into the distance. I think I've set off the alarms to something's home and now its servant is after us."

"We need to move. Now."

With that, Oz ran. He grabbed the girl's arm as he did, knowing that while she didn't witness what was beyond, she still saw him open the door. He needed that right now, or he'd think he hallucinated. Who cared if she threatened him, that's the norm when your a lone mage in a Dark City. Everything and everyone is predator and prey but the situation can quickly change and make fast friends if something higher on the food chain arrives. Fighter, Witness, Friend, whoever she wanted to be in his presence, it didn't matter. Oz needed her to live if there was any hope of getting out and dissecting what he just experienced. However, there would still be one large obstacle to overcome if he hoped to get out.

He no longer knew the way out. After spending so long on this problem, the portal he used to enter was surely gone. So he bolted out into the streets and simply chose whichever direction he thought his hunter wasn't in. The howling was gone, and there was no telling where the creature would come from, but towards the edge of this manifestation seemed the best way to go for now.

"I don't suppose you know the way out of here, do you?"