It was, of course, about the sword.

Amaya allowed Gerome and Roland to banter as she ate, one steady spoonful after another. It was more for sustenance than pleasure now, just fuel to get her through the next set of troubles that was undoubtedly unfolding before her. A mysterious, wealthy client who sought the assassination of a higher existence, for purposes yet unknown. A Dungeon, containing a creature that her sword could fell, yet that was beyond anything that anyone in the Dark City could yet comprehend.

And, of course, a reward in the promise of limitless funds…at least until Gerome cancelled the card.

The raven-haired woman finished the rest of her meal, washing down the teriyaki taste with the remains of her tea. She rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck, her spine, her hips. Then, methodically, she put away her possessions once more. The spoon was licked clean and wrapped in a paper towel. The kettle was emptied into an aluminum bottle before being returned into her bag. And the bag she zipped up herself, removing a couple knick-knacks to jam into the pockets of her leather jacket before she turned to Roland.

“I’ll leave this here and pick it up after. Give three days before you think about selling it, ok?” She patted the bag, as if biding farewell to a friend, and then strode towards the projected entrance to the Dungeon. A shaft of light shone from the creases in her gloved hand, becoming material as she clenched her fist over it. The Bane of Demons, the Metric of Reality. A divine weapon to rend absurdities material.

Amaya let out a breath.

"Things are rarely so simple. Any consequences for failure?" A pause. "Assuming I survive that 'weakened being'."

"From me? None. I am hiring you, not punishing you, ma'am. You're only consequence besides a potentially pitiful death is that much less cash in your bank," Gerome said with closed eyes. "And I suppose perhaps my disappointment."

“I can live with that.” Amaya popped an earbud into her left. “I’m good for money though, Gerome. If you’re the knowledgeable type, I’d rather ask a couple questions instead.”

Her boots approached the precipice now. Mages from Houses earned their Crafts through study and meditation, communal knowledge that spanned generations, but for freelancers like herself?

Violence was the only way to gain what was needed to survive the Dark City.

“See you.”

Step through.

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｓｗｅｌｔｅｒｉｎｇ　ｇｒｕｄｇｅ　ｂｕｉｌｄｉｎｇ　ｉｎｓｉｄｅ

The can of soda did its job. While she would have enjoyed the woman in front of her being pelted by a can, the sticky alternative of hours-long discomfort was good enough for Macaron.

"Yea. We're even. Even Stevens." She said with a shrug. Though, in her mind, they were very much not Even Stevens. But Macaron could wait to get even. She had a whole lifetime ahead of her to settle her newfound grudge--probably.

Surprisingly, the comment of Macaron shirking her lineage didn't bother her. Most of it was her not giving a shit about her lineage. To her, her blood was what it was. A nuisance she was born with and learned to live with. And it wasn't like she was awful at magecraft--that good little girl made sure to carve her body with some semblance of mastery of her family's craft even if unstable. One that wouldn't decay, no matter how much she languished and wasted away.

"I wonder." She said as she brought her hands together. A faint hint of magecraft--transformative in nature--warmed the pale air of the Dark City as Macaron moved her hands apart. Threads of skin stretched between her hands in a childish pattern. A game that Macaron quickly began playing alone, the skin-threads looping around her fingers as she gestured to form different shapes. The snake-like woman would have a feeling that if she tried to partake in the fun, her fingertips would be sliced off in thin sheets.

"And it's not a competition. We can both be little children. Goo goo gaa gaa."

She paused.

"And elaborate on shit--because most people have the common sense to not send letters unless you're a fed or sending it to Santa."

Seemingly, a brief moment of lucidity came over her.

"Especially letters to me."

Displaced and disoriented within a Dark City, with a demon chasing after him no less, was not how Ozymandias imagined celebrating his success. There was no sign of the assailant via sound, sight, or magic and worse still was that his companion was equally lost. If only he still had his barrier-knife, Oz could take the time to think out an efficient route while protected but that also was warped away from him.

Opening a portal out would only lead to chaos for the mundane, while staying inside risked injury and death and there was no guarantee that an existing portal would even be close enough to be reached. Oz saw only a single option and stopped in his tracks.

"Running around will only tire us out if we don't know a way. We can't surface from this darkness, so why not descend further into it? I can't detect it anyways, so entering the Labyrinth won't blind us any further and may inhibit its ability to hide, or better, deter it from chasing us. I'm going to start opening a Dungeon. A saw a rift earlier so the space between here and there should be weak enough for this to go quickly. You should prepare for a fight either way. My combat magic works best in support of others, but I need to understand how you fight to avoid screwing you over. Explain your strategies to me while I work."

Oz darted into a nearby alley, using the wall of a building to support his doorway. His magic energy sparked from his finger tips as he started constructing his Dungeon formula. Opening a Dungeon inside of a Dark City was something he hadn't tried before, or even heard of for that matter, but no matter how complex it would be if it needed doing, Oz would get it done.

Entering coordinates was difficult, and aligning his formula with the physics of this world more so, but alternate physics and esoteric locations were his magecraft's bread and butter. If he could meditate and open a mental Labyrinth while in a Dungeon, then surely overlapping Manifestations on top of each other was possible.

One train of thought on the door, a second on detecting signs of the entity, a third on solving the complexities needed to make the door, a fourth on the woman's dialogue, and the fifth on battle strategies based off her fighting capabilities. A veritable train station of a mind that was Ozymandias's was full of traffic and noise, passengers and luggage. The second mental evolution he would go through in one day was occurring, his philosophies expanding to encapsulate all he had to do.

This was familiar.

Opening a door, that fought back due to the strangeness that is the Dark City, to reach a place of higher power and closer to divinity.

That was familiar.

A challenge presented by someone that sought his growth and enlightenment, even at the cost of his safety and well-being.

Oz had never experienced as much fear, as much confusion, as much suffering, nor as much anger as he felt in this moment. Whoever is behind all this owed him answers after all this, and he was determined to get them. With his mental senses and emotional limits being overwhelmed, Ozymandias grinned thinking of what would come next.

Great, intangibility. As if it could have gotten any worse. Still, they were not out of luck; manifestations all revolve around some kind of logic even if they don't appear to do so on the first glance. These battles were always a puzzle to solve, each one with their own pieces that they had to put together with quick trial and error.

However, trial and error would have to wait. For a split second, Mathias saw that the greater pattern of the smoke shifted. He could feel it, the rush of fangs and claws descending upon him. There was no thinking, only reacting. He could feel it. The magecraft coursing through his body, through his legs. In a split second, one would have thought he flickered out of the way of the incoming assault.

In the brief window of time that Mathias dodged out of the way, he pointed the barrel of his gun where he assumed the Manifestation would be and peppered it with arcane bullets though he doubted that it would even harm the creature. If only he had the schematics for some magical weapon that could kill intangible manifestations, but life was never that easy.

Over the hail of gunfire Mathias shouted, "Raf, coordinate with Emma and find an opening for her pup to attack the bastard! Cid, Dirk! Provide cover fire!"

What was he going to do? He needed to figure out the nature of this creature and fast because he was not certain that Emma's manifestation was going to be enough to even put that thing down on its own.