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.

@Estylwen

For the briefest of moments, Reina could see through the tears that other humans -mages, no doubt- were "down there" upon the unveiled streets of the Dark City, but just as soon as they had stepped into view so many yards away, they disappeared out of view again. Cygni and Erina too, seemed to notice the passerbys, but the sway of their emotions that Reina yet sensed indicated to her that they felt little beyond a fleeting curiosity.

"Understood," Cygni replied to Reina. Erina offered only an accompanying nod. The two continued to follow their head through Yusei's domain, approaching then at a brisker pace to the throne of their god. Beneath the crossing of two tilted skyscrapers a triangular opening invited the three into pitch darkness. It was here that the garden of Yusei's presence made itself most readily apparent. From the cracks and crushed concrete of the Labyrinth sprouted a grove of spider-lily flowers, eternally bloomed.

It was grey. And greyer. It progressed.

Erina bolted to one of the flowers and crouched beside it to inspect. Grey as it was, there was the barest hint of red in its leaves, but the color visibly melted away slowly, painfully. Even for those unchosen by the deity, the phenomenon was easily comprehended.

"As you feared," Cygni said plainly, eyes cast down upon a patch of lilies nearby, "We shall return for reinforcements. Yusei is in your hands." Cygni said nothing more and retreated with Erina at his side back the way they came. Cygni cast a glance over his shoulder upon Reina -one last look, more dire than his usual collected self. Even though she had demanded their attendance, she nevertheless found herself faced with this all alone.

The shadows of Yusei's throne lay before her. Within was a hall of ancient red stone, utterly anachronistic to the dilapidated but no less modern apocalypse of modernity storming outside. Her god yet breathed, but time seemed short. Venturing within, Reina could take nary one step into the black before a half-encouraging, half-disappointing presence made itself known. From the edge of the shadowed shelter extended tall forms which hugged the ground. Shadows cast from no light stretched on either side of Reina -one form of Yusei's guardians.

"Chosen. Uncalled," one shadow whispered.

"Master. Recovering," the other said.

"Begone," they said in unison.



"Erina," Cygni spoke as he stopped in his tracks. The two had parted from Reina mere minutes ago, but now out of sight and earshot, Cygni paused their return to secure reinforcements, and turned fully to the young woman.

"Confident as Reina may be, and blessed by Yusei as she is, you and I both know that these events are beyond anything yet experienced. If Yusei should truly be grievously injured or indeed dead, then Reina's confidence would be the least outmatched aspect of her. I cannot in good conscience leave her unguarded."

Erina faced Cygni with crossed arms and scoffed. "Ha! You truly think I don't know your play here? If I'm the only one to return, and something happens to Reina, then I'm equally culpable. Regardless of who says or cares about what at the council, that still puts a great deal of bad faith upon my character. You don't think that knowing I'm willing to let you go would make even you reconsider my character later on? Don't make me laugh. You're coming back with me. We're both seeing to it that this mess doesn't explode in our faces," Erina said. Cygni returned her rant with typical flatness.

"I think you lack imagination," Cygni said, eyes lidded and unamused. Erina turned and continued on.

"And I think you lack some foresight," she retorted.

The battle, if at all it could be called such, lasted only a half minute.

---

@ERode

Vaulted ceilings and ribbed walls enclosed Amiya in near-darkness. An eerie glow of red suffused the very air, shining by the light of unseen sources. There was a few faint sensation that, though this place was dangerous and offensive to mortal-kind, it grew increasingly 'emptier' and devoid of looming threat with each passing moment. She knew not where in the Labyrinth she was, as was to be expected. Mages rarely found the same place twice if exploring randomly. The quietness and darkness was a common feature, to be sure, but a Dungeon was much more than its looks and Amaya sensed an intrinsic difference there that went beyond -a uniqueness that represented the nature of magical discovery well. Though a spell did not suddenly manifest within her mind, she felt as though such inspiration lay just around the corner here. "It" was dense.

There were two ways to go within the hall; three, if one counted retreat back into the rift she had just exited as an option. Instinct guided her down only one, tugged by the emanation of a heavier presence deeper within. Halls made into atriums, into more halls, into stairwells, into halls again. As she drew nearer, the presence grew stronger. Stronger? No... more 'understood'. It grew not stronger, but weaker, and yet nevertheless more easily hunted-down. Amaya felt as though a predator becoming accustomed to the scent of her wounded prey who legs were steadily giving out. Was she truly chasing something, and it was running?

The hundredth hall she strode through opened up into a circular room. The red glow of the Dungeon had dissipated, replaced then by the confined spotlight of a hole in the room's ceiling. In the center was a short mound of earth, upon which lay a shrouded figure. Thin, tousled cloth wrapped around an emaciated humanoid form that lay on its side. A soft red color was vaguely visible from beneath the translucent but multiply-layered wrapping, giving the impression of a bloodied corpse tied up by plastic. Wisps of the fabric drifted quietly in the non-existent breeze, shredded and still fraying moment by moment. Movement within the mummy suggested breathing, but Amaya knew this thing needed no air. What she was witnessing was emulating an act of dying, whatever it was.

"Ah... at last. Reprieve."

Amaya's ears made out a gurgling, pained sound. The mummy shifted almost imperceptibly. It could do naught but wiggle slightly upon the ground.

---

@OwO

The snake-eyed woman nodded sagely, a hand to her mouth as she watched Macaron showcase a semblance of magical ability. Contained as the magic was, she seemed content with knowing that Macaron could slice even her own toughened form.

"Walk with me, I'll explain," she said, already moving on. Everywhere on the streets of the Dark City was as nondescript as they come, and so wherever it was that she intended on leading Macaron, it was impossible to discern. It was only within the walls of the silent buildings that more unique and interesting locales made themselves known, even if many of them didn't remain in existence indefinitely.

"You ever wonder how it was that you survived that night years ago?" she asked suddenly before pausing. She clicked her tongue at nothing in particular, and added, "You're gonna have to ignore how I know about this for now. Just know that I do." The woman slipped her hands into jean pockets and kept forward with an agitated, leaning posture. She continued,

"Only the ones that happened to be out and about, too far. You would think that, right? No one ever thought to do some blood testing. The ones that were present too -underlings, nobodies. All alive. All sharing one common thing: they ain't Kataoka by a blood measure. Except... you. Why do you think that is? You really thought a little kid could hide from that... thing, didn't you?" The woman groaned, stretched her back, and looked to the empty sky as she walked.

"Let me know if this is all a bit much. But... you know, don't also be a pansy. Wait, do you hear that?" The woman lowered her lax stance and broke into a jog towards another row of buildings. Faintly at first -and then with better focus- Macaron made out the sounds of gunfire and heavy impacts. It echoed through the starless skies, but she could pinpoint it just as well as her werewolf friend.

"Keep up, we might be too late already!" she called out.

It didn't take long to intercept the source.

---

@Kronshi

"Describing my methods is like detailing an encyclopedia," the woman said sharply. She lifted her right arm and pulled back the sleeve of her raincoat, revealing the arcane crest which wrapped around her forearm. Without a deeper scrutiny, the shape of it meant nothing, but the gesture was there. "Mine is one of Dynamicism. And I know yours is of Complexity. A difficult pair to make work. I'm also not quite yet about to reveal my style," she said with a tinge of enmity.

She seemed surprised by his suggestion, even behind the gas mask, her body shifting back. "Are you certain? Or... have you attempted this before?" she asked, "Given the night, I would be cautious of attempting anything unusual. I've no experience in the matter, but I can certainly hazard that opening a Dungeon in the Dark City is not something to be done lightly. I surmise you may be inviting an imprisonment within, however long. But... I'll keep watch."

As Ozymandias settled down to open the Dungeon, he was immediately struck by the sensation that this was not going to be easy, nor was it going to be quite like the door he had opened moments ago either. Within the Dark City, a manifestation of the Labyrinth taking on the form of the collective unconscious, everything was guided by the thoughts and feelings of even the mundane. Linking the Labyrinth itself -as a Dungeon- into this realm was like trying to neatly add amendments to a page already filled top to bottom by lines of law. In addition, as he persisted, there came the blunt force of "something", and he conceptualized the idea of a strand suddenly catching hold of him and tugging with a jolt.

The prospect of opening the Dungeon seemed more and more distant the more he tried. It was not a matter of difficulty, but a matter of 'distance'. The Dungeon he envisioned soared away onto the horizon, ever out of reach no matter the speed with which he himself flew. And then, a wave...

---

@Remram @Kronshi @OwO



Mathias was certain that his volley cracked into the 'bulk' of the manifestation, but even with the ammunition that had served him well so many other times against mere ghosts, the entity shrugged it off as if the very void of space. Even with something intangible, however, there was the potential to refit it into a more solid form -he just needed to 'grasp' it. Easier said than done.

Rafael affirmed Mathias's order, and kept in lock step with Emma as the two dove and retaliated against the incorporeal opponent. Just as fruitlessly as Mathias, however, their attacks seemed to do little more. Brief flashes of magic signaled the team as to Dirk's 'location', and given the shifting location it seemed as though even his diminished presence was still under threat by the phantom.

"Nothing's working!" Bel shouted out between a din of machinegun fire, "Can you solidify it yet, Mathias?"

Before a reply could even be made, there came a groaning to the air and a twisting to the gut. Amidst a flyby of another strike by the manifestation, the Dark City around them shuddered and rent as rapidly multiplying tears ripped stone and sky. Cracks wove between them, crawling across emptiness and street alike, linking together as a growing web of unreality.

Elsewhere, the tug which had bugged at Ozymandias's mind suddenly became a wrenching, and his body and mind were spirited along a conveyor of maddening images. He briefly caught sight of the woman who accompanied him similarly tumbling through frantic reality. All at once, a new location slammed upon his senses like a brick wall, and he found himself tossed onto rubble-strewn pavement. His gas-mask friend coughed and hacked next to him, afflicted not by dust or gas but by the rough experience that had just assaulted them in mind, body, and soul.

A team of militarily-kitted humans surrounded him -no, not quite. It seemed moreso that he was the surprise, unceremoniously dumped into their presence unannounced. Mathias and his team were plagued not merely by a manifestation then, but by two unexpected mages. The party was only to grow, however.

Had the surrounding buildings always been this stilted? The gray features and yellow eyes of the Dark City had twisted and bent into one another. They clipped each other in unnatural, non-euclidean ways, and in many spaces formed uninviting holes leading on into darkness. From one such tunnel stepped forth a pair of young women, arriving on the scene by means of eldritch path.

Macaron and her compatriot found themselves faced with a colorful array of fellow mages, each one just as surprised by one another's presences as they themselves. Their confused gathering was spared no more moment to adjust before a low growl redirected any concerns elsewhere. Perched high upon the twisting towers surrounding them was Mathias's original dilemma. A bestial form, always half-unseen, clung to the walls as if weightless. What could be seen of it rippled across the surface of its black-furred body, and occasionally revealed a savage maw of teeth and triplet eyes. Whatever had just occurred to twist their battlefield so, it seemed not-wholly intangible then. It's shifting visibility still posed a problem nonetheless.

It dove upon the streets with a crash, and bristled its haunches. A wave of realness washed over its many eyes, and revealed their training upon every party.

None were spared.

Within Yusei's Domain, The Labyrinth

_@Asuras

---

“Chosen. Uncalled,"

"Master. Recovering,"

"Begone,”

Reina gave the guards a fleeting look. It was good. Lord Yusei's followers were still here. They hadn't abandoned him, like other, weaker forces might. However, the fact that they hadn't responded to her call… They were focused on Lord Yusei. It betrayed anxiety.

She couldn't forget her manners though, before speaking. Regally, she faced the direction of the throne and gave a deep bow, mumbling softly, ”My Lord.”

She then gazed down at the shadow guardians of the throne, and spoke salutations to them before daring to speak her mind.

”Sapientia tenebrarum super vos. (The wisdom of the darkness be upon you.)”

A pause. Before her jaw set firmly. ”With all due respect, the flowers speak a different tale. The colors wane. He is not recovering. My lord is dying. I am not leaving until I am certain of his health.

“I sent a signal up when my party approached the threshold. No one watches the perimeter. You're in a dangerous position. If word catches that we are weak, the Labyrinth's inhabitants will not hesitate to converge upon us.”

Reina shifted her weight, chin lifting in the direction of Lord Yusei.

”Please inform me. What made my lord's condition to be like this? What caused this?”

All the while, she kept her spell up to detect Cygni and Erina's larger emotions. Though they were out of range now, they would surely return soon. She wanted not to be caught unawares when they did. Fates knew what would happen if she dared let her guard down around Cygni. And with the threat of a swift death from the Labyrinth's other denizens, reinforcements would be a boon until Lord Yusei was somewhat recovered.

Gloved fingers traced ribbed walls, mundane love songs chirping in her ears through cheap earbuds. Some mages preferred to immerse themselves in the crushing quietude of the Labyrinth, as if by preserving the atmosphere of dread and sanctity, they could more easily draw forth from that font of arcane inspiration. Amaya didn’t believe in that herself; music was a pleasant alternative, and it wasn’t as if it was within her ears that her magic dwelt. The Demonsbane drew a thin line through the ground, that lightspun blade parting the red glow with its own light. Her steps were confident and controlled, timed to the tempo of whatever music was in her ears in the moment, and like that, a hundredth halls were traversed.

The heart of the Dungeon stood before her, a graveyard for a single individual. Despite herself, Amaya turned down the music a couple notches, enough to catch, to appreciate this being’s emulation of human suffering. It was no demon, but it was a foreign, incorporeal existence nonetheless. A landbound spirit, perhaps, something not so hostile and cruel as the monsters her blade was the anathema of. And yet, what had rendered it in such a state? Golden eyes traced her surroundings, yet found no sign of battle. She had gotten the sense that it was running away before, but there was no sign of a ‘blood’ trail, nor did the words it rasped out indicate that it was averse to the ending of its existence.

Amaya’s grip tightened upon the Demonsbane, that simple act causing the lightspun blade to become more ‘real’ in response.
Yet, she withheld the coup de grace.

“I know only of demons within the Dark Sphere,” she spoke, slowly approaching the mummy, “So what are you? And what did this to you?”

The creature's head turned aside slightly. It was hard for Amaya to tell if its face -if it had one- was looking her way.

"Only of demons? You have only scratched the surface, I see. An odd one to find her way here." It fell silent to her questions, seeming as though to be resting its voice, but eventually mustered energy to continue. "I am dying," it said, answering her first question with a joke. "I am nothing anymore, that much is certain. What power I wielded has been sapped or cast; it is strongest now only as my domain, which may soon crumble away."

Its head lifted off of the dirt, piqued by something.

"But you now can save me from being forgotten entirely. I am soon to be consumed in every way, unless someone were to give me a different death. To 'erase' me in a manner that is not so permanent."

"And what does that do for me?" The money was beside the point. It wasn't as if this dying spirit was the one funding that card. "Whoever's been eating you wouldn't be pleased that an interloper finished their meal."

"What other reason are you here for?" It's tone sounded genuine -unsure of what her intentions were.

"I don't know enough to come to a decision. So tell me everything about yourself, about why one death is less permanent than the other." A quirk of the lips. "If you're afraid of being forgotten, you can start with your name."

"I am nothing now, but once... was Yusei. A lord of curses, of blood. I am being sapped away by the birth of another. Were this merely the works of a mere mortal such as yourself, it would not be permanent. No mind like yours could fathom and flense my existence so thoroughly as to erase it -only contain or mask. But here and now that is my suffering, inflicted by something that wishes to be, and needs any sort of strength to manifest. It is only poor luck, I surmise, that me and my domain has been selected. Only by 'being dead' can this link be severed. I must be 'gone' to be spared, and thereafter refreshed in time. Think of it like... turning eyes away, if but to redirect them to something else."

Amaya let out a bark of a laugh. Leave it to the Dark City: even gods and spirits not so far gone as demons would end up being associated with subjects as grim as blood and curses. Still, this ‘Yusei’ had been forthcoming, enough. Another spirit, another deity was being born, cannibalizing the old in order to do so. And, like an infected tree, this deity would rather be cut down and given a chance to grow up anew rather than to have such disease spread into its roots. She licked her lips. Another step closer.

"One last question then, Yusei. You were a lord, yes? Who were your servants?"

"I presume you to speak of mortal servants. A House Asher, in your lifetime."

Strange, the way the world worked.

Amaya nodded, then lifted her sword. In that singular spotlight within the chamber, the blade seemed to cleave through light itself, establishing its presence as something separate, something alien to the environment of the Dungeon. Something impossibly real, something that existed before divinity and sorceries polluted the atmosphere, before the world was bent to suit the whims of the sapient. What can be perceived is material. And what was material was meant to die, to decay, to fall to the natural whims of change and entropy.

"Purge false laws, slay false gods."

The Demonsbane cleaved through light, through air, through space, through time, through all that laid before her divine gaze, and declared that nothing laid beyond the ken of Precedence.

Not even a God.

@Kronshi@Asuras@OwO

"Dammit," Mathias grunted to himself as he witnessed that Rafael and Emma's endeavor to damage the incorporeal creature. It was a pointless endeavor to even attack it; they were only hitting air. Mathias' mind raced, going over every possible scenario on how to solidify the damned thing.

To give an intangible concept form one must impose their will on it, to inject an idea into something's being to force it into being. It was a task that he had done so many times, but something was wrong. Something was shielding it, preventing it from being tethered to give it form. Every thought every mental image was twisted, morphed until it was nothing, but meaningless, intangible obscurities much like the manifestation that they were combatting.

Before Mathias could even relay to his team what was going on, groaning sound echoed through the City followed by the sensation that his gut was being twisted. "What in the hell is going on now?" He stepped back and watched as the City tore itself apart from the ground to the sky above, cracks branching out like webs. Then two people, whether they fell from the sky or came from the earth, suddenly just appeared unceremoniously. A boy with glasses and someone wearing a gasmask hacking her lungs out on the pavement.

His gun was trained on the two suspicious individuals, his eyes focused on them with deadly precision though quickly lowered his weapon. They weren't the threat; they were probably just some unsuspecting mages that got spat out from wherever in the Dark City they were from. If they could even remotely call it the Dark City anymore.

This was completely unrecognizable from the city he was used to. The geometry of the city made no sense, clipping and then twisting as if the Dark City was converging into this very spot as if this was the hotbed of something being born. However, there was only one question going through his mind: if the Dark City was empowered by the shared collective consciousness, then what in the world was happening to the people in the Realspace.

However, there was not time to think deeply on that question. From one of the unnatural tunnels, he heard footstep and turned his gaze towards it. From it emerged two women though before he could say anything, heard a deep growl rumble from above. Mathias' eyes trailed upwards to the side of building. Black shimmering in and out of existence, fangs of knives and eyes of malice. Was that the beast? Why did it suddenly become partially tangible right now? Because of what just happened?

There was no time to think about it; the beast dove down and crashed upon the facsimile of the street, its eyes taking shape and had their sights on them. "Talk later. Kill the bastard," Mathias said with an abrupt gruffness.

His eyes flashed with hexagonal shapes of yellow energy flowing into another and then slammed his hand onto the street, the asphalt crackled with yellow energy before it erupted in a wave of spikes to crash down and pierce whatever actualized form the wolf had.

Stubbornness might be a trait the pair shared, but Ozymandias thought that bearers of Dynamicism always wore it the worst. In the most general sense, Dynamicism is an aspect of change and freedom, a bending of rules and standards. The antithesis of preconceived notions, and yet this woman held fast to her belief that their duo would work poorly together and refused to give him any real details. He hoped she wouldn't come to regret that choice.

Oz had spent his entire life studying the different facets of the universe. Physics, aerodynamics, aquadynamics, quantum-mechanics, dark matter, the list goes on; you name it. He was well versed in how existence breathed. His specialty was the changing of rules, of establishing new ideas. Something he thought Dynamicism could use well, but he digresses. There was more important things to be concerned with.

Like before, the essence of the Dark City quaked but this time instead of sensing displacement all around him, Oz felt himself dragged through the riftways feeling as if he was being sifted through gravel. Everything twisted and wrenched around him as he concocted a protective formula, an establishment to kill his momentum at the cost of nullifying his weight. He waited into the end of this mad ride to cast the spell, speaking aloud, "Establish, Halt, Null." He spoke as he slammed into pavement, his hand busy tracing formulaic expressions on the other. Before making a second impact, he would freeze midair. All speed stopped, but no weight for gravity to pull him down.

Oz would dispel this effect and tumble to the ground, still worse for wear but better than his compatriot. He brought himself to his feet as he took stock of his surroundings. The beast, soldiers, and a duo of what looked to be independent mages. First assumptions were simple, this beast had somehow dragged him here and likely the rest of this group as well, and so the creature would also likely be his hunter. The situation wasn't ideal but if he could stay on everyone's good side then at least the numbers would be in his favor.

Guns acted first, their leader sending spikes to impale the beast. Leader was likely of Manifest then with such an immediate display of power. The large one in even larger gear could be anything really, mages that kept up with physical improvements tended to surprise people with how they used their magic. The woman with a fog following her was likely pact-bound and based on the form it took, she was likely granted powers of Obscurity. The other two seemed like gunners first, mages second, which likely meant support magic of some kind. A well rounded team, but with his ally being of Dynamicism and the independent mages looking like they could very well be werewolves what with the one having slitted pupils, meant that there was a good chance every aspect was represented here. That would only make it harder to support them with team-wide effects, and so Oz decided to instead focus on impairing the half-incorporeal being.

When a target of his establishments interacted with a non-target, weird things could happen as the two were following different laws of nature and the Dark City would only expound on that strangeness. He needed a law that would mean almost nothing to those gathered here, but would hopefully cripple the beast so that he wouldn't need to exclude the others from his effects. His hands went to work as ideas entered his mind, a light blue arc of energy surged from his fingertips and lingered in the air as he wrote. Trying to balance the fantasy of his desires with reality.

"It's for the best if you all listen to me when I speak, don't blame me if you can't pay attention. I hereby establish that any limb in contact with a tangible, inanimate object must also be tangible from phalange tip to the joint that connects it to the torso at least. I establish that each eye's maximum effective visual capability is divided by the amount of eyes it's owner has open. Finally, I establish that maximum effective visual capability is doubled, but every third eye an entity opens is blinded."

Speaking his intended results aloud was not necessary, but he had gotten into the practice of using keywords to help him keep separate the various applications of similar formula. Here though, no one would understand what they meant and so at the cost of the beast knowing what to expect, Oz fully laid out how things would now operate. With these effects in place, the beast's limbs should always be valid targets for attack. Furthermore, everyone's eyes should stay unaffected since they only have 2 eyes, while the beast would either have to keep all but two closed or divide it's eyesight while also losing vision in a third of it's open eyes. Of course, observant listeners would also be able to note that they'd have twice the effectiveness in one eye if they closed the other.

Now to see if this truly helped anyone, but Oz was prepared to drop his spells should they prove hazardous to victory. All that was left was maintaining his detection on the horror, so that even if it went completely intangible, he could determine it's location to keep it affected.

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｒａｇｅ　ｏｆ　ａ　ｍａｇｅ

Macaron followed as the razor-like strings returned to her skin. It was probably a bad idea to follow strangers, but she did so anyways.

With each word from the werewolf woman, Macaron's face became more and more distorted. It was anger that had quickly boiled over. She was only moments away from interrupting and screaming at the werewolf. Then, the object of her ire had ran off. Before Macaron could begin cussing at her, gunshots echoed throughout the empty streets.

"What's much is the fact that you won't just fucking say what happened." Macaron yelled at the woman as she ran off. Of course, Macaron chased after the werewolf woman--whether it was to rabbit punch her or deal with whatever conflict was ahead, she hadn't decided yet.

It didn't take much to figure out what was going on on the other side. A bunch of mages wielding guns. A beast raising its haunches. Macaron's form was already distorting with magic. Her fingers became distended, nails becoming sharp claws. Her mouth and jaw warped, twisting to a more lupine form with dagger-like teeth exposed from her snarls. Her muscles bulged and swelled, her coat doing what it could to not rip and tear more than it already had.

The young, brown-haired mage advised them all to listen. Macaron was beyond that. No, at this time, the only language she spoke was violence. As the spikes from the blonde mage erupted, Macaron had bounded across the street in a feral leap at the beast. Her ceaseless rage--one built over the smallest inconvenience--would only stop when enough violence had been extolled.