August 16, 2025

Dasnor was sure he had the best chance to persuade Freyja to meet with them, so he accompanied Niji in her quest. Dammit joined them too, because he “always wanted to listen to good old heavy metal about despair, gore and love.” On such an occasion, he was wearing a bandana with a rabbit skull on it and a black motorcycle jacket on top of his sleeveless shirt.

They arrived at “Lazy Dracula” during the warm-up session of some cyberpunk group. The three mages had no trouble sneaking in the shabby club. The two-story building was lost amidst skyscrapers and begged for renovation: the furniture had obviously been part of numerous brawls, and the walls bore multiple layers of slogans and graffiti; some of them explicit. By consulting a guidebook, one could know that the place was a kind of mecca for those who still remembered the good old days before hologram singers with a synthetic voice dominated the scene.

Niji was inclined to agree with that, as the people here were covered in chains and trinkets of various sizes, and even the boys did not disdain bright demonic makeup. The wardrobe variety of the locals could be an encyclopedia of subcultures. There were wannabe vampires of the New World Conquest era, and party-goers dressed up in tight latex who looked down at the world through huge goggles. Many of the visitors did not rush into the hall, preferring to smoke and chat in the lobby. Niji knew this audience well: she used to happily change the Academy uniform to something freakier once or twice a year, and poor, shaking Rem had followed her to somewhat sketchy places.

“Hundred shades of black,” Dasnor muttered.

“You fit, huh,” Dammit remarked, his grin always present. His friend just clicked his tongue in irritation.

Having climbed up a steep staircase, the mages found themselves in a dark room, full of people and machine-generated smoke. Dasnor, Niji and Dammit settled next to the columns a little further away from the center of the hall. Spotlights and stroboscopes were chaotically vomiting with all kinds of colors. The band that was playing consisted of a wild drummer, a wheezing vocalist with a stack of dreadlocks and a couple of guitarists, supposedly in a deep love-hate relationship. A lone electric piano droid had replaced a keyboardist, who, as the audience claimed, never appeared at his own concerts because he was too busy drinking hard. The robot could just stand there and bang the keys—his piece was preprogrammed.

The roar of a raging crowd united with the sounds of dark ambient metal, popular maybe a dozen years ago. The lyrics were devoted not to any dismemberment, as Dammit had expected, but to some kind of revolution with phrases like “a new era will come,” “the digital age will destroy us” and “let’s die together in this world of binary numbers.”

“What a hi-tech song.” The healer turned to face the bar. “I’m gonna fetch us some beer.”

“Slow down.” Dasnor stopped Dammit by grabbing his shoulder. “We have a job to do.”

“Sunny wouldn’t have survived it.” Niji giggled. “Is Freyja’s band next? Where can we find them?”

“Need to check dressing rooms first,” the Amber replied. “She must have a separate one, as the only female.”

“Let’s fight our way through!” Dammit hit his palm with his fist.

Little by little, the trio made their way through the bodies who were twitching to the driving tempo. Unlike Niji, Dasnor was clearly unaccustomed to such noise. He covered his left ear with his hand, and his face was signaling to the world about the unbearable torment of being here. But Niji caught herself thinking that she wanted to join the crowd in their excitement. The singer suddenly switched from a wheezing to rather pleasant vocals.

Wait, how can it be too late?

‘Cause I don’t want to play

With such a price to pay

Chained to what I can’t reclaim

I’ll never be the same

Will be the same again

She noticed that Dammit knew the lyrics.

A dancing guy spilled smelly beer on the mage girl, and this stranger thought it was a good start to a conversation. He clumsily embraced Niji and began apologizing in different languages, some of them non-existent. If Dasnor had not pulled her out of the hands of a drunkard, she would have substantially enriched her vocabulary.

Dammit called one of the guards over, exchanged a few words with him, and the security allowed the mages to the staff zone. “He just owes me,” the healer explained briefly. The mages appeared in a small corridor, which was lit only by an old-fashioned emergency exit sign.

With his usual tone that did not accept objections, Dasnor stopped a hurrying musician and instructed him to inform the enchantress about his arrival. The broad-shouldered long-haired guy in a black leather vest turned out to be the backing vocalist in Freyja's band. He shrugged, ducked into one of the rooms, and went out almost immediately, nodding briefly to the company as a sign of Freyja's readiness to receive guests. Dasnor warned Niji that this lady was rather selfish and tricky to figure out, and advised her to speak as little as possible, not to accidentally blurt out too much. “May the Goddess help us,” the medic nodded.

The mages went inside the room and shut the door tightly behind them. A woman was sitting with her back turned to the entrance, eyes pinned to the mirror of the dresser equipped with numerous lamps. It seemed that Freyja was too busy with her makeup to notice she had visitors.

When she finally turned around, Niji twitched involuntarily. The new acquaintance was not as young as the Elementalist, but she looked stunning—the real star of the avant-garde music scene. The woman was wearing a black Victorian dress with long sleeves, and her impressive breasts were emphasized by a tight corset with many rivets. Her curly hair of cherry color was cascading to her shoulders in graceful waves. The left half of her face was hidden under a gilded half-mask decorated with small rubies, and the black cylinder hat was coquettishly shifted to one side of her head.

“It’s been a while, Dasnor-kun.”

Her deep voice sounded soothing. Niji thought she and Dasnor could work in the same virtual sex service.

“How is your back, honey?”

“It’s fine. Got a minute?”

The stool creaked as the singer stood up. She was quite small in stature, but due to the huge platform of her boots Freya seemed tall like the New Tokyo TV tower. A deep cutout on her long skirt opened a view of a garter with a small gear in the middle. The enchantress slowly approached the guys, leaned closer to Niji and sniffed, frowning. “Is this beer?”

Freyja herself smelled like sharp perfume—the kind desperately pretending to be expensive, but in reality were generously diluted with water. Niji peered into her face and froze as she noticed a mechanical eye hidden behind the half mask. Its pupil resembled the lens aperture.

Obeying Dasnor’s order, the Elementalist kept silent. Freyja straightened abruptly and turned to Dammit.

“And what’s your say on this, Harold James Mark Omnious the Fourth?”

“My say is that I hadn’t missed you a single second.” His grin was bright as ever.

The enchantress gave a melodious chuckle and looked at Dasnor again.

“Please be quick. I’ve little time, so…”

“This girl needs your help, Freyja,” he said. “Niji, show her what you’ve got. What can be said about this amplifier?”

Niji, in her usual manner, rolled up her sleeve and displayed the tattoo. Freyja's mechanical eye focused on it with a faint click. The mage woman began to speak with great enthusiasm.

“Fascinating! Very delicate work. Must be of artifact origin and most certainly a defensive one. But I am not a specialist in transplanting energy from relics. Why?”

Silence fell in the dressing room for several seconds. Somewhere behind doors, the band with a keyboard droid kept on roaring with their music.

“Aaaaah…” Freyja’s cherry lips thinned in a beautiful smile. “I guess I know what brought you here to me. Tell me please, Niji, what is your color?”

“Cr… crimson.” Niji hid her long-suffering limb from meticulous observations.

“And this is why you want to erase the amplifier, don’t you?”