The following exam phase was at a casino, though not one of the popular ones. It was the home of hopeless addicts, daytime alcoholics, and confused elderly. The lights were dim, the air dirty and most of the games empty or broken.

Ándras and Diarmuid looked around with those who passed, yet there was no examiner to speak of. They were given only the directions to the casino and the time they were supposed to be there. Their attention went to someone being dragged out by the guards.

"Hey, where are you taking me?" The man asked.

"You are not welcome in here. Please leave." The guard said.

"I got a job offer here! I'm not here to play your stupid games!" The man struggled.

Without further words, the man was thrown out of the doors.

"Hey, let me in! Are you deaf or something?" He yelled on the sidewalk.

"If work means you so much, please be mindful of when you are supposed to arrive at a set time."

"I-I was late like one minute!"

"A minute is a minute." The guard crossed his arms. "Every second counts."

"Damn it." The man stood up. "I was supposed to be set up for months with this!"

"Then find a job or live on the streets like the rest of the scum. Of course, you are free to die as well." The guard stepped inside, locking the door.

Inside, Diarmuid counted the remaining applicants. The remaining number was around a dozen, which in his experience, meant they were looking to hire a third of that. After the so-called ability test, it was clear they were looking for skilled workers rather than a useless mob.

"Hey, Diarmuid, what do you think we need to do?" Ándras asked.

"Does anything look out of place?" Diarmuid watched his surroundings.

"I don't even know what these Kaisinoes are supposed to look like." Andras shrugged. "These do remind me of something. Saloons, was it?"

"Those bars?" Diarmuid laughed to himself. "What century are you living in?"

Ándras laughed along awkwardly, or at least until his phone started ringing.

"Oh, who could it be?" He took it out of his back pocket. "Orel?"

"Ándras!" Orel yelled in distress.

"What is it?" Is something wrong?"

"Some people are chasing me! I'm returning to the house, but I don't know if they will find me!"

"Hang on a minute. I got to talk to Diarmuid about this."

"What is it?" Diarmuid asked.

"Orel's being chased. What should we do?"

"Hmmm. This couldn't have happened at a worse time." Diarmuid frowned.

"We have to help him!"

"I'm not against it, but if we both leave, it's over for the bodyguarding job and maybe my contract as well."

"Well, how about I go, and you stay? You're better at this than me anyway," Ándras suggested.

"Are you sure?"

"There's no time to waste!"

"Okay, go. I'll get us that job, but I want a larger share for the trouble."

"Whatever!" Ándras marched toward the doors. "Hang in there, Orel! I'm coming!"

Ándras smashed through the doors, even though they were supposed to be locked. The guards seemed out of ideas on how to fix it and decided to add a roped stanchion there and call it a day.

"Guess it's just me left." Diarmuid stretched. The other applicants glared at him, misinterpreting his words.

Orel rushed to their home, locked the door, and went into the kitchen. His mind rushed like blood, but he had enough sense to wrap his hand before finding a hiding place. Though the wraps turned red almost immediately, it was better than nothing. Next was the problem of hiding, but Orel had an idea. The landowner had mentioned that the house had a cellar but that it was only for plumbing. It was easy to miss, as the opening was hidden in a closet next to the stairs. Orel crawled through the small hatch into the darkness with only his phone flashlight granting him sight. He pushed himself to the very end of the damp cellar, between piping hot and cold pipes. He waited in silence, utter silence.

Orel could feel his chest pounding. The pipes rumbled and gurgled, yet nothing more. Then, something smashed in. The floorboards creaked and bent under the weight as something searched around. It climbed the stairs, opened the doors, and rummaged through every nook and cranny. It finally stopped, right above Orel. He could hear it circling around but could only hold his breath. His heart was ready to jump out of his chest, but for now, it pressed against the lungs, prepared to yell them empty. The steps walked away, yet they did not step out of the door. Instead, they went right where Orel feared the most. A creak echoed from the entrance. Orel could hear as the thing slowly climbed down and crawled through. There was deep, gurgling laughter that sent the beast's whole body rocketing back and forth. Its hairy arm reached around the corner, covered in bandages, with its inhuman nails grinding against the concrete walls.

"There you are, petit mouton." It said with its cold eyes glimmering in the darkness. "Be not afraid of the bzou, but its maw, tooth, and nail. With the scream of a crow, it will hop over the fence and wait around a trail. In the night, it will sense a great coming of a gale and devour those alone and frail. So if you see a bzou, remember this tale." It sang.

Not even the Barghest made Orel fear as much. A primal fear of death was about to swallow him whole. For his last attempt at defense, Orel tried to create a coin, but his mind could not concentrate. As if his life flashed before his eyes, some old memories came to him.

A loud clap. Orel saw Norman looking down at him with a disappointed frown.

"You're starting to get pretty good with the coins, but that's not going to help you against a mage," Norman said, holding a coin.

"Just tell me what to do." Orel rose from the ground.

"If I knew what makes conjurers click, I would have told you."

"Could you give any advice?"

"Ugh, you're putting me on the spot here. Yes, that's it," Norman hit his fist against his hand. "Try putting yourself in a tough spot. Mentally, of course."

"So, think outside of the box?" Orel tilted his head.

"No, no, no. It is more like putting yourself in a box, but only you can figure out how to break out. Put yourself in a coffin and break yourself out! Turn that formless clay of yours into a statue!" Norman pumped himself up.

"...What the hell are you talking about?" Orel stared.

"Sometimes you need the right sense of mind, but you will know when it klicks."

Orel's eyes lit up with a burning passion. The beast stopped. It could tell something was off. Orel created a coin and flicked it in the air. He spread his arms far and wide and caught the coin. Yet, as he opened the hands, they were empty.

The beast blinked."...What?" He titled his head.

"Right, the name." Orel realized. "Fate toss." He chanted.

"Was that clap supposed to be a spell? Are you out of your mind, boy?"

The beast's smile turned sour. It felt like a sudden yet intense headache. His legs swayed, and the giant man almost fell over.

"What the hell did you do?" The beast took support on the wall.

"It worked! It really worked!" Orel rejoiced with a side of pain. "Wow, that felt like getting my veins cleaned with a steel sponge."

A pool of blood drained to the beast's eye. It felt around with its paw and found a slight nudge on its skin. He tried to pull on it, but the pain only became more intense.

"Aah, you little shit!" He roared.

Orel took the opportunity and ran out of the cellar. Before it could follow him, the beastman had to pull the coin out. It pulled out the bloody coin with its claws as blood pooled out of the wound.

Even after running out of the door, Orel could hear a terrifying roar from inside. The thing rummaged through the cellar, closet, and anything in its way to catch him. Orel tried to run but the beast was too fast for him. He tried to clap again, but the beast grabbed him by the wrists. Its grip felt like it would break his bones.

"I will rip you apart, you brat!" The beast roared to his ear.

"You let him go!" Someone yelled.

A sizable fist struck the beast's face and sent him back. Though the cheek still hurt, the beast smiled with a grotesque grin as it rubbed it with its hand. The strike had a distant closeness to it.

"So, you've arrived." He turned to face Ándras.

"Who the hell are you?" Ándras asked.

"Can you not remember me, mon ami?"

"Wait..." Ándras thought back. He rummaged through many memories and came to only one conclusion. "No."

"For Lugh's sake! Jacque, it's Jack!"

"Jack...Oh, the old man. Right."

"Yes. You ruined my life." Jack growled.

"No, I didn't." Ándras was confused. "You kidnapped me!"

"Did you forget? No, don't answer that. You, people, destroyed my life!"

"Do you remember any of this, Orel?" Ándras turned.

"No, I wasn't there." Orel shrugged.

"Grrr, that's it. I'll grind you to a pulp!" Jack morphed.

The bandages stretched and snapped as muscle and fur accumulated from below. The gentle hands that once hugged his daughter were claws full of sharp nails, ready to render flesh. The face was no longer the happy old man it once was but a scarred, malformed monster with rows of teeth under its snout. Though revitalized by the cursed illness, his body could barely be considered human as time progressed, and with each transformation, he risked becoming but a beast, clouded by rage and bloodlust.

"How?" Orel was in awe.

"There's a... moon right there, isn't it?" Jack pointed at the blue sky. "Never is it said that it has to be night?"

"Hey, Ándras," Orel called out.

"Yeah?"

"Let's do this." He readied himself to clap. "I'm still figuring it out, but I got myself a spell."

"Good for you, but let me go first!" Ándras charged.

He punched Jack to his side, following with an uppercut. Jack would not flinch but mercilessly stab Ándras with his claws and let them sink deep inside his flesh.

"You think that's going to stop me?" Ándras asked, charging his fist.

The strike sent Jack back with a burnt mark on his chin. The bone crushed but was already forming back to its original form.

"It's not just the moon up in the sky." Ándras pointed to the sun.

"I almost forgot...You heal as well." Jack frowned.

"Yup. The sun is my fuel, and I am the engine!" Ándras's index finger lit on fire. He pointed it at Jack. "You're not the only one who's been training, Orel. Heat flare."

The tiny flame flashed forward with a burning trail. Yet, it simmered out as it hit Jack like a candle in the wind.

"Huh?" Jack patted his fur.

"Check this out. I got this from that fire mage." Ándras jerked his eyebrows. "Burst." He snapped his fingers.

Jack was caught in flames like he was doused in gasoline. A nasty smell of burning fur and crisp skin filled the air with the sounds of unparalleled agony.

"No, I don't think I like this one." Ándras shook his head.

The fire went out, leaving a smoking pile of flesh. Likewise, Jack regenerated from muscle to skin, and finally, fur. Even if his wounds healed, he still felt the pain of dying in flames.

"How about you just give up, or do I need to toast you a few more times?" Ándras pointed.

"I won't stop until I have your head over my furnace." Jack huffed.

Several claps echoed, and a group of coins lodged deep in Jack's side like shotgun shells. Orel breathed heavily, with sweat flowing down his face.

"You alright?" Ándras asked.

"Wow, that was rougher than I thought." Orel heaved. " I need to be careful with the multiplying."

"Don't overdo it. Let me handle this." Ándras smashed his fists together.

Orel was about to feel better after just seeing Ándras' smile. That was until Ándras fell to the ground with his leg and arm cut off. Jack looked around as if looking for someone.

"I leave you for a moment, and you get yourself beat up like that." La Loupe shook his head on the roof of the house.

"Loupe! How did you find me?"

"A little thread of fate led me here. A precaution on my part." La Loupe jumped down and landed elegantly. "Now that I'm here, let's continue that interrogation." He tugged his gloves.

"Watch out, Ándras! That guy uses invisible wires!" Orel shouted.

"I had a hunch," Ándras said on the ground while his limbs regrew. "Looks like we lost our two-on-one advantage."

"No problem." Orel calmed his breath. "I've got plenty of mana left."

"Let's take care of the big guy and then fetch the boy." La Loupe suggested.

"Don't underestimate the boy, Loupe. He has some spell, so don't let him clap." Jack noted.

"Oh? Then I better disable him first. We don't want trouble."

Orel used Ward as soon as La Loupe raised his hand. His wrists snapped together as the wire tightened.

"Now, let's see how tiny pieces I can make of you." La Loupe walked toward Ándras.

Before he could take another step, La Loupe's instincts stepped in. He barely turned his head away from a rapidly spinning coin, yet it still left a cut on his cheek. La Loupe looked back at Orel standing free with his hands bleeding.

"Again, you escape my line." La Loupe swiped his bloody cheek. "How, may I ask?"

"Don't forget about me!" Ándras charged.

"Same to you!" Jack punched Ándras in the cheek.

"I don't have time to fight you!"

"Too bad!" Jack threw him to the other side of the street.

La Loupe noticed something about Orel's hands. Around his wrists was a deeper wound that wasn't his doing. Then, it clicked. Though La Loupe's usual voice had a sense of charm and class, as his face twisted to a smile, his laugh came out squeaky and high-pitched, crackling like a pack of hyenas. The maniacal laughter made Orel tense up as it reminded him of his encounter with Fynn.

"Boy, you impress me! Snapping my lines by conjuring a coin into your own flesh? What madness sparks such ideas?" He could barely say between laughs.

"But it works, doesn't it?" Orel readied himself.

"You seem just the right appetizer before the main course. Prepare yourself, boy. You just withdrew your last chance to escape!"

"The name is Orel." Orel was ready to clap.

"Don't bother giving names just yet. Honor to whom honor is due. You don't give medals to every dog that sits!"

La Loupe slammed his hand down. A crack snapped in the air, and a deep mark appeared on Orel as if hit by an invisible whip. Orel yelled in anguish as blood flowed from under his clothes. Gritting his teeth, Orel clapped his hands. The coins shot out from around him, yet La Loupe stood perfectly calm with his hands apart. The flying coins that were supposed to sink into his chest were reduced to shreds between his fingers. Orel huffed as blood dripped from his arm. La Loupe straightened his posture and pointed at Orel.

"Simple yet effective, but naïve," He shook his head. "Could you not use knives?"

"Would you prefer it that way?"

"Well, it does not matter." He said with a sly smile. "You boy made one mistake. Can you tell what it was?"

Orel stood back, preparing to attack, or so he appeared. In actuality, he felt like his legs would give in at any moment. Buying time was just what he wanted.

"Depending on your answer, I will leave you unpunished. You have three guesses."

Orel realized that merely buying time would not be enough. He was not stupid enough to underestimate an opponent more skilled than him. He could not simply guess, but the question was too opaque to try and answer.

"Fighting you?" Orel made his first guess.

"Noun." La Loupe shook his finger.

Even if it was the correct answer, why would anyone admit it? Orel thought more, but the situation was not the best to take time to ponder.

"Meeting with that man?" Orel thought back to their first encounter.

"...Yes." La Loupe thought for a moment. "But not for this case."

Orel felt like biting all his nails out. He had enough strength to one attack, but could not find the right moment. Running didn't seem like an option with the man.

"You have ten seconds." La Loupe declared.

"I give up!" Orel raised his hands.

"Excuse me?" La Loupe made a face.

"Just take me. We don't need to fight."

La Loupe frowned with a sour face. His smile and glee were long gone.

"You disappoint me, boy." La Loupe shook his head. "One mistake after another."

"What?" Orel stepped back.

"Since it has come to this, I should tell you your first mistake." La Loupe tugged his fist. "You didn't notice my thread."

Blood splattered over the concrete. Orel looked to his side. It was his left arm, on the ground. Orel screamed at the top of his lungs until his throat was sore. He gripped his wrist tight yet the blood would not stop.

La Loupe burst into laughter, heckling his throat dry. If he were any closer, he would have wanted to taste Orel's tears and kick him down further.

"This is what I'm talking about! Cry, boy! Cry your lungs out!" La Loupe crouched to hold his stomach. "How's that spell working out for you? Tell me, what is the sound of one hand clapping?" He laughed his lungs out.

A sudden wave of heat passed by him. La Loupe turned to the other side of the street. Two blood-red eyes gleamed at him.

"Come on, stand up. We aren't finished yet." Jack mocked as he walked toward Ándras, still lying on the side of the car.

"...Don't beg for it," Ándras muttered.

"What?" Jack flicked his ear.

"Mercy. You don't deserve it." Ándras glared with flaming eyes.

"Get out of there, Jack!" La Loupe shouted.

Jack growled at the heating man. "Now you feel the same as I did. Because of you, I've become this. You better try to stop me, or I'll make sure you lose everyone you love."

"If it comes to this, I'll assist you." La Loupe readied his strings.

Ándras stood up without saying a word. His eyes and hair caught on fire like a torch. The heat prickled La Loupe's skin from the other side of the road. The intense danger eclipsed his desire for a fight and sent him into preservation mode. Jack could feel the danger, but his anger made him numb. His fur protected him, but only until it dried out.

La Loupe entangled Ándras with his strings, but as soon as they came in contact with his skin, they burned up like cobwebs. Ándras turned his gaze to Jack. The glare froze him in place, perhaps because of a primal fear. By that time, it was already too late. Ándras' fist penetrated jack's chest, ripped him in two, and tossed him aside.

"Annabelle, I'm sorry," Jack said his last words.

La Loupe watched in terror as Jack burned away until only charred bones remained. His cold sweat evaporated from his forehead, and his short breaths burned his lips and throat. He could only watch as concrete melted under Ándras' steps. The air around him rippled and waved as a mirage and flames circled him like a halo. It was as if he was witnessing the god of flame himself.

"Do you want to die?" Ándras asked with a grim face with mercy cast aside.